Elrod McBugle on the Loose Read Online Free Page B

going to mail the first one I wrote."
    And I did.
    Three weeks later, there came a knock at my door.

I OPENED THE DOOR to find two tall, muscular men standing on my porch, dressed in identical grey suits. They both had short hair, wore sunglasses, and didn't look like they were here to sell Avon.
    "Can I help you?" I asked.
    "We're looking for a Mr. McBugle," said the first man, who I will refer to as Mr. Black.
    "Elrod McBugle," added the second man, who I will refer to as Chuckles the One-Toothed Clown.
    No, that doesn't quite have the right ring...let's call him Mr. Yellowish-Orange.
    "I'm Elrod McBugle," I told them.
    "Are your parents home?" asked Mr. Black.
    I shook my head.
    "May we come in?" asked Mr. Yellowish-Orange. You know what, I don't like that name either. I'm just going to call him Mr. Tan. That'll work. Nice and simple.
    "Who are you?"
    Mr. Black stood up as straight as he could. "We are representatives of the Slurpy Gulp Beverage Manufacturing Corporation. Take us to your eyeball."
    "Oh, I don't have it anymore," I said.
    The two men glanced at each other. "Hmmmm..." they said in frightening unison.
    Now, I don't consider myself a cowardly person (except when there's something scary happening), but these men looked very much as if they might kill me. I took a step backwards.
    "Well, homework's calling," I lied, continuing to back away. "I'm sorry you guys made a wasted trip."
    "Let me get this straight," said Mr. Black, adjusting his sunglasses. "You found an eyeball in your drink, felt compelled to write to us about it, and yet you no longer have this important piece of evidence in your possession? I find that most unusual."
    "Most unusual indeed," agreed Mr. Tan.
    "It's not all that unusual," I insisted. "After I choked on it I spit it out. Why would I want to keep it after that? That would be freaky."
    The men glanced at each other again. "All right, Mr. McBugle," said Mr. Black, after a long pause, "We're going to acknowledge that keeping the evidence may in fact have been construed as 'freaky.' But that doesn't change the fact that we find your story most unconvincing. Did you retain the bottle?"
    I shook my head.
    "Surely you're not suggesting that keeping the bottle in which the eye was found is 'freaky,' are you?" asked Mr. Tan.
    "No, but I never keep the bottles. I throw them in the recycling bin." (I may be a troublemaker, but I'm an environmentally conscious troublemaker.)
    "Perhaps you recycle untainted bottles," said Mr. Black. "But we find it most unusual that you would not have kept the one in question. How are we to inspect for eyeball residue when you don't even have the bottle?"
    "I don't know," I admitted.
    "Surely you didn't think we would merely accept your claims at face value," said Mr. Tan. "Did you assume we just hand out free Slurpy Gulp to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who claims to have choked on an eyeball?"
    "No...I just didn't think I'd need it."
    "All right, Mr. McBugle," said Mr. Tan, "you claim to be an eyeball cuisine aficionado. Perhaps you'd care to describe what the eye tasted like."
    "I don't remember," I said, a trickle of sweat running down the side of my face. My palms were sweating, too, so I wiped them on my jeans. "It was only in my mouth for a second, and I could barely taste it over the apricot."
    Mr. Black shook his head. "That's just not going to cut it. I want you to know that I wasn't just randomly given this assignment, I requested it. Because I have tasted an eyeball. It was seventeen years ago when I was in the Peace Corps, where I'd been sent to Africa. One day I got separated from the others and I found myself captured by a tribe of cannibals. They were going to eat me, Mr. McBugle. Have you ever been captured by somebody who had plans to eat