Gobbled by Ghorks

Author:Robert Paul Weston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-10-12T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

In which Elliot tells his parents what he really thinks, and Jean-Remy starts a rumor

The next morning, Elliot awoke to the sound of his mother and father in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. It was Saturday, the day of the Costume Cabaret, and he lay alone in bed, feeling groggy and disoriented. After his parents had dragged him back to the hotel, he had hardly slept. He was too worried about his friends. In fact, he worried so much he had made himself sick. Before finally falling asleep, his head had throbbed, his stomach had churned, even his fingers and toes had tingled, especially the fingers of his right hand. . . .

Now, lying in bed the following morning, he was surprised to feel a faint prickling in those same fingertips. He couldn’t help but bring his right hand up to his face and—

“AAIIIEEEEGH!”

“Elliot! What is it?” His parents came rushing out of the bathroom.

Before they could see his hand, he whipped it back under the covers. “I-I’m fine,” Elliot assured them (although this was definitely not true). “I was just having a nightmare.”

His mother sat down on the edge of the bed and peeled a few locks of hair off Elliot’s forehead. “What was it about?”

Beneath the covers, Elliot used his left hand to explore his right. He felt . . .

Hair!

It started at his wrist and went bristling all the way down to his fingertips—which were topped off with what felt like curving claws. Something was very, very, very wrong with his hand, and he was just about to show his parents when his father said, “Nightmare, huh? Maybe that’s what happens when you hang out with Archie and his ‘creatures’ all the time.”

Elliot’s mother giggled. “Oh, Peter! You’re such a bully sometimes!”

Elliot’s frustration from the night before returned to him. Whatever was wrong with his hand, his parents didn’t deserve to see it. They wouldn’t understand. They would only panic. Even worse, they would probably try to take him to the hospital. When he thought of what Dr. Heppleworth had told him about testing potions on customers at The Smiling Mudsucker, he knew that medicine wouldn’t help him. This was a creature problem, and only creatures could help him. He didn’t need a doctor; he needed Uncle Archie and his friends.

“I’m fine,” he told his parents. “It was just a bad dream. I’d better get dressed. Could you pass me my yellow rugby shirt? It’s in my bag.” His yellow rugby shirt was a little too big for him. Specifically, the sleeves were a bit too long.

“Here you go,” said his father, lumping the shirt on the top of the covers. “Hurry up. We don’t want to be late for our breakfast reservation.”

Elliot pulled the shirt on under the blankets. When he finally emerged, the long sleeves hung (thankfully) well past his fingertips. As always, he topped off the oversized shirt with his bright green fishing vest.

“You sure it isn’t too hot for all that?” asked his father, pointing to Elliot’s layers of clothing.

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