Tamora Carter

by Jim Hines

  Chapter 3: In the Dog House

  As soon as Tamora heard Dad’s car pull out of the driveway, she unzipped her equipment bag and began putting on her sweaty pads. She’d considered calling him for help, but she didn’t want to scare the goblins into running away again.

  Tamora strapped on her helmet, then yanked open her undersized and overpacked closet. Her old field hockey stick was buried near the back. She dug through winter jackets and sweatshirts to pull it free. The three-foot stick was wood and fiberglass, painted pink, with a tape-wrapped handle at one end a J-shaped hook at the other.

  She extended the stick and used the hook to scratch Smoosh’s back. He hissed and batted it away, falling off her windowsill in the process.

  “What do you think you’d do if I let you out back?” Tamora asked as he scrambled back up. “Shoot snot-rockets at them?”

  She left her bedroom and crept down the hall. Mac had gone back to his Legos, so it was simple enough to sneak past him.

  Halfway to the back door, she ducked into the kitchen. She had no idea what goblins liked to eat, aside from small dogs, but if they were desperate enough to dig through the garbage for food, they shouldn’t complain about leftovers. Maybe she could trade food for information.

  She grabbed an oversized plastic bag full of leftover pizza and opened the seal. There was room for more, so she added an apple, a handful of dried anchovies, some slices of bologna, a stick of string cheese, and a few cubes of tofu. Who knew what kind of food goblins liked?

  At the sliding glass door to the backyard, she opened the vertical blinds and flipped on the outside lights. The yard was completely still, save for a handful of fireflies flickering green as they flew about.

  Had the goblins scampered away while she was preparing? Or were they hiding, ready to pounce?

  Holding the bag in her teeth and her field hockey stick in one hand, she quietly opened the door and walked onto the deck.

  The yard smelled like grass cuttings and clover and old dog poop. Cleaning up after Appa was Tamora’s job, but she hadn’t gotten to it yet this week. It was amazing how much of a mess one sheepdog produced.

  A soft breeze nudged the old swings to and fro, just enough to be creepy.

  “Hello?” she called softly. “I have food.”

  She tightened her grip on her hockey stick and stepped from the deck into the grass. Pine branches rustled by the fence. Tamora raised the bag so they’d see it in the light. “I know you’re hungry. All I want is to talk.”

  From inside the doghouse, she heard a thud, followed by a muffled, “Ow!”

  One by the pine tree. The other is inside the doghouse, and just bumped his head on the roof from the sound of it. She took another step.

  A third shape stood up behind the chain link fence at the back of the yard. Tamora froze. Three goblins?

  If the two she’d met earlier had brought reinforcements, who knew how many more goblins were waiting in the darkness?

  They’re hiding. That means they’re more afraid of me than I am of them.

  A goblin stepped out from behind the pine trees.

  So much for hiding…

  It was the girl goblin she’d seen at the rink. She wore the same garbage bag and fanny pack, and she now carried an old, slightly bent golf club with a heavy wooden head. She held a plastic garbage can lid in her other hand like a shield.

  The goblin at the fence climbed into the yard. Tamora didn’t recognize this one. He was bare-chested and had tied an old pink bath mat around his waist like a skirt. A bit of rope held the mat in place. A heavy sack hung from his shoulder, and he clutched a pair of scissors like a knife.

  Tamora used her teeth to pull open the plastic bag. She set it on the deck behind her and pulled out a slice of bologna, which she threw toward the closest goblin. “My name’s Tamora. What’s yours?”

  The goblin pounced, slamming the head of her golf club down on the bologna.

  “It’s already dead,” Tamora assured her.

  “Could be poison.” The goblin’s eyes glowed yellow in the light.

  “It’s not. There are some preservatives, but it won’t hurt you.” She grabbed another slice and took a bite. “Go on.”

  The goblin picked up the battered bologna and nibbled the edge. “Tastes like meat, but no bones. No blood.”

  “What kind of meat?” asked the bare-chested goblin.

  “Turkey,” said Tamora. “That’s a type of bird. Dad likes turkey bologna better than the regular kind.”

  The first goblin held the bologna to the light. “Very round, skinny bird.”

  Three more goblins had appeared beyond the fence. Tamora retreated a step. “You can have more, but first tell me your names.”

  They looked at one another. “Pukwuk,” said the girl.

  “Ninkup.”

  Tamora pointed. “Who’s the one in the doghouse?”

  “Gulk,” said Ninkup, with a snort of what sounded like disdain.

  Tamora threw the last of the bologna, then grabbed a slice of pizza. “If you put down your weapons and answer a couple of questions, I’ll give you something even better.”

  Gulk peeked out of the doghouse. “Human tricks and traps!”

  “It’s not!” Tamora leaned her hockey stick against the deck railing. As long as the goblins didn’t get too close, she should have time to snatch it and protect herself if she had to. She bit the point off the pizza and patted her stomach. “Good stuff, and it has pepperoni. That’s pig meat.”

  “Tricks and traps,” Gulk repeated. “Humans want to kill all goblins.”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she protested.

  Gulk crept out and stood. “Prophecy says you do.”

  “Well, the prophecy lies.” She inched closer to her hockey stick. “Why did you follow me here?”

  “Not supposed to be seen,” said Pukwuk. “Have to kill you. Then you can’t tell anyone.”

  Tamora dropped the bag and grabbed her stick with both hands. The fence rattled as other goblins climbed into the yard. They all wore rags and garbage, and their improvised weapons included tree branches, rocks, and in one case, a pink plastic lawn flamingo.

  She retreated toward the door, one slow step at a time. “Is that what you did to Andre? Did he see you too?”

  No, if Andre had seen anything like this, he would have told her. And Tamora doubted these goblins were capable of abducting people from three different families without leaving any clues.

  Pukwuk reached the stairs to the deck. She switched her golf club to her shield hand and poked the bag of leftovers. She grabbed a cube of tofu and brought it to her mouth. Her lips twisted in disgust, and she spat on the grass. “It is poison!”

  “It’s not,” Tamora protested. “It’s tofu. Bean curd. We eat it all the time.”

  The goblins closed in. Tamora put a hand behind her to grab the door handle. “I tried to be nice.”

  Pukwuk sneered and raised her golf club.

  Tamora yanked open the door. “Mac, I forgot to put Appa outside after dinner!”

  Gulk blinked. “What’s an Appa?”

  The frantic scratching of claws over the tile floor in the kitchen made Tamora smile. “I’ll show you.”

  She stepped to one side and hoped she’d judged these goblins correctly. Ganging up against a lone human girl was one thing. A hundred-pound dog charging through the back door like a giant, furry wrecking ball, on the other hand…

  Appa skidded to a halt on the deck, glared at the closest goblin, and let out a deep-chested WOOF.

  Pukwuk somersaulted backward in her eagerness to escape. Behind her, Gulk squealed and retreated toward the doghouse. The other goblins were all running away and climbing the fence much more quickly than they’d climbed in.

  Appa’s tail wagged hard. She probably thought Tamora had brought other kids over to chase and play with.

  Another goblin threw a half-eaten piece of bologna in Appa’s face, which distracted the dog long e
nough for the goblin to throw himself over the fence. Pukwuk scrambled up a tree and jumped from the branches to the ground on the other side of the fence.

  That left Gulk, who stood frozen and quaking. Tamora raised her hockey stick and started toward him. Appa finished wolfing down the bologna, looked around, and barked again.

  Gulk started to run. He made it two steps before his bare foot came down on a pile of dog poop.

  His foot shot out from beneath him. His arms flailed like pinwheels on a windy day. He landed hard on his back.

  Appa reached him first. She woofed and sniffed the goblin’s ear. Gulk covered his head. “No eat goblin! No eat goblin!”

  Tamora got there a moment later. She pointed her hockey stick at him in what she hoped was a confident and threatening manner. “Let’s try this again, Gulk. I’ll share my food, and I’ll make sure Appa doesn’t eat you. But you’re going to answer some questions.”

  * * *

  Tamora waited, hockey stick in hand, until she was sure the goblins had no intention of coming back for their friend. By then, Gulk had curled into a quivering ball, squealing every time Appa nudged him with her cold nose.

  Tamora moved between them and scratched Appa behind the ears. “Good dog.”

  “Evil dog!” Gulk said. “All dogs evil.”

  “She was protecting me from you. That’s not evil.”

  “Dogs hate goblins.” Gulk shoved the bottom of his tarp toga aside and held up one leg to show her a still-healing bite mark below the knee. “First day here, dog tried to eat Gulk.”

  “When I saw you earlier tonight, you tried to eat a dog.”

  Gulk sniffed. “Dogs started it. Declared war on goblins.”

  “Dogs are not at war with goblins.” Tamora grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the doghouse. She and Dad had built it almost five years ago, when they first brought Appa home. Well, Dad had done most of the actual building. Tamora had helped with the painting. It had been a week before Halloween, which was why the doghouse ended up a vivid orange, with a black roof and green trim.

  After all that work, Appa had taken one look at the doghouse and refused to go near it. Even when Tamora tried to lure her in with treats. Even when it was pouring rain or snow. So the doghouse remained unused, save for when Tamora and Andre played in the backyard, turning it into a secret base or a fort or whatever else their games required.

  Tamora had always wondered if the confined space reminded Appa of the pound. Whatever the reason, it was the one place she could put the goblin where he’d be safe from all of Appa’s terrifying sniffing and licking.

  Gulk huddled in the back with his knees drawn to his chest. Now that the other goblins had fled, it was hard not to feel sorry for him, all scared and pathetic and stinky. She left him long enough to fetch the bag of leftovers. She tossed a dried anchovy to Appa, then crawled in after the goblin. He was little more than a shadow in the darkness.

  “How many more goblins are there?” Tamora tossed three anchovies at his feet. “How do you stay hidden from everyone?”

  “Don’t know,” said Gulk, a spectacularly useless answer. He scarfed down the three minnow-sized fish, wiped his mouth on his wrist, and burped loud enough to make the plywood walls vibrate.

  “You said something about a prophecy, and about humans wanting to kill goblins.”

  He grabbed the tips of his ears and squeezed. It reminded her of how Mac used to bang his head against a wall when he was really upset. “Not just goblins. Three heroes from another world mean death to everyone, except smelly elves.”

  “What other world?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “This world. Stupid human.”

  Tamora’s heart beat so hard it hurt. Three heroes from Earth. That could be Andre, Kevin, and Lizzy. “Where are they, Gulk? What happened to them?”

  “Home.” Gulk spat. “Helping smelly elves. Goblins ran away.”

  “You came here, to this world, to escape from the humans and the elves,” Tamora said, piecing it together. “And the humans are in your world? How did they get there? How can I get there?”

  “Can’t,” said Gulk.

  “They got through. You came here. That means I can go and find them. I can bring them back.”

  “Not without key.”

  Tamora handed him a slice of cold pizza. “What key?”

  “Dead King built key for goblins to use. Spent one year making it, after humans arrived. Sent us through to look for—”

  “What do you mean he spent a year after the humans arrived?” Tamora interrupted. “Andre and the others disappeared two weeks ago.”

  Gulk cowered and dropped the pizza.

  Tamora forced herself to speak calmly. The poor thing was terrified, and probably thought she’d feed him to Appa if he said the wrong thing. “Gulk, how long ago did the three humans come to your world?”

  He counted on his fingers, muttering to himself. “Four—no, five seasons.”

  Just over a year. It felt like he’d rammed a shovel into her chest and scooped out her heart.

  Gulk had to be wrong. He had to! What were the odds a different set of three humans had disappeared? She dug her phone from her pocket and pulled up a photo of her and Andre on the last day of sixth grade. They were standing outside the main doors of the school, making exaggerated duck lips at the camera. “This boy here. Is he one of the three heroes?”

  Gulk leaned forward to study the phone, then gasped. “You captured King Nobody the 42nd in little box!”

  A knot of laughter and relief caught in her throat like a walnut. Nobody42 was one of Andre’s screen names. He’d originally wanted to use Nobody, but that alias was always taken. “It’s only a picture. Is he really calling himself king?”

  Gulk tapped the screen with a thick, chipped nail. “That you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You friends with goblin-killing king?”

  Uh oh. “It’s not like that. Andre isn’t—”

  “Stupid Gulk!” The goblin twisted his ears again. “Stupid, stupid Gulk! Now human king-friend kill Gulk and all other goblins.”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want my friend back.”

  “Humans can’t come back. Not until goblins and pix and slinks and trolls and other monsters all dead. Prophecy says so.” Gulk sniffled. It sounded like he was crying.

  “Andre isn’t a killer,” Tamora insisted.

  Gulk didn’t answer, but his sad silence chilled her more than any words could have.

  Chapter 4: Ms. Pookie

  The chime of Tamora’s cellphone shocked her awake the next morning, tearing her from dreams of chasing angry goblins who smelled like anchovies and dog poop. She groaned and climbed down from bed to grab her phone and read the brief text message.

  Unknown: Meet me at Cornerside at ten.

  It had to be a wrong number. Anyone who knew her would know what she’d do to people who woke her up at seven in the morning during summer vacation.

  She smothered a yawn and got dressed. She’d been up late, trying to pry more information from Gulk, but the goblin had clamped up as soon as he realized she was friends with “King Nobody.” Bribing him with more food hadn’t worked. Appa’s sniffing around the entrance to the doghouse just made him curl up tighter. Tamora had spent a long time staring at the ceiling after going to bed last night, thinking of other ways to persuade Gulk to talk.

  Dad was working eight-to-eight shifts this week, so he wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. Tamora fed Woodstock and checked his water dish, then walked to the kitchen. The moment she opened the pantry, Smoosh started circling her legs and purring. Tamora suspected he was trying to trip her so she’d drop the cat food bag. She applied Smoosh’s fungal ointment while he ate, then washed her hands and got Appa’s breakfast ready.

  In the living room, Mac’s model of Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Mermaid stood frozen in the moment she emerged from water to land. Pointy swords and spears and spikes covered the land.
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  Appa was snoring on the couch. She wasn’t supposed to sleep there, but she always snuck up after everyone else went to bed. Tamora petted her awake and shooed her into the kitchen to eat.

  While the animals crunched their kibble, Tamora grabbed two packets of blueberry Pop Tarts out of the pantry and a can of her brother’s Mountain Dew from the fridge. By the time she finished, Appa had scarfed down her food and was whining to go out. When Tamora opened the back door, the dog bounded straight for the doghouse. A frightened shriek told her Gulk was still there.

  That was a relief. She’d warned Gulk that Appa had his scent now, and if he ran away, the dog would be able to hunt him down. It was a flat-out lie, of course. Half the time, Appa couldn’t even find her own toys. But Gulk didn’t know that.

  “Don’t worry,” Tamora called. “Stay inside and you’ll be fine.”

  Appa sniffed the entrance, woofed once, then wandered to the back corner of the yard to do her business.

  Tamora joined the goblin in the doghouse. “How did you sleep?”

  The goblin blinked, then lay down in the corner, his body curled into a ball. “Like this.”

  “No, I mean—never mind.” She opened one of the Pop Tart packets. “I brought you some breakfast.”

  He scowled. “Looks like filthy, tasteless elf bread.”

  Tamora simply took a bite. She’d watched Dad argue with Mac about trying new foods when they were younger, and it rarely worked.

  Eventually, Gulk leaned closer. “Jam inside bread?”

  She held out the second Pop Tart from the package and waited. He broke it open and touched the tip of his tongue to the blueberry filling. His eyes grew round. “You have magic bread!”

  “It’s called a Pop Tart.”

  Gulk crammed half the Pop Tart into his mouth. Crumbs spilled past his oversized teeth.

  “You can have more if you tell me where you and your friends came through to this world.”

  “Friends?”

  “The other goblins.”

  He snorted, spraying crumbs onto her lap. “Goblins don’t have friends.”