6 The Puddle of Chaos

The Puddle of Chaos Ebenezer drove home recklessly. He swerved in and out of lanes and honked at every adult, child, puppy, and ducky who crossed his path. "What did Mr. Nickle mean, the beast's found a way to escape?" asked Ebenezer. "How should I know?" said Bethany. "He hung up as soon as he said it!"

Before he had even finished parking in the driveway, Bethany scrambled out of the car and sprinted up to her room. She threw sweater after sweater out of her cupboard, until she reached the backpack she had prepared for emergency purposes. She quickly checked the contents one final time. A trumpet from the Cussock Theater School, a literally lethal catapult from The Late-Night Pranking Emporium, and a cassette player ready to play a recording of Claudette's cousin Patrick singing "Hurricane Picnic" (the beast's least favorite song) on repeat. She had also sewn a parachute sheet into the front pocket, in case she needed to jump out of any airplanes. Meanwhile, Ebenezer took a slightly different approach. He didn't have any

weapons or secret parachutes, but he had prepared a killer outfit. He unzipped his Special Occasion Uh-Oh Suit Bag and slipped on a glossy black turtleneck and a pair of trousers tighter and more fabulous than a ladybug's living room. They met downstairs by the front door and put on their rain boots. "Where do you think the puddle portal is going to appear?" asked Ebenezer. "How should I flipping know, you idiot?!" said Bethany. She took a few deep breaths. "Sozza. Bit stressed. He said he was gonna open it somewhere in the house." "I bet he opens one outside," said Ebenezer. They ran toward the gardens, but before they even got past the Library of Comic

Books and Movies, the whole house started to shake and a puddle grew out of the carpet in front of them. Ebenezer couldn't believe he had got something wrong—again. He gulped. "Ladies first?" he suggested in a warbly voice. "Fat chance," said Bethany. "We're a team on this." Ebenezer nodded and stood on the edge of the puddle with Bethany. They counted backward from three and jumped in—disappearing like two biscuits dropped into a cup of tea. A moment later, they reappeared in the shallow waters that led to the coastline of D.o.R.R.i.S. Island. Visitors were usually bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by D.o.R.R.i.S. Island. They

would coo at the fat, high-tech pyramid in the center of the island, and their mouths would drop open at the many species of Dorrises marching ashore from every angle of the sea. They would try to figure out how the water was dry, and they would marvel at the raw, cloudless sun. Bethany and Ebenezer did none of these things. They were too busy worrying about the beast. They found Mr. Nickle waiting on the beach. The old man's face was jollier than they had ever seen it, and he was being offered pats and congratulations by every Dorris who passed him. "Squeezer, Bethany!" cried Mr. Nickle in his ragged, jangly voice. He raised his weaponized walking sticks in the air, as if he

were welcoming them to a birthday party. "Now then, is there anything I can get you? A tea? Some Martian lemonade? We might even be able to spring for some tears from a dying star, if you fancy something with a kick?"