Stampede of the Supermarket Slugs

by Bill Doyle

  Henry tapped his nose, thinking. “We’ll have to split up again,” he said.

  “Oh man …,” Keats groaned.

  “It’s the best way,” Henry said. “The sooner we send the slugs to Snoozeville, the quicker we can leave.”

  “It’s not that,” Keats said. He turned Henry around to face the pet-food aisle.

  Down near the water bowls, six dogs were chasing squeaky cat toys in circles. At least they looked like dogs. Their bodies were made of bone-shaped treats. And when they opened their mouths to bark or snap at the toys, kibble fell out.

  “Please tell me I’m imagining that,” Keats said to Henry.

  “Wish I could, cuz,” Henry responded.

  A clanging came from the next aisle over. Henry and Keats shared a worried look. Together they took a few steps to peek into the cleaning aisle.

  A band of ten mops battled a crew of a dozen brooms. Their handles waved through the air like swords as they crashed against each other. Whack! Whack! From the shelves, an audience of metal dustpans clapped and clanged. Henry and Keats jumped as a sponge fired from a bucket like a cannonball.

  Weird noises—grunts, bells, ripping, and crashing—came from around the store.

  “What’s going on?” Henry asked just as a breeze blew past them. “And, phew! What’s that stink?”

  Keats took a whiff. The breeze smelled like mothballs. It reminded him of the air that came out of the tube in the office. Keats nodded slowly as the pieces fell into place. “Remember how Mr. Cigam’s house was full of crazy, mixed-up magic?” he asked.

  Henry chuckled. “Uh, kind of hard to forget, Keats.”

  “When we opened the panel, I bet we let in air from Hallway House,” Keats said. “Now that air is blowing all around the store. It’s making things go berserk!”

  “Oh man,” Henry said. “Giant slugs and weird magic air? Let’s get moving before something even creepier shows up.”

  He handed Keats a plastic shopping bag from a checkout lane and took one for himself. Before they split up, Henry said, “You grab the top two things on the list. I’ll get the bottom two. And I’ll meet you at the seafood counter for the octopus legs.”

  The cousins headed off in different directions. Keats moved fast through the store but kept an eye out for danger. A slug and its sharp teeth might be just around the corner.

  The barbecue sauce sat on a shelf with the mustard and ketchup at the end of an aisle. He tossed a bottle in his bag and rushed on. A rolling herd of toilet paper nearly tripped him, but he soon made it to the fruits and vegetables. During a quick look around, Keats spotted the almost-empty table of clementines.

  “There’s only one clementine left, Henry!” Keats yelled, putting the fruit in his bag. “We’ll need more than that for the potion. There’s a lot of slugs!”

  “I’ve got my own problems here in dairy!” Henry shouted from the back of the store. “Should milk cartons be mooing?”

  Keats didn’t have time to answer. An orange ball whizzed toward his head. He ducked and it just missed him. When he looked up, he gasped. The air swirled with bright colors.

  “Whoa,” Keats said. “They’re fruit flies.”

  Above him, pineapples spun like helicopters. Green melons floated like balloons. Bananas wobbled like boomerangs.

  And there! A flock of twenty clementines soared to the ceiling. Then they dipped at the same time in a long, gliding arc. Keats crouched when they zipped past his head and flew back up. As he watched, they repeated this pattern over and over.

  He needed to catch a couple of them. But how?

  Keats scrambled onto the empty table. Keeping his head tucked down, he opened the shopping bag with both hands. He waved it over his head like a net and waited. Fft. The bag jerked in his hands once. Fft. And again.

  Yes! He had captured two more clementines! Once in his bag, they stopped trying to fly and turned back into normal fruit.

  Keats jumped to the floor. “Hey, Henry!” he shouted. “I’ve got the fruit and the barbecue sauce!”

  “And I found the milk and molasses!” Henry yelled. “Meet me at seafood!”

  The seafood counter was in the back of the store. The ice-packed case was piled high with raw fish fillets and shellfish. Over the counter, an electronic sign said in neon green letters PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER—NOW SERVING CUSTOMER 56!

  Henry and Keats greeted each other with a high five. They went around to the back of the glass case.

  “I took a peek at the slugs after getting the molasses,” Henry said. He set down his shopping bag and hunted for octopus legs among the heaps of seafood. “Don’t panic, but the cheese puffs are almost gone.”

  Keats felt his stomach flip-flop. “They might come after us next!” he sputtered.

  Henry opened the seafood case. “Luckily, we only have two things left on the slug sleep potion list. Nacho cheese dip … and these beautiful babies!” He reached into the case and scooped up three slithery octopus legs. Grinning, he pulled his hand back out. “Now we’ll just—”

  He didn’t finish. Two dozen lobster claws shot out of the seafood case. Ka-fling! Ka-fling! Ka-fling! They latched all along Henry’s shirt and pants and shoved him back against the concrete wall.

  “Keats,” he wheezed, the wind knocked out of him. The claws slid him ten feet straight up the wall.

  Keats dropped his shopping bag and jumped to grab Henry’s foot. He couldn’t reach it.

  “Help!” Henry shouted, getting his breath back. He struggled, but the claws had him pinned. “These little guys are really strong—ouch!”

  The claws began pulling Henry’s arms and legs in different directions. Above his head, the number 56 on the electronic sign turned red. It blinked a warning. Keats stared at it for a second.

  “Henry, I know what’s wrong!” Keats called out. “You didn’t take a number. It wasn’t your turn and you took the octopus legs. Drop the legs!”

  Henry opened his hand. Two of the octopus legs slithered to the floor.

  “All of the legs!” Keats demanded. “You have to drop all of them!”

  “I can’t,” Henry said. He nodded at his right hand. The claws had pinned Henry’s hand to the wall. The last octopus leg was stuck behind it.

  Keats ran to the dispenser. He pulled out the next ticket, number 56.

  “Henry, catch!” He tried to toss the ticket to Henry, but it was too light. It just drifted to the ground.

  Keats needed to make it heavier. He reached into the garbage and grabbed a fish head. He popped the ticket into the gaping mouth.

  The sign blinked faster and made a beeping sound. The lobster claws holding Henry pulled harder. They quivered like rockets about to take off.

  “Hurry!” Henry shouted.

  Keats loved basketball but he wasn’t always very good at it. This time, though, he had to make the shot. Taking a deep breath, Keats launched the fish head into the air.

  Henry leaned forward to catch it the only way he could—with his mouth. His teeth clamped down on the fish head and the ticket inside.

  Right away, the sign stopped beeping and blinking. Henry slid down the wall to the floor. Click! Click! The claws unclamped from his clothes.

  “Blech,” Henry said. He spit out the fish head and wiped the scales off his tongue. But then he grinned. “Nice shot, Keats. Next time we’re on the court, I want you on my team.”

  “Sounds good,” Keats said with a smile. He picked up his shopping bag so Henry could drop the octopus legs inside.

  “We just need one more thing for the potion,” Henry said. “Nacho cheese dip.”

  Keats nodded and took out the map of the store.

  “Uh-oh,” Henry said as Keats’s face went white. “What is it now?”

  “The nacho cheese dip is in the snack aisle,” Keats said miserably. “Right next to the cheese puffs … and the slugs!”

  6

  CHECK BACK SOON!

  CARRYING THEIR BAGS, the cousins ran along the store’
s back wall toward the snack aisle.

  On the way, an angry snowman made of frozen yogurt hurled ice cubes at them from the freezer section. Boxes of cornflakes exploded on the cereal shelves. Everywhere the smell of mothballs was growing stronger.

  “We better hurry,” Keats said.

  When they reached the end of the snack aisle, Henry and Keats peeked around the corner.

  The slugs swarmed the shelves just a few feet away. Their eyes were closed as they focused on gobbling up the snacks. Only a couple of cheese-puff bags remained.

  Keats pulled Henry back out of the snack aisle.

  “There are at least thirty slugs now!” he whispered. “Where are they coming from?”

  “No idea,” Henry said. “But let’s mix up the rest of the potion right here. Then we can just toss in the dip when we get it.”

  The recipe called for warm milk, so Keats put the milk carton under his armpit. Meanwhile, Henry poured the barbecue sauce and molasses into one of the bags. Then he squished up the clementines and octopus legs and threw them in, too. When Keats added the milk, the bag bulged with an orange paste.

  “You ready?” Henry asked.

  Keats nodded. Carrying the shopping bag, he followed Henry into the aisle. They tiptoed near the slugs. The cousins were careful not to make a sound, then—

  SCRUNCH! Keats’s foot crinkled on an empty snack wrapper. He winced. And waited for the slugs to attack.

  Luckily, the slugs were still too intent on eating to notice.

  Henry stepped closer to the shelves of dips. He read the labels in a low voice. “Artichoke dip, chocolate dip, egg cream dip … Wait.…” He trailed off.

  “What is it?” Keats whispered.

  Henry pointed at the shelf labeled NACHO CHEESE DIP. On it sat a card with a picture of a grinning purple rabbit. The card said SORRY! WE’RE BUSY RESTOCKING THIS ITEM! PLEASE CHECK BACK SOON!

  “Check back soon?” Keats’s voice cracked. “We don’t have soon! And we can’t make the potion without the dip!”

  Behind him, with a chorus of burps and lip smacking, the slugs finished off the last bag of cheese puffs.

  Their baseball-sized eyes opened slowly. They turned their dark gaze on Henry and Keats. Squirt and the other slugs dropped from the shelves to the floor with a squishy plop! plop!

  “Run!” Keats yelled.

  Too late. Wriggling fast, the slugs surrounded the cousins. Keats and Henry couldn’t jump over this many slugs. They were trapped.

  Henry kicked the bottom shelf. “Why are they mad at us?” he asked. “It’s not our fault the only cheese puffs left in town are at the picnic! We didn’t—”

  “SPLURP!” Squirt yelled. And then he added, “Splarb!”

  Keats shivered. What scary thing was Squirt ordering the slugs to do next?

  The thirty slugs lifted their heads. As one, they smelled the air. They made deep loud sniffs, again and again.

  “Uh … okay, this is weird,” Henry said. “Are they going to sneeze us to death?”

  Their heads jerked to the side, as if catching a special scent. They smelled the air a few more times. Then the slugs oozed away toward the front of the store.

  “What are they doing?” Keats asked.

  Keats and Henry followed the slugs and found them banging on the locked front door. It didn’t budge. The slugs turned to the huge window that faced the parking lot. They knocked their eyestalks on the thick glass and pressed their weight up against it.

  “Woo-hoo!” Henry jumped around. “The slugs are trying to leave! We’re safe!”

  Henry put up his hand for a high five. But Keats didn’t meet it. Something was wrong.…

  “Don’t worry, Keats,” Henry said. “We gave the job our best shot.”

  “That’s not the problem,” Keats said. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.… It was right in front of his nose.…

  Then it hit him. “Fingers! Noses!” Keats yelped. “Henry, we have to keep the slugs here!”

  “Are you nuts?” Henry said.

  “We can’t let them leave,” Keats insisted. “The slugs are headed to the picnic! Think about it. People at the picnic have been eating cheese puffs all day. They have cheesy powder all over their fingers and faces.”

  Now Henry got it. “They’ll be in real trouble if a bunch of hungry giant slugs show up. We have to stop them!”

  The cousins sprang into action.

  Keats pointed to the pay phone near the front doors. “I’ll call for help,” he said.

  “And I’ll keep the slugs busy,” Henry said. He jumped on the back of the shopping cart and wheeled around the slugs. He came just close enough to get their attention, but he managed to avoid their snapping jaws.

  Henry said, “Get to the phone, Keats!”

  Dropping the shopping bag, Keats dashed around the corner toward the front doors—

  And right into a puddle of slug slime. His feet slipped out from under him.

  “Umph!” Keats fell onto his side.

  “Keats!” Henry called. “You might want to hurry!”

  Still on the floor, Keats looked back. Several slugs had grabbed the front of Henry’s shopping cart with their teeth. They shook their heads and Henry was thrown off. He landed near a pile of shopping bags.

  The slugs lifted the shopping cart. Like a catapult, they flung it at the window. The cart bounced off, but the glass cracked.

  “We’re running out of time!” Henry yelled.

  Keats got to his feet. The slime puddle sat between him and the phone. He backed up and took a running jump. He almost made it. But not quite. He landed with a splash in the slime. Somehow, though, he stayed on his feet. He stumbled toward the pay phone. He reached for it—

  Keats’s hand grabbed at air. The receiver was gone. A torn cord dangled from the wall. Maybe the receiver had run off with the office phone. Or maybe the slugs had eaten it. Either way, they needed a new plan.

  “Henry!” Keats waded back through slime. “There’s no phone!”

  The slugs rammed the cart into the window again. This time it smashed through the glass, leaving a giant hole. The slugs chattered happily as they crawled through to the parking lot.

  Stunned, Keats and Henry watched as Squirt sniffed the air once more. Then he shouted a command, “Splurp!” He and the other slugs lowered their eyestalks against their heads. They tucked their bodies into balls.

  “Splarb!” Squirt yelled.

  The slugs rolled out of the parking lot and down Main Street. They were moving downhill, heading straight for the park. Even if Henry and Keats ran to get their bikes, they wouldn’t be able to catch up. Or warn the people at the picnic.

  The cousins looked at each other, wide-eyed.

  “This definitely isn’t good,” Henry said.

  7

  STAMPEDE!

  “WHAT CAN WE do?” Keats said. “Everyone in the park is in danger!”

  Henry searched the tattered snack bags on the floor. “If we had more cheese puffs, maybe we could distract the slugs.”

  “If,” Keats repeated. “The cheese puffs are all gone!” To make the point, he waved around an empty wrapper. Then he stopped. The orange wrapper reminded him of something.

  “Too bad we can’t make more puffs, right?” Henry said.

  “Maybe we can!” Keats said. He ran to where he’d dropped the shopping bag. He held the top closed and shook it to mix up the ingredients again.

  Henry watched, frowning. “Uh, Keats,” he said, “the potion won’t work without the dip. Plus that stuff stinks!”

  Keats ignored him. He scooped both hands into the orange slop. It slid through his fingers like a mix of rotten bananas and old tuna fish. He gritted his teeth—and smeared it all over his arms.

  “Keats!” Henry shouted. “Stop!”

  Keats still didn’t listen. He wiped the sticky paste over his clothes, on his face, and in his hair.

  “Follow me,” Keats said when he was done. Leaving orange footprint
s, he climbed out the broken window to the parking lot. He rushed to the shopping cart thrown by the slugs. He turned it upright.

  Henry stormed over to him. “What are you doing with Thunder?” he demanded. “Why’d you put that junk all over yourself? Answer me!”

  “You said we needed cheese puffs to distract the slugs,” Keats explained as he climbed into the shopping cart. “Well, you’re looking at one.” He pointed at himself. “I’m disguised as a giant cheese puff. Give me a push and hop on the back. We’ll catch up and lead the slugs away from the picnic. Let’s go!”

  Henry shook his head. “This is a bad idea.” For once, Keats would have loved to see his cousin scratching his chin. But Henry was telling the truth.

  “It’s the only way!” Keats said. “Hurry! Before the slugs get too far!”

  Henry looked down the street and came to a decision. “Oh man,” he finally said. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  Shaking his head, he pushed the cart with Keats crouched inside. They peeled out of the parking lot and hit Main Street. When they started speeding downhill, Henry jumped on the back.

  “I hope this—” Henry began to say. But his foot slipped on a patch of slug slime. Then he was gone.

  Henry fell off and hit the road hard. Wham! He reached for the cart. Too late. Thunder whizzed down Main Street. Keats was alone now. And going faster.

  “I can’t stop!” Keats shouted over his shoulder to Henry.

  Henry got to his feet. “I’ll get my bike and catch up!” he called. “Hold on!”

  While Henry ran back toward the store, Keats turned to face forward. The stores on either side zipped by in a blur. The wind whipped past as he hurtled down the hill. The cart’s wheels rattled like they might fall off.

  He bumped over a small rise. And there up ahead, barely visible between two hills, were the slugs!

  They’d stopped to chew on a few orange construction cones. Their eyestalks followed him like periscopes as he rocketed past.

  Keats shot up over the next hill. The shopping cart caught air for a second, and the front wheels came down crooked. The cart jerked up onto the sidewalk. It flipped over, tossing Keats onto the grass between the street and the sidewalk. He tumbled across the pavement.