Tristan Strong Punches a Hole in the Sky

by Kwame Mbalia

  “Who’s there?” I whispered.

  Nobody answered. The crickets yelled their chorus outside and the wind cackled in the dry cornstalks. But those were normal farm sounds, right?

  I don’t know what I expected. I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes. This was silly.

  “Stop being a baby, Tristan,” I said, embarrassed. “There’s nothing here.”

  Something scraped along the floor, and I swear I heard a voice whisper, “Where is it, where is it, where is it?”

  My heart skipped a beat, and I scrambled to the foot of the bed with the flashlight clutched in both of my shaking hands. I clicked it on, but nothing happened.

  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I muttered, slapping it against the palm of my hand. The switch was stuck. “Why doesn’t anything work around here?”

  Click

  The beam flickered on after the fifth or sixth try. “Finally!”

  I swept the cone of light around, looking for anything remotely creepy, relaxing a bit each time something strange became familiar. The fingers turned back into a coatrack. The creeping monsters turned back into the chair covered in clothes. The doll baby in the middle of the floor—

  —rotated its head when the flashlight beam hit it.

  I froze.

  The doll looked homemade, like someone had carved it out of wood, painted it a dark molasses brown that hadn’t quite dried yet, drawn two black dots for eyes, and glued curly black wool on its head in two afro-puffs. It stood still in the light, almost a foot high, and the two of us stared at each other.

  “Okay,” I said, then licked my lips. The flashlight turned off again. “Okay. This…is not weird. Right? There’s nothing weird about—”

  “Who you calling weird?”

  I looked around, confused, as I tried to locate the owner of that voice. It sounded strange and high-pitched, like when you breathe in helium from a balloon and your voice gets squeaky.

  “Oh, so you don’t see Gum Baby now? She invisible now?”

  It came from down low. The flashlight came on just in time to catch the doll starting to walk across the floor toward me. Each of her footsteps made a sound like Velcro strips separating.

  It—she?—stomped closer, glaring and pointing. “Where is it? You’d better tell Gum Baby, and fast.”

  Gum Baby? No way.

  I’d heard that name before. Not the little doll from the stories…? It couldn’t be!

  In the Anansi tales, Gum Baby was a doll Anansi used to trap an African fairy while he was on a quest. But in the story, the doll remained silent and wore leaves for clothes. This one, on the other hand, had on a black turtleneck and black pants, but her tiny feet were bare. And what were those stains she was tracking across the floor?

  “Hey, Gum Baby’s talking to you, big boy.” The doll marched across the floor, the serious expression on her face ruined by the plopping sound each of her footsteps made.

  “Don’t make Gum Baby climb up there.”

  Plop plop plop

  “Is Gum Baby talking to a brick wall?”

  Plop plop plop

  “Oh, you’re asking for it now.”

  Plop plop plop

  She was up the side of the bed and leaving dark stains on the blankets by the time I finally shook myself out of the daze and extended the flashlight like a weapon. “Who—who are you?” I whispered.

  The ten-inch-tall doll glared at me, climbed atop my foot, and struck a pose. Both chubby arms spread wide, one foot planted on my big toe, she laughed in her tiny voice.

  “Ha-ha-haaaa! You want to know who Gum Baby is? Gum Baby is the reason you sleep with the door locked. Gum Baby is the reason the sun runs away across the sky. Gum Baby is your nightmare, and people whisper her name and tremble around the world. Aha-ha-ha-haaaa!”

  “Shh!” I said, waving both arms in warning. “You’re gonna wake up my grandparents.”

  Gum Baby cocked her head and looked at me like I’d just slapped her.

  “Did you…” she began. “Did you just shush Gum Baby? Didn’t you hear the introduction? Being a nightmare and all that, and you locking your door? Did…did that not make sense?”

  “No, it made sense, it’s just—”

  “Should Gum Baby clarify?”

  “No, it’s fine, I just don’t want—”

  “Oh good. In that case, GUM BABY WILL GO UPSIDE YOUR HEAD IF YOU EVER THINK ABOUT SHUSHING HER AGAIN!”

  Gum Baby scrambled across my lap and flailed at my chest with both sticky hands.

  “Let another shush come out of that mouth. Let it! It’ll be the last shush your shush-maker will shushify!”

  “Okay, okay!” I batted away the irritating blows, ducking and dodging more of that sticky stuff. “Stop it, that tickles, and you’re getting…stuff all over the bed.”

  Gum Baby wrestled with my shirt one more time, then stood on my lap, both hands on her hips. I wiped a glob of goop off my cheek and made a face. What were Granddad and Nana gonna say about the mess in the morning?

  “That’s better. Now, where is it?” Gum Baby folded her tiny arms across her chest.

  “Where’s what?”

  “Don’t play dumber. You know what.”

  “No, I—Look, I don’t know who you are…. Well, I think you’re…but that wouldn’t make sense, those were just stories, and…Can you just tell me why you’re here?”

  I meant why was she alive and not just a fable, but Gum Baby misunderstood. She glared at me for a second. “Gum Baby’s on a mission, Bumbletongue. Where is the sign? Gum Baby knows it’s glowing around here somewhere.”

  I tried to form words, to come up with some sort of answer to her questions, but the whole situation was too unreal. It was like I was being interrogated by a twelve-dollar toy from the bargain bin. Eddie would never have believed this. In fact, this was just the sort of story Eddie would—

  Wait a minute.

  Glowing around here…

  Could it be?

  My eyes flicked to the backpack on the dresser—only for a second, but Gum Baby saw, and an evil smirk crossed her face. Quick as a flash, she flung more goop in my face.

  “Think fast!”

  “Gah!” I yelped.

  While I pawed the stuff out of my eyes, the blankets shifted and I felt her run to the end of the bed and leap off. By the time I could pry my eyes open, the stupid little thing was nowhere to be seen. A line of dark globs led to the dresser. I kicked off the blankets and ran over, looking around wildly.

  The backpack—with Eddie’s journal—was gone.

  I spun around and aimed the flashlight at the floor. Gum Baby had disappeared. I looked under the bed—nothing.

  Then I heard sticky footsteps sneaking to the wall behind me.

  I twisted around just in time to see Gum Baby leap out the window, fleeing into the night with my pack, green light escaping from the slightly open zipper.

  “Get back here!” I whisper-shouted as I ran to the window.

  Gum Baby sprinted on her stubby little legs along the dirt path outside, around the Cadillac, and up the hill leading to the cornfield. Seconds later, I couldn’t spot her anymore.

  I slowly sank to the floor, hugged my knees to my chest, and closed my eyes.

  What had just happened? This was a nightmare. That was it—my dream in the car must’ve never ended. This couldn’t be real. I couldn’t have lost the only thing I had to remind me of Eddie. And to a sticky toy at that!

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  My hands shook, and I pressed my palms against the floor to keep them still—right into a puddle of something soft and sticky.

  What was that stuff? Honey?

  Strands of whatever it was stretched and folded like taffy as I rubbed it between my fingers. It smelled sweet, but not exactly like honey. Something familiar, though. More of it dotted the floor, and I looked at the wall behind me. Sure enough, little dark splotches went all the way to the windowsill.

  A trail!

&nbs
p; I clenched my fists, then looked at the corner of the dresser where the backpack had been. That journal held Eddie’s humor, his silly jokes, his stories, his dreams. It was everything.

  Maybe there was a chance I could get it back.

  I grabbed the flashlight, tugged on my hoodie and cargo shorts, and stepped into my sneakers. The window creaked as I eased it up, and the smell of horses and other farm odors hit me, right before the wind issued a warning.

  Stay in bed.

  I ignored it.

  I squeezed through the window and dropped to the porch. For a moment I hesitated. The darkness, the whispering wind, the rustling cornstalks—they all tried to change my mind.

  Go back inside.

  This ain’t for you.

  No telling what might happen to a city boy around here this time of night.

  I was about to cave in to the fear and go hide in my bed, when the flashlight beam landed on a small patch of sticky residue on the edge of the wraparound porch. And then one on the grass a few feet away. And another. And another.

  I gripped the flashlight so hard it hurt. The wind whistled louder, rattling the corn, but I gritted my teeth and shook my head. “You don’t scare me. I’m getting that journal back. Strongs keep punching, you get me?”

  I felt silly saying it, but Dad’s mantra gave me courage. Before I could think twice, I plunged off the porch and into the night.

  MY SNEAKERS PADDED ON THE dirt path as I ran up the trail. Stars twinkled above, but with no moon, I could barely see where I was going. And the sounds…It seemed like the night was alive…and angry. Animals and birds and more dang crickets all wanted a piece of this Chicago boy who was invading their turf. The only thing keeping me going was the sound of something scurrying through the cornfield on my right. If I moved fast enough, I could cut off the tiny thief. From the sound of Gum Baby’s complaining, she was facing more obstacles than I was.

  “Who plants corn in the middle of a field? Ooh, child, if Gum Baby had the time, she would show this world a thing or two. Who’s that? Move along, bird! This ain’t a party. Gum Baby said move! Hey, let go of that…. Let go! So you want some of this? Sap attack!”

  A flurry of feathers erupted out of the cornfield, and a crow squawked and flapped awkwardly away.

  Sap…So that’s what the sticky stuff was. In the stories, Anansi covered the doll in the sap of gum trees. This little thief seemed to produce it like Granddad did sweat. And, yes, neither image is pretty. Sticky, sweaty sap missiles. Lovely.

  I put on a burst of speed and rounded the bend just in time to see Gum Baby scurry across the road, leaves and feathers stuck to her back, and plunge into the trees on the opposite side.

  “Hey!” I called.

  Gum Baby gave me a glance, then took off sprinting. “You again? Well, you’re too late—Gum Baby’s like the wind!”

  I lunged forward, but she and my backpack disappeared into the darkness. I skidded to a stop at the edge of the road and swallowed. The creepy old Bottle Tree forest stood in front of me, its canopy creating the illusion of a tunnel. In the beam of my flashlight, the gnarled trunks looked like faces. Sentinels on watch, they eyed me suspiciously.

  I gulped.

  The wind blew, cackling through the leaves.

  Told ya, boy. You don’t want this.

  I backed up a step, then stopped. A soft green light bobbed deep in the woods.

  Eddie’s journal. I clenched my fists. I had to get it back.

  The wind gusted stronger, but I made a rude hand gesture at it. “You don’t scare me,” I whispered. One deep breath, then another, and I ran headlong into the forest.

  The wind howled, and branches scratched and clawed my face, but I pressed on. Trees creaked and groaned, and roots tangled my feet, but still I moved forward. It grew harder and harder to run, with the branches and knots of the trees forcing me to scoot and sidestep, but eventually I forced my way through and stumbled into a clearing.

  I thought I was ready for anything.

  Wrong. WRONG.

  Gum Baby stood in front of the weirdest tree I’d ever seen. It was only a few feet tall, maybe coming up to my chin, but its arms sprawled out straight as a ruler in all directions. Bottles of every shape and size—but all a glimmering shade of blue—were stuck on the ends of the branches.

  When the wind gusted, the bottles moaned. Sweat beaded on my forehead as that pressure from earlier in the day smothered me like a wet blanket. My arms and legs felt like the heavy bags from Dad’s gym, and moving them took more effort than I ever imagined possible. I was so distracted by the dread curling around me I didn’t notice that the Bottle Tree was now leaning in my direction. A flash of blue alerted me.

  Deep inside the largest bottle on the tree, up near the tippy-top, something moved. It shifted like dirty oil moving through water, and the only thing I wanted to do at that moment was run screaming back to the house.

  “You don’t know when you’re beat, do you?”

  Gum Baby’s squeaky voice grabbed my attention. She leaned against the Bottle Tree, one hand clutching the backpack, the other pushed inside the trunk.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  “Who you shouting at, boy? If Gum Baby had more time, she’d wear out that hide of yours, up one end and down the other. But you ain’t worth the crusty sap on the bottom of Gum Baby’s foot, so you get off with a warning.”

  “Give me back my stuff!” I said, forcing myself to move closer to her and the tree. The branch holding the creepy large bottle at the top of the tree seemed to lean over more and more.

  She laughed. “Just go home, fool! Enjoy life’s little pleasures, like breathing and eating solid food.” She turned and stepped farther into the trunk. One strap of the backpack was now gone, heading to wherever that freaky little tree led. Cold anger made me clench my teeth, ignore the sense of evil growing in the forest, and focus on getting back Eddie’s journal.

  “Look, you…you…doll baby! Gimme back that bag, or I’ll—”

  Gum Baby froze. She turned slowly toward me and tilted her head. “What’d you say?”

  “Give me back—”

  “No, hush, before that. What’d you call me?”

  I licked my lips. “Uh…nothing. I just wanted my friend’s—”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t nothing. It can’t be nothing now. You said it. You let the words come out of your mouth, and you need to stand by them. For as long as you have legs to stand on, anyway. So come on, big boy—what’d you say? Huh? WHAT’D YOU SAY?”

  The wind died down and the Bottle Tree stood up straight again, as if the forest wanted to hear my answer. I looked around, suddenly wishing for a witness, or a shield. “Um, I just, I mean, I may have said, or called you, a doll—”

  Gum Baby leaped toward me with a murderous scream.

  “CALL GUM BABY A DOLL, WILL YOU? SAP ATTACK! TWO SAP ATTACKS! GUM BABY HOPES YOUR HANDS STICK TO YOUR FACE FOREVER AND YOU HAVE TO EAT WITH YOUR ELBOWS. TRIPLE SAP ATTACK, YOU…YOU…GIANT TURTLE-FACED THISTLE-HEAD!”

  “Ow, stop it!” I fell backward as she scrambled up my legs and onto my chest. She unleashed a miniature onslaught, and it took everything I had to shield myself as her tiny fists and feet pummeled me. Finally, I batted Gum Baby away with my hand, but she got up and ran at me again. I grabbed one strap of the pack, ignoring the sticky residue squelching under my hands, and pulled it out of the tree, stumbling backward. Gum Baby hung on to the other strap, and the weirdest game of tug-of-war ensued in the middle of the clearing. “Let go!”

  “You let go! Gum Baby’s on a mission.”

  “A mission? What mission?”

  “None of your business, fool!”

  I swung the backpack around, trying to dislodge the thief, but Gum Baby held on with grim determination. I slammed it into the ground, whirled it over my head, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t dislodge her. I let a growl of frustration escape and ran toward the Bottle Tree.

  Gum Baby flapped behind me. “Oh, y
ou’re running away now? You better! Gum Baby was just about to—Hey, what’re you doing?”

  I swung the backpack in a circle and slammed it—and Gum Baby—against the trunk. She yelped, then wrapped herself even more tightly around the strap.

  “Wait, stop it, fool! You’ll damage the tree!”

  “I don’t care,” I growled. “Give me my backpack!” I whipped it into the tree again.

  The bottles shook and clinked together, echoing like haunted wind chimes. I began to whip around again for an even heavier slam.

  “No, you idiot, you’re fixing to get us both—”

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I shouted. I grabbed a handful of the backpack, balled my fist around the strap, and punched the Bottle Tree with all my might.

  Crack

  The punch smashed into the large blue bottle near the top, shattering the glass. The backpack ripped, Eddie’s journal tumbled out, and bright green light flared in a blinding flash.

  Heat.

  Wind.

  Everything blasted me at once.

  But beneath it all, I heard a sinister laugh. The pressure on my shoulders suddenly disappeared. Out the corner of my eye, I saw a shadowy shape ooze from what was left of the broken bottle on the ground and creep along the grass. The wind howled in agony, the forest roared in pain, and a chasm ripped open at the foot of the tree. A giant sucking sound filled the clearing, like air rushing toward a hole.

  The fissure split and grew, like those scenes in disaster movies when an earthquake cracks the streets apart and chases the hero.

  I tried to get away, but the tear in the earth widened to reveal a swirling coal-red tunnel of fire. It burned like a thousand suns, and at its edge, something glowed a soft green.

  I sucked in a breath.

  Eddie’s journal teetered there precariously.

  “No!” I shouted, just as Gum Baby yelled, “The stories!”

  Gum Baby leaped from the backpack to the book.

  Without thinking, I dove for it, too, desperate to rescue Eddie’s journal from the flames and from Gum Baby.

  My fingertips grazed the cover just as Gum Baby plopped a sticky hand on it. I started to yell at her, but then I realized, too late, that we were falling.