The Psychozone by David Lubar Read Free Book Online Page A

said, standing and watching Brian smash himself into the wall.

    I grabbed Tommy and ran from the room, slamming the door behind me in my panic. I took him downstairs. Over our heads, there were a couple more crashes, then silence.
    â€œStay here,” I said to Tommy. I really didn’t want to go back, but I had to see if I could help Brian. He was a total jerk, but he was my friend. I went up the stairs, feeling like I was walking on explosives, ready to turn and flee at the slightest sound. I half expected a wave of smunkies to come rushing down the steps, leaping at me and dragging me to the floor.
    I made it upstairs.
    Tommy’s bedroom door was still closed. There was no sound, at first. When I got closer, I heard whimpering and groaning.
    â€œBrian?” I called. I knocked on the door. It was such a stupid thing to do that I almost laughed at myself. I opened the door.
    Brian was lying on the rug. He looked pretty chewed up, like someone who’d decided to use sandpaper for a washcloth. But he was alive. “You okay?” I asked.
    â€œI’ve been better,” he said. He slowly rose to his knees.
    â€œWhere are they?” I asked.
    He jerked his hand over toward the wall. There was a jagged hole right above the baseboard. I knelt down and peeked inside, expecting to get a smunkie in my face. The hole went through to the bathroom. There was a wet, pink trail—maybe bits of smunkie slime, maybe bits of Brian. But I could see where it led.

    I went out through the hall to the bathroom to make sure. The trail led into the tub. Then the trail led to the drain. They were down there, somewhere. I could imagine them, all those smunkies, resting after a nice lunch of Brian bites, doing smunkie things, maybe talking smunkie talk and planning smunkie plans.
    â€œSmunkies gone?”
    I turned toward the door. It was Tommy. He looked so sad.
    â€œThey’ll be back,” I said.
    That cheered him up. But it didn’t do much good for me. Not when I thought about all those smunkies out there in the pipes all around the house.
    â€œBack in the jar?” Tommy asked.
    I looked at the tub and the sink and the toilet. I looked at the walls. “No,” I told Tommy. “I’m afraid not. I think it’s our turn in the jar.”

PRETTY POLLY
    â€œ T his is so cool,” Karen said. She couldn’t believe what her father had done. “It sure is,” her dad said. His silly grin showed that he didn’t really believe his own actions, either.
    â€œWhere’d you find it?” she asked.
    â€œThat old pet shop in town. I couldn’t get over the price. These things usually cost a couple hundred dollars. The owner let me have everything for fifty dollars. Imagine that—just fifty bucks.”
    Karen’s mother walked into the room. She didn’t say anything for a minute or two. Finally, she asked, “What about Whiskers?”
    â€œThe cat will get used to it,” Karen’s dad said. “And Karen and I will take care of it. You won’t have to do a thing. Right, Karen?”
    â€œRight.” Karen looked at the spectacular bird
her father had brought home. She was pretty sure it was an African gray parrot. “Does it talk?”
    â€œThe man said it did,” her father told her.
    The parrot looked at Karen, cocking his head to the side and staring at her with one eye. Then, as if to answer her, he said, “I’m a good boy. I’m a good boy.”
    Karen laughed and clapped her hands. She thought it was truly cool to have a talking bird in the house. A soft and furry creature brushed against her leg. She looked down at Whiskers. “Don’t worry, kitty-kit, I still love you.”
    â€œMrrreww,” Whiskers answered.
    Karen picked up the cat and said, “Look, this is your new friend.” For an instant, Whiskers stared at the parrot. Then he hissed, leaped from her grip, and ran out of the room. Karen