Gregory Picklebottom's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The moon was already sinking. Gregory clutched his briefcase and pressed the warm key into the temple's locked door. The hum inside called him, but he pushed the thought away. He had no time for awakened things. The seed glowed in his palm. He needed to swallow it now, while the moon still hung full, and he needed a wall at his back where no pigeon could reach him. He turned from the door and stumbled deeper into the temple. Ribs of old bone arched overhead. A boy dragged a slab of dinosaur bone across the floor, straining under its weight. His hide apron was streaked with dust. He was scrawny, half Gregory's size, but he hauled the slab like a stubborn ox. "You're blocking the door," the boy grunted. "People say my father is a god. Nobody thinks I can carry a thing. Watch me." Gregory bowed with great politeness. "Holt Oren, I presume. I am the greatest detective alive, and I require a room without windows. Tax agents fly. I must eat this seed unseen." Holt wiped his brow. He studied the glowing seed with narrow eyes. "Windows let the birds in. There's a place with no windows at all." He jerked his chin toward a side passage. "But it walks off when it's bored." Gregory followed him out a low arch. Beyond the bones stood a house shaped like a melting cake, tilted sideways on six huge chicken legs. A giant eyeball floated above the roof, blinking. Doors dotted every wall. Holt banged a fist on the lowest door. "Inside, no sky," Holt said. "Go. Before the moon dies." Gregory ducked through. The room had no windows, only shifting walls. He set his briefcase down, opened it, and lifted the seed toward his mouth. Then a knock rattled the door. A bear in a gray suit leaned in, grinning, a vacuum cleaner at his side. He carried a clipboard against his chest. "Good evening! I couldn't help noticing your floors. Filthy. One free demonstration, no obligation—" "No sandwiches," Gregory blurted, backing to the wall. "No number seven. And no interruptions." He shoved the door shut on the salesman's paw. The bear yelped. Gregory raised the seed. The moon's last light slid through the closing crack. He swallowed. The seed went down cool and hard. Warmth spread through his chest. His arms tingled. Green crept up his rubber chicken wrist. He had done it. No pigeon had stolen his destiny. Then the god's promise struck him. The seed took what he loved most. His googly eye rolled down to his briefcase. He tore it open. The wet sock was gone. In its place lay a shriveled, dried husk. Outside, the house shifted its weight and took a slow step. The walls tilted. Gregory clutched his briefcase, half cucumber now, riding a house that had begun to walk with him trapped inside.