What a croc, p.1
What a Croc!, page 1
What a Croc!
Copyright © 2024 by Bill Myers. All rights reserved.
A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188
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Cover design by Michael Harrigan
Cover and interior illustrations by Greg Hardin
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version,® NIV.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
The characters and events in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
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ISBN 978-1-64607-120-3
ISBN 978-1-68428-581-5 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-68428-582-2 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-68428-580-8 (Apple)
Build: 2024-01-19 14:47:31 EPUB 3.0
For Natalie: Welcome to the family!
–B.M.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
ROMANS 8:28
Contents
Chapter 1: Just for Starters
Chapter 2: The Race for Mayor
Chapter 3: A Not-So-Good Idea
Chapter 4: The Curse
Chapter 5: The Curse Grows
Chapter 6: . . . and Grows
Chapter 7: Rumors Spread
Chapter 8: Lying Billboards
Chapter 9: Go Clams!
Chapter 10: All Things Work Together
Chapter 11: Ghost Hunting
Chapter 12: Rumors Grow
Chapter 13: A Special Guest Appearance
Chapter 14: Just Hanging Around
Chapter 15: Late Night News
Chapter 16: Stranger and Stranger
Chapter 17: A Breakfast Disaster
Chapter 18: Marching Orders
Chapter 19: And Over in the Middle School . . .
Chapter 20: Curse on the Loose
Chapter 21: A Private Performance
Chapter 22: Halftime Huddle
Chapter 23: The Debate
Chapter 24: And the Winner Is . . .
Chapter 25: Wrapping Up
Thoughts and Questions
1
Just for Starters
“AUGH!”
In case you’re wondering, that’s the sound a chimpanzee makes when she’s being attacked by a monster. (Especially a furry monster with a tiny head and humongous—and I do mean humongous—feet and a big tummy.)
“Winona, relax.”
I spun around and saw my best pal, Stephie, trying to calm me. So I gave my standard
whimper, whimper, whimper
(This is the sound I make whenever I want attention—
which means I make it all the time.)
“It’s just a mirror, silly,” Stephie said.
I turned back to the monster and made a face. Its little pinhead made the same face back at me.
I waved my arms. The monster waved its arms.
I jumped up and down, and the monster . . . well, you probably get the picture.
Yes, I know it’s just a reflection. But this reflection made no sense. How could my head have gotten so tiny? How could my great intelligence fit into such a little space? And how did my tummy get so big? True, I may have eaten a couple more hot dogs than I should have. (Okay, three or four more.) And little Julie hadn’t missed the bag of peanuts I stole borrowed from her when we were on the Ferris wheel. But to have gotten so fat so fast?
No. Stephie was wrong. It was a monster. Just one that was good at playing Monkey Chimpanzee See, Monkey Chimpanzee Do.
“Turn around,” Stephie said.
I wasn’t crazy about turning my back on the creature, but I trusted Stephie, and . . .
There was another one behind me! (Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.)
Only this one had a giant head and a tiny body.
I looked up to Stephie, more confused than ever. It takes a lot of confusion to confuse my confusion with more confusion than my normal confused confusion is when it’s confused.
Confused?
Me, too.
At least now you know how I was feeling.
Stephie giggled. “Look around you, Winona. All the mirrors are made weird so we look funny.”
I looked around, and she was right. We were surrounded by mirrors. Lots and lots of them. And every one showed weird, creepy reflections of us. I frowned. Why did they charge us money to go into a room where they can’t even afford normal mirrors?
Stephie laughed. “It’s called a fun house.”
I saw nothing funny about the place. Not when I go to the gym every day to keep my perfect chimpanzee figure. Actually, that’s not true. I don’t go to the gym . . . but I think about it—usually when I’m pigging out on a tub of ice cream (or whatever else I can borrow from the Mulligan refrigerator).
“Come on,” Stephie said, reaching down to grab my hand. “Let’s go back to the others and see if that attendant will let you ride the roller coaster now.”
It sounded good to me. Earlier, the attendant would not let me on the ride—some excuse about me being an animal. (Honestly, humans can be so prejudiced sometimes.)
Anyways, I stuck my tongue out at the furry monster in the mirror and gave it a little
Pfftttt . . .
Of course it did the same thing right back at me. But that was okay. I was going off to another carnival ride, and it would be stuck in that stupid mirror forever.
2
The Race for Mayor
WHILE HALF OF US MULLIGANS were visiting the traveling carnival—eating, going on rides, eating, playing games, and did I mention eating?—Mom, Dad, Jessica, Lisa, and baby Al stayed at home. (Along with the 138 animals in our wild-animal park.)
Lisa, who is blind, wanted to get into the high school’s marching band, so she was busy practicing her
Waugh-WAAAAUGH-WOOOOM
trombone (which actually sounds worse than what you just read . . . except to Buttercup, our elephant, who thought it was another elephant crying for help). Auditions were coming up for the marching band, and Lisa wanted to make sure she got in.
Jessica stayed behind to practice her cheer for the upcoming cheerleader tryouts (which also sounds worse than what you’ll read now):
“Go, go! Get ’em, get ’em!
Bam! Bam!
Go, go! Get ’em, get ’em!
GooOOOO00 . . . CLAMS!”
In case you’re wondering, our middle school’s mascot is a clam. Don’t laugh. It’s better than the elementary school’s mascot, which is a snail. Honestly, what cheer could possibly rhyme with snail? (Stale? Fail?) The poor mascot has to wear a giant plastic snail shell and crawl around on the floor.
Anyway, things at home should have been nice and peaceful, except that Lisa’s and Jessica’s rooms were right next to each other. This meant that Jessica could barely hear her own
“Go, go! Get ‘em, get ‘em!
Bam! Bam!”-s
over Lisa’s
Waugh-WAAAAUGH-WOOOOM-ings
while Lisa could barely keep time to her music over Jessica’s
“Go, go! Get ’em, get ’em!
GooOOOO . . . CLAMS!”
And since they both like to—how do I gently say this?—defeat anybody and everybody they compete with (sorry, that’s as gentle as I can say it), they kept trying to drown each other out until the whole house shook with
“Go, go!”
Waugh-WAAAAUGH-WOOOOM
“Get ’em, get ’em!”
Woom-WOOOOM
“Bam! Bam!”
WAAAUGH . . .
“CLAMS!”
Not a big problem, except that Mom and Dad were trying to watch Dad’s television commercial about running for mayor. That’s right: Dad had finally decided to run against Mayor Jowls.
“Girls!” Mom shouted. “Girls! Come on down and watch Dad on TV!”
By the time they put away their weapons (their trombone and pom-poms), the commercial was almost over. But not before they heard Dad saying, “Even though Mayor Jowls is a good guy, I hope you’ll see that my plan is better.”
When it ended, Lisa turned to Dad and asked, “That’s it?”
Dad nodded. “Yep.”
“But aren’t you supposed to say mean things about the mayor?” Jessica asked. “So people will hate him and vote for you?”
Dad shook his head. “Mayor Jowls has his faults, but he still deserves my respect.”
“But,” Lisa protested, “that’s not how you win elections.”
“If that s what it takes to win,” Dad said, “I’m not interested.”
“But—” Jessica argued.
“But, but—” Lisa said.
“But, but, but—” Jessica added. (See what I mean about them being competitive?)
They would have gone on like that forever if Mayor Jowls’s own commercial hadn’t begun. I’ll spare you all the boring political talk and cut to the chase, where he said, “My opponent, Michael Mulligan, knows nothing about nothing except that he wants to destroy our beloved city with his stupid wild-animal park. So vote for me, Mayor Jowls, and save our city!”
For a moment they all just stared at the screen.
Finally Mom shook her head. “Unbelievable,” she said.
And for once in their lives, Jessica and Lisa agreed on something.
3
A Not-So-Good Idea
IT WAS A LITTLE EMBARRASSING being dressed up like a baby. The bottle Stephie gave me to suck on wasn’t bad, but orange soda isn’t exactly my favorite. (Why nobody makes peanut-flavored soft drinks is beyond me.)
But it didn’t matter. Although the attendant let the rest of the Mulligan kids onto the carnival ride, he stopped me for the second time.
“Sorry, miss,” he said to Stephie. “No children under four feet tall on the ride.” As we turned to leave, he mumbled, “No matter how ugly they are.”
I tried not to growl. (It’s impolite for human babies to growl.)
But we weren’t done yet. We came back again—only this time I was wearing my favorite disguise: a scarf, sunglasses, and a movie director’s beret.
“Sorry,” he said. “No, uh . . . um, what exactly are you?”
“You don’t recognize her?” Nick asked.
The attendant frowned. “Um . . .”
Hector, our newest family member, asked, “You don’t know the world-famous movie director, Suzy Speelberg?”
For the record, Hector wasn’t actually lying; technically, he was just asking a question. And it might have worked if I didn’t have this sudden urge to pick a flea out of my fur and eat it.
“Sorry, folks,” the attendant said. “No flea-eating directors under four feet tall on the ride.”
I wanted to check his rule book, but Nick said, “Let’s just go. There are plenty of other attractions to see. Like that fortune teller over there.” He pointed to a creepy-looking booth with all sorts of stars, cards, and wizards painted on it.
“It looks kind of scary,” Janelle said.
“You’re scared of everything,” Nick said.
For once in his life, Nick was right. (Have I ever mentioned the time Janelle called 911 because she saw her shadow following her?)
“I don’t know,” Hector said. “In Colombia, we were taught never to mess with such things.”
“Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s check it out. What can it hurt?” Before we could stop him, he started toward the booth.
And since he was the oldest, and since Mom said his job was to look after us (even though we all knew it should be the other way around), we followed.
Two minutes or three months later (chimps aren’t great at telling time) we were sitting inside Madame Claire’s fortune-telling booth. She had all sorts of crystal balls and burning candles. She also had a bowl of fortune cookies . . . which I quickly sat beside to guard. She wore long, flowing robes and had bright red hair, which would have looked more real if it didn’t keep slipping down her head. She also spoke with a thick accent.
“I zee you have brought your pet monkey,” she said.
I angrily answered, “OO-oo AH-ah EE-ee!”
“Vat iz she zaying?”
“She’s a chimpanzee,” Stephie said, “not a monkey.”
I folded my arms and gave a stern nod.
Little Julie explained. “We own a wild-animal park just outside of town.”
“I zee. And zo, you vant me to tell your fortune?”
Stephie piped up. “The Bible says telling fortunes is wrong.”
“Ah, yes, zee Bible. It iz a cute little book, iz it not”—she squinted hard at Stephie and said her name—“Stephie.”
Everyone froze.
“How . . .” Stephie swallowed. “How did you know my name?”
“I know many zecrets.”
Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. The fact Stephie’s name was stitched on the front of her coat might have helped. I would have pointed this out, but I was too busy guarding those fortune cookies.
Madame Claire forced a fake smile. “And zo,” she said as she reached for her crystal ball and looked into it, “I shall now tell you . . . Vat!” she suddenly cried. “Oh! No! No, no, no!”
“Vat?” Nick said. “What is it?”
“Zee curse!”
“Curse?” Janelle asked.
“Zere iz a curse upon your family!”
We all traded alarmed looks.
“A curse?” Hector swallowed nervously. “What kind of curse?”
“Your land . . . it vas once an ancient burial ground. And zee spirits, zey are very, very angry with you.”
“Angry?” little Julie squeaked.
“Angry?” Janelle repeated.
“What can we do?” Nick said.
“How can we make them happy?” Hector asked.
“It iz lucky for you, zat you haf come to me. I can remove zee curse, but only with zee help of thoze chicken featherz.” She motioned to a shelf filled with plastic bags full of feathers. “Once you buy zee bag—I take Visa or Mastercard—I can reverze zee spell.”
“That’s all it takes?” Janelle asked.
“Zey are very special featherz.”
“How much?” Nick asked.
“This veek ve haf a two-for-one zale.”
“Terrific.” Nick reached into his pocket.
“No, thank you,” Stephie said.
We all turned to her and said, “What?” in perfect unison.
For a mini-human, Stephie could be tough. “We don’t believe in curses,” she said. “Even if we did, we don’t need chicken feathers. We have God to protect us.”
Nick shifted uncomfortably. “Well, yeah, um, there is that.”
Madame Claire pushed up her wig. “Zo, you vill not buy my chicken featherz?”
Nick looked at Stephie, who frowned so hard that he shoved his money back into his pocket. “I’m zorry. Er . . . sorry,” he said. “But my sister here . . . she’s right.”
“Vell zen, you haf my pity. Without zee featherz you vill have many, many problems. Ghozts, curses, you name it.”
“Ghosts?” Hector tried swallowing but his swallower had run out of swallow.
“Iz a package deal,” she said.
Nick took one more look at Stephie, then sighed and reluctantly rose to his feet. “We’re sorry for wasting your time.”
“Then move along.” Suddenly Madame Claire’s smile was gone. Come to think of it, so was her accent. “And make room for some paying customers.”
We all traded looks.
“Go.” Madame Claire pointed to the door. She raised her voice and called, “And my next client, you may reenter to conclude our biznezz.”
We headed out the exit, but not before bumping into someone we never expected to see.
“Mayor Jowls!” Nick said.
The man looked at him. “You’re one of the Mulligan brats.”
“Yes, sir,” Nick said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m, uh . . .”
Before he answered, Madame Claire shouted at us, “I told you children to leave!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nick said.
We turned to step outside when she cried, “My fortune cookiez!”
We turned back.
“Zee zpirits, zey haf eaten all my fortune cookiez!”
We looked over to the bowl. She was right; it was completely empty.
“It iz a zign!” she shouted. “A zign zat you need my featherz!”
We all turned to Stephie, who folded her arms and shook her head. Of course she was right. Or was she? Maybe it really was a sign. At least that’s what everyone thought . . . except for
BURP
me.
4
The Curse
MOOOOAANNNNNNN . . .
“Jessica?” Janelle whispered. “You awake?”
