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What else could possibly go wrong?
* * *
After they had finished up at the aquarium and gone back to her father’s apartment to watch an animated movie, Shelly tossed the half-full takeout containers into the fridge.
“Okay, time for bed,” their father said, switching off the TV.
“You’re the coolest dad in the whole universe,” Dawson said with a toothy grin.
“And you’re the coolest kid,” their father said, mussing Dawson’s hair. “Now brush your teeth. We’ve got a big day at the aquarium tomorrow.”
“Just like old times,” Shelly said from the kitchen. She’d always loved their family weekends at the aquarium. It was their little tradition.
Her father smiled. “Yup, just like old times.”
Shelly started down the hallway. That was when she remembered she had to share a room with Dawson. He was a total mouth breather. After they had both brushed their teeth, changed into their pajamas, and wiggled into their twin beds, Shelly stared up at the ceiling.
“Isn’t this cool?” Dawson whispered in the dark. “It’s like we’re having a slumber party!”
Shelly glanced in his general direction. “Uh, yeah. Totally.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew that all the recent change must have been hard on him.
“Want to tell scary stories?” he went on excitedly. “Rex told me a good one about sea monsters called sirens that sing beautiful songs to lure in sailors to eat them!”
“Usually, I’d love to hear your stories, but I’m exhausted,” she replied. And it was true. She could barely keep her eyes open. It had been the longest day in a series of long days. She was looking forward to a cozy Saturday at the aquarium.
“Okay.” His voice sounded sad. “I wish I had Mr. Bubbles. He always stayed up. Until . . .”
The day he went to the ocean in the sky, she thought, finishing his sentence in her mind. Shelly felt even worse for being a lousy sister. She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than sleep.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . .
Shelly woke with a start. She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping. If she had to guess, it was the middle of the night. She heard Dawson’s snores. Was that what had woken her?
She listened in the darkness.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . It wasn’t loud, but it was driving her crazy.
She climbed from the bed and plodded out of the room and across the apartment on autopilot. Just as she had thought, the kitchen faucet was leaking. She tried to shut it off, but when she turned the knob, the faucet started dripping even more. And more. Puzzled, she tried twisting the knob the other way, but the water kept flowing. She flicked on the light and put her head near the opening to study the problem. Suddenly, murky black water gus
hed out of the faucet.
It didn’t look like water. It looked more like . . . squid ink.
Like the kind she’d poured onto her hands from the shampoo bottle in the locker room.
And it was filling the sink, nearly spilling over its brim.
Then seaweed tendrils shot out of the sink drain and wrapped around her neck. They tightened and started pulling her face toward the putrid black water.
Shelly struggled to get them off, prying the sinewy plant with her fingers. She wanted to scream, but she could barely get out a breath, and then her face was plunged into the sink. Under the contaminated water, garbage floated by. She tried to breathe, but plastic bags clogged her gills and made it impossible. Stars danced in her vision. A voice sounded in her ears.
You poor unfortunate soul! Don’t forget our deal—or else!
She screamed under the black water.
Shelly’s father flipped on all the kitchen lights.
“Hey, you okay? I heard you scream.” He wore pajamas, and his hair was tousled from sleep.
