

Book One in the Descendants of the Dragon series

### The

### Mud Gullumpers

By

E. L. Purnell

With illustrations by Io Kovach

The Mud Gullumpers

Text copyright 2011 E. L. Purnell

Illustrations copyright 2011 Io Kovach

Smashwords edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Summary: Ryan's crazy stories about creatures living in the neighborhood creek have entertained Bits for months, but once she discovers the creatures are real, and suffering, she has to help them escape, even though that means sending away her brother's best friend.

In memory of

Aaron Hawkins

January 12, 1970 - September 3, 2004

Dedicated to brothers and sisters everywhere.

PLEASE NOTE: On some devices, this text will look better on a rotated screen.

Chapter 1

My brother was twelve when he disclosed,

in confidence, while quite composed,

of Mud Gullumpers down by the stream

who stole kids' boots, and made them scream.

It was 6:32, and no one was speaking.

A banging back door tipped off someone was sneaking,

for that someone didn't remember the spring

on the back door was wound as tight as a string.

So when that spring snapped the back door shut,

thoroughly betrayed, my brother 'fessed up.

"I'm late for dinner. Yes, I know it!

But the reason is plain. See my clothes? They show it!"

And one look indeed is all that it took.

He was cloaked head to toe in the grossest of gook.

He spoke with conviction over what he'd just triumphed.

How he'd save us from sure death, should it or they find us.

Then he squinted his eyes, while his hand slowly swirled,

and he revealed his concern for the fate of this world.

Mud-streaked blond hair crowned gray eyes filled with dread.

Each word hissed through white teeth much too large for his head.

But that awkward look flickered, as if on the verge

of revealing the handsome young man to emerge.

Physically on the cusp of young adulthood,

his mental agility had matured as it should.

Now his tales had grown from unbelievable stories

to detailed legends of fantastic glory.

But I, younger by a year or two,

was cynical in my review

of theories on the fate of men.

(Though I lapsed from reason now and then.)

For me, the world was black and white.

Things were either wrong or they were right.

And my brother's tales of heroic reprieve

were way too far-fetched for me to believe.

Yet I was blond, just like my brother.

This shocked my freckled, redhead mother.

Strangers would ask if we were twins

when we were young and brown-berry skinned.

But as we got older, we grew worlds apart.

Ryan's make-believe stories tugged hard at Mom's heart,

and she told him he spent too much time in his dreams,

instead of connecting with other preteens.

As my father sat listening, his anger emerged,

not through his expression, nor any harsh words,

but through raps of his fingers on the kitchen table,

punctuating poor Ryan's developing fable.

This latest tale, told to avoid trouble,

involved some kind of freak that attacked from the water.

Yet whatever it was (or they were) I can't say.

For a distraction distracted me in the most awful way.

Behind Mom and Dad, prancing quite cavalierly,

(my peripheral vision detected it clearly),

I saw something lunge and smear across the floor.

All that lunging and smearing was hard to ignore,

especially when you're a curious kid

-you just have to look! So that's just what I did.

It froze near our dog's dish, its eyes all-askew,

a glistening, slimy, quivering statue.

Its eyes cocked to the left, and then winced to the right,

as it searched desperately for a path to take flight.

When it found one, it raced away, leaving a trail

of sludge-smeared floor tiles to the darkened back stairs.

But there wasn't just one, I'm sorry to say.

I saw several more deftly dashing away,

while my parents still focused on my brother's face,

spinning stories as arachnids link intricate lace.

My knitted brow softened, my cheeks slowly relaxed,

as my brain pieced together each event and new fact

that had just interrupted our Friday night meal.

What I realized was spooky and oddly surreal:

The mud footprints my brother had most liberally placed,

up the stairway, 'round the back door, in any free space,

had started to move, had started to congress,

had started to tug at little Gracie's white dress!

But Grace didn't notice, for she was just four.

Perched on telephone books, her dress hem kissed the floor

as she ate her food slowly, throughout Ryan's tirade,

contentedly slurping her pink lemonade.

Her curly brown locks kept on tickling her nose.

She swiped at them aimlessly, with faint-hearted blows,

until finally Samantha tucked them behind her ears,

empathetic and wise beyond her six years.

Sam was in first grade and looked out for Grace.

Long, mousy hair curtains framed her small face.

She showed scant emotion, tending to her sis.

So far, only I saw that things were amiss.

But tiny Sam had one most curious habit.

A peek under the table would quickly reveal it:

her left foot hung down in a sock badly stained,

while her right foot was snug in a scuffed Mary Jane.

As of late, when Sam played, she would lose her left shoe.

Several pairs later, mother had not a clue.

A closet full of right shoes, but no matching lefts!

It's highly unlikely she's a victim of theft.

But this habit was costly, and my folks acted stressed

every morning when they told that wee girl to get dressed.

With each thrust of his finger, each claim of his innocence,

one more wet, stinky gob took its lying-boy-given-chance

to fly toward the counter, to head under the table,

to spread 'cross the room, to stick wherever it was able!

That mud kept on moving. It scooted up walls,

and clung to the dishwasher like fresh, moist spitballs.

Dodging my dad's feet and their impatient beat,

mud slid under the back door as flat as a sheet.

Brother loudly proclaimed that Washington Falls,

known for good schools and shopping malls,

would soon be known for the muddy pit

that concealed Mud Gullumpers deep inside it.

Flamboyant, yet stern, his heroics most certain,

he gestured with pronouncements that flung mud on the curtain.

Greta lay near the sink. Her ears rose in surprise

as each gob of gook fled, flying fast past her eyes.

Then that dog snapped awake from her full-belly slumber,

briskly shaking her head once to disencumber

her keen senses away from the world of her dreams

to perceive this engaging and frightening new scene.

Had my mother or father been in a good mood,

they'd have noticed the odd little guests that I viewed!

But my father's brow furrowed as he heard Ryan deliver

a tall tale so scary that each word made me shiver.

Ryan warned that the things in the dead-end creek

were in fact slimy, fetid, space alien freaks.

And any kid dumb enough to approach their dark lair

had better believe in the power of prayer.

For underneath that calm surface of warm water and frog belly

-waited sinister incarnate! Waited monster! Waited smelly!

If that kid, so determined to make his way across,

might step on some stones or some green fishy moss,

or perchance he should slip and step into their sludge,

then his boots, snared so tightly, would no longer budge.

And no matter how hard that child strained, tugged or yanked,

the Mud Gullumpers pulled harder and the boots slowly sank

'til the child screamed in fear, and by clinging to rocks,

freed his feet and ran home in his wet, soiled socks.

My dad rolled his eyes - rest his fork on his plate.

But we girls stared in rapture, with our pink mouths agape.

We knew that mud's deep by the creek where we stroll,

but we'd never imagined it would swallow us whole!

My mother served second helpings of the veggies,

while questioning Sam in a voice that was edgy,

"Is that where I should go to find all of your shoes?

I could save a few bucks plucking them from the ooze."

Sam smiled, lips parted as wide as was able,

prompting Mom to quip, "No 'see'-food at the table."

"But I wasn't there! I had nothing to do with it!

Playing in the creek?" Ryan gasped, "I'm through with it!

I was minding my own business! I wasn't even near the mud!

I was gathering apples when they attacked in cold-blood!"

Well, that last part got to me, and I couldn't deny

that a part of me wondered if this was really a lie.

With the mud all a-scattering wherever he flicked 'em,

maybe he wasn't a goof, but instead, a victim!

Now he thinks he escaped from those monsters back there,

and he's telling this tale totally unaware

that when he returned muddy from the place where he roamed,

he actually brought the dang Mud Gullumpers home!

Then some black stinky gook, as of yet undiscovered,

formed a small lump and headed straight for the cupboard!

Our dog Greta went nuts! She sat up and she howled!

Then she lunged toward the cupboard, and baring fangs, growled.

"Throw her out of the house!" my dad yelled in frustration.

I leapt out of my chair with great trepidation,

because if they attacked Ryan (which is just what he claimed),

then they may have larger battle plans all arranged.

And if that is the case, then all this mud that I see

may in fact be a Mud Gullumper infantry.

And if that is true, then things really looked dire.

We'd need a great plan to escape this quagmire.

Someone needs to confront this imminent threat!

Even if that means getting all muddy and wet.

"Here girl!" I beckoned, walking to the back door.

"Greta, come!" I grew angry, summoning her once more.

My sisters hopped up, before Dad again hollered.

Gracie pushed Greta's rump. Samantha pulled on her collar.

Greta whined and she barked as we flung her outside.

We shut the door quickly, and then turning wide-eyed,

we saw mud racing toward us at the greatest of speed.

We were trapped in a frightening Mud Gullumper stampede!

"What the hay?" muttered Sam, tracking with puzzled eyes.

Little Gracie yelped, "BUGS!" stiffening with surprise.

We all huddled together at the base of the stairs,

while my brother continued his defense with great flair.

"I high-tailed it out of there!" We heard Ryan shriek.

Our mouths hung wide open, but we just couldn't speak.

My open eyes dried, but with mud looming near,

I just couldn't risk blinking for the sake of a tear.

My sisters and I saw but one place to flee.

We fended off mud tracks that forced us three

to walk up the stairs backward to the dark second floor,

and we realized quite quickly as we rounded the door,

the situation had placed us near books thankfully.

We began whomping gooks with the biggest books we could free.

We whacked them and thwacked them with all of our might.

The mud squished like a pancake if you hit it just right.

Then it snapped in two pieces like stretched, old bubble gum,

and two darted away, where before there was one.

"Stop the whacking!" I yelled. "To the bathroom! Retreat!"

We sprinted to the bathroom just as fast as our feet

could carry our bodies all the way down the hall.

Grace tripped on the runner, but avoided a fall.

We ran in the bathroom and turned on a light.

Then we slammed the door shut, sealing it really tight.

Sam closed the windows. I threw towels on the floor,

and jammed them in any gaps under the door.

Grace wadded some tissue and plugged the keyhole,

standing up on the seat of our pink toilet bowl.

We successfully plugged every hole, crack, and cranny.

Then Grace stood up triumphant –with gook on her fanny!

I warned, "Don't be scared Gracie; there's more whacking to do.

Some gook snuck in here slyly by clinging to you!"

So I picked up a book and stepped forward to beat her.

She jumped off the toilet and backed toward the heater.

And that's when we heard a most peculiar sound.

The gook dried from the heat, and fell "clink" to the ground.

We all circled in closer as it lay on the floor steaming.

The house was quieter since we three stopped our screaming.

Sam poked it gently with a pencil she found,

but the gook just lay hard and still on the warm ground.

"It's just mud," Sam crooned calmly in a quizzical tone.

"Don't like bugs," Gracie scowled in a faint whimpered groan.

"This gook Ryan brought home is some very odd stuff!

But it needs to stay moist!" I claimed, acting real tough.

"We have found out its weakness, so we're one step ahead.

Now let's go help the others. Gosh, I hope they're not dead!"

We opened the window to the fire escape

and tossed out that hardened amorphous shape

while we snuck down the ladder and ran to the back door.

We went through; the door banged, as it had done before.

"Now what?" Dad groaned loudly, interrupting my brother,

who was steadfast in his attempt to win him over.

"That's enough!" yelled my father, "now just sit down and eat!"

"Wash your hands," urged my mother. "Girls, please take your seats."

Grace clung to me tightly as our eyes scanned the room

looking for gobs of gook or an impending doom.

But the kitchen was tidy.

"Huh!" my brother exclaimed,

"I'm cleaner than I thought! That's very strange."

And he was cleaner now than when he first came in,

interrupting our dinner, with mud on his chin.

Now all that remained was a speck on his nose

and some dried, light brown smears on his arms and his clothes.

He walked to the sink with a smile and a shrug.

Having exhausted my father, he was looking quite smug.

At the sink, he saw mud crusted on his ring finger.

He splashed it with water, and he let his gaze linger

long enough to witness the dried gook on his nail

moisten up, jump right off, and leave without a trail.

His hand held up high, spread in front of his face,

hid the moon through the window I'd seen from my place.

He stared at his hand, weeping with water drips,

and the moon made light shine from his fingertips.

My brother's back stiffened as he stood near the sink.

So I knew he'd seen something that made him rethink

what he thought he had conquered down there by the brook,

but he just came to the table with a complacent look.

My sisters and I swiftly snuck in our chairs.

My eyes fixed on my brother with a determined stare,

as I tried hard to tell him with telepathy

that I knew of the gook (and so did Gracie.)

But he just sat, looking down, eating buttery peas.

One by one, he spooned them slowly up to his teeth,

and he gingerly bit one 'til the soft inside squished out.

Then he curled up his lips and sucked it into his mouth.

And he did it again and again –how he ate!

He sucked up all the peas off his darn tootin' plate!

Then without gazing up, he switched to his potatoes,

finishing his supper like someone who knows

that there's no neat solution to the mess we are in,

so there's plenty of time to enjoy your din din.
Chapter 2

As I contemplated the wisdom of his ways,

my eyes saw some gook in its dry, dormant phase.

It was on Ryan's elbow, like a dry, bloody scab.

If it stayed dry a while, it'd be easy to grab.

But his elbow, pressed firmly on the top of the table,

was close to some water, which if touched, would enable

that dried gook to grow moist and escape like the rest.

My mind raced as I schemed how best to catch our guest.

My mother and father took their plates to the sink.

Ryan reached for his glass to take another drink,

and some orange juice splashed down on the way to his lips.

When his elbow returned, it would land in the drips!

So I grabbed my own glass and I furiously slurped

until my glass was empty and I could put it to work

in the most brilliant invention any 10-year-old can master:

my vile-stinky-gobs-of-gook Mud Gullumper catcher!

All my muscles were tense, primed to work at great speed.

For I had to be quick to catch gook once it's freed.

My eyes scanned back and forth, between elbow and face,

as I tried to predict the right time and right place

my brother would plop his elbow in the drips.

(And it would surely be soon if he'd stop taking sips!)

Then a droplet of orange juice, on the rim of his glass,

slid down to his hand, and it slowly went past

his thumb knuckle wrinkles, now sticky and ginger,

slithering down his arm, horror's moist harbinger.

The drip reached his elbow. The gook sucked it right up.

The gook leapt to the table, and I slammed down my cup!

"Are you OK?" called my mother, rinsing soap off a plate.

"Oh sure," I smiled calmly, "Hey, dinner was great!"

But I wasn't "OK" – I had gook in my cup!

The glass magnified him, so I could see him close up!

A yellow-brown mound, with a tinge of dark green

on the surface that gave it a powerful sheen,

from oily-type film glistening on the goop.

It kind of resembled a squirming dog poop.

But its eyes were like saucers as it twisted around

The poor thing was in a terrified panic deep down!

'cause it knew it was trapped, but it didn't know how.

It kept lunging forward as it had done up 'til now.

It splotched to the top, then fell down in a mass,

leaving faint prints of its struggle all over the glass.

My sisters and Ryan slowly gathered around

gawking at the cup that I fought to keep down.

But that gook was so feisty, I had to use both hands,

and still it wobbled and shook underneath my command!

Each time it lunged forward, it dragged me a bit.

It kept lurching toward Sam 'til I could no longer sit

in my chair anymore, so I held it down standing.

My puckered face revealed this task was demanding

–but no one would help me! I clenched my teeth tightly.

Sam and Grace bounced away startled-bunny-like-sprightly.

The sound of chairs moving signaled running away

to my mom at the sink, so she piped up to say,

"Please bring me your dishes, if you're done with your meal."

My cup tipped; the gook fled. Gracie let out a squeal.

"Oh no!" shrieked my mother, "do we have mice again?

Those traps are just worthless! I set down over ten!"

"A mouse?" my dad glanced, turning 'round from his place.

"That's what set Greta barking," he spoke with a blank face.

But even when blank, his forehead was etched

with deep wrinkly lines only children can sketch.

He pounded on flaxseed in a mortar and pestle,

"Eat Mom's peaches for dessert, if you're not yet full."

I hung my arms down and sunk in my seat

defeated, exhausted, and thoroughly beat.

I was so disappointed that the gook got away.

I just frowned at my sisters, with nothing to say.

Ryan left quickly, after cleaning his plate,

and he ran up the stairs in a very quick gait,

two steps at a time, with the greatest of haste

as if he believed that he was being chased.

"He's too old for this, Jules. When's it going to stop?"

Dad griped, filling his mug from the coffeepot.

He winced from the heat, when he took a small sip.

Mom replied, staring off, gently biting her lip.

"He's a twelve-year-old boy with a great imagination.

So what if his life is filled with animation?

I won't be the one who insists that it ends.

The pressure will eventually come from his friends."

My sisters and I cocked our heads to the side,

scrunched up our noses, confused and surprised.

Did they really not see the mud scoot 'cross the floor?

It was such a commotion, how could they just ignore

that the mud Ryan brought home just raced 'round the room

climbing up to the highest place it could assume.

It chased us upstairs! It clung to the curtains!

These things aren't imagined. I knew it for certain.
Chapter 3

Once the house was settled, after my nightly chores,

I kissed my folks goodnight and climbed upstairs once more.

When I checked on my sisters, safely tucked in their bed,

little Sam's hand beckoned above her bedspread.

"What is it, Sam? It's past your bedtime."

"I'm trying to figure out how that mud climbs

up the stairs when it's wet. I can't figure it out.

But I'm sure it's something I'll have nightmares about."

"Think about something else in your dreams tonight.

Perhaps our eyes were tricked by the sparkling light

of the brightly lit moon shining through our windows.

Sometimes our brains animate complex shadows."

"In your cup!" Sam retorted, "you had one in your cup!"

"I don't know what I had. I was so wound up

after Ryan's story, maybe it was a delusion.

I'll have to think more before I make a conclusion.

But go to sleep now, the house has settled down

I'm going to bed too, once I don my nightgown."

After calming this sibling, then off to another.

I decided to have a brief chat with my brother

about this gook that ran rampant until it was dried.

I'd a hunch they were worse than what he had implied.

Ryan dashed to the bathroom and flicked on the light.

I barged in behind him and shut the door tight.

"I'm peeing!" he squealed, re-zipping his pants.

"Can't you hold it?" I whispered. "Just give me a chance.

The Mud Gullumpers," I started, "from where do they come?

Did they really emerge from the smelly pond scum?

Does this odd little animal, or creature, as it were,

threaten our lives, or pose us danger?"

"Oh Bits," he laughed softly, "all of that is for cover.

Were it not for the drama, I'd get in big trouble

for coming home late, night after night.

Mom and Dad would start yelling; we'd get in a fight.

So I start the theatrics to distract them a bit.

Don't worry your poor little head over it."

"What?" I barked bluntly. "You've got to be kidding!

I saw by the sink when that ugly brown thing

escaped with great haste as you washed your own hands.

It was clear you saw something you did not understand."

"I don't know what you mean," he consoled tenderly.

"It sounds like I scared you with this fantasy.

But I assure you I was just escaping Dad's wrath.

Now just run off to bed so I can take my bath."

"You're a liar!" I seethed through a tightly clenched jaw.

"I fought them in here, so I know what you saw.

You brought home some creature that raced down the halls!

It dashed under furniture and can climb up the walls.

Not resting until it can go no higher.

I might be frightened, but I know you're the liar."

"You're obviously tired!" chided my brother.

"Brush your teeth. Go to bed. When you wake, you'll feel better."

And he turned off the light without answering my plea.

"They're all over the house!" I whispered quickly.

He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the hall.

Then he urged, "Go to sleep. Get your rest. Please don't stall."

He slipped into his room, softly closing the door,

leaving me all alone in the hallway once more.

The house was so quiet, as I lingered a bit.

I heard mother's long needles clinking as she knit.

But I was sure Ryan was up to mysterious stuff.

He had turned off his light and stayed quiet long enough.

Plus, I knew he was dirty, so he wasn't asleep.

Ryan clearly had secrets he wanted to keep.

So I went back downstairs as quick as a flash.

I told Mom I'd forgotten to take out the trash

And without looking up, she mumbled,

"Mmm...hmm, sure."

I scooted past her and out the front door.

"Ah rats!" a voice rang through the warm autumn air.

I peered down the dim street to see who was there.

Ryan's friend Jon dragged a trash can out.

On the curb, the can tipped, so he let out a shout.

He sprinted after trash eddying down the street,

stopping small bits of paper with each stomp of his feet.

I watched him a while, since his movements looked silly.

Lots about him and his family seemed odd to me really.

They had moved here from China early last spring

-six thousand seven hundred eighty miles, from Beijing.

And people who come from so far away

should be unlike us here in the USA.

Because even my cousins, who live north, sixty miles,

have some diverse words and odd clothing styles.

So if you think about that, then it's easy to see

Jon's at least 113 times different than me.

Some of those differences are quite apparent,

like his dark hair, and eye shape, and those things inherent.

But other things are subtler, and you just have to wait

'til an opportunity arises to reveal the odd trait.

I snuck 'round the back of the house, and then stood

looking up at my brother, surely up to no good.

He sat near the window, all alone in his room,

with a unusual interest in the almost-full moon.

I hid near the bushes for a better sight

of my brother's odd gaze, so prolonged in the night.

He was looking straight up, yet his expression was such

that I don't think he was using his eyes very much.

The sourwood tree underneath his window

reflected his light as a red autumn glow,

and the crinkling leaves of a dry maple tree

filled the air with an eerie anxiety.

About ten minutes passed, he was silent and still,

his hands resting palm-up on his windowsill.

Then his gaze floated down from the moon toward the stream,

eyes intense - penetrating the dead-end scene.

That look in his eyes, I could not comprehend,

as if he'd been betrayed by his very best friend.

Now I'd been out too long, so I turned to go back,

dissatisfied with the few measly facts

I had managed to find on this oddest of nights

when the Mud Gullumpers' existence had come to light.

As I walked to the front, along the side path,

a small paper scrap glistened in our bird bath.

I picked it out, shook it moist, and smoothed out to read

some small symbols in red ink that had started to bleed.

I figured the symbols were probably Chinese.

Though languages were hardly my expertise,

I was so intrigued by the exotic scripts

used in Russian, Egyptian, and even Sanskrit.

A book of mine had over a hundred pages

about writing systems and their approximate ages.

I'd copy words down in a special notepad,

and I don't mean to brag, but I'm really not bad!

For my birthday this year, Dad gave me ten dollars.

I used it to buy new ink pens in twelve colors.

I knew one of those would match the red ink here.

So I pressed the scrap dry to keep the mark clear.

A light flicked on next door, in my friend Pam's room.

Must be late, if she's ready for bed, I assumed.

I tossed pebbles gently up toward her window.

They clinked slightly louder with each measured throw.

Through the curtain appeared a small, dark shadow.

Pam opened the window, and inquired, "Hello?"

The moonlight cast shadows that allowed me to trace

the pale features that made up her freckly face.

Her quizzical brow slid to round, healthy cheeks.

Braces glistened through lips as they parted to speak.

Her brown hair looked black in the dim evening light.

She looked kind of creepy, much to my delight.

Pam was a tomboy, though less so than me.

One year older, and taller, but more prone to flee.

When the going got tough, she would not stand her ground,

she was always the one who got pushed around.

She might walk away, even if she was right!

Pam would do anything to avoid a fight.

"Hey Pam," I whispered, "it's just me over here."

She leaned out of her window 'til her smile was clear.

"What are you doing?"

"Spying on my brother.

But I have to go in, or I'll scare my mother.

I've something to tell you, so don't go to bed.

Once I get inside, hose-a-phone me instead!"

The hose-a-phone was like a phone. It was a private line

that we had hung quite carefully between her room and mine.

It started a few months ago, during school vacation.

Playing in the pool one day, we came up with our creation.

I stood in the low end, a garden hose end to my ear.

Pam talked in the other end and I could clearly hear!

We thought this just amazing, to talk from far away,

while everyone else in the pool could swim around and play

above our twisted garden hose, snaking all along the bottom.

Pam whispered many secrets, and I still always got 'em.

Toward the end of summer, we decided to design

a hose-a-phone that really was a permanent phone line.

We dug a trench deep in the ground between our two windows,

then strung the hose from room to room and let it droop below.

We topped the hose with clumps of grass we had dug up before,

and twisted vines around the part up to my second floor.

Pam's side was much simpler because she had a tree.

We tucked the hose along the trunk and it hid it skillfully.

Most every night since then, after we are in our beds.

We lie down on our pillows, a garden hose up to our heads.

We laugh about the crazy things that happened recently,

and if we have a problem, aim to solve it decently.

Once upstairs, teeth brushed, and my folks kissed goodnight,

I rushed under my bed sheets and turned off my light.

Pam saw my signal, and within seconds, a moan

came gurgling out of my own hose-a-phone.

I sunk in my pillow, sheets up to my nose,

and told Pam to hold on to her end of the hose.

"Put it up to your ear, and I'll do the talking.

Just wait 'til you hear of the creatures I'm stalking!"

I told Pam that Ryan brought Mud Gullumpers home,

and they zip to the highest places they can roam.

My sisters and I found they dry out in heat,

and once dry, they are harmless and easy to beat.

"I caught one in my cup, and held it for a bit.

I told Ryan we saw them, but he just denies it!

But I'm on to him, Pam! So before it's too late,

let's head to the creek to investigate.

Let's do it tomorrow," I implored urgently.

"If we go when it's hottest, we'll explore it safely.

The fate of the world surely rests in our hands!"

Eleven grim syllables shattered my plans.

"I'm off to my grandma's first thing tomorrow.

I'll be back Sunday night, but Monday we can go!"

I panicked and sweated a useless hot fury,

for I couldn't go seeking my lusus naturae

without an accomplice to save me in case

those beasts dragged me into their dank, mucky place.

We agreed to go Monday, and hung up our phones.

I tossed and turned in my bed, with aches in my bones.

I scanned the room for any sneaky mud clumps.

And although I saw none, my arms still had goose bumps.

The evening was nice, so Pam's folks sat outside,

listening to an opera from speakers inside.

The haunting, soft voice of a young female muse

lulled me into sleep with her Sadko berceuse.

That voice stroked my brain as I slipped off to sleep,

pressed into my mattress to a snooze very deep

in my usual pose, lying flat on my back

with my legs crossed and pinky toes linking, but slack,

and my hands gently folded, rested on my heart

pinkies crossed, thumb tips close, but slightly apart.

I've slept in this posture long as I remember.

It's the pose my body seems to naturally prefer.

I drifted off into my recurrent dream,

where I doze not on mattress, but on a light beam.

I float a few inches over the warm bed.

Instead of a pillow, light cradles my head.

But Pam couldn't snooze after all I had told her!

Huddled under covers, flashlight on her shoulder,

she drew pictures of Mud Gullumpers' white, massive eyes,

and more of Mud Gullumpers zipping to new highs.

Double-checking her windows, to be sure they were closed,

she didn't want her sleeping body exposed

to these sneaky creatures I had told her about.

If I said they exist, she'd no reason to doubt.
Chapter 4

Trying to read Saturday, my thoughts were consumed

with each drip from the faucet in the hall bathroom.

Each 'plip' marked off seconds that Pam was away,

so I played with my sisters for the rest of the day.

After dinner, my mom walked all of us to the park,

where we frolicked as much as we could before dark.

"Look at me!" Ryan yelled, cresting high on the swing.

"I can't go any higher!" He yelled through a wide grin.

The metal rings groaned with each pull and each pump,

then went lax at the top, making Ryan's swing jump.

My sisters and I took our turns down the slide,

gazing up at our brother on his highest of rides.

My mother sat calmly at the base of the hill,

on a bench, bundled up for the pre-evening chill.

A soft wave of rain unfolded from the sky,

misting Gracie's curls, scintillating the slide.

My arm was soon covered with small lollipops

-stiff, goose-bumped blond hairs - water droplets on top.

My brother just relished the new stimulus.

Pumping harder and faster, he flew high 'bove the grass.

He pumped with a purpose, or some higher calling

that shielded him from any fear of falling.

He called out, "Watch me, Mom! I'm going to climb

right up those raindrops as if they were vines!"

Then he leapt off the swing before she could react,

grasping each small raindrop as if in fact

he really believed that the raindrops could hold

the sheer weight of a healthy young twelve-year-old.

And he did seem to rise, to my sisters and me.

He swam through the rain and up rose his body

in a slow, curving arc, and my sisters and I

were so pleased to see Ryan rise up in the sky.

"There he goes!" giggled Gracie.

"Up! Up! And away!" Sam yelled in response to this boldest display.

"Ryan! No!" My mom screamed, leaping up from her seat.

At that screech, Ryan pointed down both of his feet,

and flailing, he plummeted down to the ground.

His body met earth with a dull, thudding sound.

After that great thud, it was quiet again,

but for pittering pats of the weakening rain

on the cold metal slide my sisters crouched under,

staring out at my brother in awe and wonder.

His body was still in an odd, crumpled heap.

His chest heaved in small jerks as he started to weep

the saddest of weeps my ears had ever heard.

Mother ran up the hill muttering some curse words.

The sploshing of Mom's footsteps abruptly stopped

when she reached Ryan's side, crossed herself, and then dropped

to her knees and comforted,

"Please don't move, take it slow.

Tell me where does it hurt?"

Ryan raised his elbow.

"Why'd you do that?" he moaned, beneath his arm.

"Do what?" asked my mother, now slightly alarmed.

"You made me come down, when I was doing just fine!

Why'd you shriek out my name when I started to climb?

I wasn't going far, and I planned to come down.

You scared me when you yelled, and I fell to the ground!"

Mother did not respond to his little tirade,

confused by his thoughts and a little afraid.

"Can you get up?" my mom pushed, beckoning him to stand.

"Think so," he groaned quietly, offering his hand.

She pulled him up straight, steady on his two feet

and walked him slowly down toward the concrete.

"Let's go home," Mom dictated, herding us on.

I held Gracie's hand; Ryan leaned on Mom's arm.

One by one, silent plod, down the path to the street,

where the afternoon stored its residual heat.

The rain vaporized to the hazy street light,

directing my eyes to an intriguing sight.

In the dark, evening sprinkle, it seemed sure enough

that some of those raindrops were falling straight up!

Lightning flashed in the distance, and I saw clearly

that something was rising up out from the trees.

But unlike my brother, these things rose lump by lump

and they didn't come down with a loud, solid thump.

"Mud Gullumpers?" I mouthed, but not quite out loud,

as I watched one go zipping right up to the clouds.

I looked at my brother, and there's no denying

that I think I'd just realized why he had tried flying.

Chapter 4½

In the emergency room, my brother just moaned

of the throbbing discomfort in his arm bone.

My mother sat meekly in a corner chair

explaining the events that had led us all there.

Jotting notes, the doc called in a specialist

to fix Ryan's arm and put it in a cast.

"He'll heal fine," gibed the doctor, and added wryly,

"From now on, I advise you stop him from flying."

This dig at her parenting was unexpected,

and cocky young doctors need to be corrected.

"I'll push him to fly for the rest of his life.

He just clearly needs better theories of flight."

Mother felt that was all that she needed to say.

The young doctor just smirked as he walked away.

Suddenly confident to take things in stride,

Once Ryan was ready, Mother rushed us outside

to get us away from these dull physicians

who know little about raising healthy children.

And it seemed like my mother just skipped out the door.

Any unease or embarrassment from moments before

was suddenly lifted, and instead of decrying,

my mom liked Ryan's cast; it proved her kid was trying!

When we got to the car, my mom dug in her purse,

looking for a good pen, so she could be the first

to sign Ryan's cast. She squinted her eyes,

and twisted her mouth, trying hard to decide

what to write on the arm of her damaged young son.

She knew he'd be fine, but his pain was her own.

Since all this resulted from a leap off a swing,

she wrote in her neat, blue cursive: "Broken wing."
Chapter 4 ¾

On Sunday, we all took our earned day of rest.

I swallowed my Mud Gullumper nervousness,

My father lamented, we needed more rain

to soften the garden, and ease the earth's pain.
Chapter 5

Monday afternoon, after school had let out,

kids descended on the dead-end to run and shout

beneath the crab apple tree, a few feet past

where the dirt path yields to dandelions and tall grass.

All the neighborhood kids came out that bright day.

Pam and I saw our privacy dwindle away.

Kids swarmed around Ryan to sign his new cast.

I just wanted to form a search group at long last.

I decided to warn of the Mud Gullumpers' moor,

but I needed to know that we would be secure.

So I told everyone, "Before we talk a bit,

for our own safety, we should build a fire pit.

The heat from the fire will protect all of us

from the horrid creatures we're about to discuss."

That brief mention of the Mud Gullumper faction

was enough to spring everyone into action.

It took scant precious goading to inspire

elementary school kids to build a huge fire.

We knew just what to do since we were all scouts.

We'd been camping before, where we learned all about

making fires from twigs and logs found in the woods,

how to arrange rocks, and clear brush, as you should.

We girls pulled our hair back in tight ponytails

with yanked honeysuckle vine from the pond trail.

We peeled sheets of birch bark, stacked twigs to be lit.

The boys rubbed sticks together in a fierce fit,

Emmy scooped up dirt in an old coffee can

-just one part of our thorough fire safety plan.

Despite all the friction, no one lit a flame,

no spark, no puff of smoke, and all arms hung lame.

"We need matches," said Ryan, rising from a sit.

"I know where Mom keeps them - be back lickity-split!"

The boys put their sticks down, as he ran down the path.

I lay back on the dirt. Pam chewed on some sweet grass.

I crinkled my nose at her new food of choice.

"Jon said I could eat it," she said in a meek voice.

The dust Ryan kicked up as he ran away

softly swirled and then sank through the sun's setting rays.

"Greta, stay!" I yelled firmly, when she dashed for his tracks.

"Here girl," I called sweetly, just to make her trot back.

I threw high in the sky a stick we'd been using.

Greta sprinted toward it with a fervor amusing.

We giggled and chortled as she ran for the stick

as if her whole doggie life depended on it.

She sprang in the sky, caught the stick in her jaws,

landing in a large heap of rump, back, then paws.

Then yipping loudly, she took off for the creek,

dust contrails behind her in billowing streaks.

"Your dog's really stupid," declared good ol' Cyd,

scribbling in the dirt with the point of his stick.

Cyd was kind of a jerk; that much, I'll grant.

But when you know one your whole life, you're more tolerant.

With four older sisters who beat him up often,

his aggression toward girls was quite hard to soften.

We were the same age, even in the same class,

but I'd been round him so long, I was hard to harass.

He'd take a few jabs, and see I just ignored him,

or yawn in his face like I suffered from boredom.

Cyd's busy stick blurred when I focused on Jon,

crouched down to see something he'd happened upon.

In a large, empty space, trodden pebbles and silt,

stood a small goldenrod, trying hard not to wilt

from the afternoon sun that beat down on its leaves

making its petals curl like a mouth when it grieves.

To see life standing tall in such deprivation

was a very inspiring aberration.

Its will to survive was certainly awesome.

So I rose to go look at that bright, little blossom.

I squatted by Jon and wiped sweat off my brow.

He slumped down from the crouch he had held up 'til now.

"Nature does nothing, and yet everything's done."

In silence, I rocked, contemplating that one.

It just made no sense, and I could not ascertain

why such thoughts didn't fit in my black and white brain.

Jon's brain produced zingers like that all the time!

Short and sweet little phrases with word choice sublime

that made you consider and question your worth.

Brow-baked, I drooped down to the toasty, warm earth.

"I have too much homework, so I cannot stay.

But please tell me what happens some other day."

Jon grabbed his blue bike from the base of the tree

and turning around, nodded "bye" back to me.

He wobbled a bit, slowly pedaling away,

with the rocky, tan trail clearly pointing the way.

A contented traveler, with minimal striving,

focusing on the journey and not the arriving.

We watched Ryan running again down the street.

"Got 'em," he panted, hunkering down on his feet

up close to the pit, and he struck a match briskly

and touched it to the birch bark, which lit up quite quickly.

With our campfire now blazing, we all reconvened

and I told everyone of the stuff I had seen.

Ryan was surprised by the topic that day.

He tried shutting me up four or five different ways.

But I was persistent, and the other kids' pleas

made him sit back and frown, with his hands on his knees.

I spoke of the mud and how it zooms around,

while Ryan sat silent, looking down at the ground.

I claimed, "Ryan says the gook hails from the creek,

and if you go down there, it's boots that they seek."

"I've lost boots there before," Quinn agreed with a shrug.

"They wouldn't come out no matter how hard I tugged."

"Me too!" offered Emmy, "My boots were so deep

that I had to run home with just socks on my feet!"

Because they were seven, I knew they'd believe

any scary story my brother conceived.

Allowed in the dead end the first time this year

'cause they both have big sisters to watch them down here.

Quinn is Pam's brother. He's in second grade.

He always seems sad and a little afraid.

That's probably because in all of his classes

the school kids make fun of his coke bottle glasses.

We don't laugh at him here, 'cause he's one of the gang.

Most days after school, this is where we all hang

out together, so it pays to get along.

If you live on these streets, you always belong.

Emmy was a pretty and delicate girl.

She liked to dress up and have her hair in curls.

Her mom made her sister take her everywhere,

which to a teenager, is completely unfair.

So that makes Eileen the oldest one of us.

Her goal is to quarrel and to fake disgust

at our babyish games and young naiveté.

We all tolerate her to the nth degree.

"It's just mud!" Eileen sneered. "There's no need to contrive

a big, gooey monster that's really alive."

Smacking logs with her stick to accent her remarks,

she unleashed a thousand bright orange fire sparks,

which swirled up in a funnel and then slowly thinned,

like fireflies fleeing a thunderstorm wind.

"It'd be dumb," agreed Danny, "if we all pretend

we believe in your stupid Mud Gullumper friends."

Danny and Ryan were both in the sixth grade,

but Danny was the easiest kid to persuade.

If someone older spoke first, he would just agree.

It seemed he wanted to be with the big kids to me.

"Ryan, tell them," I pleaded, "I'm not making this up.

Tell them I briefly caught one in my cup!"

Ryan sat still, his face oddly aloof.

He didn't want to bear the burden of proof.

Now the line was drawn between old kids and young,

he had to decide which side he would be on.

Ryan stared, looking down, ignoring my pleas.

His silence fed a growing sense of unease

that crept 'round the campfire from kid to kid.

So I just pressed on, and entered my bid.

"Well, I think this is something to investigate

because things will get worse if we procrastinate.

If the gook keeps spreading, it'll take over the town!

I don't think all of us should be fooling around.

A group of us kids should go down to the creek

to meet with the gobs of gook and try to speak

with them, if they are able to converse at all.

We're coming in peace, so there's no need to stall.

Let's do it right now! Raise your hand if you'll come.

The rest can stay here until the fire is done."

"I won't go," Ryan whispered, sitting very still.

"You won't go 'cause you're scared," he added with a chill.

We all looked at each other, a little surprised

by the dark cloud of doubt dimming Ryan's gray eyes.

"I'm going," piped up Pam. "I'm too curious

about this gook or this mud that you say's around us."

"I dare you," Cyd snickered, with a smirk on his face.

"Double dare you," hissed Eileen, pushing him out of place,

while she pulled her stick slowly out from the hot coals,

blew the flaming tip out with steady control

and then aimed it at Pam's face, smoking and orange-tipped,

making Pam lean back in fear, biting her lip.

"Well, I'm going," I countered, "so at least we have two

brave enough to save the world from this stinky, foul goo."

"Double-dog dare you," Ryan raised the stakes higher.

A silence was broken by a crack from the fire.

Greta tucked her nose deeply underneath her front paw

as if hiding from wicked visions she foresaw.

The sun burned above; the fire burned below.

We stared each other down 'tween the warmth of their glow.
Chapter 5½

"Hi Jules, this is Liv," began Pam's mother.

"Hi Liv, how are you? Did Bitsy come over?"

"Oh yeah, all the kids went down to the dead end.

From here, I see them and the fire that they tend."

"The fire?" my mom chirped. "Did I hear you right?"

Pam's mom confirmed, "I see smoke and the light.

I feel bad to go yell, since they built it just right.

They cleared all the leaves and weeds that might ignite."

"Just like we taught them in scouts," Mom lamented.

"Our class on fire safety was misrepresented."

"Well, should we all go?"

"Wait, let me call Kat,

because she'll want to come. I'll call you right back."

"Hi Kat, this is Jules. Glance out your window

toward the dead end –do you see something glow?"

"Well, those little stinkers! Did they build a fire?"

"They did," stated my mom, "but Liv caught it in time.

We're heading down there just to have a talk.

Would you like to join us for our little walk?"

"No, wait!" Kat exclaimed, "With your consent,

I think we should call up the fire department.

We'll explain what's happened, and have them send a truck.

That should scare them all straight, with any luck."

"Oh! That's a great plan!" My mom grinned through the phone.

"You call them, I'll call Liv, and we'll all watch from her home."
Chapter 6

"Stop the meeting!" barked Emmy. "I have to pee."

Eileen dragged her behind a large cluster of weeds.

While the rest of us waited, the rustle of leaves

filled our ears as the apple tree swayed in the breeze.

Now why she peed there, I can't really say.

It's not like our houses were so far away.

Yet whenever we played down here at the dead end,

reinacting true life, or just fun pretend,

it seemed like the rest of the world disappears

and all that exists is our game and our peers.

At least, that's how intense it was always for me,

but I guess I can't speak for everybody.

The faint sound of sirens came over the hill.

Cyd stared at the fire, mesmerized and quite still.

The cubed embers glowed hot sparkles from within

like angry, ochre flashing octopus skin.

Danny scratched Greta behind each of her ears

and she curled up her mouth in a satisfied sneer.

Her back leg scratched earth in the staccato thumps

of a skipping stone glancing off water crest bumps.

Ryan poked a stick in the heart of the flame.

Pam & I chanted words from our favorite clap game

of that curious misfit named Miss Mary Mack,

who wore silver buttons all down her black back,

beseeching her mother enough currency

to see sights so wondrous, they seemed otherworldly.

Greta pawed at a stick, pulled closer for chewing.

Then she cocked her head, and stopped what she was doing.

She let out a howl that woke us from our daze

and marched back and forth, in some eager displays.

Fire trucks flew past on Old Devil's Hill Road.

At the top of the hill, they then suddenly slowed.

We sat up straight when they turned onto Nor Lane.

"Someone's house is on fire!" Cyd stood and exclaimed.

We watched the trucks come zooming fast down the street.

They turned onto Tich Drive; Pam went white as a sheet.

"Put it out!" shrieked Eileen from the weeds where she came.

"Run for it!" screamed Danny.

Pam threw dirt on the flames.

Now the odd thing about that particular spot,

is it's really just a big, old vacant lot.

There's no close place to hide, where you won't be found.

The crab apple tree is the only thing around.

So that's where we went - all eight of us kids.

We ran to the tree and, like monkeys, climbed limbs.

Then Danny and Cyd hoisted Ryan up fast.

He scaled the bark quickly, despite his new cast.

Ryan and I clambered high as the tree would allow,

while the rest huddled tight on a strong u-shaped bough.

We all tried to hold still, and not make a sound,

as our smoldering fire coughed up smoke from the ground.

Greta swiftly circled the base of the tree,

to protect us, that good dog, but barking wildly.

So it was no mystery where we kids were hiding.

Plus, the trunk was littered with the bikes we'd been riding!

The trucks screeched to a stop once they reached the dead end.

Two men dragged a hose down the path behind them.

Flattening the grasses, swerving 'round the briar,

the hose sprayed with great force 'til it put out our fire.

We peered through the leaves at the chaos below,

"Oh my..." gasped my brother.

"Oh my," I echoed.

My brother and I turned our focus away

from the turmoil below to a brand new foray.

"Mud Gullumpers," I whispered, "they are everywhere!"

The brown gobs of gook had dried in the hot air.

Dried on every leaf, every branch, and every stem,

now small, hard statues of the gook they had been.

Some of the bigger clumps weren't completely dried.

A thin crust held the hardening goop deep inside.

These wobbled and shook like armored gelatin;

or crispy cicada exoskeletons.

"Here comes Mom," Eileen scowled. "We're in for it this time."

"All the moms are coming," Pam hushed. "You know that I'm

already in big trouble for fighting with Quinn.

This will be even worse when I'm grounded with him."

When I looked past the branches toward where the street stops,

More frightening than Mom, was stuff on the housetops!

It looked like a huge, muddy, wet dog had shook,

splattering every roof in the neighborhood.

Mud stuck up from rooftops like great termite mounds,

claiming soot-darkened chimneys as high burial grounds.

Mud clung to the poles and the telephone wires.

Some stretched up from streetlights like little church spires.

When the firemen extinguished our fire completely,

they all gathered around underneath the crab tree.

They called up to us,

"Come on down. It's ok!"

But we all feared the punishment coming our way.

"We're surrounded," I whispered. "They're not just in the creek.

They've positioned themselves on every high peak.

Ryan, why are they doing this? What do they want?

What else do you know that makes you nonchalant?"

Now that the fire had stopped smoking below,

I could smell the faint odor of mud with my nose.

Brushing 'gainst my forehead, like a soft piece of fuzz,

I was slowly aware of a very loud buzz.

On my left, hung an apple, swarming with bees

engrossed in its sweet nectar, sucking hungrily.

"Yikes!" I screamed abruptly, descending from the tree.

My shriek scared the others, and they started to flee.

One by one, we dropped as the panic expanded,

with loud thudding pounds, on the dry earth we landed.

Ryan perched on his limb throughout all the ado

and stretched his hand out to a Mud Gullumper statue.

Prying one of them off from a branch near his socks,

he tucked it away in his mother's matchbox.

Then, admiring the view from his fruit roost atop,

His face raised to the planets, he mouthed the word 'YOPP!'

"How'd you get up there, with your arm in a cast?"

asked a fireman in shock when Ryan went past.

Later, back at our house, out on the front porch,

the firemen showed us just how quickly things torch,

burning one of Cyd's shirts and some of Eileen's hair.

We watched each of these things vanish into thin air.

Jon stood and watched too, though he wasn't in trouble.

The commotion had made him come out on the double.

I'm sure he was glad he had homework that day

that made him go home a bit early from play.

But at the same time, you could sense his lament

that he missed out on this neighborhood event.

While some kids hung their heads in horrible shame,

I made no attempt to deflect the blame.

We had needed a fire as our main protection

to prevent a Mud Gullumper resurrection.

Now our chances of seeing Mud Gullumpers were bleak,

since we were all grounded for the rest of the week.
Chapter 7

Those days passed quickly, and by Saturday

the grounding was lifted, so we came out to play

in the hottest of falls anyone could remember.

No drenching rain fell in the month of September.

We zipped past on bikes, swerving free down the road.

Cyd leapt off of his, though he had barely slowed,

and his bike skidded off to the edge of the street,

as he stood staring down at something by his feet.

He squatted down close to a smooshed up pink blotch

in the center of the road, and told me to watch

out for cars, and if one came, to give him a yell.

If he had to get out of the way, I could tell.

He picked and he peeled at the soft, gooey gum,

hot on his fingers from the bright, midday sun.

The top was pale gray and embedded with sand.

He pulled up a gob, holding it in his hand.

Then he pressed it right up to his nose and he sniffed.

"Watermelon," he gushed. "Do you want a bit?"

"No thanks," my nose crinkled, "I think you'll agree

that it can't taste too good if it's ABC."

"If mom saw me chewing, I'd get in big trouble.

But it feels soft enough to be good for a bubble

and since most pink gum has a long-lasting flavor,

I think I'll continue this disgusting behavior."

Popping it in his mouth, he licked his fingers clean.

His eyes suddenly softened and glazed over serene.

Pebbles crunched on his teeth as he chomped and he chewed,

but the grin on his face showed a boy quite subdued.

Danny raced down the street, flying past on his bike.

"Meeting at the apple tree! Come if you like!"

We watched his frame shrink as he neared the dead end.

I just hoped we wouldn't get in trouble again.

"Come on," Cyd beckoned, picking up his white bike,

"I'll beat you there riding backwards, if you like."

Then he leaned on his handlebars, facing the rear,

stretching back both his arms for balance and to steer.

He then lifted his legs, and finding the pedals,

slowly wobbled away, offering grand farewells.

"Catch up if you can! You should set the pace!

If it's thousands of miles, I'll still win the race!"

I still stood by my bike as he teetered away,

amused to the core by his circus display,

when I heard Jon's skateboard approaching from behind.

I hopped on my bike and he quickly aligned

himself next to me so he could declare

there's no way he would miss this neighborhood affair.

Eight kids huddled in the crab apple tree shade.

"Let's get started, it's clear that the others all stayed

home to watch TV or something," grumbled Eileen.

"I think we should meet in the submarine."

It was Cyd who piped up and suggested the move.

"Raise your hand high if you want to approve.

We've no privacy here, with our moms always spying.

Plus, it's cooler down there. It'll save us from frying."

Even though Cyd's a jerk, he's really no dummy.

We can see eye-to-eye and be kind of chummy.

Plus sometimes the plans he comes up with are great,

So today I'm so glad that he's one of us eight.

We all stretched our hands high through the afternoon dust.

Some kids had never been, so they followed on trust.

We knew the submarine was a top secret place

hidden off dead-end paths that were hard to retrace.

We walked single-file through the overgrown grasses,

while the big kids looked for unmarked concealed passes.

"The coast is clear," called Cyd, glancing once more around.

One-by-one we all filed deep down into the ground,

through a rusty old hole, down corroded red steps

onto dirt covered floors at the deepest of depths.

Greta lay down up top in a nice, sunny place.

Her eyes twitched rapidly as some flies buzzed her face.

She exhaled once more deeply, snorting up tan dust,

as I peeked one last time over the earth's arid crust.

Since Cyd had gone first, he had flashlight patrol.

He lit up the shaft so that no one would fall.

When the last kid was down, he shined light on his face,

"The dead end kids' meeting begins in this place.

And what happens here should not be repeated

to those not present and currently seated.

All our other friends are certainly slouches,

too lazy to get their big butts off their couches

and come here to discuss the creature that stirs

in the creek near our homes –the Mud Gullumpers."

"Say your name," he demanded, "when light hits your chin."

"I'm Ryan."

"I'm Danny."

"I'm Bits."

"I'm Quinn."

He continued around, shining from kid to kid.

"I'm Pam."

"Jon here."

"Eileen."

"Boo! It's Cyd!"

From the ceiling, he hung the light, when he was done.

A deep silence ensued that engulfed everyone.

This underground room had a strong resonance

that tugged my brain into a hypnotic trance.

The light oscillated between Ryan and me,

demonstrating the strong effects of gravity.

The room smelled of rusty metal and ancient dirt,

and the black, creepy corners kept all eyes alert.

I spoke up at that point, to get the thing started.

"This meeting is clearly not for the fainthearted!

Let's continue our talk from last week's campfire.

Since that time, things have become increasingly dire.

We've found out the beasts spread as far as they could.

They are on every high point in the neighborhood.

Now, we are lucky, of course, that it hasn't rained.

For a couple of days their movement's been contained.

But this dry spell is sure to end one of these days,

ending our protection from the sun's scorching rays.

So unless anyone has a much better plan,

Pam and I will go meet them and talk if we can,

to see what they want, and what danger they pose,

or any information they care to disclose."

Ryan was restless, and while shifting his stance,

a box fell from the back of his corduroy pants.

A soft thud and a puff of dust near Eileen's shoe

summoned sixteen wide eyes to the box in full view.

Eileen reached down and snatched it, and slid the drawer out

"There's mud in your matches," she said blandly, without

showing any interest in keeping it longer.

She tossed it back to Ryan, who didn't defer

in shoving it into his deeper front pocket.

"Is it one of those things?" called a dark silhouette.

Danny stepped toward the center, face pale in the light.

"Is there mud in that box?" he inquired with fright.

"You have one down here?" Quinn chirped with surprise.

"Hand it here," ordered Cyd, with serious eyes.

"Let's see it up close. I think these girls are lying.

They're hawking a story I'm not sure I'm buying."

Ryan leaned back, now especially shy.

He lowered his gaze, as if caught telling lies.

"It's just mud," he murmured, "Mud Gullumpers don't exist.

They're just something I made up one day to assist

me in deflecting trouble. But they make no sense!

They popped out of my brain in a hasty defense.

The Mud Gullumper story is only pretend,

and they are my old imaginary friends."

Ryan gave up the matchbox, looking satisfied

that all of this nonsense would now be cast aside.

Cyd shook the box back and forth, willy nilly.

He looked at it closely, then sniffed, "This is silly!

It's really just mud! All of this is pure crap!"

Ryan smacked his hands happily down on his lap.

"I know! It's so crazy! The tale has just grown

out of control. But every time I came home

late or muddy, I had to give an excuse.

Now the tale has gotten too wild and abstruse.

My sister believes, and it's no wonder she fears!

She's heard my tale grow scarier for the past half year!"

Cyd passed it to Danny, whose face to me hardened.

"Do you think all of us are in kindergarten?"

He kicked at the dirt floor, seething at my crime.

"This whole thing is such a stupid waste of time!"

Danny passed it to Jon, who took a good look

at the hard, dried statue of yellow-brown gook.

"This yellow-hued dirt I most certainly know

as the soft, silty soil of the Huangtu Plateau.

But how did it get here and spread all around?

The dirt here is more fertile and richly browned."

Pam looked over at me through the dim, dusty light.

Her eyes showed confusion, but no longer fright.

She had trusted my tale, every word I had said,

but no one had seen Mud Gullumpers as they fled.

It occurred to me that I had been too aloof.

I could no longer make these wild claims without proof.

I looked around the room. Everyone sat in wait.

The girls looked puzzled. Some boys' eyes brimmed with hate.

And Ryan leaned back with that smug sort of grin

from regaining control of his tale yet again.

My brother's word against mine, before all of our friends!

Lying about something I knew wasn't pretend.

My neurons went wild, and in an obstinate whim,

I took Ryan's "old friend", and I guess I stole him!

I reached for Jon's hand and the small piece of mud.

I had to show I was right, and show in cold blood!

I touched the soft mud with the tips of my fingers,

while the tense hatred in the room simmered and lingered.

I glanced up at my brother, who stood 'cross the room.

His enlarging eyes divulged an imminent doom.

Then I slowly lifted the mud up to my face,

spitting on it coarsely, in a cupped-hand embrace.

From the edge of my eye, I saw looks of disgust

turn to shock and horror. The mud morphed from hard dust

to an enlarging mud nugget of energy.

I spit on it again, and it finally broke free.

It raced up my arm, and then jumped to my head,

from there, to the ladder, up and out it fled.

Greta howled from the surface of the earth up above

so we knew whom the Mud Gullumper passed in front of.

But deep in the earth, I had changed things for good.

The truth of the Mud Gullumpers was now understood.

So I took a deep breath, and stared down face by face

all the older naysayers in that meeting place.

"Tomorrow at noon, I will head to the creek.

I hope you'll come Pam, if your interest is still piqued."

Then I climbed up the ladder and ran down the trail.

Greta followed me closely, wagging her tail.

How my brother explained what I did, I don't know.

But I'm sure he put on a really good show.

Making up some new story or some alibi

to protect his big, fat, honking, enormous lie.
Chapter 8

While Mom cooked a batch of meatballs and spaghetti,

I sat with my dad until dinner was ready.

That submarine place was a mystery to me.

I just had to determine its history.

"Is the dead-end the same as it always has been?"

"Why are you asking?" Dad said, lifting his pen.

"Has it always been like this or was it different before?

Did anyone live there? Anyone at all?"

"Why, what did you find?" my dad winced seriously.

"Nothing really," I replied more cautiously.

"Just some concrete platforms, and some trash all around,

and a ladder that leads to a room in the ground."

"Where are these?" My dad puzzled, now more curious.

"There's an old road from the dead end that's covered with grass.

If you track it a while, you come to a clearing.

Concrete slabs pave the way, before disappearing

into the ground, resigned, mud-encrusted,

close to a chain fence, all broken and rusted.

A huge metal rectangle lay in the center.

A square lid we pry off allows us to enter

and descend a ladder of dewy, red metal.

Some kids won't go in 'cause they don't have the mettle

to lower themselves to that dark, musty space.

But we kids have our secret meetings in that place.

Stairs at one end go right up to the ceiling.

Being deep in the earth gives one an odd feeling.

The older kids have gone there for several years.

Pam and I can go now, since we have tamed our fears."

The doorbell rang suddenly, and my dad jumped up.

It was Emmy's mother, and she needed a cup

of wheat flour to finishing preparing her meal.

She had lived here a while and knew a great deal

about who's lived here before and the town's history,

so my dad called on her to solve this mystery.

"Pat, do you know what was down there at the dead end?

The kids found foundations with some of their friends.

And it's odd that with all these neighborhoods around,

that nothing has ever been built on that ground!"

"You know, I heard it was once a Nike test site...

an ABM site, but I don't know if that's right.

But it's not public land, even though it's not marked.

So it'll stay growing wild," resolved Mrs. Sparks.

"Thanks for the flour, Jules; I'll return it one day."

"Don't worry about it!" Mom yelled back right away.

"What's an ABC Nike?" I hushed, eyes opened wide.

"An ABM site," my dad sat back and sighed.

"ABM stands for anti-ballistic missile.

It's a missile that shoots down another missile.

If an aggressive country began an offense,

these ABM sites were our last-ditch defense."

"A war in the dead end?" I gasped. "How exciting!

But Dad, do you know which country we were fighting?"

"There wasn't a war, but to cover our backs,

we built defense systems in case we were attacked.

Now if what Mrs. Sparks has told us is right,

there would have been some missiles stored in that site

where you kids have your meetings and go off to play.

But I assume that they are all empty today."

"We launched missiles right there? Out of the dead end?"

"Well, most of the town was just farm land back then.

You kids shouldn't be prying lids off their covers.

Who knows what dangerous things you'll discover!"

"There was a lock there, but it rusted away,

some kids whacked it with rocks and then went in to play.

It's cooler down there, where we go to convene.

The older kids named the room the 'submarine'."

"Dinner's ready!" Mom called from the kitchen upstairs.

"Don't tell Ryan we talked," I begged, suddenly scared.

"If he thinks I'm a snitch, he won't take me again

to our cool meeting place deep down in the dead end."

After dinner that night, once my chores were all done,

I chattered with Pam through our green hose-a-phone.

She was really excited to go to the creek.

This excursion had been delayed over a week!

And finally tomorrow, when Pam gets home from church,

we'd head out together to begin our work.
Chapter 9

I set out down the path, whistling a tune,

with my best friend Pam, Sunday afternoon.

'cause life's no fun if you live in fear.

So we went to the stream to ask why they're here.

Our sneaks scuffed up dust into afternoon haze.

The tree leaves were parched and burnt from the sun's rays.

Dead leaves broke beneath our hot, sweaty feet,

as we lumbered on dull from the afternoon heat.

Persimmon trees lined the long path to the stream.

We squished fallen fruit into disks of orange cream.

It seemed we'd never reach the end of our route,

but we stopped dead in our tracks when we saw the boot.

There was only a rim sticking out of the mud.

A few green polka dots peeked through all of the crud.

And that one lonely boot stood testament to

the importance of what Pam and I had to do.

I walked slowly past and Pam followed suit.

We both knew this was typical Mud Gullumper loot.

The sight made us solemn, but not scared just yet.

We marched on towards the stream, where we knew it'd be wet.

We rounded the bend past a huge hedge of briar.

We heard water trickling, entering the quagmire.

My eyes popped wide open; Pam's hands went to her head,

when we saw all the boots trapped along the streambed.

There were red ones and green ones and yellow ones too,

submerged at different levels in the vile, stinky goo.

Some were lying down sideways -some propped up by rocks.

Some were plugged up with brown, crusty, dried socks.

What a sight to behold! Like neglected old graves!

Like small beings entrapped, but begging to be saved.

We were drawn to them, while at the same time, repelled.

We felt solemn as all doubts were quickly dispelled.

Cattails swayed gently in the soft autumn breeze.

We stood safe on the bank and searched across the stream,

looking for signs of life or some movement beyond

the soft dribbles of water seeping from the main pond.

But when the breeze stopped, we were quickly engulfed

in a thick, acrid smell that made us want to barf.

Pam's eyes quickly watered from the rank malodor.

This was not something we had prepared ourselves for.

Through the oppressive heat and our watery eyes,

all things looked wavy, floating up to the skies.

Momentarily dizzy from the refraction,

the smell prompted us to spring into action.

We swatted through thick clouds of black water midges.

There were no dry paths or natural rock bridges

that would bring us closer to the water's edge,

so I perched myself high on a sandy side ledge

and I took a deep breath and called out through the air,

"Who lives in these waters? Is there anyone there?"

We stood there and waited in an eerie silence.

I called out once more, and we waited with patience.

Then Pam suggested a move that was so astute:

"Hey Bits, why don't we try to steal a boot?"

So I found the boot closest to where we two stood,

and I grabbed it and yanked it as hard as I could.

But that boot was so set, so trapped, and so snug!

It just wouldn't move no matter how hard I tugged.

"Help me pull," I begged Pam. She gulped nervously.

"If we pull it together, it's sure to come free."

We pulled 'til we groaned, then we felt the boot wiggle.

When the mud pulled it back, Pam breathed a tense giggle.

"It's just suction," she said, very 'matter of fact',

as if that was the only way boots could retract.

"On three..." I whispered, as we tightened our grip.

"One....two....three!"

The boot popped out, and both of us slipped

back hard on the sand from the force of our jerk.

Triumphant smiles confirmed our efforts had worked.

Yet this shared happiness was quickly replaced

by surprise and horror on each other's face.

For a long stretch of mud came out of the hole,

and it reached for the boot with the utmost control.

That's when quick-thinking Pam snatched up that boot fast,

as she scurried away to the edge on the grass.

Before I realized just what I was doing,

I reached out and grabbed the thing I was pursuing.

Taking hold of the long, muddy, alien arm,

I gave a quick tug, hoping I'd bring no harm.

Then I dropped it, afraid to hold any longer.

It was clear from his grip that this fellow was stronger.

and although it was I who stirred up this alien,

I did not want to seem too easy to pull in.

Mud gushed out of the hole in a powerful surge.

I crab-walked up the bank as this creature emerged

like an octopus spilling out of its cave.

Pam and I knew the time had come to be brave.

Pam clutched the boot tightly as we sat side-by-side.

Our screams trapped inside us, we just stared bug-eyed

as the Mud Gullumper rose in a glistening mound

like huge, burping lava coming out of the ground.

We were both paralyzed, with not one thought beyond

this creature that we had evoked from the pond.

But we had to speak up before it went away

and I stuttered a bit, deciding what to say.

"He- Hello," I spoke finally, "ho- how do you do?

We've come down here to the pond to talk to you."

A form became clear from that deep, muddy mess.

Rising up to at least eight feet of highness.

Facial features emerged, as did a neck,

and a gelatinous, quivering belly and back.

Dripping eyes slanted down and stayed softly closed,

as the mud slid away like a windswept silk robe.

He then took a deep breath, proving he was alive,

like a swimmer rising from a very deep dive.

Two flaccid arms rested down into the creek.

The contact with water made their boundaries leak.

Glistening in the sunlight, that aquamarine,

oily Mud Gullumper appeared so serene.

Unlike the one I had caught in the past,

who frantically struggled from under my glass.

"Hello," he spoke slowly, in a sad, gurgily voice.

"I'm King Hou Yi, but king, no longer by choice."

Pam and I sat up straight upon hearing the news

we were in a king's presence (and stealing his shoes!)

"My name's Bits, Your Highness. This is Pam; she's my friend.

We've come to meet what's living in our dead end."

"Your dead end?" the king scoffed. "Tell that, if you wish

to the creatures that live here – all the bugs and fish!

I know for a fact I've been on the earth longer.

My alliance with all of these creatures is stronger."

"We're not challenging you, King." I announced sincerely.

"We've come here to indulge one little query."

I glanced at Pam sideways, nervous what to do.

She nodded toward the king, to say 'continue'.

"We've noticed that lately, mud's spreading around

from this creek bed to, well, all over the town!

We want to know why you are stirring to action

when 'til now you stayed here with great satisfaction."

The king's form relaxed, body rippling down,

His mournful face looked languidly all around

from his stream, and then off, towards the horizon,

where he lifted his face for a look at the sun.

Chapter 10

"Oh yes," he reflected, "I remember it well.

But please have a seat, it's a long story to tell."

So finding some large rocks on the edge of the creek,

we, too, settled in snug, as he started to speak.

"It was so long ago, but I feel a rebirth.

Once ten suns shone together and they dried up the earth.

So I spoke to the men who shot rockets up high,

and implored them to blast a few suns from the sky.

We were on good terms, so they did it for me.

They left me with one sun; look up and you'll see.

The Mud Gullumpers were thrilled I'd saved them from dying.

So they made me their king, and there's no denying

that I was honored at first - as anyone would be -

to hear all of their voices cry "Hail King Hou Yi!"

But as the days passed, my maturing royalty

revealed to me the burden of loyalty:

I worried their worries and feared all their fears.

I fretted all problems that might now appear

and make me look stupid, just like some old dunce

who couldn't protect them well, as I did once.

But my biggest dread was the heat would return.

So I tried to prepare for the worst kind of burn.

My advisors told me, and I had to agree

that our only defense was water –and plenty!

I befriended beavers building dams in this creek.

A well-placed dam made this pond here especially deep.

But I couldn't forget just how quickly before

the heat from all those suns dried up our water.

So I ordered that all Mud Gullumpers around

secure their own private reserves in the ground.

This was unpopular for a king to insist.

Many under my rule did their best to resist.

They grumbled about time; they griped about space.

Few cared to prepare for crisis, just in case.

So I held a meeting with my subjects around,

to see if a quick solution could be found,

to store water simply, so as not to annoy,

and we needed vessels that we all could employ!

Now, we can't go to stores, and we don't like a fuss,

so we needed a container that came to us.

All the neighborhood children who play in the creek

wear boots we could use to hold water - on their feet!

So we started to keep all the boots we could get,

filling each with water so we'd always stay wet.

This scared all the children, believe me, I know.

We tried to say, "Excuse me" or a simple "Hello,

do you mind if we borrow your boots for a while?"

Most children ignored us, 21st century style.

So I won't say we stole them. After all, they came here!

Once they stuck their boots deep in the mud, it seemed clear

they were actually making an offering.

Why wouldn't we accept such a wonderful thing?

There was internal trouble; I have to confess.

I had trouble controlling one sprightly young lass.

Her name was Chang Er, and captivatingly free,

she took special delight in disobeying me.

She'd purposely spill boots and just splash around

in the wasted water that seeped deep in the ground.

In better times, of course, I was more lenient,

but as days got hotter, my patience was spent.

Then a few days ago, it was hot; we were weak.

Standing all shiny and moist, Chang Er looked really sleek.

And curious, I tracked her movements that day

to see how she stayed moist while we withered away.

Thinking no one was looking, she'd steal others' boots

and she'd yank them down quickly and water her roots!

At that sight, I was outraged she showed no concern

-that she hoarded water while the rest of us burned!

I told her to stop four or five different ways,

but day after day she would still disobey.

So I condemned her to death, just to get her to stop!

Her punishment: be flung to the highest treetop!

Her form clung to a branch, unshielded from the sun.

She dried hard on the leaves, 'til her spirit seemed numb.

Then later that evening, when the world was all quiet,

the Mud Gullumpers were thirsty, but cooled by the night.

Some clouds filled the sky; the wind started to blow.

Lightning flashed in the sky, making Chang Er's form glow.

We all looked to the sky, and begged for hints of rain.

The Mud Gullumpers praised me for the sacrifice made.

It started to sprinkle. Lightning lit up the sky.

A few mourned Chang Er, as her form was nearby.

Then the sprinkle increased to a steadier rain.

We spread ourselves out to ease our own pain.

When the rain splattered Chang Er, her form slowly rose,

standing up on her branch, she stretched out her toes.

We all watched amazed, as she stood proud and high,

gasping from her beauty when bolts lit up her eyes.

She took one last look, glancing over her shoulder,

and she turned up her chin, snubbing all her beholders.

Then she reached out her arm, without saying goodbye,

she climbed from raindrop to raindrop right up to the sky.

The rain seemed to stop as she climbed up each drop,

as if sent to extract her and bring her up top

\- an escalator zipping her up to the moon!

I shrieked with such rage that I started to swoon.

All looked on in horror as I thrashed and I screamed,

for she was the punished, and yet she was redeemed.

All the nights since have been clear and so still,

and the Mud Gullumpers think me an imbecile.

Chang Er smiles down from the moon every evening hour.

I'm a miserable king who has squandered his power.

Mud Gullumpers praise Chang Er - honor her as their queen.

Each sprinkle we get makes them reach for their dreams.

They flee from this creek, darting off in all ways,

climbing high, then desiccating in the sun's rays,

in the hopes that when a good rain comes again,

like Chang Er, they can climb to the moon on the rain.

So what is a failed monarch supposed to do?

I can't make them stay and ail under my rule.

I'm not such a bad ruler, I'm proud to admit.

The problem's with the weather –I can't control it!

But my mandate of heaven was clearly withdrawn.

They'd be foolish to stay once that blessing is gone.

So I told them all 'Go! Take your chances and flee!

Climb as high as you can on each rooftop and tree.

Have faith in yourselves when you dry hard in the sun

that with the next storm, up the raindrops you'll run'."

With that, King Hou Yi sank down low in the creek.

All his talking above ground had made him quite weak.

Pam and I sat in silence, digesting the news,

remembering events and sorting out clues.

"That explains all the treetops covered in mud,

and the rooftops and lightposts dirty with dried crud.

They're Mud Gullumpers in waiting, primed to fly high

off this planet of ours to their Queen in the sky."

Pam and I understood all the strange events clearly.

After thanking the king, he begged us sincerely

to make it rain hard, and make it rain soon

so his dear Mud Gullumpers could escape to the moon.

We confessed that we had no power to change the weather,

but he shouldn't fall into despair altogether.

For we had just learned in school, that in early fall,

hurricanes often form, and bring one or two squalls.

So while we can't make it rain, we can safely predict

that some rain will come this month that should do the trick.

The king bid us our health and a whispered 'goodbye'

as he slipped back under with a bubbly sigh.

His final words popped from water-strider cover,

"Oh, by the way, say 'hello' to your brother."

"My brother?" I gasped, "so you do know him!"

But the king didn't rise from the creek again.

Pam and I headed home, rounding the briar bend,

not opening our mouths 'til well past the dead end.
Chapter 11

Blasting from cheap speakers at the end of my street.

"Turkey in the Straw" = an icy treat.

"I have money!" I yelled, grabbing Pam's right hand.

Hot air pushed my bangs off of my face as we ran.

From his bedroom window, second house on the right,

Danny peeked through his blinds and saw us in flight.

Curtains pulled half-way closed, he intensely opined

that the ghastly Mud Gullumpers chased us from behind.

But we didn't stop sprinting 'til we reached the crowd,

pushing to the truck window and ordering too loud,

"Two ice pops!" I gasped, plopping down all my dimes,

exhausted, but happy we'd made it in time.

Our grass-tickled legs crossed as we sat on my lawn.

The street emptied once the ice cream truck had gone.

We deftly attacked our fast-melting ice pops,

slurping and licking so not one dribble dropped

on our legs or the grass, or slid down our arms.

Any sugary mess would soon make the bees swarm.

My two sisters were playing with kids 'cross the street,

drenched by a sprinkler from their head to their feet .

Mothers sat on front steps like guardian sphinx,

maintaining their cool with before-dinner drinks.

The sprinkler full throttle, the mud was splattering.

I watched intently the mud that was scattering

all over the yard, jump up in leaps and bounds,

but it wasn't in rain, so it fell to the ground.

"Hey Pam! Look at those Mud Gullumpers over there!

They're trying to climb up, but crash when they hit air!

They're clueless, you know. They think the sprinkler's rain.

Were it not for the grass, they'd go right down the drain!"

My sisters both squealed, back and forth through the spray.

It really looked like they were happy to play

with the Mud Gullumpers now, for they danced in the drops

and the mud climbed their legs as they spun and they hopped.

The fun was disrupted by Eileen, of course,

who kept crimping the hose now and then with great force

-just long enough to make the sprinkler spray pause

eliciting a sad chorus of "a-aawwwws."

Then Grace grabbed a jump rope and skipped through the spray.

Each jump drenched the rope caked with mud and thick clay,

which then splotched small amounts on her body each twirl

She really became a Mud Gullumper girl!

Then she ran to the middle of the yard and said,

"Watch out!"

as she spun the rope over her head.

Like a helicopter blade rotating quickly,

flinging mud in a circle around her thickly.

"That's enough!" declared my mom. "This game is done."

Leave it to a grown up to end all the fun.

And that's the difference between Eileen and adults

Eileen is annoying, but play's still the result.

And I wonder what causes playfulness to wane

I don't look forward to meeting my adult brain.

"Poor King," uttered Pam, in between swift licks

on her red, white, and blue melting ice pop stick.

"He's such a nice guy! How can Mud Gullumpers resent

someone only trying to end their torment?"

I sat quiet for a moment, looking at the lawn.

Pam was right. The king really had done nothing wrong.

But even a leader in pretty good shape

can fail against someone who offers escape.

"His plan wasn't working. His plan lacked vision.

It relied on a dwindling provision.

He was trying to squeeze every inch out of life

and an outdated custom which doomed future strife.

Everything changes and we need leaders who say

'It's not that we can't, but we should not live this way.'"

Cyd walked next to Ryan, both sucking on clover.

Seeing us on the grass, they both sauntered over.

"Made it out alive?" Ryan coyly taunted.

"We met the king," Pam piped up, fully undaunted.

"He was enormous, but also very nice!

He explained why they're fleeing and asked for advice!"

"You could see him?" squeaked Ryan, looking shell-shocked.

"You could understand all of his words when he talked?"

Eileen trotted over from across the street,

"How many gullumpy old friends did you meet?"

"A KING?" crackled Cyd. "You said it was a bird!

Just how many are there? This is just absurd!

Are they real or pretend? What the heck's going on?

What on earth's happening in our dead-end creek pond?"

Pam and I burst out laughing at Cyd's fulmination.

then continued, maintaining his marginalization.

"They need rain," I began. "They're in pain when it's dry.

They need rain so they can climb way up high in the sky,

all the way to the moon just to be with Chang Er.

They think they'll live forever if they get to her."

"You talked to the king?" Ryan asked with a heave,

"But surely he's not also planning to leave!"

"I don't know," I replied, "but as he sunk away

he told me to tell you 'hello' anyway."

Ryan sat on the lawn, visibly upset,

wearing an expression that I'll never forget.

Like a train passed him by though he clearly waited,

my brother looked completely devastated.

"If they're real....but what now?" Cyd spoke eerily.

"We just wait for the rain," I replied cheerily.

"They've no plan to attack, or take over the world?"

Just then, Jon raced toward us on his silver skateboard.

"Did I miss it?" he gasped, hopping off of his skate.

"Did the ice cream truck leave? I knew I'd be too late!

I had work to do before I could come out."

He sat down on the curb with a comical pout.

When he noticed the clover in mouths tightly lipped,

"Don't ingest any more of those," he sagely quipped.

Jon knew things about every plant that there was,

such as if it could be eaten or if it would cause

a horrible rash or a sour stomach ache.

He protected us from many grave mistakes.

Mom dried off my sisters, and crossing the street,

called us to come in since it was time to eat.

"You can have my ice pop. Though, there's only blue left.

I don't like to see you sitting there so bereft."

I held out the ice pop, pinching close to the tip,

so Jon could hold from the clean end of the stick

"Thanks," Jon smirked shyly through a lop-sided smile,

"even one chilly flavor is clearly worthwhile."

"Hey Bits," Jon went on, "I think I figured out

how that mud made it here, beyond any doubt.

I must have had some of it stuck on my shoes

when I first moved here." Jon continued, enthused.

"I wandered the neighborhood those very first days.

Finding the creek by chance, I came back to play

in the water each day to catch some tadpoles.

My soles transferred the mud during those strolls."

The street softly filled with sounds of dragging feet

as everyone began their dinner retreat.

I sat next to Jon for a few minutes more

to detail the clues of the Mud Gullumpers' lore.

I'd been squinting too much, since the sunset was bright

and I'd given myself an ache above the right

eye, deep in the brow was a sharp, stabbing pain.

I gently touched my eyes as I tried to explain.

"I know just what to do," Jon said turning towards me,

"Just take a deep breath and relax your body."

I did what he said and then I allowed

his two fingers to press midway between my brows.

He rubbed very firmly in a circular churn

'til my brow stung with pain and began to burn.

"Just a little bit more," Jon calmly assuaged,

as the sharp pain and I promptly disengaged.

It felt like his fingers were mine in a way.

My eyes closed, I was filled with a love agape.
Chapter 12

"Bring your raincoats today," Mom said, packing lunch sacks.

"It might be raining by the time you come back."

"A drizzle?" gulped Ryan, spoon hung from his mouth.

"No, a big storm is coming up from the south.

When it hits us, it'll still be a hurricane.

We'll finally have a few days of needed good rain."

"Are they going to close school?" I smiled with great hope.

Mom smirked very kindly, and shook her head 'nope.'

"They won't close it today, but if in the morning,

they change the forecast of the hurricane warning,

or the winds are so bad that the power goes out

they will have to cancel school without a doubt

so you might get a day off of school tomorrow.

But we'll just have to wait and see how it goes."

We dawdled to the bus stop under crisp, bright blue skies.

The street filled with children's voices calling good-byes.

Ryan stared at the sky looking like a sentry

down the hill to Bryers Corners Elementary,

where kids spilled off buses and through the front entrance

like a huge flock of sheep squeezing under a fence.

Ryan ducked behind bushes in front of the school.

With a half-guilty conscience from breaking the rules,

he slid toward the corner, and when the coast was clear,

he bolted back toward the dead-end in high gear.
Chapter 13

By the time Ryan got there, the sun was noon high.

He sat down for a snack on a flat rock nearby.

Digging deep in his backpack, he called for the king,

while grieving the last time they would do their thing.

"Make the water flow deep here, so my barge can stop

and pick up its cargo of pebbles and crops."

Sucking in his mud with the greatest precision,

The king carried out Ryan's every decision.

This muddy king's body, so vast and giant

was made of material especially pliant

As a great sculptor creates objects with his clay

these two made fantastic new worlds as their play.

Starting with a blank slate, they would slowly give birth

to anything they could dream, by moving the earth.

"This stem marks a fence that heads over that ridge.

Please make this stream wider, and I'll set up a bridge.

That's perfect!" praised Ryan, with a beaming smile.

"Now make this hill bigger so we'll see it for miles."

The king morphed his body 'til it rose in a mound,

while Ryan just quietly puttered around.

Tiny sticks in a row stretched to make a long fence.

When it came to detail, they spared no expense.

Each tuft of wheat grass made up separate tall trees

in an orchard he built that now shook in the breeze.

Dandelion heads grouped in several neat rows

lined a street to the river and waterfall flows.

On a corner of this line of bright yellow flowers,

he stacked pebbles to build an observation tower.

He took dried milkweed pods and emptied their fluff,

freeing seed to the wind with a great full-cheek puff.

Like concave gondolas, the floating pod halves

spun slowly from the wind through the canal paths.

While Ryan worked on this scene, the pleasant old king

kept moving his body and erecting buildings.

He pushed up tall skyscrapers in a city block

and a harbor on the edge where grand yachts could dock.

Ryan stood on the edge, with his hands on his hips.

He opened his bottle and brought it to his lips.

After wiping his chin to dry drips of his drink,

he urged, "This is the best place yet, don't you think?"

"Emperor Ryan, I will always enjoy

world-making with you, my bright, limitless boy."

On hearing this praise, Ryan stood still in a stare.

A harmonious breeze gently blew through his hair.

He watched a large turtle swim out of the pond

and crawl slowly through mud to a log beyond

a pair of boots, though different from each one,

to climb out on the log and baste in the sun.

The markings on the shell of this turtle were rife.

Ryan paused to admire this expression of life.

"I have to go soon, to catch up with the bus.

The real reason I came here was so we could discuss

the big storm that is coming here later tonight.

I wanted to tell you to prepare to take flight."

On hearing this news, the king rose from the creek,

destroying their world, as he started to speak.

"Are you sure?" the king stared. "There're no clouds in the sky!

If I tell my Mud Gullumpers, they'll want to know why

I think tonight is the night they can finally flee.

You know nobody has any faith in me."

"My mom told me this morning she heard on the news

a hurricane is coming and it will suffuse

rain all over the land for hundreds of miles

and for several days," Ryan flashed a forced smile.

The king gazed at Ryan, lost in rumination,

and his face filled with kindness and adoration.

"Emperor Ryan, I hope that you know

the worlds you will make as you continue to grow

throughout all of the years after I've gone away

will be magical places for all children to play."

Ryan let his gaze fall down hard on the sand,

a reaction the king did not understand.

He whispered, "I'm sorry, did I make a mistake?"

"I'm ok," gulped Ryan. "It just makes my throat ache."

The king extended an arm to bid him goodbye.

Shaking his hand firmly, he looked him in the eye.

"Keep this." The king ordered, plopping a mud lump

into Ryan's hand with a soft, muted thump.

"Just flatten it out to a little pancake,

lay it out in the sun and give it time to bake.

Once totally dry, you can save it forever,

to remind you of our awesome endeavors

and so you'll never forget your very best friend

lay in this mud, in this creek, down in your dead end."

Ryan grabbed his backpack and sprinted from the creek.

Running fast as he could, as tears streamed down his cheek,

and he clutched the lump delicately in his hand

as he fled away blindly from his promised land.

The bus brakes squeaked loudly slightly past the stop sign.

Ryan ran up and quickly joined into the line

of kids leaving one more fall school day behind,

though he was in a disparate state of mind.

"Where were you?" hooted Cyd. "I know you skipped school!"

He high-fived him while hollering, "You are so cool!"

"He's all covered in mud, so I know where he's been!"

Pam tittered behind a most devious grin.

"Come on Bits, let's go home." Ryan grabbed my elbow

and he dragged me away, as if I was in tow.

"Are you ok?" I protested. "Stop dragging me!"

But he just kept on tugging, ignoring my plea.

He sent me in the house, moving behind the hedge,

and placed something on the front window ledge.

"We're home!" he bellowed, as he came through the door.

"Take off your shoes! You'll get mud on the floor!"

Mom exclaimed, "You're filthy! What happened to you?"

Ryan told Mom a story I knew was untrue

about sliding at recess while chasing a ball.

He couldn't slow down, all but slammed through a wall!

How lucky he was not to hit his poor head!

"I'm covered in mud, Mom. But at least I'm not dead!"

"Go to your homework," Mom grimaced, her lips pursed.

"But the storm comes tonight; so can we go play first?"

Mom weighed our offer, and then finally agreed.

"But at the first sound of thunder, you two really need

to come home before the hurricane arrives.

This might be the best storm of both of your lives."
Chapter 14

We rode our bikes slowly, coasting down the hill.

We knew it was late, but took care not to spill

our six woolly bears caught up in the meadow

off the hill where we sled whenever there's snow.

Barbecue smells cruised the flattening street.

I picked up some speed as I kicked out my feet.

The long path set before us glittered and gleamed,

glistening from the light of a brilliant moonbeam.

Colorful lanterns were strung across the lawn

of the Li house, and our eyes were instantly drawn

to the family sitting , pointing up at the sky

and enjoying their dinner, when we pedaled by.

"Hi Jon," Ryan called out as his bike wheels slowed.

Jon got up and came out to the edge of the road.

"Why is your family all eating outside?"

Ryan smiled, as he pulled his bike up lantern-side.

"It's the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival tonight.

In the eighth lunar month, the moon's notably bright.

It's a very popular Chinese celebration.

A chance to reflect on our appreciation

for the abundant fall harvest from the earth,

and to remind families how much they are worth

to each other right now, and to ensure

that our family stays strong into the future."

Ryan reflected, "Well, the food smells great!"

"Please join us!" beamed Jon.

"No, we're already late.

Any food from your garden?"

"I grew cucumbers.

But this time of year offers dwindling numbers."

"We caught woolly bears to raise through wintertime,"

I said lifting my pail, which was covered in grime.

"They have slim copper stripes, so now we know

that this winter will be harsh and have lots of snow."

"The color of this bear predicts future weather?"

Jon asked scooping up one with a touch light as feather.

"The more copper they have, the milder months ahead."

"Did I hurt him?" Jon shrunk.

"No, he's just playing dead.

They curl up like that when they're handled too much.

You'd never harm this thing with your kind of touch."

Jon cupped his hands ethereally over my hand

and parted his pinkies so the curled bear would land

on my soft, padded mounts and slide down my fate line

It's important to care for creatures so supine.

"Won't he die this winter, if it gets really cold?"

"They make their own antifreeze; that's what I'm told.

Ryan says if we're mindful and keep him so safe,

We can feed him 'til he's full, then he'll hibernate.

When he wakes up in spring, we can feed him again,

putting twigs, grass, and spring leaves inside of his pen.

When he spins his great furry, pale, silky cocoon,

that's the sign we'll see some big changes really soon.

His body breaks down into imaginal cells.

When they recombine, a new body then swells

to fill the cocoon as a new kind of bug.

The cocoon fits the adult insect nice and snug.

And when he discards that pretty silk cloth,

out pops a tan Isabella tiger moth."

"This is the first night, in all of my years

that we've celebrated with a sky that's so clear!

But now lightning flashes on the horizon

and that surely signals the end to our fun.

Let me give you something, a sweet little treat,

a small gift that you two can take home to eat.

Have this dainty pastry. It's called a moon cake.

They're a special treat that my grandmother makes.

Promise me that you two will at least share this one

before this brilliant Harvest moonlight is all gone."

"We will," Ryan vowed, "but now we have to go.

Thunder rumbles closer. The wind's starting to blow."

Mom stood on the porch as we rode to the shed.

A gust of wind blocked out the words that she said.

We knew she was angry from the way her hands jerked,

and the shape of her eyebrows revealed she was irked.

"Where have you two been? You were to come home soon."

"We talked with Jon's family, celebrating the moon."

"Oh Ryan, don't lie, I think that you'll agree

we talked to Jon briefly, but the blame is on me."

With Mom's focus deflected from my brother,

he used his luck to slip under the cover

of our front porch, behind the tall green hedge

to retrieve what he had left on the window ledge.

"We were rapt in our woolly bear acquisition,

when I caught something that changed our expedition.

An enormous bug! Biggest we'd ever seen!

If bugs have leaders, surely this one was queen!

Fire shot from its mouth, so we covered our eyes.

Its wings buzzed our hair when it did a fly-by.

I just had to catch it! Though Ryan warned not to,

I bolted 'cross the field toward the thing I pursued.

When its dark form swooped by, shadowing the moon,

I swung the net high above, when opportune.

'I got it!' I screamed, with my net overhead.

Then my feet left the earth. I was caught instead!

Trapped writhing, it flew straight toward the trees,

and dragged me behind, tall grass scratching my knees.

Ryan ran for my foot as I flew by him fast.

He lunged for me, but I rose, eluding his grasp.

Thrashing as it flew, it slithered through the sky.

Its tail banged on a tree, and some scales fell nearby.

That's when I realized (and don't think that I'm bragging)

This wasn't a bug – I had caught a dragon!

One claw almost sliced through my shirt near my arm.

When it rose further still, I feared I would be harmed.

So I released the stick and fell to the ground,

laying back in the tall grasses, now safe and sound.

The dragon ripped off my net in a hot wrath,

and it flew through the air leaving clouds in its path,

spewing lightning and rain as it glided away.

Ryan ran up the hill to check I was okay."

"What a tale," my mom gasped, "simply like no other!

It's almost as epic as those by your brother!

Get upstairs and washed before the storm arrives.

Dinner's ready, but cold. We waited past five."

Mom cut our mooncake in half on a plate,

and she gave us ripe peaches, which we gladly ate.

Our sharp teeth popped right through the soft, fuzzy skins.

Sweet elixir dripped down our chinny chin chins.
Chapter 15

I could hear my mom reading my sisters to sleep

"And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street..."

Her voice changed to whispers as she turned off their light.

I slipped past to my room in a towel wrapped tight.

"Make it quick, Ryan," my mother implored.

"The storm's almost here," she rapped hard on the door.

The lightning flashed closer and the thunder rolled.

Our Indian summer turned suddenly cold.

In my room, the curtains lashed at the ceiling.

I buttoned my nightgown, and filled with a feeling

of dolor for Ryan, who was losing a friend,

mixed with anxiousness, staring at the calm dead end.

"Hello, Bits?" a voice peeped over by my window.

It was Pam loud and clear through our green garden hose.

I picked up the funnel, placing it to my ear,

and flickered my flashlight so she knew I could hear.

"Will you watch with me once the hard rain begins?"

"Of course I will, Pam! But I have to stay in.

My mom wants me in bed, so my room must stay dark.

But I'm waiting to watch the Mud Gullumpers embark

on their epic journey straight up to the moon.

I've been thinking about it all afternoon!

Let me go say goodnight to my parents downstairs.

I'll be back in a second; don't go anywhere!"

I went down the stairs to where mother was knitting.

Dad slept in his chair next to where she was sitting.

"Goodnight Mom," I whispered, kissing her warm cheek.

She peered over her glasses and started to speak.

"Is Ryan out of the shower? Yes or no?"

"I don't hear water running, so I think so."

"If we're rained in tomorrow, you should work on your dress.

Your stitches are perfect! You're making progress!

And I love the colors of your embroidery.

You're quite the seamstress, when you don't try to hurry."

"Thanks, Mom," I blushed slightly, "I'm happy with it.

I'm shocked I could do it, I have to admit."

Suddenly my mother seemed so out of place.

I cherished her, but I could see from her face

that she had no idea what was happening tonight,

as if aging extinguished her second sight.

I guess that's one more thing to regret as we age.

We're not older or wiser, we just disengage

and bow to one version of "the way life is" now.

A blight, self-imposed perceptual kowtow.

Lightning cut through the sky far past our window.

My mother's eyes glinted an omniscient glow,

and she gazed far away as if she could bestow

permission to launch the storm's turbulent flow.

Puzzled, I rushed upstairs. Thunder shook the walls.

My brother and I collided in the hall.

But he hurried away, not inclined to discuss

the impending Mud Gullumper grand exodus.

So I went to my room and I lay on my bed

and I picked up my funnel-tipped hose and I said,

"Hey Pam, do you think Ryan will be alright

when all of the Mud Gullumpers take leave tonight?"

A spooky silence filled the other end.

"Hey Pam, are you there?" I queried once again.

"I'm here," Pam replied, "I'm just thinking about Ryan.

He's at his window. Think he sees that I'm spying?"

"I can't see you at all, so I wouldn't worry.

I just see our dumb hose twisting up the tree.

I guess he'll be fine. Things change all the time.

People come and they go, and we're doing just fine.

Plus, although they are leaving, in a sense they're not gone.

They'll be a past from which the future is drawn."

While Pam and I took a minute to discuss

what was making Ryan so lugubrious....

"Breaker, breaker," burped Cyd on his walkie-talkie.

"Are you there Ryan? Got your ears on Danny?"

"Roger Cyd. This is Danny. I'm at my window."

"Evening Danny," said Cyd. "I can't wait for the show.

Calling Ryan," Cyd beckoned, pacing his attic.

But his walkie-talkie just emitted static.

"How strange," Danny mused, "that he wouldn't be on.

I was sure he'd watch it," he voiced through a yawn.

Although Ryan was listening, he didn't dare speak.

He sat at his window, his fist on his cheek,

and he stared at the dead end with sad, forlorn eyes,

reflecting on the king's approaching demise.

Pam and I eavesdropped to the boys' banter

on our own walkie-talkies tuned into their channel.

We yakked back and forth through our hose-a-phone,

while the boys prophesized the most active zone.

The boys grew impatient, complained it was boring

to sit there and wait for the rain to start pouring.

The sky, hostile black, as clouds churned overhead,

showed two fierce eyes advancing, glowing cherry red.

Bursting through the clouds and spewing lightning,

was a head with deer horns and a ruffle of wings

that fluttered through the wind like dorsal fish fins.

It was clear it was time for the show to begin.

"The rain dragon!" I exclaimed. "Did you see its claws?"

"A what?" Pam asked in disbelief after a pause.

Then the sky opened up; like a dam, it just burst!

I sprung out of my bed and prepared for the worst.

The wind howled, lightning flashed, making treetops glow.

Rain splatted my screen, so I closed my window.

"Can you see?" I asked Pam through our green hose machine.

"Yes, through my window top, the part without the screen."

"I see a Mud Gullumper near the crab apple tree!

Look toward the dead end! They are starting to flee!"

"I see them!" shrieked Pam. "Just look at them go!"

"Can you see Ryan?"

"Yes, he's still at his window."

"Oh man!" Cyd's voice squeaked through the walkie talkie.

"This is awesome! 10-4," replied a charged Danny.

Mud Gullumpers fled from all the spots where they'd dried.

Thousands rose from the trees and the telephone wires.

With them flying up and the rain falling down,

it looked like a cyclone was blowing through town.

They were so relentless, escaping their plight,

that it was a quick end to the Mud Gullumper flight.

Not one took a chance of missing this climb.

They all fled the dead end in world-record time.

Then I saw his great form rising up in the air

and he surveyed below, regally taking care

to see that no Mud Gullumper had been left behind

to an uncertain life with the rest of mankind.

Rain swiftly enabled the king's lunar journey,

with the rain dragon as an escort appointee.

As he rose, the rain stopped at his form and below

as it had for Chang Er many evenings ago.

Then after the brief pause, the rain continued,

and it rained cats and dogs, its strength now renewed.

Once the king was not visible deep in the sky,

Pam and I settled down and we said our goodbyes.

We heard the boys crackle their "over and outs"

around 9:37 or thereabouts.

I lay my tired body down onto my bed,

so wild dreams of flying could fill up my head.

My head got so light, keeping me elevated

over my bed, numinously elated.

Ryan moved from his window to his bottom bunk.

From his nightstand drawer, he took out his mud chunk.

Placing it on a red bandana from his drawer,

he wrapped it as tight as the cloth allowed for.

He cut a square tag from a white paper sheet

and in red ink, he wrote words especially neat.

A hole-pocked corner from a hole punch he found,

received string on its way to be fastened around

that small, precious bundle of fecund earth's crust.

He was the sole heir of the king's ample trust.

Parcel set on his nightstand, he climbed into bed.

Streetlights near his window beamed bright and widespread.

His window, cracked open, allowed the cool rain

to drum steadily on his ears and his brain.

Sullen hurricane winds caused his label to stir.

The tag flipped from a gust and read: Just add water.

###

Bibliographies

E. L. Purnell has played with language ever since she was a child. She spoke Pig Latin and invented her own alphabets so that she could pass secret notes in school. The Mud Gullumpers is her first book.

Io Kovach desperately wants a cat, but has to settle for a couple of gold fish. So she draws pictures of cats instead. Io creates artwork every single day. She is happy The Mud Gullumpers is her first book illustration.

