Chicken Chicken by R. L. Stine Read Free Book Online Page A

carefully behind me. I didn’t want anyone to see me
until I checked myself out.
    Sure enough, I found white and brown feathers sticking out from my neck and
shoulders.
    The feathers had just poked through the skin. So it was really hard to pull
them out. I had to use tweezers for the smaller ones.
    Pluck.
    Pluck.
    Pluck….
    Ow. Did that hurt!
    I heard voices from down in the backyard. And through my bedroom window, I
could see swirling smoke from the barbecue grills.
    Ugh. I had always loved the aroma of barbecuing chicken. But now it sickened
me. I felt my stomach lurch. I gagged. I held my hand over my mouth—my beak!—and waited for the nausea to fade.
    I’ll stay up in my room, I decided. I won’t go downstairs.
    But then I heard Mom calling me from the kitchen.
    “Com-ing!” I yelled. I had no choice. I had to go down there.
    I crossed my fingers on both hands. My fingers suddenly felt so bony, so
scraggly. My nails were long and pointed. Maybe no one will notice what is
happening to me, I prayed.
    I made my way slowly downstairs to the kitchen. Mom had her hair tied up in a
bun. She wore a long white apron, covered with barbecue sauce stains.
    She was mixing a big bowl of salad. But she stopped when I slipped into the
room. “Crystal, where have you been? Guests are arriving. I need you to go out
and be a hostess while I finish up in here.”
    “Okay, Mom. No problem,” I replied. I let out a couple of soft clucks.
    “See if there is enough ice,” Mom instructed. “And tell your dad he may need
more charcoal. We—”
    She stopped suddenly, with a gasp.
    She stared out the window. “Crystal—what on earth is your brother doing out
there?”
    I stepped up beside her and gazed out the window. “Oh, no!” I cried.
    I couldn’t believe what I saw.

 
 
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    Cole had climbed into the area fenced off for the chickens. He was down on
his elbows and knees. There were chickens all around him.
    “What is he doing ?” Mom repeated, raising a hand to one cheek.
    I knew what he was doing. But I knew this wasn’t the time to tell Mom. Not
with twenty guests waiting for their dinner.
    I peered out the window. Cole was pecking seeds off the ground.
    I watched him lower his head to the gravel. I watched his lips open and his
tongue slide out. I watched him suck up some chicken feed. His head bobbed up as
he swallowed it down.
    “Why is your brother acting so dumb in front of company?” Mom asked, shaking
her head. “Does he think that’s funny ?”
    “I don’t know, Mom,” I replied. Cole’s head lowered, and he sucked up more
seed from the gravel.
    People were laughing at him. Some just stared in confusion.
    “Well, go out there and stop him,” Mom ordered, turning back to the salad
bowl. “Pull him away from the chickens and drag him into the house, Crystal. I
want an explanation from him.”
    “Okay, Mom,” I murmured.
    I watched Cole pecking at seeds for a few seconds more. Then I made my way
out the kitchen door and crossed the yard to the chicken area.
    “Cole?” I called softly. I stepped over the wire fence. “Cluuuck Cluuuck
Cole?”
    I really did plan to bring him into the house to Mom.
    I really did plan to drag him away from there.
    But those seeds looked so delicious!
    I bumped some chickens out of the way. Then I dropped down on my knees,
lowered my head—and started pecking away.
     
    The next day in school, I don’t think I heard a word anyone said. I couldn’t
stop thinking about the barbecue.
    Of course, all of our guests thought what Cole and I did was some kind of a
joke. They didn’t get the joke. But they knew it had to be a joke.
    Mom and Dad were really angry. They needed us to help out. But we were too
busy pecking seeds with the chickens.
    Later, Mom was really upset when Cole and I refused to eat any of her barbecued chicken. “It was always your favorite!”
she cried.
    Not anymore, I thought sadly.
    The idea of eating a chicken made my insides