Attack of the Shark-Headed Zombie by Bill Doyle

Author:Bill Doyle [Doyle, Bill; Altmann, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89813-6
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

THE COUSINS ROLLED through the doorway, across the room’s hard floor, and banged to a stop against a bookshelf.

Once again, Keats and Henry found themselves lying on their backs, trying to catch their breath.

“Where are we?” Henry asked, sitting up.

Keats sat up, too. Luckily, he had managed to hold on to the wand. He looked around the room. Bookshelves climbed up the high walls. Weird railings that looked like thick tubes wove in and out of the shelves.

“It’s a library,” Keats said. He was still a little dizzy from all the tumbling.

Henry looked pretty unhappy. “Well, I’m glad we’re in one of your favorite places,” he said. “Because we’re trapped.”

It was true. The door to the hallway had become a wall after they fell through it. And there wasn’t a single door or window in the room.

Keats felt lousy. “I’m sorry, Henry. We were so close to the attic and getting the lightbulb! I just couldn’t keep my balance.”

Henry gave him a smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Keats,” he said. “I wanted a tour of the house anyway.”

Keats smiled, too. Then he thought of something. “In books,” he said, “libraries in creepy houses always have secret passages.”

Henry frowned. “Secret passages?”

“Sure, you know, hidden doorways,” Keats said. “We just have to pull on the right book, and I bet a way out will open up.”

“There are thousands of books in here,” Henry said. “But it can’t hurt to try.”

The cousins got to their feet. They started sliding books on and off the nearest shelf. Nothing happened.

Maybe one of the books on the higher shelves would do the trick. Keats climbed up onto one of the wide railings. It was a little soft but held his weight.

Keats pulled on book after book. Still no sign of a secret door. Suddenly the railing he was standing on started to move. It twisted and turned under his feet.

Keats dropped the book in his hand. He jumped down to the floor.

“Was that an earthquake?” Keats asked.

“More like an earthworm,” Henry said. “A big one.”

He pointed at what Keats had thought was a railing. The thick tube was sliding around with squishy, glooping sounds.

“That’s not an earthworm. It’s a giant bookworm!” Keats cried.

As if to prove Keats right, the worm pulled its head out of a nearby book. It didn’t have eyes or ears. But its mouth was as wide as a watermelon. The worm chomped down on another book. It tore off part of the cover and chewed slowly, like a cow with a mouthful of grass.

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