There's a Spaceship in My Tree! (2 page)

Groaning, he propped himself up to see the spilled items strewn, like a comet's tail, across the floor toward the tall, twin front windows. Through a window he noticed clouds gathering above the rooftops.
Back in L.A. we had rain programmed down to just one season a year. Here I am, two time zones and half a continent away from home.
“Marooned in Middle America,” he moaned out loud. “I'd rather be on Mars.”

Suddenly a blood-curdling scream shook the windows. It sounded like his big sister was in trouble, which meant it also sounded like fun. He charged into the hallway and saw a door that he hadn't noticed before that was nestled in that narrow hall next to the main staircase. The door was now open, revealing a narrow set of steps going up. He careened up the stairs and saw Erin standing off to the side, frozen in place, eyes glazed over like she'd been zapped with a stun gun.

“Hey, Erin, what's the matter?” he taunted her. “See an itsy-bitsy — ” Then he saw it. “Awesome!” he gasped.

Their nine-year-old brother, Michael, clattered up the stairs on his hands and feet like a cocker spaniel, followed by their mom, who was tightly gripping a vicious-looking broom. They too caught Erin's freeze-dried expression and tracked along her sight line.

2
Mutants in the Attic

It was a spiderweb roughly the size of Texas. One thing was for sure, whatever bloodsucker spun that thing must have had a toxic waste dump for an incubator. Soaring from floor to the apex of the roof, it spread across the attic like a see-through wall.

“Mo-o-o-o-ommm,” whimpered Erin, her voice trembling. “I . . . can't . . . mooooove.”

“Don't worry, honey, I'm right here,” her mother said, unconsciously backing toward the stairway. “Just step back slowly.”

Erin hesitantly slid one foot back.

“I'll get my Power Blaster 150,” Michael announced, and scampered down the stairs.

“I saw this strange shadow across the ceiling, so I came up to see what it was. Then I turned around,” Erin said, pointing at the web.

“Lady! Where do you want the piano?” a gravelly voice interrupted from downstairs.

With a wary glance at the spider metropolis, Dr. Mac hurried down the steps. “Come on, kids, we've got a lot to do before Dad gets home.”

“But what about the web?” Beamer asked.

Their mother stopped halfway down. “Uh . . . tear it down, I suppose.”

As their mother disappeared below, Erin gave Beamer a
no-way!
glance, silently mouthing the words, “Tear it down?”

“Yeah . . . right.” Beamer said, looking anxiously at the web looming above them. “That dude falls on you, and you'll spend forty years getting unwrapped.”

At that moment, a sunbeam broke free of a cloud and flooded the tall windows like a waterfall, lighting up that wispy silk curtain like a giant sunburst.

“Hey, look!” he exclaimed, suddenly noticing two long, dust-covered tables on the far side of the web. Scattered across them were broken and discarded test tubes and chemical beakers and a stack of electric cables. Remembering what the realtor had said about scientists, Beamer said in a hushed voice, “What if it's a mutant spider created by some evil genius who used to live here?”

“Aw, get off it,” Erin drawled nervously, already backpedaling toward the stairs, her eyes fearfully searching the dark corners of the attic. “I've got an idea. Let's leave it to Dad.”

“Sounds good to me,” Beamer said, relieved. “Let's get out of here.”

The web quivered and the test tubes rattled as the kids plummeted down the steps.

*   *  *  *  *

By dinnertime the Tale of the Web had grown into an epic story of courage and adventure. According to Beamer, he had narrowly saved his sister from having her life juices sucked out. Erin, of course, hotly disputed this account.

For his part, their dad, otherwise known as Mr. Mac, looked a little green when he came down from his first look at the web. Several phone calls later, he had arranged for a bug scientist — an entomologist, that is — from the university to come out and have a look. In the meantime, the attic was quarantined — off-limits.

The MacIntyres celebrated their first day in the new house with a candlelight dinner. Actually,
celebrate
was too strong a word. For one thing, they ate at tables that were packing boxes — a different size for each person in the family, like
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
.

For another thing — and the real reason for the candlelight — there were no light switches. In fact, none of the electrical appliances worked, which wasn't surprising since they had no on/off switches. At first they thought it was the electricity, but then Dr. Mac plugged her drill into an outlet and it worked just fine

“They can't do anything right in this town!” Beamer complained. “Nothing works, the air's thick enough to choke on, and everything's old and falling apart.”

“I bet there's not a decent mall within twenty miles,” Erin chimed in.

“There's a great park a block over!” Michael said. This note of cheer stopped everyone cold. Beamer and Erin looked at him like he had just dropped off the Big Dipper.

“Well, it's true. One block that-a-way,” he pointed. “It's even got a zoo!”

“Right, squid head,” Beamer snapped at him. “And Disneyland is in the backyard.”

“Nobody ever listens to me,” Michael muttered to himself as he reached for an abandoned taco on Erin's plate.

“I wish we hadn't come here!” Beamer said, banging his hand on the box.

“Me too,” Erin joined in. “How am I going to make cheerleader here in front of dorks who don't even talk right. It's y'all this and y'all that,” she said, mimicking the local speech, “and wee-uull sumbody pulease tunn the laats ahwn!”

Blink!
The chandelier suddenly lit up like Christmas!

“Who did that?” Erin exclaimed as she whirled around.

3
Things that Go Blink in the Night

Mr. Mac disappeared through the kitchen door and reappeared, moments later, through the hallway portal. He eyed the chandelier thoughtfully. “Hmmm . . . Erin, would you say that again, only with the word
off
instead of
on
?”

“Uh . . . what? D'you mean . . . uh, lights off!” she said with a puzzled look. Nothing happened.

“Ho! This is very interesting.” he mused. “Erin, try it again, saying it the same way you did the first time — with the accent.”

“Oh . . . well . . . sure,” she stammered, searching for the words. “Let's see . . . uh . . . laats . . . uh . . . awf. Laats awf!” she said louder.

Immediately the lights went off.

“Hey!” Erin giggled. “Laats ahwn!” They came on again.

“The realtor said the previous owners were . . . unusual,” Dr. Mac commented as she stood up, “but a house you talk to?”

“And with an accent, at that,” Mr. Mac laughed.

“Laats awf!” Michael yelled. Dutifully the chandelier went dark.

“Laats ahwn!” Beamer joined the game. They came back on.

“Laats aw — ” Erin started.

“Hey! Hey!” their dad interrupted. “Let's hold up on the light show before we either talk the thing to death or go blind.”

“See,” Beamer's mom said, tossing her usual sunny-side-up attitude into the dispute, “everything's not so bad.”

No one can ever have a decent fight in this household
, thought Beamer.

“There'll be lots of new, fun things happening here,” his mom continued.

“A one-trick light switch does not a happy home make,” Erin grumbled.

“No, that's true,” their dad agreed. “There's a lot more to making a home than living in a house.”

“Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain,” their mom said. “That's from someplace in the Psalms, I think. God's given us a good start. Your dad has a good job at the university. Things are getting off the ground for my pediatrics clinic. We'll be starting out at a new church Sunday, and school's only a couple of weeks off.”

“School?” the kids groaned in unison.

Mr. Mac picked up his napkin and wiped his chin. “I know it's tough, guys, making this move. But you've got to give it a little time, treat it like . . . like an adventure.”

“There's lots more here that you didn't have back there,” her mom added, “like fireflies and . . . tree-covered hills and — ”

“Aiiiiiii
!” Erin's scream sliced through Dr. Mac's dreamy landscape. Something with antennae and long, hairy back legs had just hopped onto Erin's arm. She scooted across the floor in full reverse until she banged her head on the windowsill. That caused the window to slide closed with a bang, which in turn brought three other windows crashing down:
Bang
!
Bang
!
Bang
!

Stunned by the shooting-gallery sound effects, no one moved . . . except for Michael, who was already lunging for the misguided insect. “I got it!” he cried, but missed.

“No, you don't,” Beamer said, jumping in for the kill. “He's mine!” He scrambled after it on hands and knees, scattering boxes everywhere in his wake.

“Beamer!” his mother cried as she lurched to her feet and saved a box of teacups from a shattering experience. “Stop, Beamer!” she called again, grabbing hold of him by his belt loop. “It's a cricket!”

“Mo-o-o-o-ommm,” he protested, “it'll get away!”

“That's exactly what I have in mind,” she said, planting Beamer and the box of teacups at the same time. Then, as smooth as honey, she glided into the corner and caught the cricket, cupping it gently in her hand. “You can't kill a cricket the first night in a new home,” she said, carrying it toward the kitchen. “It would bring terrible luck.”

“Bad luck?” Erin complained. “What do you call what happened to my head?”

“Since when are you so superstitious, honey?” Mr. Mac asked with a grin.

“Oh, it's just that crickets don't do anything but good,” she answered, peeking into her hand. “They eat parasites and fill the night with singing, that's all.”

Beamer rolled his eyes.
Only Mom could get misty-eyed about a bug
.

“The song of the cricket is supposed to guarantee a happy home,” she added with a grin to her husband as he opened the door for them to disappear into the kitchen.

Still holding her head, Erin pushed one-handed to her feet. “Maybe that's why it's
not
singing,” Erin yelled, following her parents out.

Reaching the door at the same time, Beamer called through it, “It doesn't have to move in with us, does it?”

His mother stepped down into the covered back porch off the kitchen. “Oh, no,” she said with a laugh, “The great outdoors will do just fine.” She opened the screen door and gently dumped the bewildered cricket onto the step. “Into the backyard with you,” she said. “Go.”

“That reminds me,” said Mr. Mac, pivoting around on his heel to face his kids. “I've been holding out a surprise for you all . . . uh, y'all, I mean.”

“Surprise?!” The three kids tuned in at the same time.

“It's out back. Just follow the cricket.”

“Coming through,” Michael yelled, diving toward the door headfirst.

The two boys flew out in a whirlwind. Erin, with slightly more dignity, was close behind.

Their eyes scanned the terrain like radar. It was just after sunset, and a crescent moon hung high in the sky. It had indeed rained that afternoon and the leaves were still dripping —
tap, tap, tap
— and glistening in the moonlight.

All they saw, however, was a couple of large trees . . . or was it one tree? It was hard to tell. Two tree trunks were growing out from the same spot, making the shape of a
V
. The
V
was bent on one side where one trunk leaned so close to the ground you could almost run up it — no hands. The trunk straightened up after it crossed over the fence into the next yard.

“Hey, I don't see anything!” Michael complained.

“Take a look up that twisted old tree. It's pretty high up, so you may have to shift around to see it.”

Beamer and Michael craned their necks. The sky had cleared since the shower, but the wind was rising again. Insects chirped and buzzed all around them.

Yikes!! It isn't civilized to have so much wildlife right where people lived.

Michael scampered around, peering between the leaves.

“I see it!” Michael yelled.

“Where?” Beamer cried as he ran over to look up.

Then he saw it — a long, dark shadow across one horn of the crescent moon.

*   *   *   *   *

“A tree house!!” Beamer exclaimed, angrily pounding his fist into his pillow. Maybe if it had been digital, had a supercharged video card and network connection, that would have been something else. But a shack in a tree?!