Daniel had touched a garter snake once, and his best friend in Toronto had a gerbil named Gopher that he liked…but bats were different.
“Please don’t suck my blood,” he said, even though he didn’t really expect the bat to understand.
“Yours said what?” the voice answered.
“I said, please don’t suck my blood,” Daniel repeated, in the direction of the bat, just in case it was the bat talking.
“Blood? Yours is drinking blood? Dust-gusting!” spat the voice.
“No,” Daniel said. “I don’t drink blood. You do. If you’re a bat. Are you?”
“Undoubtedly.” The creature edged into the light. “A bat. But not a dust-gusting blood-sucking bat.”
Daniel was no bat expert, but something about the shape of the face made him guess it was a boy bat.
The bat sniffed again. He had a tiny pink heart-shaped nose, almost like a rabbit’s. Suddenly, his eyes went even wider than before.
“Yours gots red smoosh-fruit!” the bat exclaimed. He swooped. Daniel threw his arms over his head to protect himself and the plastic plate and jelly roll he’d been holding went flying.
The bat landed near the dessert. He sniffed again, then plunged his snout into the jelly, snorffling like a pig at a trough.
While the bat ate, Daniel got a closer look. He was tiny—smaller than a blue jay and only a little bigger than a butterfly. He had a furry body and large, leathery wings.
When the bat finished, he looked up and burped loudly.
“Scu-zzi,” he said politely, then he flapped back into the rafters and hung upside town, tilting his head.
There was a long, awkward silence while Daniel tried to figure out what a person was supposed to say to a talking bat. Finally, he decided on the obvious.
“I’m Daniel,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Yours is a Daniel?” the bat said, tilting his head to the other side.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “And you?”
“A bat,” he answered.
“Yeah, but what’s your name?” Daniel pressed.
“A bat,” the bat repeated.
“Okay.” Daniel shrugged. “I’ll call you Bat then.”
There was another long silence. Finally, the bat gave a small, annoyed sigh. “A Daniel gots more smoosh-fruit?” He tapped his tiny talon.
Daniel knew there was still half a jelly roll, but his mom wouldn’t give him more before dinner—especially not if he told her it was for a talking bat.
“I can get more later,” Daniel said.
Bat hunched up his wings, clearly disappointed.
“I could probably get you some watermelon now, though.” Daniel’s parents loved when he ate fruit.
Bat’s large ears perked up. “Buttermelon?” he said.
“Watermelon,” Daniel corrected.
“Buttermelon,” Bat insisted.
“Okay, buttermelon,” Daniel said. It hardly mattered what they called it. “But first, are you the one who keeps making the puddle?”
“Undoubtedly,” Bat replied forlornly. “A bat is dripping. From a great sadness.”
“You mean crying?” Daniel asked.
“Dripping,” the bat repeated, “from mine eyes.”
“Why are you sad?” Daniel sat down on his bed. He wasn’t afraid anymore, only curious.
“A bat is many miles from mine home,” the bat replied.
“Are you lost?” Daniel asked.
“Lost,” said the bat. “And all alone.” Then he started to cry again. Drip, drip, drip.
“I’m a long way from home too,” Daniel said. “Well, three hours by car. But my family’s here, so I guess I’m not all alone like you.”
This only made the bat cry harder.
“Where did you live before?” Daniel asked.
“Mine home is the land of Papaya Premium,” the bat said.
“Where’s that?” Daniel asked. He’d gotten an A in geography, but he’d never heard of it.
The bat got a faraway look in his eye. “The land of Papaya Premium is where the shore meets the sea so blue. Where the parrots squawkety squawk and the piggy elephants romp in the raining forest. It’s being where the waterfalls burble and the whiffy orchid flowers spread sweetish stink.”
Daniel held up a hand to stop him because, otherwise, it seemed like the bat might go on all day.
“I mean, where is it?” he said. “Like, on a map.”
Bat frowned.
“Or a globe?” Daniel tried. That didn’t help.
“A blobe?” the bat said. He seemed to like that word. “Blobe, blobe, blobbedy-blobe.”
“Never mind,” Daniel said. He shouldn’t have expected a bat to know second grade geography.
Still, one thing was certain: wherever Papaya Premium was, Bat had to go back. If Daniel’s mom knew a bat was living in the attic—well, it wouldn’t be living there long. She’d get his dad to chase it out or—worse—call an exterminator.
If Bat couldn’t tell Daniel where Papaya Premium was, he’d need to figure it out himself. And, in the meantime, keep Bat from crying before he flooded the whole house.
“Wait here,” Daniel said. “I’ll get your buttermelon.”