“To keep out the birdfrogs. They were coming out of the hole in the basement.”
“What hole?” he said, blankly.
I was starting to get uneasy. I could see why none of these people had heard about the birdfrogs. Only three people knew about them. My grandmother, who was dead; me; and the health commissioner, who thought they were three-foot-long rats. But shouldn’t everyone who lived on this block know about the really deep hole in the basement?
“ You know,” I said, faintly, looking around at them. “The hole with the wooly mammoth in it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Whingle stared back at me blankly. The boy and girl were laughing so hard that they fell out of their chair.
Mrs. Whingle reached out her hand and put it very gently on my arm. “Did your grandmother tell you there was a hole in the basement?” she said, in a very kind voice.
“Of course she did,” I said, beginning to get angry and pulling my arm away. “Everybody knows about the hole. It was discovered when the row of houses got built, about thirteen years ago. And it goes down miles into the ground, and has wooly mammoths down it. Don’t you know? That’s what my mother was studying when she got killed by the wooly mammoth.”
“Holy cripes,” Mr. Whingle said softly to himself.
“Bobby,” Mrs. Whingle said, still in a very kind voice, “this building is much older than thirteen years. The man who sold it to us said it was an antique building from 1923.”
I was completely stumped by what she had just said. I had no idea how to respond. I felt like I had walked into a wall and knocked my breath out.
“Is it true?!” Dennis shouted between hiccups and peals of laughter. “That your grandma?! Cooked you tennis-ball soup every day?!”
His sister could hardly breathe from laughing so much. She was shrieking and kicking on the floor.
Mrs. Whingle gently squeezed my arm and said, “Bobby, your grandma was a very fine lady, I’m sure. She just made a few mistakes. We all do. Sometimes we believe things that aren’t true. It isn’t anybody’s fault. I’m sure she thought that there really was a hole in the basement that birdtoads came out of. But you don’t have to worry, Bobby, because there’s no such thing as a birdtoad. You’re safe here. You poor boy.” She shook her head and looked at me with her blue eyes huge and round and swimming in tears.
If she had come right out and told me that my grandma was crazy, then I would have gotten mad at her. I would have yelled at her and told her that it wasn’t true. I would have thought of seventeen different reasons why my grandma was right after all. I would have jumped up and stomped all over their stupid DVD collection. But because Mrs. Whingle was so gentle I found that I couldn’t get angry at her, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure of myself. I started to panic. My fantastic grandmother who had saved me from the birdfrogs and knew everything and figured out how to catapult the garbage into the dumpster, what if she was really crazy? What if there was no hole in the basement, no fossils, and no birdfrogs?
It was the worst moment of my life.
I must have looked horrible. I couldn’t breathe right. Tears were leaking out of my eyes and I felt dizzy. Mrs. Whingle put her hand over her mouth and said, “Oh, the poor boy’s in shock.”
Mr. Whingle barked out, “Put him to bed, before he faints. Look at the boy!”
Candy and Dennis stopped laughing and lifted their heads off the floor eagerly. “Oh!” Dennis shouted out. “Can I watch him faint? Can I, Mom?”
Mrs. Whingle led me to a bedroom. She said it was the guest bedroom but they were going to give it to me. A pair of bright yellow pajamas lay on the bed, and I put them on and got under the covers. It felt strange to lie down in a different bed. I couldn’t help feeling like I was too close to the ground. My old bed was on the fourth floor, but this one was only on the second floor.
Mrs. Whingle sat on the edge of the
“What hole?” he said, blankly.
I was starting to get uneasy. I could see why none of these people had heard about the birdfrogs. Only three people knew about them. My grandmother, who was dead; me; and the health commissioner, who thought they were three-foot-long rats. But shouldn’t everyone who lived on this block know about the really deep hole in the basement?
“ You know,” I said, faintly, looking around at them. “The hole with the wooly mammoth in it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Whingle stared back at me blankly. The boy and girl were laughing so hard that they fell out of their chair.
Mrs. Whingle reached out her hand and put it very gently on my arm. “Did your grandmother tell you there was a hole in the basement?” she said, in a very kind voice.
“Of course she did,” I said, beginning to get angry and pulling my arm away. “Everybody knows about the hole. It was discovered when the row of houses got built, about thirteen years ago. And it goes down miles into the ground, and has wooly mammoths down it. Don’t you know? That’s what my mother was studying when she got killed by the wooly mammoth.”
“Holy cripes,” Mr. Whingle said softly to himself.
“Bobby,” Mrs. Whingle said, still in a very kind voice, “this building is much older than thirteen years. The man who sold it to us said it was an antique building from 1923.”
I was completely stumped by what she had just said. I had no idea how to respond. I felt like I had walked into a wall and knocked my breath out.
“Is it true?!” Dennis shouted between hiccups and peals of laughter. “That your grandma?! Cooked you tennis-ball soup every day?!”
His sister could hardly breathe from laughing so much. She was shrieking and kicking on the floor.
Mrs. Whingle gently squeezed my arm and said, “Bobby, your grandma was a very fine lady, I’m sure. She just made a few mistakes. We all do. Sometimes we believe things that aren’t true. It isn’t anybody’s fault. I’m sure she thought that there really was a hole in the basement that birdtoads came out of. But you don’t have to worry, Bobby, because there’s no such thing as a birdtoad. You’re safe here. You poor boy.” She shook her head and looked at me with her blue eyes huge and round and swimming in tears.
If she had come right out and told me that my grandma was crazy, then I would have gotten mad at her. I would have yelled at her and told her that it wasn’t true. I would have thought of seventeen different reasons why my grandma was right after all. I would have jumped up and stomped all over their stupid DVD collection. But because Mrs. Whingle was so gentle I found that I couldn’t get angry at her, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure of myself. I started to panic. My fantastic grandmother who had saved me from the birdfrogs and knew everything and figured out how to catapult the garbage into the dumpster, what if she was really crazy? What if there was no hole in the basement, no fossils, and no birdfrogs?
It was the worst moment of my life.
I must have looked horrible. I couldn’t breathe right. Tears were leaking out of my eyes and I felt dizzy. Mrs. Whingle put her hand over her mouth and said, “Oh, the poor boy’s in shock.”
Mr. Whingle barked out, “Put him to bed, before he faints. Look at the boy!”
Candy and Dennis stopped laughing and lifted their heads off the floor eagerly. “Oh!” Dennis shouted out. “Can I watch him faint? Can I, Mom?”
Mrs. Whingle led me to a bedroom. She said it was the guest bedroom but they were going to give it to me. A pair of bright yellow pajamas lay on the bed, and I put them on and got under the covers. It felt strange to lie down in a different bed. I couldn’t help feeling like I was too close to the ground. My old bed was on the fourth floor, but this one was only on the second floor.
Mrs. Whingle sat on the edge of the
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