Agatha Parrot and the Thirteenth Chicken Page 3

  “NO WAY!” snapped Martha.

  I hadn’t meant to offend Martha, and I quickly turned to Ivy.

  “So, Ivy,” I said. “You’ve got three chickens now, but think carefully. When you opened the box, was it a different number?”

  “Like what?” said Ivy.

  “Like four, perhaps?” I said. “It’s just that I saw you waving Mr. Thompson around . . .”

  “Are you’re suggesting I might have accidentally thrown a chicken away?” asked Ivy.

  “I didn’t say that . . .”

  “But you MEANT it.”

  Now I’d offended Ivy, too. I had opened my mouth to apologize when the doorbell rang. It was Ivy’s mom, and she looked very sad.

  “Can Ivy come home?” she asked. “Just for a minute?”

  “What’s up?” said Ivy.

  “I need you,” said Ivy’s mom. Then she started to sniff and wipe her eyes, so Ivy went to see what the matter was.

  What’s Tocking the Bloob Up?

  After Ivy had gone, me and Martha put the chickens back into their boxes. It was awful, because we were both counting them over and over, but it didn’t make any difference. There were only twelve, and there should have been thirteen.

  “It wasn’t me who lost a chicken,” said Martha. “Maybe it was you?”

  “No no, not me, impossible,” I said. I was trying to act casual, but my voice went all squeaky, and I knew my face was red.

  Then Dad came into the kitchen to get a bucket of water.

  “Be careful on the stairs Agatha,” said Dad. “It’s a little sticky, so don’t let those chickens go running around up there again. Remember, I nearly stepped on one.”

  He left. Martha was staring at me, furious.

  “You were trying to blame me and Ivy!” she snapped. “And all the time I bet it’s your fault.”

  “No, no, no!” I said. “Maybe Bianca knows what happened. Let’s go and ask her.”

  “We can’t ask her now,” said Martha. “She’s playing her trombone. Listen—you’ll hear it.”

  So we listened, but the funny thing was that we didn’t hear it!

  Normally when Bianca plays her trombone, everybody on Odd Street can hear her going bwarb bab barp. One time she was learning a new note called BOTTOM B FLAT, which made all the glasses rattle in our cabinet! My brother, James, does a few BOTTOM B FLAT noises sometimes too, and he doesn’t even have a trombone. Typical boy.

  Martha and me went outside, but we still couldn’t hear anything, even though Bianca’s bedroom window was open. We saw her moving around inside.

  “Hey, Bianca!” shouted Martha. “We thought you were playing your trombone.”

  “I’m trying,” said Bianca. “But something is tocking the bloob up.”

  Tocking the bloob up? We love Bianca, but sometimes we have to work out what she’s saying. She tried again.

  “It’s bloobing the tock up.”

  It was no use. So instead of trying to explain any more, Bianca stuck her trombone out the window and gave it a mighty blow. Her cheeks swelled up like she was swallowing two apples at once, but no sound came out.

  “I know what she means!” I said.

  “Me too!” said Martha.

  “Something is blocking the tube up!” we both said.

  Then suddenly . . .

  PLOP . . . BWARBBBB. . . wheeeee!

  A fluffy yellow lump shot out of the end of the trombone along with a massive blast of BOTTOM B FLAT. The lump flew over our heads, and normally Odd Street is really empty because it’s a dead end, but just then Gwendoline Tutt went by on her pink bike, and the yellow lump landed on her shoulder.

  “Did you see that?” gasped Martha.

  “It was Random!” I said. “He must have gotten out of Bianca’s box and climbed into her trombone.”

  By this time Gwendoline was farther up the street—all the way past number 13—and me and Martha were running after her.

  “Gwendoline!” we shouted. “COME BACK!”

  “Can’t catch me, losers!” said Gwendoline, and she pedaled faster.

  Gwendoline’s house is number 59, and we had to run all the way there before she stopped. We were gasping for air.

  “What do you two want?” Gwendoline demanded.

  “Don’t move,” I said. “There’s something on your shoulder. Let me get it.”

  But just as I was reaching out, Gwendoline noticed the yellow lump. She screamed and brushed it off onto the ground.

  “UGH! What is it?” she shouted.

  “It’s a chicken,” we said.

  “It looks dead,” said Gwendoline. “Serves it right.”

  OOOOOH, I WAS SO MAD! (Even madder than I was at Tilly on page 48.)

  When Gwendoline opened the garage door to put her bike away, I could see all her dad’s gardening stuff. Suddenly the lawn mower started itself and swallowed Gwendoline up, then gave a big burp. YIPPEE! Actually it didn’t, but I promise you, if I was making this story up then I would definitely have put that in.

  Meanwhile Martha had bent down to look at the yellow lump.

  “I don’t think it’s the right color,” said Martha.

  She picked it up carefully. Martha was right. I didn’t know what it was, but at least I knew what it wasn’t. It wasn’t Random—thank goodness!

  It was like a yellow fluffy sausage with a bit of string tied to the end. We took it back down the street and held it up so Bianca could see it.

  “That’s my trombone cleaner!” said Bianca. “I was looking for that.”

  “Gwendoline just tried to kill it,” said Martha.

  “She’s weird,” said Bianca.

  Oh well. At least Random hadn’t been blasted across the road by a BOTTOM B FLAT. But where was he?

  A Sad Goodbye

  When me and Martha got back to my house, Ellie came over to see the chickens. Typical Ellie: she loves numbers, so the first thing she did was count them.

  “There’s only twelve!” said Ellie.

  “We know,” I said. “It’s really freaking us out.”

  “I’ll tell you something even freakier,” said Ellie. “Ivy was in her yard talking to a cactus in a pot.”

  “WHAT???”

  Ivy lives next door at number 7, and the only place you can see her yard is from our bathroom window, so we all headed for the stairs.

  Dad was on top of his wobbly ladder holding a long piece of soggy wallpaper.

  “Where are you going?” he said.

  “To the bathroom,” I said.

  “All of you?” said Dad. “Can’t it wait?”

  “No!” we said, and squeezed ourselves past the ladder.

  “CAREFUL!” said Dad. Then he fell against the wall and got the paper stuck to his trousers, which was pretty funny, but we didn’t stop to laugh. We had stuff to do.

  Our bathroom window has fuzzy glass in it, and the only way you can see out is if you balance on the edge of the bathtub and open the window at the top. Warning: Make sure the toilet lid is down. One time Dad left the lid up when he climbed on the bathtub to change the light bulb. Then he slipped and his foot ended up in the toilet water—ha ha!

  So there we were on the edge of the tub, looking down into Ivy’s backyard. All we could see was a little cactus in a pot sitting on a kitchen chair and looking very important.

  “See?” said Ellie. “I told you it was freaky.”

  Yes, it was a bit freaky, but it was nothing compared to some of the other things in Ivy’s yard. For instance, it looks like there’s a row of sticks growing out of the window box, but actually it’s all the arms and legs that Ivy pulled off her Barbies.

  We were still staring at the cactus when Ivy came out her back door. She was wearing an old black top hat, and she was carrying a piece of paper with writing on it. She walked around and around the little cactus very slowly, making low bell noises like this:

  “Dong . . . dong . . . dong . . .”

  Then she stood in front of the ca
ctus and held up the paper to read it. This is what she said:

  “Go to sleep, my funny friend.

  Rest your little head.

  Your lovely dreams won’t stop because you won’t wake up.

  You’re dead.

  It’s sad we have to say goodbye,

  And I don’t want to spoil it.

  That’s why you’re buried in a pot,

  And not flushed down the toilet.”

  Then Ivy bent down, gave the cactus pot a little kiss, and went back indoors.

  We were all very quiet.

  Then all at once we went, “EEEK!”

  The Magic Cactus

  Me and Ellie and Martha were back in my kitchen, feeling a bit freaked out.

  “Do you think Ivy had the extra chicken and buried it in the cactus pot?” asked Ellie.

  “She told us she only had three,” I said. “And Ivy doesn’t lie.”

  It’s true, she doesn’t. Ivy might pull her dolls apart, and she might run up the down escalator at the mall, and she might pull her tights on over her head to pretend she’s got legs growing out of her ears, but Ivy does not lie.

  But we had to be sure, and we couldn’t just say, “Did you kill Random and bury him in a pot?,” could we?

  “There’s only one thing to do,” I said. “We’ll have to sneak into Ivy’s yard and empty the pot to see what’s in it.”

  “Ivy will know what we’ve done,” said Martha. “My mom sells those cactuses in her shop, and if you tip one out, the dirt goes all over the place.”

  “That’s right,” said Ellie. “We got one last year, just like Ivy’s. Same pot and everything.”

  Suddenly I was pulling at my hair. It’s what I always do when I’m getting a brilliant idea.

  “Have you still got that cactus?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said Ellie.

  “Bingo!” I cried.

  There’s a back alley that runs behind the houses on Odd Street. Everybody has a gate from the alley into their yard so you can put garbage cans out and put your bike away and so on. Ivy’s gate is never locked, because strangers wouldn’t dare go in her yard. As soon as they saw the creepy bits of dolls sticking out of the window box, they’d turn around and run a mile—ha ha!

  I explained my plan.

  “Ellie, all you have to do is take your cactus out through your back gate, sneak into Ivy’s yard, and swap them. Then we can take Ivy’s cactus somewhere safe and a look inside the pot.”

  “Me?” Ellie gasped. “But what if Ivy or her mom sees me? They might think I’m a burglar, and I might go to prison. Then I’d miss school, and Mrs. Twelvetrees would send my mom a note, and if Mom got a note she’d be really upset!”

  Poor Ellie. She’s not really the best person to send on dangerous missions, because she’s so scared of everything. It’s too bad, because she’s probably the smartest of all of us and she never lets us down.

  “You’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Me and Martha will make sure they’re both at the front door, so they won’t see you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely promise,” I said.

  I got our spare front door key out of the kitchen drawer and showed it to the others.

  “This is all we need,” I said. “Come on!”

  A few minutes later, I was at Ivy’s front door and Martha was outside Ellie’s house. I put the key on the ground, then rang Ivy’s bell. When she opened the door she still had her old black top hat on.

  “Dong, dong, dong,” said Ivy, making the bell noise. “I’m very busy! Dong.”

  “But it’s important,” I said, and I pointed at the key. “Is that yours?”

  Ivy came out to have a look. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Only one way to find out,” I said, and I pulled the door shut.

  “You just locked me out!” said Ivy.

  “It’s so we can test the key,” I said.

  So we tested it and it didn’t work. (Surprise surprise!)

  “Sorry,” I said. “Never mind. You’d better ring the bell and get your mom to open the door.”

  Ivy reached for the bell and I winked at Martha, then Martha gave a thumbs-up to Ellie’s window. Ellie was waiting inside, and it was the signal for her to get going! By the time Ivy’s mom had come to let Ivy back in, Ellie would have done the swap. Easy.

  But then Ivy didn’t ring the bell. “I just remembered, Mom’s about to take a bath,” said Ivy.

  Oh, no! Ivy’s bathroom window looked out over the yard just like ours did. If Ivy’s mom happened to look out at the wrong time . . . eeek! Panic panic.

  “Quick!” I said. “Ring the bell before she gets in the tub.”

  “I better not,” said Ivy. “I’ll just go around to the alley and get in the back way.”

  “NO!” I said. “No, you can’t! Just ring the bell.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Ivy, about to run off. “It’ll only take me a second.”

  What could I do? Ellie was already on her way—we had to save her!

  Luckily Martha had the answer. She had heard everything, and just walked up to Ivy’s front door and pushed the bell and kept her finger on it.

  BURRRINGGGGGGGGGGG!

  “Stop it, stop it!” said Ivy. “Mom’ll blow her top!”

  Ivy tried to pull Martha away, but Martha is too big and strong.

  “Sorry, Ivy,” said Martha. “It’s Agatha’s idea.”

  What could I say? Martha was right, but Ivy didn’t need to know that.

  Ivy just stood there fuming while Martha kept her finger on the bell. Eventually we heard some muttering from inside.

  “Time to go,” said Martha, and then quick as a flash she dashed away. Gosh, it’s amazing how fast she can move.

  The door opened, and Ivy’s mom was there wrapped in a big towel, looking very cross. There were bubbles all over her toes.

  “Ivy Malting. Why did you drag your poor mother out of the bath?”

  “Agatha locked me out!” said Ivy.

  “I’ve a good mind to lock you out myself,” said Ivy’s mom. “Now come in and take that hat off. It’s giving me the creeps.”

  The doorbell thing was all kind of embarrassing, but soon Martha and Ellie and me had regrouped in my yard with Ivy’s cactus. I thought cactuses were supposed to be green, but this one was more like gray, and it looked kind of dead.

  When we tipped it out, we saw a little lumpy white paper bag rolled up in the bottom.

  “It looks very small,” said Ellie.

  “Random was only a baby,” I said, and we were all nearly crying.

  “Do you think chickens have ghosts?” asked Ellie, which made us laugh as well as cry at the same time. It was bit like boo hoo HA HA boo hoo HA HA, and that gives you a really runny nose.

  Martha picked the bag up with the very ends of her fingertips in case she got ghost chicken germs. It didn’t look quite right. To start with, the bag was soaking wet, and the lump we could see through the paper was more orange than yellow. Martha unrolled it and we looked inside.

  It was a fish!

  “That’s Gilbert,” said Ellie. “Ivy said he was unwell, and now he’s dead.”

  No wonder Ivy’s mom had been so upset when she had come over to our house. She’d had Gilbert for years. She used to teach him tricks and everything.

  Suddenly a loud shriek came over the wall from Ivy’s yard.

  “WOW oh WOW oh WOW!” we heard Ivy screaming. “WOWWWW!”

  We charged in the back door and up the stairs, past Dad on the wobbly ladder—

  “DO YOU MIND???” shouted Dad.

  “Sorry, Dad!”

  —and then into the bathroom, climbed on the tub, and looked out the window.

  Ivy was staring at the cactus.

  “She’s noticed that it’s different,” said Martha.

  “But I thought they were exactly the same,” I said.

  “They used to be,” said Ellie. “But there was something I forgot to
tell you . . .”

  But before Ellie could finish, Ivy picked up the cactus and turned it around.

  “Wow!” said me and Martha.

  “That’s what I forgot to tell you,” said Ellie. “Our cactus grew a pink flower.”

  “Hey, Mom!” shouted Ivy, staring at the flower. “Our cactus is MAGIC!”

  Martha and me started to giggle, but Ellie climbed down off the tub and gave us a cross look.

  “Stop it, you two,” said Ellie. “That’s not fair. I wouldn’t have changed the cactus if I’d known you were going to make fun of Ivy.”

  “We’re not making fun of anyone,” I said. “We love Ivy.”

  “We’re just giggling,” said Martha.

  “But it’s not funny,” said Ellie.

  Ivy must have heard us because suddenly she looked up at our bathroom window. Me and Martha quickly stepped out of sight, and guess what? We’d forgotten to shut the toilet lid, so we both ended up with one foot in the toilet.

  “YARGH!” we went.

  “Ha ha ha!” Ellie laughed. “Now that IS funny!”

  The Lump of Doom

  That night, everybody was asleep except for me, and it was all Tilly’s fault.

  If she hadn’t opened the shoebox and let the chickens out, then I’d have known for sure if there had been three or four. As it was, I was lying awake on the top bunk, worrying myself sick about Random while she was nicely asleep on the bottom bunk, making funny little moo sounds into her pillow. Rotten kid.

  The shoebox was on the chair with the three chicks snuggled up inside it, making little chicken snorey noises. All I could do was lie there and listen for anything that might be Random walking around the house.

  It was exactly 2:31 a.m. on my alarm clock when I heard a very quiet little tapping noise. It was coming from the staircase landing.

  I rushed out and turned the light on. The sound stopped, and there was nothing moving. Dad had been working really late finishing the wallpaper, and the towels were still all over the place. I went down the stairs, picking them up and looking around, but there was no sign of Random. When I got to the bottom, I heard the tapping again. It was a bug flying around in the lampshade. Boring!