Noah stepped onto the pile of toys. It shifted under his weight, plastic crunching. He tried not to look at the faces of the dolls.
He climbed toward the center of the clog. There, perched atop a mound of Lego bricks, was a spot of bright, pristine yellow.
It was a rubber duck.
It wasn't broken. It wasn't dirty. It sat there, smiling its painted orange smile, wearing a tiny captain's hat.
Noah reached out. His hand hovered over it. He knew what was coming. The Zap. The pain.
But he also knew he needed it.
"Come here, Captain," Noah whispered.
He grabbed the duck.
ZAP.
The smell of bubblegum soap. The sound of splashing water.
Noah was kneeling beside the bathtub. His sleeves were rolled up, soaking wet.
Katy was in the tub, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles. She had taken a handful of suds and plastered them onto her chin.
"Look, Daddy! I'm Santa Claus!"
Noah laughed, a deep, belly laugh that shook his ribs. "You're a very clean Santa Claus. Where is your reindeer?"
Katy grabbed the yellow rubber duck and made it 'swim' through the bubbles.
"Here he is! Captain Quack! He's pulling the sleigh!"
She splashed him, soaking his shirt. He gasped in mock outrage.
"Oh, you're going to get it now, monster!"
He reached in to tickle her. She shrieked with joy, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls.
ZAP.
Noah stood on the pile of garbage in the sewer, squeezing the rubber duck until it let out a sharp squeak.
He wasn't crying. He was smiling. A sad, broken smile.
"Captain Quack," he whispered. "You're a long way from the North Pole."
"You okay?" Mittens called from the ledge. "You looked like you were seeing ghosts again."
"I saw a good one this time," Noah said, pocketing the duck. "A happy one."
He climbed back down. The memory of the laughter warmed him, fighting off the chill of the sewer.
"That makes eight items," Noah said, patting his pocket. "We're halfway there."
"Great," Mittens said. "Now we just need to find a way out of this toilet before we mutate into turtles."