out. Metal feet ground along the stone floor as he came around the corner.
He took one look at the empty shelves, then pointed to the door with several of his brassy fingertips. “Get out!” he demanded. A loud belch from behind us masked the echo of his voice. We all turned tothe lowest shelf, where the wood-grain mouth had reappeared. With another belch, it coughed up everything it had swallowed.
The items were mangled—altered nightmarishly. The Christmas ball had withered down to a black coal. A large bloodshot eye opened in its middle, glaring at us. It rolled toward me, but Morpheus kicked it away. The magnifying glass had shattered and blood leaked from the cracks. The silver handle wailed so loudly my spine shook. The stuffed yellow canary—now pale pink and featherless—opened its beak and squawked. Eight wire legs sprouted from the cage’s base and shuffled the raging bird toward us.
We backed up. The clerk said a word his mother would’ve spanked him for and clambered toward the cash register, mumbling something about nets.
Morpheus took flight and left me alone on the ground.
“Help me!” I cried up at him. My heart pounded in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“I can’t always be there to carry you.” The jewels under his eyes were a sincere blue. “You must figure out how to escape.”
Something pecked my ankle, and I jumped back with a yelp, facing the screeching canary. I shoved the cage over. The wire dome rocked and the metal legs squirmed in midair, like a turtle rolled onto his shell.
More freakish mutations surrounded me.
The white crockery jars spewed up thousands of beetles with snapping pincers, nothing like the smiling ladybugs painted on their fronts. The doorknob had been transformed into an old man’s hand and pulled itself closer with bent and gnarled fingers, while the vinyl doll heads on the candy keepers snapped their teeth—tiny and sharp like straight pins.
I took several cautious steps backward, keeping them in my sight as I made my way to the front of the store. “Morpheus!” I screeched again, but now I couldn’t even see him overhead.
The mutated items parted to form a path. My rag doll and the clown appeared—their middles stitched together with bloody thread, like a gruesome surgery gone wrong. Instead of four eyes, they had three between them. One eye had been caught in the seam. “Help me find my other eye,” the rag doll pleaded. “Please, please. My eye.” Her little-girl voice and the clown’s distorted laughter chilled the air, and I sobbed.
Blinded by my tears, I stumbled away. Mr. Lamb stood on the counter scooping mutants up in a mass of nets. “Hide, you fool child!” he shouted.
“Do something, Alyssa!” Morpheus reappeared and yelled from above as the creepy mutants encroached on me. “You’re the best of both worlds,” he prodded. “Use what you have. What
we
don’t. Make something that can save us all!”
I dove beneath Mr. Lamb’s pile of butterfly wings for sanctuary. The knitting needles were scattered on the floor, and I chanced sticking out an arm to grab some. Inside my frail refuge, I ignored the growls and snaps closing in. I took two wings and held them against a needle, imagining them joining as one, forming a whole new breed of butterfly with a body of metal, lethal and sharp.
The knitting-needle butterfly came alive in my hand, wings fluttering. Gasping, I let it go, and it flew out toward my attackers. For a moment, I was too shocked to move.
The clerk’s screeches spurred me again to action, and I made more butterflies, sending them to help the first.
My bug invasion dive-bombed the attacking beetles, herdingthem back into their jars; they swooped into the vinyl doll heads and tangled in their hair, ripping it out at the roots.
Soon all the mutants retreated with hisses and snarls.
Inside my hiding place, I imagined that the remaining wings could lift me, attach to every inch of my pajamas. In a matter
He took one look at the empty shelves, then pointed to the door with several of his brassy fingertips. “Get out!” he demanded. A loud belch from behind us masked the echo of his voice. We all turned tothe lowest shelf, where the wood-grain mouth had reappeared. With another belch, it coughed up everything it had swallowed.
The items were mangled—altered nightmarishly. The Christmas ball had withered down to a black coal. A large bloodshot eye opened in its middle, glaring at us. It rolled toward me, but Morpheus kicked it away. The magnifying glass had shattered and blood leaked from the cracks. The silver handle wailed so loudly my spine shook. The stuffed yellow canary—now pale pink and featherless—opened its beak and squawked. Eight wire legs sprouted from the cage’s base and shuffled the raging bird toward us.
We backed up. The clerk said a word his mother would’ve spanked him for and clambered toward the cash register, mumbling something about nets.
Morpheus took flight and left me alone on the ground.
“Help me!” I cried up at him. My heart pounded in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“I can’t always be there to carry you.” The jewels under his eyes were a sincere blue. “You must figure out how to escape.”
Something pecked my ankle, and I jumped back with a yelp, facing the screeching canary. I shoved the cage over. The wire dome rocked and the metal legs squirmed in midair, like a turtle rolled onto his shell.
More freakish mutations surrounded me.
The white crockery jars spewed up thousands of beetles with snapping pincers, nothing like the smiling ladybugs painted on their fronts. The doorknob had been transformed into an old man’s hand and pulled itself closer with bent and gnarled fingers, while the vinyl doll heads on the candy keepers snapped their teeth—tiny and sharp like straight pins.
I took several cautious steps backward, keeping them in my sight as I made my way to the front of the store. “Morpheus!” I screeched again, but now I couldn’t even see him overhead.
The mutated items parted to form a path. My rag doll and the clown appeared—their middles stitched together with bloody thread, like a gruesome surgery gone wrong. Instead of four eyes, they had three between them. One eye had been caught in the seam. “Help me find my other eye,” the rag doll pleaded. “Please, please. My eye.” Her little-girl voice and the clown’s distorted laughter chilled the air, and I sobbed.
Blinded by my tears, I stumbled away. Mr. Lamb stood on the counter scooping mutants up in a mass of nets. “Hide, you fool child!” he shouted.
“Do something, Alyssa!” Morpheus reappeared and yelled from above as the creepy mutants encroached on me. “You’re the best of both worlds,” he prodded. “Use what you have. What
we
don’t. Make something that can save us all!”
I dove beneath Mr. Lamb’s pile of butterfly wings for sanctuary. The knitting needles were scattered on the floor, and I chanced sticking out an arm to grab some. Inside my frail refuge, I ignored the growls and snaps closing in. I took two wings and held them against a needle, imagining them joining as one, forming a whole new breed of butterfly with a body of metal, lethal and sharp.
The knitting-needle butterfly came alive in my hand, wings fluttering. Gasping, I let it go, and it flew out toward my attackers. For a moment, I was too shocked to move.
The clerk’s screeches spurred me again to action, and I made more butterflies, sending them to help the first.
My bug invasion dive-bombed the attacking beetles, herdingthem back into their jars; they swooped into the vinyl doll heads and tangled in their hair, ripping it out at the roots.
Soon all the mutants retreated with hisses and snarls.
Inside my hiding place, I imagined that the remaining wings could lift me, attach to every inch of my pajamas. In a matter
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