Captain Beetle had a submarine. It was yellow. It was made from a margarine tub, and it was the finest submarine in the whole entire world.
"All aboard!" said Captain Beetle.
Captain Beetle was a beetle. A small, shiny, black beetle who lived behind the bathroom radiator. Every night, when the house went quiet, he came out to explore.
Tonight, the bathtub was full.
Someone had forgotten to pull the plug.
Captain Beetle climbed up the side of the tub. He looked out over the water. It stretched forever — still and silver and enormous.
"The Great Bathtub Ocean," he whispered.
He dropped his margarine tub submarine into the water. PLOP. It bobbed. He jumped in after it. The submarine rocked and spun, then settled.
Captain Beetle pulled out a tiny map he'd drawn on a scrap of toilet paper. There was an X on the far side of the ocean, near the faucet mountains.
"Full speed ahead," he said, and he paddled with his six little legs.
The submarine glided through the water. Past a mountain of bubbles that smelled like lavender. Through a fog of steam still curling off the surface.
Then Captain Beetle saw something in the water ahead.
Something yellow.
Something enormous.
A SEA MONSTER.
It had a giant orange beak. And one huge, painted eye that stared right at him.
Captain Beetle's legs went stiff. His antennae went flat.
The sea monster did not move.
It just floated there, smiling.
"I'm not afraid of you," said Captain Beetle. His voice was only a little bit wobbly.
He paddled closer.
The sea monster bobbed in the ripples.
Squeak.
"AAAAAH!" Captain Beetle fell backward in his submarine. His six legs kicked in the air. The submarine spun in a circle three times.
When he sat up, the sea monster was just a rubber duck. Smiling its goofy smile.
Captain Beetle laughed. "You got me," he said.
He paddled on.
He passed THREE more rubber ducks — a big one, a medium one, and a tiny one with a hat. He saluted each one as he went by, and each one bobbed back at him, like old friends.
Then Captain Beetle heard something.
A low, deep, pulling sound.
The water started to move.
Someone — somewhere in the house — had jiggled the plug loose.
The drain was open.
"THE WATERFALL!" cried Captain Beetle.
The water swirled. His submarine started to spin. Slowly at first. Then faster. The rubber ducks started to spin too, all of them circling together like a big yellow parade going the wrong way.
Captain Beetle looked down into the drain. The water poured into it with a great, gurgling, thundering ROAR.
The submarine tipped. Captain Beetle grabbed the edges with all six legs. Water splashed over the sides. The toilet paper map got soggy and fell apart.
Closer and closer to the drain.
The submarine was going DOWN —
Captain Beetle jumped.
He jumped as hard as a small shiny beetle can jump. He flew through the spray and the mist and landed — TICK — right on the side of the bathtub.
He held on with all six legs, breathing hard.
Below him, the submarine spun one last time. Then it went down the drain with a GLUG and was gone.
The water disappeared. The rubber ducks lay on their sides on the white bathtub floor, beached after the great storm.
Captain Beetle sat on the edge of the tub for a long time. His antennae dripped. His shell was wet and gleaming.
The submarine was gone.
But under the sink, where nobody ever looked, there was another margarine tub.
A blue one.
Captain Beetle dried his antennae. He looked at the bathtub. He looked at the blue margarine tub.
He smiled.
And he started drawing a new map.
