Chicken Chicken

by R. L. Stine

  My lips clicked as I ran. My heart pounded. I ran all the way home without slowing down once. Luckily, I didn’t run into anyone I knew on the street.

  Mom and Dad’s car was gone. I ran up the driveway and into the house through the kitchen door.

  Cole turned shakily from the sink. “Crystal—!” he cried. I could tell instantly that something was wrong.

  I turned my face away. I didn’t want him to see my ugly bird mouth.

  But he rushed forward, grabbed my arm, and turned me around. “Mom and Dad aren’t home,” he murmured. “I—I have to show you something.”

  “Cole—what is it?” I demanded, my lips clicking. “Why are you—click click—wearing that bath towel around your neck?”

  “I … need help,” he replied, lowering his eyes.

  He slowly unwrapped the blue bath towel. Then he slid it off his neck. “Look,” he insisted.

  I gasped.

  Feathers!

  He had white feathers poking out from his neck and shoulders.

  “Cole—when did this happen?” I shrieked.

  “BLUCCCK BLUUUCK BUCCCCK,” he clucked, his eyes wide with horror.

  “Stop it!” I cried angrily. “This is no time for your stupid clucking!”

  And then I realized that he had tricked me again. The feathers weren’t really growing from his body. He had glued them on or something.

  “BLUUUCK. I … can’t … stop the clucking!” he choked out, rubbing his throat.

  “Yeah. Sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes. I reached out and plucked a white feather from the back of his neck.

  I expected the fake feather to slide off easily.

  But my brother’s hands shot up. “OUCH!” he screamed.

  The tip of the feather left a small hole in his skin. I grabbed a big feather on his shoulder—and pulled it.

  “Hey—careful!” Cole cried, moving away from me. “BLUUUCK CLUUUCK. That really hurts!”

  “Oh, no!” I gasped. “They’re real! You … you’re really growing—click click—feathers!”

  “Uh … uh … uh …” Cole started to whimper. His feathery shoulders shook up and down.

  “Take it easy,” I told him. I guided him gently into his room. “I’ll pull them off. I’ll be really careful. You’ll be okay.”

  I made him sit down on the edge of the bed. I leaned over him and started to pluck out the white feathers. I tried to be as gentle as I could. But he jumped each time I tugged one out.

  “We’ve got to tell Mom and Dad,” he said softly, his eyes lowered to the floor. “Ouch.”

  “They’re almost all out,” I told him. I plucked a long one off the back of his neck. He jumped. “No problem. You will look perfectly normal.”

  “But we’ve still got to tell Mom and Dad,” he insisted.

  “Do you think they’ll believe us?” I asked. My hard lips clicked with each word.

  Cole gazed up at me. “Hey—what’s up with your lips?”

  “Oh—I—uh …” I covered them with one hand. “Just chapped,” I said. “Very chapped.”

  I don’t know why. I didn’t want to let him know that weird things were happening to me, too.

  “You look disgusting!” Cole exclaimed. “Yuck!”

  It seemed to cheer him up a lot.

  I tugged the last two feathers out as hard as I could.

  “Hey—!” he cried out angrily. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

  I stepped back. White feathers covered the bed and floor. “You’d better pick them up,” I clicked.

  He clucked in reply.

  I still had one hand over my mouth. I didn’t need any more comments from him about how disgusting my lips looked. I hurried to the bathroom to find some cream for them.

  Mom and Dad stayed out very late. Cole and I tried to stay awake because we wanted to talk to them. But finally, we gave up and went to bed.

  Sunday morning I woke up late. The sun was already high in the sky. Orange sunlight washed over my room from the open window. A soft breeze ruffled my feathers.

  Huh? Feathers?

  “Ohhhh.” I sat up with a groan. My neck itched like crazy. My arms itched, too.

  I blinked myself awake. And stared at the white feathers up and down my arms.

  I opened my mouth to scream. But all that came out was a choked “goggle goggle goggle.” Like a clucking hen.

  I leaped out of bed and hurtled to the dresser mirror. I pulled down the top of my nightshirt and gasped. My shoulders and arms were covered with fluffy, white and brown feathers.

  I brushed my hand over my lips. They had grown even harder. Hard as bone.

  I saw something move in the mirror. I twirled around to find Cole in my bedroom doorway.

  “Crystal—” he clucked. He staggered into the room. White feathers bristled on his shoulders and under his chin. They had grown back.

  “Look at me!” I clicked.

  “BLUCCK BLUCCCCK,” Cole replied.

  I turned back to the mirror and started frantically pulling off my feathers. It hurt each time. But I didn’t care. I wanted them off !

  It didn’t take long. I plucked them all off. Then I gathered them up and tossed them into the wastebasket. Then I helped Cole remove his feathers.

  His lips had hardened during the night. His fingernails had grown. His hands suddenly looked sort of like claws.

  “Vanessa,” he murmured.

  I stared at him. I knew instantly what he meant.

  I had been thinking the same thing all along. Remembering the horrible moment we spilled Vanessa’s groceries.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to believe it. But Vanessa did this to us. Vanessa is BLUUUUCCK BLUCCCK turning us into chickens.”

  “Chicken chicken,” he clucked.

  I heard clattering sounds downstairs in the kitchen. Mom and Dad!

  “We have to BLUUUUCK tell them!” I cried. “We have to tell them everything!”

  Cole and I both bolted for the bedroom door at the same time. We squeezed through together. Then we ran side by side down the hall.

  I could hear Mom’s voice from the kitchen.

  Cole and I started calling to her as we hurried down the stairs.

  “Mom—we need BLUUUCCK help!” I cried. “It’s Vanessa. She really does have BLUUUCCK CLUUCK powers!”

  “She’s turning us into chickens!” Cole called to Mom as we reached the downstairs hall and went running to the kitchen. “We’re growing feathers and everything!”

  “It’s the truth!” I cried. “You’ve got to help us. Cole and I—BLUUUCK—we’re both turning into chickens!”

  “That’s good news,” Mom replied calmly. “I need two more chickens for the barbecue this afternoon.”

  “Huh?”

  “Barbecue us?”

  Cole and I both gasped. Was Mom joking?

  As soon as we burst into the kitchen, I realized that Mom wasn’t talking to us. She was on the phone. She had her back to us and was drumming her fingernails on the Formica counter beside the phone.

  My eyes swept over the kitchen. It was cluttered with pans and serving bowls, cut-up lettuce and tomatoes, a bag of potatoes, bottles of barbecue sauce, and a pile of chicken parts on a tray beside the sink.

  What a mess!

  “Mom—we … we CLUUUCK BLUUUCK have to talk to you!” I sputtered.

  She turned, still talking, and waved. She said a few more words, then hung up the phone. “You two slept so late,” she said, frowning at the wall clock. “It’s nearly noon, and our guests will be here in an hour or two.”

  “Mom—” I started.

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and moved toward the sink. “Did you forget we’re having a big barbecue this afternoon? We’re having at least twenty guests, and—and—” She gestured to the pile of chicken parts.

  The sight of them made my stomach turn.

  “Cluuucck bluuuck,” Cole murmured.


  I stepped over to the sink. “We have to talk to you,” I said, taking Mom’s arm. “Cole and I—we have a problem. A real problem.”

  “About the chorus practice you missed this morning?” Mom interrupted. She took a small brush and began slapping barbecue sauce on the chicken parts. Then she tossed each part in a big china bowl.

  “No, Mom. I—”

  “That was Mrs. Mellon on the phone,” Mom continued. “She wondered where you were. She was calling to make sure you two were okay.”

  “We’re not okay,” I said solemnly.

  “She’s such a nice woman. She’s bringing two barbecued chickens of her own this afternoon. For people who don’t like them hot and spicy the way I make them.”

  She turned to me. “Crystal, you can help me cut up the peppers.”

  “Mom—please!” Cole cried. “Stop talking about the chickens!”

  “We have something to tell you,” I said

  “Your dad is out back, getting the barbecue grills ready,” Mom said, brushing red sauce on a wing. “Oh! Ice! We have to remember to buy ice!”

  “Mom—Cole and I are turning into chickens,” I told her.

  She laughed. “Ice and paper plates,” she murmured. “I don’t want to use real plates. Too much of a mess.”

  “No. Really!” I grabbed her arm. The brush fell into the chicken bowl.

  “Crystal—I really don’t have time,” Mom sighed. She blew a strand of hair off her forehead and picked up the brush. “You and Cole should get yourself some breakfast—or lunch. Then see if you can help your dad.”

  “BLUUUUCK!” Cole exclaimed.

  “Listen to me, Mom,” I begged. “Do you hear Cole clucking like that?”

  “Yes. Very nice clucking,” she murmured, tossing a leg into the bowl.

  “Do you see my lips?” I demanded. “Vanessa is doing this to us. We bumped Vanessa and spilled her groceries. So she is turning us CLUUUUCK into chickens.”

  “Please, you two,” Mom groaned. “Can’t you see how frantic I am? I don’t have time to—”

  She stopped when she glimpsed my lips. “Yuck! Those are really chapped.”

  “They’re not chapped!” I screamed. “I’m growing a beak!”

  “CLUUUCK BLUUUCK,” Cole added.

  Mom tossed up her hands. “Go put some cream on your lips, Crystal. And keep out of my way, okay? I don’t have time for jokes today. If you’re not going to help, just don’t make more trouble.”

  I turned to Cole. He shook his head unhappily.

  We both slumped out of the room. “Do you think Dad will listen to us?” Cole asked weakly.

  I clicked my lips. “I don’t think so,” I muttered. “He’s as busy as Mom is.”

  “Then what can we do?” Cole asked. He scratched his neck. Were the feathers growing back already?

  An idea popped into my head. “Anthony!” I cried.

  “Huh? What about him?” Cole demanded.

  “Anthony was with us!” I explained. “The same thing is probably happening to him. He’s probably changing into a chicken like us.”

  Cole rubbed his chin hard. “Cluuuuck. Bluuuuck. Yeah. Probably.”

  “So if all three of us tell our story to Mom and Dad, then maybe they’ll believe us!” I cried.

  “It’s worth a try,” Cole agreed excitedly. “Let’s hurry over to Anthony’s house.”

  We each grabbed a glass of orange juice. And a Pop-Tart, which we ate raw.

  Then we ran out the front door and headed to Anthony’s house.

  We had run less than a block when we bumped into Vanessa.

  Well. This time we didn’t really bump into her.

  I saw her before Cole did, hurrying toward us on the other side of the street. Despite the heat, she was dressed all in black. She wore a black cotton shawl over the shoulders of her black dress. It fluttered behind her as she strode along the sidewalk.

  “Oh—it’s her!” Cole whispered, poking me in the side.

  We both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared openmouthed as she approached.

  Would she say something to us?

  Could I work up the nerve to say something to her?

  My heart pounded. My lips clicked nervously.

  Cole’s head started bobbing up and down on his neck. Just like a chicken. He let out a frightened cluck.

  My poor brother.

  Seeing him like that made me forget my fear. “Vanessa—!” I shouted.

  She kept walking, taking those long, gliding strides of hers. Her shawl fluttered behind her.

  “Vanessa—!” I repeated her name.

  She had a look of solemn concentration on her face. I don’t think she had even seen Cole and me.

  Finally, she stopped. She stared across the street at us as if she didn’t recognize us.

  “BLUUUUCK BLUUUCK!” my brother clucked angrily.

  That brought a smile to her black-lipsticked lips. She laughed, and her dark eyes flashed.

  She brushed back her straight, black hair. “Bluck bluck to you, too!” she called. “Chicken chicken!” Then she turned and hurried along the sidewalk.

  “Bluuuck—wait!” Cole called after her. His head bobbed frantically up and down.

  “You have to help us!” I cried, my hard lips clicking.

  Vanessa began walking faster. Her black hair flew behind her. She didn’t look back.

  We found Anthony fiddling around with a golf club in his front yard. He had borrowed one of his dad’s putters. And he had scooped out a hole in the middle of the grass.

  We watched him sink a long putt as we ran across the front lawn. He flashed us two thumbs up. “Awesome, huh? I’ve been practicing.”

  “Awesome,” I muttered. I was still thinking about Vanessa, still feeling really upset and frightened.

  “Bluuck buuck,” Cole said.

  Anthony narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s up, guys? My parents are going to your barbecue. But I have soccer practice.”

  Anthony pulled the ball from the hole and carried it a few feet away. He set it down, then leaned over the putter and prepared to putt again.

  “Anthony, has anything weird been happening to you?” I blurted out.

  “Yeah,” Cole chimed in. “In the last two days—anything really weird?”

  Anthony swung the golf club. It made a solid thwock as the club hit the ball. The ball sailed across the grass and stopped a few inches from the hole.

  Anthony raised his eyes to us. “Yeah,” he replied. “Something weird has been happening. How did you know?”

  “Because BLUUUCK the same weird thing has been happening to us,” I told him.

  He stared hard at me. “Huh?”

  Cole and I nodded.

  Anthony made a face. He pretended to study his golf club. “You mean you suddenly started putting really well, too?” he asked.

  It was our turn to be surprised. “Putting? What does putting have to do with it?” I cried.

  “Well, that’s what’s so weird,” Anthony replied. “Before this weekend, I was a lousy putter. Really bad news. I couldn’t even play minigolf!”

  “So what?” Cole chimed in.

  “So this weekend I’m really good at it,” Anthony continued. He twirled the club in his hand. “All of a sudden, I’m not a bad putter. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

  “But—but—but—” I sputtered.

  “What about growing feathers?” Cole demanded. “And what about your lips?”

  Anthony’s face filled with confusion. Then he turned to me. “What’s with your brother? Is he going totally mental or what?”

  “Are you clucking all the time?” Cole asked Anthony.

  Anthony laughed. He cut it short quickly. “I don’t get it. Is this a joke or something, guys?”

  I pulled my brother to the driveway. “He doesn’t know what we’re talking about,” I whispered. “For some reason, it isn’t happening to him.”

  Cole’s head bobbed up and down. He
let out a low cluck.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “Anthony isn’t going to be any help.”

  “I don’t get the joke,” Anthony repeated.

  “See you BLUUUCK later!” I called to him. I started pulling Cole down the street. “We’ve got to help out with the barbecue.”

  “Maybe I can come after soccer practice,” Anthony called. “Save me some chicken!”

  “Yeah. Sure,” I muttered unhappily.

  Guests were already arriving for the barbecue. I recognized my aunt Norma’s red Honda in the driveway. And I saw the Walker family from down the block, heading around the side of the house to the back.

  I ducked in through the front door and ran up to my room. I wanted to tell Mom what was happening to Cole and me. But I knew she was too busy. She wouldn’t listen.

  I closed the bedroom door 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. 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.”