by Greyson Mann
The butcher must have heard her hissing, because he finally opened the door. And he said we could sleep in his house next door as long as we didn’t blow anything up. He was looking right at Chloe when he said that, and he looked kind of scared. Who can blame him? Chloe is pretty much a block of TNT with legs.
The butcher only has one bed, so Mom and Cate get that. The rest of us are spread out on the floor with blankets. And I can’t sleep a wink, because rap songs are flowing through my head like hot lava …
So Chloe just woke up and says my torch is BLINDING her and that it’s already really bright in this house and would I please just put out my torch and go to sleep.
Well, you know what happens if Chloe doesn’t get her way. Yup. BOOM. And we don’t want the butcher kicking us out, so … gotta go. I’ll write more tonight.
Zzz …
DAY 3: WEDNESDAY NIGHT
So our new butcher friend was super helpful when we got up tonight. When Dad asked where we could get some coal for our minecart, he pointed us toward the blacksmith shop. And when Mom asked where we could get a map, he pointed her toward the library. Then he hurried us right out the door before we could even thank him for being so nice!
Dad wasn’t crazy about the idea of getting a map. “It’ll cost lots of emeralds,” he reminded Mom. But she kept walking toward that library.
“I know where we’re going,” he said. “I’ll just follow the signs!” She didn’t even respond to that.
But when Mom knocked on the door to the library, guess who answered? That rude woman in the white robes. And the door slammed shut before Mom could even introduce herself. SHEESH.
I almost NEVER see my mom blow up, but she was seconds away from a full-on explosion. She scooped up Cammy and marched down the stairs, and she didn’t stop until we’d made it all the way back to the minecart.
So I guess we’re leaving Humanville. Pronto.
Mom and Dad are arguing now because during Mom’s dramatic exit out of town, we forgot to stop at the blacksmith for coal. Dad says we’ll be fine—we have enough coal to make it to the jungle. He’s already humming “99 Bottles of Potion on the Wall,” eager to hit the road.
Mom doesn’t look so sure. But she doesn’t look like she wants to go back into Humanville anytime soon, either. So now we’re piled into our carts, and Dad is firing up the furnace.
I’m ALMOST looking forward to getting to the jungle. At least I was. But Chloe is trying to freak me out.
I’d turn around and hiss at her, but Mom’s not in the mood for any cart fights. So I’m just going to have to plan a different sort of revenge …
DAY 5: THURSDAY
So … I think it’s time to pull out my 30-Day Survival Plan and dust it off. Because I barely survived day ONE in the jungle. Seriously.
It started out fine and dandy, the way daymares usually do. As we rode toward the jungle, the trees got all tall and leafy. It was actually kind of pretty.
Mom was like, “The vines! The cocoa pods!” Dad was like, “Twenty-two bottles of hot cocoa on the wall …” And Chloe was like, “The ocelots are going to EAT YOU UP, Gerald. Better say your goodbyes now.”
So when we reached the railway stop, I didn’t want to get out of the cart. I wanted to keep right on going.
Then our guide showed up—this zombie dude—and he said he was going to lead us to our tree house.
Our WHAT now? You’d think Dad might have mentioned something about a TREE house. Creepers aren’t exactly known for their tree-climbing skills.
But whatever. I just wanted to get to that tree house FAST, because ocelots were probably lurking all around us.
Unfortunately, our zombie guide was slower than mud. I practically had to PUSH him down the trail.
Then he stopped for a break! He sat right down on this log and offered us a snack, which turned out to be chunks of rotten flesh—the kind my sort-of pal Ziggy Zombie eats for lunch at school.
Yeah, no thanks. I took a pass on that one. And I stared at the guide until he finally stood up, wiped off his fleshy fingers, and staggered slowly toward the trail again. SHEESH. Did no one else fear for their lives around here?
I finally saw the tree house up ahead, and I almost broke into a jog. But the zombie held out his arm and said to wait up, because he had some advice for us.
First, he told us which ponds to fish in. I guess some ponds are stocked with salmon and others are full of poisonous pufferfish. Okay, good to know.
Then our guide told us to—wait for it—watch out for OCELOTS. Chloe snickered at me, but I ignored her. Because our guide was still talking.
He said that if an ocelot got too close, we could throw a piece of fish at it and then run away. A few people have even TAMED ocelots with fish, said the guide, but he wouldn’t recommend that.
Then he sniffed the air and asked which one of us was wearing perfume. Well, DUH. We all stared at Cate, who pretty much always reeks of the stuff. Her latest scent is glistering melon, which at least smells better than the gunpowder she usually wears.
But the guide said Cate would want to wash off her perfume right away, because it would probably attract—you guessed it—ocelots.
I took a GIANT step away from Cate when I heard that, just in case an ocelot was about to pounce. If that happened, she was on her own. I mean, I might holler for help or something, but I was NOT going to fight an ocelot to protect my stinky sister.
When the sun came up, our zombie guide disappeared. And I somehow made it up the vine ladder into the tree house. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was the FIRST one up.
Everyone else is getting ready for bed, but I’m writing. And Mom is snipping some vine to take home for her garden.
Dad just cracked some joke about making sure Mom doesn’t snip the vine off our ladder, because we might need that when we wake up tonight. But as far as I’m concerned, Mom can snip that whole ladder to pieces.
Because if there are ocelots out there, I’m never going back down.
DAY 6: FRIDAY
I went back down the ladder last night. I HAD to. I blame it on Mom, who tricked me. And on Sam, who loves hot cocoa.
See, Dad got up at the crack of dusk to go fishing. He says that’s when the fish are biting. He invited me to go too, but I faked sleep. A creeper’s gotta do what a creeper’s gotta do, right?
So Chloe went fishing with Dad. But when Mom said she and Cammy were heading out to look for cocoa beans, I perked right up.
“Cocoa?” I asked. “As in HOT cocoa?”
My buddy Sam LOVES hot cocoa. We sometimes go to the Creeper Café and get super deluxe hot chocolates with whipped cream and sprinkles. I don’t love them as much as Sam does, but out here in the jungle, I wasn’t sure where my next meal was coming from. So when Mom said that hot chocolate WAS made from cocoa beans, I slid down that ladder after her.
But when we found cocoa beans hanging from a tree, they did NOT look like hot chocolate.
For one thing, they were hard. I know this because one fell from a branch and bounced right off my head.
And here’s another thing: they’re empty. I shook one, hoping there was hot cocoa inside. But no. It sounded as hollow as my stomach was starting to feel.
So there’d be no hot chocolate for me today.
But Mom seemed pretty happy as she gathered cocoa beans to take home for her garden. I decided to bring one home to Sam, too—like a souvenir. I was actually starting to miss that jolly green guy.
When I asked Mom if I could send Sam a postcard, she said no—that there weren’t exactly post offices out here in the jungle.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t write to Sam. Here’s what I’ve got so far:
DAY 7: SATURDAY
Let’s just say that Dad did NOT catch salmon for dinner last night. He came back in the middle of the night with a seriously empty bucket.
Chloe kept bragging about the huge fish SHE caught. But it turned out, it was a pufferfish. So what did she want, a trophy or someth
ing?
So Mom pulled out her snacks from home, but I gotta say, we were getting down to the crumbs now. The bread had mold on it (GROSS), so I let my sisters fight over that. I went for the carrots and apples instead. And afterward, when no one was looking, I MIGHT have snuck some roasted pork chop leftovers from my backpack.
They were kind of shriveled up and stinky. But I’d take stinky, shriveled pork chops over moldy bread any day.
Later, when everyone else was sleeping, my stomach kept me awake. We kind of had a whole conversation, my hungry stomach and me. It wanted me to eat the rest of the pork chops from my backpack. I wanted to save some for later, just in case things got REALLY desperate out here in the jungle.
My stomach won out.
But just as I was unzipping my backpack, Dad sat up, rubbed his eyes, and said, “FISHING time!”
When he saw I was awake, he was all like, “Oh good—you’re up. You can come with me tonight, Gerald!”
In his excitement, Dad pretty much woke up the whole family. Chloe got dressed for fishing. Mom and Cammy got ready for bean-collecting or vine-snipping or whatever.
But I just yawned and said, “I’m good here.” I couldn’t wait for everyone to leave so I could scarf down the last of my pork chop leftovers in peace.
Then Cate said SHE was going to stay in the tree house too. She opened her chest and pulled out her makeup, and then she sprayed herself with glistering melon perfume. Except she missed her own neck—and hit ME right in the FACE.
Mom scolded her, but it was too late. Cate said she forgot about the “no perfume” rule. Yeah, RIGHT.
Well, I wasn’t going to sit up here in the tree house waiting to get eaten by an ocelot who wanted glistering melon for dinner. Nope, I needed to take a bath. Pronto.
So I slid down the vine ladder and hightailed it to the nearest pond.
Dad ran along beside me, happy as could be. He must have thought I was excited about fishing or something. But when we got to the pond, I dove headfirst into the water.
I held my breath as long as I could, and then I finally swam to shore.
Dad was sitting on a rock with his fishing pole. Chloe was too. When she cast her line, I swear she aimed for my head. So when I walked past her, I might have shaken off some water in her direction.
That’s when Dad got a bite on his line. “It’s a big one!” he yelled. “Stand back!”
He fought that thing hard, I gotta say. But Dad’s “big one” turned out to be a leafy vine. A really LONG leafy vine. Poor Dad.
I cast my line, too. Then I waited. But I don’t really get the whole fishing thing. I mean, most of the time, you’re just watching your pole, and NOTHING happens. Then when it does, it’s usually a gross pufferfish.
Or a vine. Or someone else’s line all tangled up in yours. (Thanks, Chloe.)
Turns out, the only one of us who caught a decent fish was Chloe. I pointed out right away that it was a CLOWNfish, not salmon. Everyone knows that clownfish don’t taste very good.
But the truth was, I was drooling. You know how when you’re really hungry, just THINKING about food makes your mouth fill up with saliva?
All I could think about was that clownfish smoking over charcoal.
I wiped the drool off my chin before Chloe could see it. I couldn’t WAIT to get back to the tree house so Mom could cook up that fish.
But over our campfire, the clown fish shrunk right before my eyes. It got smaller and smaller and smaller. And by the time it was done cooking, it was about the size of Cammy’s foot.
Then Mom cut it up into six pieces. Six TINY pieces.
I didn’t even chew mine. I just swallowed it whole. Then I had to listen to Chloe chew hers slowly, right next to me, making lots of smacking noises too. That creeper is SO annoying.
I pretended like I didn’t want any more of Chloe’s clown fish. I grabbed a hunk of moldy bread and tore into it, pretending to enjoy every bite. Pretending like I DIDN’T want to throw up.
So now I’m wondering: Are we going to starve out here? Do I have enough pork chop leftovers in my backpack to get through the night? Is there a restaurant around here that I don’t know about? Or (GASP) … is our zombie guide going to show up and save us with his rotten flesh snacks?
GROSS.
Mom busted out the last of our carrots and apples, and Dad promised that he’d catch us some salmon tomorrow. But I’m not holding my breath.
Well, maybe I’m holding my breath a LITTLE. Because I gotta say, the pork chops in my backpack are really starting to stink.
DAY 8: SUNDAY
I had the SCARIEST daymare while I was sleeping today. Except when I woke up, I realized it WASN’T a daymare. It actually HAPPENED.
I’m still shaking like a slime on caffeine—the way Sam gets the jitters from too much hot chocolate. I can’t stop!
Here’s how it all went down:
I was sound asleep, dreaming about an ocelot. I could hear it growling. It was getting closer and closer. It crouched low, ready to attack. And then it SPRANG at me!
I’m not gonna lie, I screamed.
And then that ocelot was on top of me. Except it wasn’t the ocelot—it was Chloe trying to wake me up. And Mom was shushing me, telling me to be quiet because there was a critter outside.
Well I sure got quiet then—I mean, except for the THUD, THUD, THUD of my heart pounding in my ears. And then I heard it again. The GROWL of an ocelot.
Dad looked down the tree house ladder and whispered the words I DREADED. “It’s an ocelot.”
I about dropped dead right there on the spot, but Dad was super calm. He said the ocelot was sniffing up at the tree, like it could smell food. “Do we have any food in here?” he asked.
Everyone shook their heads. Everyone except ME.
Because I DID have food up here. And my secret stash of pork chops was about to get us all killed.
Well, I sprang into action. Super Gerald flung that backpack of meat as far out the tree house door as he could. I was pretty proud of that fling, especially when I heard the backpack hit the ground a LONG ways away. Phew!
Then we all waited, but we didn’t hear any more growling. Everyone else went back to sleep, but not me. No sirree. I’ve pretty much been awake since then. Because I just remembered something about cats, something I learned while hanging out with Sam and his cat Moo.
Cats can climb TREES.
DAY 9: MONDAY
You’ll be relieved to know that I’m still alive. Yup, I made it through the day yesterday and all night, too—SOMEHOW. But I had a few close calls, let me tell you.
When my family woke up last night, they pretty much acted like nothing had happened. As if there WASN’T a fierce animal prowling below our tree house. As if there weren’t a gazillion more of those critters out there in the jungle right now!
Dad wanted to fish, as usual. And Mom made me go with him, because she wanted us to watch Cammy while she climbed a few jungle trees looking for more cocoa beans.
I have to say, part of me was kind of curious to climb down that tree and look for my backpack. Would it be torn to smithereens? But the other part of me wanted to pull my sleeping bag over my head and just hide out. Like for the rest of my life.
So I told Mom that maybe CATE could watch Cammy. Because what else was my older sister going to do? Hang out in the tree house babysitting her MAKEUP?
Mom started hissing, which is never a good sign. Then she said something like “Go watch your sister, Gerald, or we might not be taking any more family trips during your lifetime, mister.”
Well, I slid right down that ladder before she blew. Mom’s really getting in touch with her wild side out here in the jungle. And I’m not exactly loving it.
On the way to the pond, I kept my eyes glued to the ground, looking for my backpack—I mean, except for every few seconds when I checked behind me, hoping there wasn’t a four-legged feline on my trail.
We made it to the pond alive, with no backpack sightings. Chl
oe caught a clownfish INSTANTLY, but I didn’t complain this time. If Clownfish Chloe was the creeper in the family who saved us all from starving, I’d be the first one to thank her.
Dad fished, too, while I watched Cammy. There sure are a lot of ways a baby creeper can get in trouble in the jungle. I mean, not only could she get eaten by an ocelot,
but she could wander off and get lost!
Or get beamed in the head by a cocoa bean!
Or eat a poisonous pufferfish!
Babysitting Cammy was going to be a big job. If Mom hadn’t gone all Jungle Creeper on me back there in the tree house, I would have asked for some emeralds for all this hard work.
Then Dad started complaining that his bucket was empty—that he wasn’t catching anything. I tried to make him feel better. I joked, “Holy buckets, Dad. Maybe there’s a hole in your bucket!”
But he didn’t exactly fall all over himself laughing.
When he told me to take a turn fishing, I didn’t say no. I was happy for an excuse to hand over my baby sister for a while.
And I’m not exaggerating here—the second I cast my line, I got a bite. Something tugged on that line, and I knew right away it was a big one.
