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Genuine Coonskin Cap. Adult Fur Mittens. He almost hit a mailbox, the Chungs', the one bearing a large peace sign; this had caused great controversy in the neighborhood. Would she follow him inside his own house? She was no doubt waiting to get him alone and indoors, so she could do something to him.
She could knock him cold with the coffee canister. Or maybe she'd grab a pillow, pin him down, and suffocate him? That seemed more her style. She had the clear-eyed, efficient look of a murderous nurse.
Now there was barking. Max turned to see that the Scolas' dog had joined them, barking at Mrs. Mahoney and nipping her ankles. Mahoney took little notice.
Her eyes were bigger than ever. The exertion seemed to make her ever-more gleeful. It was a quiet street of tall elms and oaks, ending in a cul-de-sac.
Beyond the cul-de-sac was a wooded few acres, then the lake. Nothing nefarious or of note had ever happened on this street, or in their town, or, for that matter, within four hundred miles. Max swerved suddenly, leaving the sidewalk. He jumped the curb into the road. Mahoney gasped, as if he'd steered his bike into a river of molten lava. The road was empty now and was always empty.
But soon she was right behind him, now running, again reaching for his seat. Max decided it was silly to go home; that's where she wanted him. He'd be trapped and she'd finish him for sure.
His only chance of escape would be the forest. He sped up again, giving himself enough room to turn around. He did a quick and headed back toward the dead-end, hoping to make it to the woods.
Max almost laughed. She wouldn't follow him into the woods, would she? He looked back, and though she'd lost a step or two, it wasn't long before she was sprinting at him.
Man, she was fast! He was close to the road's end, almost at the trees. Mahoney - and jumbled over the rough grass and snow. Soon he was quickly ducking under the first low branches of the tall white-mustached pines, weaving between the trunks. The ravine was up ahead, about twenty feet deep and twelve feet wide. A month earlier, over the gap he'd put a wide bridge of plywood.
If he could get to the gap, cross the bridge, and then pull the plank away in time, he might finally be free. He swung his bike underneath him, left and right. He'd never ridden so fast. Even the Scola dog was having trouble keeping up; he was still yapping at the lady's heels. The gorge! He made it to the bridge and again came a howl of incalculable terror. On the other side, he spun out, dropped his bike, and grabbed the plywood. She was almost upon him when he pulled the board free.
The bridge fell into the ravine and crashed against the rocks below. She stopped short. She stood for a second, hands on hips, heaving. He mounted his bike again, in case Mrs. Mahoney decided to leap over the gap. She was far stronger and faster than he would have guessed, so he couldn't rule it out. At that moment, the Scolas' dog, still running at full speed, chose to pass Mrs. Mahoney, jump over the ravine, and join Max. He flew, effortlessly, and landed on Max's side. He turned back to face her, then looked up to Max with a toothy grin and happy eyes, as if the two of them had together vanquished a common enemy.
Max laughed, and when the dog began barking at the woman doubled over on the edge of the ravine, Max barked, too. They both barked and barked and barked. Convert currency. Add to Basket. He lands on the island of the Wild Things, and soon he becomes their king. But things get complicated when Max realizes that the Wild Things want as much from him as he wants from them.
Funny, dark, and alive, The Wild Things is a timeless and time-tested tale for all ages. Click here to read an excerpt published in the New Yorker. We get a writhing Technicolor landscape of carnivorous vines, lava beds, mini-tornadoes, mutant snakes, and, of course, the beasts themselves, a motley bundle of brawn and neuroses
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