After 15 minutes of holding A Short History of the Short People a few inches from my eyes, I felt a headache coming on.
I tried taking pictures with my phone to see if I could enlarge the words, but they turned out too blurry. I went searching for the magnifying glass Mamá confiscated from Camila after she used it to set her homework on fire. I checked the normal confiscation spots above the kitchen cabinets and on the top shelves of the garage—nada.
I finally found it underneath a dusty box of checkbooks in a drawer of Mamá’s desk, which was laden with its usual stack of books. I was about to leave when the title of one of her books made me pause: How to Raise Teen Boys Without Losing Your Mind. Curious, I pulled it off the stack and opened it to her Four Score and Seven Books Ago bookmark. My eyes landed on a highlighted passage that said, “Teenagers are much more likely than other age groups to engage in risky behavior when their peers are doing so as well.”
If only you knew, Mamá. Half-amused and half-ashamed, I carefully put the book back on the stack, only to realize the five books underneath it were on similar topics: A Master’s Guide to Parenting Teenagers, Boyhood to Manhood, Habits for Teenage Success, Growing Too Fast, and Half a Brain: The Role of the Prefrontal Cortex in Adolescent Development (which I found a bit insulting).
Whenever Mamá confronted a problem, she went into complete book binge mode. After Papá died, she’d blown through a dozen books on the grief process. When she married Michael, she devoured books on blended families. Maybe it’s a professor thing. I heaved a sigh, took the magnifying glass and left.
As I sprinted up the stairs to my room. I heard music blasting.
“So it’s time to take some action boys! It’s time to foooolloooow meeeee!”
Ladies and gentlemen, James was home from rehearsal. I pushed the door open.
Something immediately seemed wrong—and it didn’t take me very long to realize what. The chest was open. Wide open. I could’ve sworn I’d closed it earlier. James faced the window, gesturing emphatically as he sang, apparently oblivious to my return.
I walked to the chest, peered inside and sucked in a breath. The false bottom was completely gone and I could see straight through to the alley on the other side! I looked around and saw the false bottom right next to where James stood. Had he discovered the flyland? What would that mean? Would the constables arrest me for letting this slip?
I turned around to face him then stopped. I had the peculiar sensation I was being watched. Then I noticed a funny shadow. I looked up and saw a big black . . . something staring down at me from my bunk.
“Say a prayer then we’re there at the drawbridge of a castle and there’s something truly terrible inside!”
I looked up at it and it looked down at me, menacingly as though sizing me up. It was about half my height and had two spiney wings, a narrow body, and gnarly claws. Its face was feminine except for a large beak.
“It’s a beast, he’s got fangs razor sharp ones. Massive paws, killer claws for the feast. . . .”
“H-hi there,” I whispered.
Bad move. It dove, its claws opening menacingly. I ducked and moved to the side, covering my head as it narrowly missed me then swooped back up. I moved toward the door and slammed it shut, which in hindsight, seemed as stupid as it was smart. I’d prevented the creature from escaping by locking us inside with it.
Amazingly, James remained blissfully unaware of all this going on right behind him.
“Kill the beast!” he yelled loudly.
The creature let out a deafening cry. I looked over at James and saw him grasp at his throat as though wondering if he’d made that sound. Then realization seemed to dawn and he slowly turned.
For the next few seconds, it felt like the world stopped. There the three of us were: James, his face frozen in shock, the bird-monster spreading its wings threateningly, and then me.
Finally, James spoke. “What . . . the Alan Menken is that?”
“A . . . crow?” I tried.
Before James could respond, it screamed again, louder this time, turning its attention on my stepbrother. James threw the chair out of the way and took shelter under the desk.
“You think that’s a crow?!” James shouted from his desk bunker.
Without thinking, I took a shoe and chucked it toward the bird. It narrowly missed its head, hitting the wall behind it. The bird-monster’s next screech was the loudest yet and I instinctively covered my ears.
“Why do you think I know what it is?” I answered back, chucking another shoe toward the beast.
The thing circled the ceiling, hitting one of the lights before coming for me again. I grabbed the nearest thing available to me—a pillow—and waved it wildly in front of me.
I barely grazed the bird but it was enough to knock it off course. Instead of getting beaked straight in the middle of my face, I felt one of its claws slice through my shirt, cutting into my shoulder. I grunted, dropped to the floor and rolled under the bunkbed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed James reaching his arm up onto his desk until his hand found an open bag of Doritos. He pulled it down and withdrew a chip.
“You’re snacking?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“I’m a stress eater!”
The thing dove at him as he pulled the chair in front of himself defensively. It hovered on the desk, waiting for one of the two of us to come out.
I stuck out my hand then quickly withdrew it as the thing pounced. The bird flew back up, screeching.
Something banged on the wall. At first I thought it was the bird, but then Hayden yelled, “Keep it down in there!”
“Good thing Hayden is on the case,” James said sarcastically.
“Is it on the bunk again?”
“Yup.”
I kicked a foot out near the head of the bed and the bird-monster went for it. When it went back up, I reached over the top of the bed and yanked the quilt down.
“What do you think you’re doing?” James asked.
“We need a net,” I said.
“And of course you’re using my quilt.”
“You wanted the bottom bunk. Now we just need bait.”
James heaved a dramatic sigh, broke up a few chips and dropped them on the floor next to him. “You owe me more Doritos!”
The monster-bird let out another sound, but this one sounded curious. It dove to the ground only to fly back up again, as if testing to see if we’d make any sudden moves. Then it did it again. And again.
After a few rounds of this, it landed on the floor, picked up a chip and flew it back to the top bunk. I thought about trying to roll out from under the bed but didn’t think I could drop the quilt on the creature fast enough.
“Hey James, can you pass those over here?” I asked.
He slid the bag across the floor. I nabbed it and shimmied to the chest end of the bed. I reached up and put a chip piece next to the portal chest. Within seconds, the bird-monster dove, swiped the chip, and returned to the top bunk. I balanced a full chip on the edge of the still-open chest. This was going to be tricky.
I poked my head out and saw it. Its calculating gaze darted back and forth between me and the chip on the chest. Finally, it spread its wings and I knew the moment had arrived.
Watching the monster bird come hurtling down at me was terrifying. Just as it left its perch, I quickly reached up and pushed the chip down into the portal. The monster-bird changed course midflight and dove after it.
Just as it plunged through, I reached up and slammed the chest shut. I then scrambled out and sat on top of the lid, holding one of the handles on the side. I expected it to try to push its way back through, but it didn’t. It had probably escaped through the other side.
For a moment, there was silence, then. . . .
“What in the name of Julie Andrews was that thing?” James asked, slowly climbing out from under the desk.
“Just a weird mutant bird,” I said, panting. The room was in shambles. Books and clothes were strewn everywhere. The bird had taken out one of the three bulbs in the light fixture. I could see talon marks on the wooden bunk frame. The only thing that seemed—quite remarkably—untouched was Bess’s plant. Maybe it had some magical good luck? It was like it was the anti-me.
“That wasn’t a bird. It looked like–” he started, then stopped.
“Looked like a what?” I asked.
“It looked like a harpy. You know, the bird women from The Tempest.”
“What’s The Tempest?” I asked, closing the latch on the chest and standing up.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that about one of my favorite Shakespeare plays,” James said. “I’m also going to pretend you’re not insulting my intelligence. You know what’s going on.”
“Not really.” I stooped down and picked some books off the floor.
“You know more than you’re telling.”
I didn’t answer. It was true.
“What are we going to do with it now? Take it to Rogers Zoo? Summon the pound? Call the Ghostbusters? Conduct a séance?”
“Um, I’ll take care of it,” I said. I probably wouldn’t have to do anything. The chest on the other side had been open, so the harpy was someone else’s problem now. I felt a bit guilty but figured it was better that the thing terrorized the magical side than the Underlander side.
James grabbed his phone off the desk and walked toward the chest.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Obviously Imma post it to Instagram to see if anyone knows what it is.”
That set off alarm bells in my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, dropping the hoodie I was folding and running to the chest.
But he’d already cracked it open, holding his phone up carefully.
“Where’d it go?” he asked, opening it all the way and sticking his hand in. “What the–”
I tried to grab the lid but it was too late.
“Is it painted?” he reached down, feeling around for a bottom that wasn’t there. “Dude, this is not normal.”
There was nothing for it.
“James, there’s something I should probably tell you.”
He stared at me, then said flatly, “No kidding.”