Fablehaven1-Fablehaven Page 4

  Where’s his ax?

  Not a lumberjack, a limberjack. A clog doll. A jigger.

  Dancing Dan. Shuffling Sam. I call him Mendigo. He

  keeps me company. Come inside and I’ll let you give it a

  try.

  I better not, he said again. I don’t see how you could

  live out here like this and not be crazy.

  Sometimes good people grow weary of society. She

  sounded a little annoyed. You happened upon me by accident?

  Out exploring?

  Actually, I’m selling candy bars for my soccer team. It’s

  a good cause.

  She stared at him.

  I have my best luck in the rich neighborhoods.

  She kept staring.

  That was a joke. I’m kidding.

  Her voice became stern. You are an impudent young

  man.

  And you live with a tree stump.

  She gave him a measuring glare. Very well, my arrogant

  young adventurer. Why not test your courage? Every

  explorer deserves a chance to prove his mettle. The old

  woman withdrew into the shack and crouched behind the

  stump again. She returned to the doorway holding a crude,

  narrow box made of splintered wood, wire, and long, jutting

  nails.

  What’s that?

  Place your hand inside the box to prove your valor

  and earn a reward.

  I’d rather play with the creepy puppet.

  Just reach inside and touch the back of the box. She

  shook it, and it rattled a bit. The box was long enough that

  he would have to reach in to his elbow in order to touch

  the back.

  Are you a witch?

  A man with a brave tongue should support his words

  with courageous actions.

  This seems like something a witch would do.

  Stand by your loose words, young man, or you may not

  have a pleasant journey home.

  Seth backed away, watching her closely. I better get

  going. Have fun eating your rope.

  She clucked her tongue. Such insolence. Her voice

  remained soothing and calm, but now held a menacing

  undertone. Why not step inside and have some tea?

  Next time. Seth moved around the shack, not taking

  his eyes from the ragged woman in the doorway. She made

  no move to pursue him. Before he moved out of her sight,

  the woman raised an arthritic hand with the middle fingers

  crossed and the others bent awkwardly. Eyes half-shut, she

  appeared to be murmuring something. Then she was out of

  view.

  On the far side of the shack, Seth plunged through the

  tangled undergrowth back to the path, glancing over his

  shoulder all the way. The woman was not chasing him. Just

  looking back at the ivy-covered shack made him shiver.

  The old hag looked so wretched and smelled so foul. There

  was no way he was sticking his hand in her weird box.

  After she had offered the challenge, all he could think

  about was learning in school how shark teeth angled

  inward so fish could swim in but not out. He imagined the

  homemade box was probably full of nails or broken glass set

  at cruel angles for a similar purpose.

  Even though the woman was not following him, Seth

  felt unsafe. Compass in hand, he hurried along the path

  toward home. Without warning, something struck him on

  the ear, barely hard enough to sting. A pebble the size of a

  thimble dropped to the path at his feet.

  Seth whirled. Somebody had thrown the little stone at

  him, but he saw nobody. Could the old woman be stealthily

  following him? She probably knew the woods really well.

  Another small object bounced off the back of his neck.

  It was not as hard or heavy as a stone. Turning, he saw

  another acorn whistling toward him, and he ducked. The

  acorns and the pebble had come at him from opposite sides

  of the path. What was going on?

  From above came the sound of wood splitting, and a

  huge limb fell across the path behind him, a few leaves and

  twigs swishing against him as it passed. If Seth had been

  standing two or three yards back along the path, a branch

  thicker than his leg would have clubbed him on the head.

  One look at the heavy limb, and Seth took off down

  the path at a full sprint. He seemed to hear rustling sounds

  coming from the shrubbery on either side of the scant trail,

  but did not slow down to investigate.

  Something caught a firm hold on his ankle, sending

  him tumbling to the ground. Sprawled on his belly, a cut

  on one hand, dirt in his mouth, he heard something

  rustling through the foliage behind him, and a strange

  sound that was either laughter or running water. A dry

  branch snapped like a gunshot. Not looking back for fear

  of what he might see, Seth scrambled to his feet and

  dashed along the path.

  Whatever had tripped him had not been a root or a

  stone. It had felt like a strong cord stretched across the

  trail. A tripwire. He had noticed no such trap previously

  on the path. But there was no way the old woman could

  have done it, even if she had started running the moment

  he passed out of her view.

  Seth raced past the place where the trail forked and

  sprinted back the way he had come. He scanned the trail

  ahead for wires or other traps. His breathing became

  labored, but he did not slow down. The air felt hotter and

  more humid than it had all day. Sweat began to dampen his

  forehead and drip down the sides of his face.

  Seth remained alert for the little pyramid of rocks that

  would mark where he should leave the path. When he

  reached a gnarled little tree with black bark and thorny

  leaves, he halted. He remembered the tree. He had noticed

  it when he intersected the path. Using the tree as a reference,

  he found the spot where he had built the pyramid of

  rocks, but the rocks were gone.

  Leaves crunched behind him off to one side of the trail.

  Seth glanced at his compass to confirm that he was heading

  west and ran into the woods. He had walked this way

  at a leisurely pace, examining toadstools and unusual rocks

  as he went. Now he tore through the forest at full speed,

  undergrowth clawing at his legs, branches whipping against

  his face and chest.

  Finally, panting, the energy of his panic wearing thin,

  he glimpsed the house up ahead through the trees. The

  sounds of pursuit had dwindled to nothing. As he stepped

  out into the yard under the sun, Seth wondered how much

  of what he had heard had actually been something chasing

  him, and how much had been invented by his flustered

  imagination.

  * * *

  The wall opposite the windows in the playroom held

  several rows of bookshelves. The door to the stairs was built

  into that wall. And one of the bulky, freestanding

  wardrobes was backed up against it.

  Kendra held a blue book with golden letters. The title

  was Journal of Secrets. The book was held shut by three

  sturdy clasps, each with a keyhole. The remaining key

  Grandpa Sorenson had give
n her fit none of the keyholes,

  but the gold key she had found in the dollhouse armoire fit

  the bottom one. So one of the clasps was unlocked.

  She had found the book while searching the bookshelves

  for a trigger to a secret passage. Using a stool,

  Kendra had reached even the higher shelves, but so far the

  search had been in vain. There was no sign of a secret door.

  When she noticed a locked book with an intriguing title,

  she had quit the search in order to test her keys.

  With the bottom clasp unlocked, Kendra tried to pry

  up the corner of the book and get a peek. But the cover was

  solid and the binding firm. She needed to find the other

  keys.

  She heard somebody stampeding up the stairs and

  knew it could be only one person. Hurriedly she shelved

  the book and pocketed the keys. She did not want her nosy

  brother interfering with her puzzle.

  Seth charged through the door and slammed it behind

  him. He was flushed and breathing hard. Dirt smeared the

  knees of his jeans. His face was smudged with sweat and

  grime. You should have come, he sighed, flopping onto

  his bed.

  You’re getting the bedspread filthy.

  It was freaky, he said. It was so cool.

  What happened?

  I found this path in the woods and met this weird old

  lady who lived in a shack. I think she’s a witch. A real

  one.

  Whatever.

  He rolled over and looked at her. I’m serious. You

  should have seen her. She was a mess.

  So are you.

  No, like all scabby and gross. She was biting an old

  rope. She tried to make me stick my hand in some box.

  Did you?

  No way. I took off. But she chased me or something.

  She threw rocks at me and knocked down this big branch.

  It could have killed me!

  You must be pretty bored.

  I’m not lying!

  I’ll ask Grandpa Sorenson if he has homeless people

  living in his woods, Kendra said.

  No! He’ll know I broke the rules.

  Don’t you think he would want to know a witch built

  a shack on his property?

  She acted like she knew him. I went pretty far. Maybe

  I was off his property.

  I doubt it. I think he owns everything for a long ways.

  Seth leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

  You should come visit her with me. I could find my way

  back.

  Are you nuts? You said she tried to kill you.

  We should spy on her. Find out what she’s up to.

  If there really is a weird old lady living in the woods,

  you should tell Grandpa so he can call the police.

  Seth sat up. Okay. Never mind. I made it up. Feel better?

  Kendra narrowed her eyes.

  I found something else cool, Seth said. Have you

  seen the tree house?

  No.

  Want me to show you?

  Is it in the yard?

  Yes, on the edge.

  Okay.

  Kendra followed Seth outside and across the lawn. Sure

  enough, in the corner of the yard opposite the barn, there

  was a light blue playhouse up in a thick tree. It was situated

  on the back side of the tree, making it hard to see from most

  of the yard. The paint was peeling a little, but the little

  house had shingles on the roof and curtains in the window.

  Boards had been nailed into the tree to form a ladder.

  Seth went up first. The rungs led up to a trapdoor,

  which he pushed open. Kendra climbed up after him.

  Inside, the tree house felt bigger than it looked from

  the ground. There was a little table with four chairs. The

  pieces to a jigsaw puzzle were spread out on the table. Only

  a couple had been fit together.

  See, not bad, Seth said. I started that puzzle.

  It’s beautiful. You must be gifted.

  I didn’t work on it long.

  Did you even find the corners?

  No.

  That’s the first thing you do. She sat down and

  started looking for corner pieces. Seth took a seat and

  helped. You never like puzzles, Kendra said.

  It’s more fun doing them in a tree house.

  If you say so.

  Seth found a corner piece and set it aside. Think

  Grandpa would let me move in here?

  You’re a weirdo.

  I’d only need a sleeping bag, he said.

  You’d get freaked out once it was late.

  No way.

  The witch might come get you.

  Instead of responding, he started looking more intently

  for the other corner pieces. Kendra could tell the comment

  had gotten to him. She decided not to tease him any further.

  The fact that he seemed scared of the lady he had met

  in the woods legitimized his story a lot. Seth had never

  scared easily. This was the kid who had jumped off the roof

  under the misguided assumption that a garbage bag would

  work like a parachute. The kid who had put the head of a

  live snake in his mouth on a dare.

  They found the corners and finished most of the

  perimeter of the puzzle by the time they heard Lena calling

  them for dinner.

  The Hidden Pond

  Rain pattered endlessly against the roof. Kendra had

  never heard such a noisy downpour. Then again, she

  had never been in an attic during a rainstorm. There was

  something relaxing about the steady drumming, so constant

  that it almost became inaudible without ever decreasing

  in volume.

  Standing at the window beside the telescope, she

  watched the deluge. The rain fell straight and hard. There

  was no wind, just layer upon layer of streaking droplets,

  blurring into a gray haze in the distance. The gutter below

  her was about to overflow.

  Seth sat on a stool in the corner, painting. Lena had

  been creating paint-by-numbers canvases for him, sketching

  them with expert speed, customizing each image to his

  specifications. The current project was a dragon battling a

  knight on horseback amid a fuming wasteland. Lena had

  outlined the images in considerable detail, including

  subtleties of light and shade, so that the finished products

  looked quite accomplished. She had taught Seth how to

  mix paint and given him samples of which hue corresponded

  to each number. For the current painting, she had

  incorporated more than ninety different shades.

  Kendra had rarely seen Seth demonstrate as much diligence

  as he did on the paintings. After a few brief lessons

  on how to apply the paint, including the purposes of different

  brushes and tools, he had already finished a large canvas

  of pirates sacking a town and a smaller one of a snake

  charmer diving away from a striking cobra. Two impressive

  paintings in three days. He was an addict! And he was

  almost done with his latest project.

  Crossing to the bookshelf, Kendra ran a hand along the

  spines of the volumes. She had searched the room thoroughly

  and had yet to find the last keyhole, let alone a

  secret passage to the other side of the attic. Seth could be a

&
nbsp; pest, but now that he had become immersed in his painting,

  she was starting to miss him.

  Maybe Lena would outline a painting for her. Kendra

  had turned down her initial offer, since it sounded childish,

  like coloring. But the finished products looked much less

  juvenile than Kendra had anticipated.

  Kendra opened the door and descended the stairs. The

  house was dim and quiet, the rainfall more distant as she

  left the attic behind. She walked along the hall and down

  the stairs to the main floor.

  The house seemed too quiet. All the lights were out

  despite the gloom.

  Lena?

  There was no answer.

  Kendra went through the living room, the dining room,

  and into the kitchen. No sign of the housekeeper. Had she

  left?

  Opening the door to the basement, Kendra peered

  down the steps into the darkness. The stairs were made of

  stone, as if leading to a dungeon. Lena? she called uncertainly.

  Surely the woman wasn’t down there without any

  light.

  Kendra went back down the hall and slid open the door

  to the study. Having not yet entered this particular room,

  she first noticed the huge desk cluttered with books and

  papers. The massive head of a hairy boar with jutting tusks

  hung mounted on the wall. A collection of grotesque

  wooden masks rested on a shelf. Golfing trophies lined

  another. Plaques decorated the wood-paneled walls, along

  with a framed display of military medals and ribbons. There

  was a black-and-white picture of a much younger Grandpa

  Sorenson showing off an enormous marlin. On the desk,

  inside a crystal sphere with a flat bottom, was an eerie

  replica of a human skull no bigger than her thumb. Kendra

  slid the study door closed.

  She tried the garage, the parlor, and the family room.

  Maybe Lena had run to the store.

  Kendra walked out to the back porch, shielded from

  the rain by the overhang. She loved the fresh, damp scent

  of rainfall. It continued to come down hard, puddling

  around the garden. Where did the butterflies hide from

  such a downpour?

  Then she saw Lena. The housekeeper knelt in the mud

  beside a bush blossoming with large blue and white roses,

  absolutely soaked, apparently weeding. Her white hair was

  plastered to her head, and her housecoat was drenched.

  Lena?

  The housekeeper looked up, smiled, and waved.

  Kendra retrieved an umbrella from the hall closet and

  joined Lena in the garden. You’re sopping, Kendra said.