really into jungles since I was a teeny kid.
I like to watch all the old jungle movies on TV. And when we were little, I used to pretend I was Tarzan, King of the Jungle. Jessica always wanted to play, too. So I let her be Cheetah, my talking chimpanzee.
She was very good at it.
But after she was six or seven, Jessica refused to be a chimp anymore. She became a full-time pest instead.
“I’ll play
Jungle King
with you, Mark,” she offered, after my two friends left.
“No way,” I replied, shaking my head. “You just want to take a dive into the quicksand pit.”
“No. I’ll play it right,” she promised. “I’ll try to win this time. Really.”
I was about to let her play when the doorbell rang downstairs.
“Is Mom home?” I asked, listening for her footsteps.
“I think she’s in the backyard,” Jessica replied.
So I hurried downstairs to answer the front door.
Maybe Eric and Joel changed their minds,
I thought.
Maybe they’ve come back for another round of
Jungle King.
I pulled open the front door.
And stared at the grossest thing I ever saw in my life.
2
I stared at a head.
A human head, wrinkled and leathery. About the size of a tennis ball.
The pale, dry lips were pulled back in a sneer. The neck was stitched closed with heavy black string. The eyes — solid black eyes — stared up at me.
A shrunken head. A real shrunken head.
I was so shocked, so totally
amazed
to find it at my front door, that it took me a long time to see the woman who was holding it.
She was a tall woman, about my mom’s age, maybe a little older. She had short black hair with streaks of gray in it. She wore a long raincoat buttoned to the top even though it was a warm, sunny day.
She smiled at me. I couldn’t see her eyes. They were hidden behind large black-framed sunglasses.
She held the shrunken head by the hair — thick black hair. Her other hand held a small canvas suitcase.
“Are you Mark?” she asked. She had a soft, smooth voice, like someone in a TV commercial.
“Uh … yeah,” I replied, staring at the shrunken head. They never looked so
ugly
in photos I’d seen. So wrinkled and dry.
“I hope I didn’t startle you with this thing,” the woman said, smiling. “I was so eager to give it to you, I took it out of my bag.”
“Uh …
give
it to me?” I asked, not taking my eyes off it. The head stared back at me with those glassy black eyes. They looked more like teddy-bear eyes than human eyes.
“Your aunt Benna sent it for you,” the woman said. “As a present.”
She held out the head to me. But I didn’t take it. I had spent all day collecting shrunken heads in the game. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch this one.
“Mark — who’s here?” My mom stepped up behind me. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hello,” the woman replied pleasantly. “Did Benna write and tell you I was coming? I’m Carolyn Hawlings. I work with her. On the island.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Mom exclaimed. “Benna’s letter must have gotten lost. Come in. Come in.”She pulled me back so that Carolyn could enter the house.
“Look what she brought for me, Mom,” I said. I pointed to the small green head dangling by the hair from Carolyn’s hand.
“Yuck!” Mom cried, raising a hand to her cheek. “That isn’t real —
is
it?”
“Of course it’s real!” I cried. “Aunt Benna wouldn’t send a
fake
— would she?”
Carolyn stepped into the living room and set down her small suitcase. I took a deep breath. Worked up my courage. And reached for the shrunken head.
But before I could take it, Jessica swooped in — and grabbed it out of Carolyn’s hand.
“Hey!” I shouted, reaching for her.
She darted away, giggling, her red hair flying behind her. Holding the head in both hands.
But then she stopped.
Her smile faded. And she stared down at the head in horror.
“It bit me!” Jessica cried. “It
bit
me!”
3
I gasped. Mom squeezed my shoulder.
Jessica started to giggle.
One of her
I like to watch all the old jungle movies on TV. And when we were little, I used to pretend I was Tarzan, King of the Jungle. Jessica always wanted to play, too. So I let her be Cheetah, my talking chimpanzee.
She was very good at it.
But after she was six or seven, Jessica refused to be a chimp anymore. She became a full-time pest instead.
“I’ll play
Jungle King
with you, Mark,” she offered, after my two friends left.
“No way,” I replied, shaking my head. “You just want to take a dive into the quicksand pit.”
“No. I’ll play it right,” she promised. “I’ll try to win this time. Really.”
I was about to let her play when the doorbell rang downstairs.
“Is Mom home?” I asked, listening for her footsteps.
“I think she’s in the backyard,” Jessica replied.
So I hurried downstairs to answer the front door.
Maybe Eric and Joel changed their minds,
I thought.
Maybe they’ve come back for another round of
Jungle King.
I pulled open the front door.
And stared at the grossest thing I ever saw in my life.
2
I stared at a head.
A human head, wrinkled and leathery. About the size of a tennis ball.
The pale, dry lips were pulled back in a sneer. The neck was stitched closed with heavy black string. The eyes — solid black eyes — stared up at me.
A shrunken head. A real shrunken head.
I was so shocked, so totally
amazed
to find it at my front door, that it took me a long time to see the woman who was holding it.
She was a tall woman, about my mom’s age, maybe a little older. She had short black hair with streaks of gray in it. She wore a long raincoat buttoned to the top even though it was a warm, sunny day.
She smiled at me. I couldn’t see her eyes. They were hidden behind large black-framed sunglasses.
She held the shrunken head by the hair — thick black hair. Her other hand held a small canvas suitcase.
“Are you Mark?” she asked. She had a soft, smooth voice, like someone in a TV commercial.
“Uh … yeah,” I replied, staring at the shrunken head. They never looked so
ugly
in photos I’d seen. So wrinkled and dry.
“I hope I didn’t startle you with this thing,” the woman said, smiling. “I was so eager to give it to you, I took it out of my bag.”
“Uh …
give
it to me?” I asked, not taking my eyes off it. The head stared back at me with those glassy black eyes. They looked more like teddy-bear eyes than human eyes.
“Your aunt Benna sent it for you,” the woman said. “As a present.”
She held out the head to me. But I didn’t take it. I had spent all day collecting shrunken heads in the game. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch this one.
“Mark — who’s here?” My mom stepped up behind me. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hello,” the woman replied pleasantly. “Did Benna write and tell you I was coming? I’m Carolyn Hawlings. I work with her. On the island.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Mom exclaimed. “Benna’s letter must have gotten lost. Come in. Come in.”She pulled me back so that Carolyn could enter the house.
“Look what she brought for me, Mom,” I said. I pointed to the small green head dangling by the hair from Carolyn’s hand.
“Yuck!” Mom cried, raising a hand to her cheek. “That isn’t real —
is
it?”
“Of course it’s real!” I cried. “Aunt Benna wouldn’t send a
fake
— would she?”
Carolyn stepped into the living room and set down her small suitcase. I took a deep breath. Worked up my courage. And reached for the shrunken head.
But before I could take it, Jessica swooped in — and grabbed it out of Carolyn’s hand.
“Hey!” I shouted, reaching for her.
She darted away, giggling, her red hair flying behind her. Holding the head in both hands.
But then she stopped.
Her smile faded. And she stared down at the head in horror.
“It bit me!” Jessica cried. “It
bit
me!”
3
I gasped. Mom squeezed my shoulder.
Jessica started to giggle.
One of her
Similar Books
