Chicken Chicken

by R. L. Stine

  “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.

  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 feel as if they were turning inside out!

  The next morning, I needed Cole’s help in pulling all the feathers from my neck and shoulders. Some big white feathers had poked out of my back, and I couldn’t reach them.

  It took us each twenty minutes to pluck out all the feathers that had grown during the night. We hid them in my sweater drawer. We didn’t want Mom or Dad to see them before we had a chance to explain.

  The school day went so slowly. My neck and back kept itching. I prayed that feathers wouldn’t grow while I was in school.

  And I prayed that none of my teachers would call on me in class. I was clucking more and more. It was becoming a real struggle to talk.

  My team had a basketball game in the gym after school against a girls’ team from the next county. I had looked forward to it all week. But now I just wanted to hurry home before any kids saw me clucking or pecking seeds from the playground.

  I dropped my books in my locker. And I was sneaking to the front door of the school—when Coach Clay turned the corner. “Crystal, I was looking for you!” she cried.

  “Cluck?” I replied.

  “Hilary has a bad cold. I’m going to let you start at forward today,” she told me.

  “Cluck—” I started.

  But she didn’t give me a chance to reply. She placed her hands on my shoulders, turned me around, and marched me to the locker room. “I know you’re going to be great,” she said. “Go get changed.”

  “Cluck,” I told her. Normally, I’d be totally pumped! I was going to be the starting forward. This is what I had dreamed about all year!

  As I changed into my uniform, the other girls all came over to slap me high fives and wish me good luck.

  Maybe I can do it, I told myself. Maybe I will play really well. Maybe I can show them just how good a player I am.

  But as soon as the game started, I knew I was in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  Our team won the opening jump. I turned and began running to the other team’s basket.

  I leaned forward as I ran. My head bobbed up and down.

  Up and down. Up and down.

  Low clucks escaped my throat.

  I tried to straighten up. But I couldn’t.

  Our center took a shot. Missed. We all started to run back to the other basket.

  “Nooooo,” I moaned.

  To my horror, I realized that I couldn’t run without bobbing my head.

  I glanced to the sideline—and saw Coach Clay staring at me. “Crystal—what are you doing?” she called.

  I heard some kids laughing at me.

  “Crystal—stop goofing,” Gina, the other forward, scolded me.

  The action moved to our opponents’ basket, and I ran down court. My head bobbed up and down. I realized I was running stiff-legged. My knees no longer bent!

  The ball came sailing toward me.

  I couldn’t catch it. My hands were tucked under my armpits. My elbows were poked out like wings.

  I let out a loud cluck as the ball bounced off my shoulder.

  My head bobbed up and down.

  My teammates were yelling angrily at me. On the sideline, I saw Coach Clay shaking her head. Girls on the other team were laughing.

  Down the court. I tried to pry my hands from my armpits as I ran. My head bobbed. My lips clicked.

  I glanced down—and stopped.

  No!

  My legs.

  White feathers were sprouting up and down my legs.

  And everyone could see them.

  I heard a whistle blow. The referee called a time out.

  My teammates ran toward our bench. I took off in the other direction. I ran out of the gym and out of the school.

  I wanted to run and run and never stop.

  I hid in my room during dinner. I was so depressed—and frightened. I wanted to tell Mom and Dad everything. But what if they didn’t believe me? What if they thought it was all a joke?

  After dinner, Mom and Dad had to go to school for a Parents Association meeting. Cole and I waited until we heard the car pull away. Then we waddled downstairs to the living room.

  We were down on our knees, pecking crumbs in the rug.

  My body was covered with white and brown feathers. It would take hours to pull them all off.

  “I—CLUUUUCK—I’m so scared,” Cole stammered.

  “Me, too,” I confessed. I pecked at a big chunk of lint.

  “Crystal, what are we going to do?” Cole asked softly.

  I started to say, “I don’t know.”

  But I suddenly knew exactly what we had to do.

  We crept out into a cool, windy night. The swirling wind ruffled my feathers. Up above, a pale half-moon kept sliding behind wispy clouds.

  Cole and I walked along the street that led to town. We tried to hurry. But our legs felt stiff, and our knees were hard to bend.

  Car headlights swept over the street toward us. We slipped behind a low hedge and hid, clucking softly. We didn’t want anyone to see us like this. And we didn’t want anyone to ask us where we were going.

  We passed through town, making our way along the backs of stores. Trees hissed and shook as the wind picked up. The air grew heavy and moist. I felt a few raindrops on my forehead.
<
br />   A sweet aroma made me take a deep breath. It came from the bakery. I realized that Mrs. Wagner must be baking doughnuts for tomorrow morning.

  A sad cry escaped my beak. Would I ever be able to taste a doughnut again? Or would I spend the rest of my life pecking my food off the ground?

  Cole and I turned onto the dirt path that led to Vanessa’s old farmhouse. The night grew darker—and colder—as soon as we moved away from town.

  Our shoes plodded heavily over the hard dirt path. A few minutes later, I could see the black outline of Vanessa’s house against the gray sky.

  “What are we CLUUUCK going to say to her?” Cole demanded softly.

  I brushed a raindrop off my eyebrow. My hand felt rough and scratchy, my fingers hard as bone.

  “I’m going to BLUUUCK tell her how sorry we are,” I replied. “I’m going to tell her we didn’t mean to knock over her groceries. That it was all a big accident. And we’re sorry we didn’t stay and help her pick them up. CLUUUUCK.”

  We stepped up to Vanessa’s wooden fence. The gate had been left open. It banged in the wind.

  I raised my eyes to the house. It hung over the tall grass like a low, dark creature. No lights on anywhere.

  Had she already gone to sleep?

  “I—I don’t bluuuck think she’s home,” Cole whispered.

  “Of course she’s home,” I replied sharply. “Where else would she cluuuuck be? There’s nowhere to go at night in Goshen Falls.”

  We stepped through the gate. I tried to latch it behind us to stop it from banging. But the latch was broken.

  “What do we say after we apologize?” Cole asked, hanging back.

  I placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him along with me to the front door.

  “Then we beg her to remove the spell,” I clucked. “We beg her to change us back to the way we were.”

  “Do you think she’ll do it?” he asked in a tiny voice.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But we’ll soon find out.”

  I knocked on the front door.

  No answer.

  The gate banged behind us. Startled, Cole and I both jumped.

  I took a deep breath and pounded my scraggly fist on the door again.

  We waited, staring straight ahead. Listening to the harsh whisper of the trees, and to the banging gate.

  Silence in the house.

  I uttered a sigh of disappointment and turned to my brother. “You were right. Vanessa isn’t home.”

  We backed away from the house. Clouds floated away from the moon. The front window glinted with silvery moonlight.

  “Let’s peek inside,” I urged.

  We made our way to the window. Standing on tiptoes, we peered into the living room.

  In the silvery light, I stared at the dark shapes of furniture. Old-fashioned, high-back chairs. A long couch covered with pillows. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

  Everything was very old-looking. But I didn’t see anything strange or frightening.

  Then a stack of books caught my eye. They were piled on a small, square table beside the couch. The books were big and thick. And even in the pale light, I could see that their covers were old and cracked.

  Squinting into the room, I spotted two more of them, lying open on the low coffee table in front of the couch.

  “Cole—” I whispered, my heart starting to pound. “See those old books? Do you think they are books about magic?”

  “Huh?” He pressed his face against the glass. “What do you mean?”

  “You know. Bluuuck. Books about magic spells. Sorcery books. They look like they could be old spell books—don’t they?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  I plucked a white feather from under his chin.

  “Owww!” he yelped. “Why’d you do that?”

  I shrugged. “Sorry. It was bothering me.” I turned my face back to the window and stared at the old books.

  “Let’s go,” Cole urged, tugging my arm. “She isn’t here.”

  “But those books are here,” I replied, tugging myself free. “And if they are spell books, maybe we could find the right book. You know. Bluuuuck. With the right spell. And we could change ourselves back to normal!”

  Cole rolled his eyes. He clicked his beak. “Yeah. Sure. Then maybe I’ll flap my arms and lay an egg!”

  “Don’t be sarcastic,” I scolded him. “It may be a bad idea. But at least it’s an idea.”

  I pulled him to the front door. I turned the knob—and pushed.

  The heavy door creaked open.

  “Bluuuuck. Let’s just take a quick peek at those books,” I told my brother, stepping into the cool darkness of the house. “What have we got to lose?”

  I pulled Cole into the front hall. The house smelled of coffee and peppery spices. Sort of a sweet-sharp aroma.

  I led the way into the living room. Silvery light flooded in through the front window.

  The floorboards groaned beneath my shoes. I stopped beside the couch and stared at the pile of old books.

  I reached out for the book on top of the stack—when a furious shriek made me stop.

  “Ohhh!” I pulled my hand back.

  “Vanessa—!” Cole cried.

  My breath caught in my chest. My heart skipped a beat.

  I spun around—and saw Vanessa’s cat leap onto the high back of an old armchair.

  The cat’s eyes flashed, golden in the pale light. It bared its teeth again in another angry hiss.

  “I—I thought it was Vanessa,” Cole murmured in a choked voice. “That cat cluuuuck doesn’t want us here.”

  “Well, we’re not staying long,” I told the cat. I motioned for Cole to come over to the couch. “Help me check out these books. If we find the right one …”

  As Cole passed by the chair, the cat swiped its claws at him.

  “Hey—!” Cole ducked away from it.

  “Cats don’t like chickens,” I whispered.

  I picked up one of the open books on the coffee table. I raised it close to my face and tried to read the title in the dim light.

  The print was smudged. The heavy cover was cracked with age and covered in a layer of dust. “I can’t read it,” I told Cole.

  I saw him move to the wall. “I’ll turn on a light,” he suggested.

  The cat hissed again.

  “No—don’t!” I called. “No light. If Vanessa comes back, we don’t want her to see us.”

  I rubbed my finger over the title. And tried to focus on it.

  “Hey—I don’t believe it!” I cried happily.

  “What is it, Crystal?” Cole called. “Did you find—”

  Before I could answer, the ceiling light flashed on.

  “Ohhh!” I cried out when I saw Vanessa standing by the wall.

  I stumbled back.

  The book dropped from my hand. It thudded heavily on the floor at my feet.

  “Vanessa, I—”

  I swallowed hard.

  And realized I was staring at a painting. A huge oil portrait of Vanessa, hanging on the wall.

  “Oh, wow!” I cried. “That painting—it’s almost life-sized. I thought—”

  I turned to Cole. He stood by the light switch, staring at the big portrait.

  “Did you click on the light?” I demanded.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bluuuck bluuuck scare you. I thought it would help you read the book title.”

  The book title!

  “Cole—I think I found the right book!” I cried. “The very first book I picked up.”

  I bent down and excitedly lifted the old book from the floor.

  Yes!

  “Cole—look!” I exclaimed, holding up the front cover. “It’s called Chicken Chicken Chicken. This has to be it! If I can find the spell that Vanessa used inside this book—”

  “Then maybe we can reverse it!” Cole cried.

  A loud bang from the front of the house made us both jump. The black cat screeche
d and jumped off the chair back. It scurried silently from the room.

  “Was that the gate—or was it Vanessa?” I cried.

  Cole clicked off the light. We listened, frozen in place. I gripped the old book closely to my chest.

  Silence now. Then another bang. Just the fence gate in the wind.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whispered, raising my eyes to the front door.

  “Bluuuuck,” Cole replied. He turned and began walking stiff-legged to the door. Even in the dim light, I could see that a thick tuft of feathers had grown on the back of his neck.

  Vanessa’s cat stood on the hallway floor, arching its back as if ready to attack. We edged past it carefully.

  “Nice kitty. Nice kitty,” I murmured.

  Its angry expression didn’t change.

  I pushed open the door. The gusting wind caught it and nearly blew the door handle out of my hand. Cole and I stepped outside. I tugged the door shut.

  I carried the heavy book against my chest as we made our way home. We leaned into the wind. My hair fluttered up behind me like a pennant.

  Goshen Falls stood in darkness. All of the stores close early. The only bright lights were at the self-serve gas station on the first corner.

  Cole and I half-walked, half-trotted down the center of the street. I couldn’t wait to get home and find the spell that Vanessa had used on us.

  Finally, our house rose into view. The driveway was still empty. Mom and Dad hadn’t returned yet from their meeting at school.

  Good! I thought. Maybe I can find the spell and change Cole and me back to normal before they get home.

  I led the way up the stairs to my room, still clutching the book to my chest. Cole closed the door behind us.

  I dropped onto the edge of my bed and spread the big book on my lap. Cole stood beside me, clucking softly. Staring down at me as I rapidly flipped through the old pages, squinting hard at the tiny type.

  “Well?” Cole demanded impatiently. “Is it in there? Is the spell in there?”

  I didn’t reply. I turned the pages furiously, my eyes running down each column. Faster. Faster. I turned page after page, my heart pounding.

  “Well?” my brother demanded. “Well?”