Fablehaven

by Brandon Mull

Page 4

  The dense undergrowth came up to his shins, grasping at his ankles with every step. As he tromped toward the square, he realized it was a structure completely overgrown with ivy. It appeared to be a big shed.

  He stopped and looked more closely. The ivy was thick enough that he could not tell what the shed was made of  -  -  he could see only leafy vines. He walked around the structure.

  On the far side a door stood open. Seth almost cried out when he peered inside.

  The shed was actually a shack constructed around a large tree stump. Beside the stump, dressed in crude rags, sat a wiry old woman gnawing at a knot in a bristly rope.

  Shriveled with age, she clutched the rope in bony hands with knobby knuckles. Her long, white hair was matted and had a sickly yellowish tint. One of her filmy eyes was terribly bloodshot. She was missing teeth, and there was blood on the knot she was chewing, apparently from her gums. Her pale arms, bare almost to the shoulder, were thin and wrinkled, with faint blue veins and a few purple scabs.

  When the woman saw Seth, she dropped the rope immediately, wiping pink saliva from the corners of her meager lips. Supporting herself against the stump, she stood up. He noticed her long feet, the color of ivory, peppered with insect bites. Her gray toenails looked thick with fungus.

  Hail, young master, what brings you to my home? Her voice was incongruently melodious and smooth.

  For a moment, Seth could only stare. Even as bent and crooked as she was, the woman was tall. She smelled bad.

  You live out here? he finally said.

  I do. Care to come inside?

  Probably not. I'm just out for a walk.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. Strange place for a boy to walk alone.

  I like exploring. My grandpa owns this land.

  Owns it, you say?

  Does he know you're here? asked Seth.

  Depends who he is.

  Stan Sorenson.

  She grinned. He knows.

  The rope she had chewed lay on the dirt floor. It had one other knot besides the one she had been gnawing.

  Why were you biting the rope? Seth asked.

  She eyed him suspiciously. I don't care for knots.

  Are you a hermit?

  You could say that. Come inside and I will brew some tea.

  I better not.

  She looked down at her hands. I must look frightful.

  Let me show you something. She turned and crouched behind the stump. A rat ventured a few steps out of a hole in a corner of the shack. When she came back from behind the stump, the rat hid.

  The old woman sat with her back to the stump. She held a little wooden puppet about nine inches high. It looked primitive, made entirely of dark wood, with no clothes or painted features. Just a basic human figure with tiny gold hooks serving as joints. The puppet had a stick in its back. The woman set a paddle on her lap. She began making the puppet dance by bobbing the stick and tapping the paddle. There was a musical regularity to the rhythm.

  What is that thing? Seth asked.

  A limberjack, she replied.

  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 given 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.

  Chapter Four

  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.