by Leah Day
Something grabbed her around the middle. It was Pattern, speaker for the bears. Without a word, he slung her onto his back and bounded back to Patch. The cat’s head was down and all his claws were sunk deep into the landscape, but he was still slowly sliding backward into the growing monstrous wall.
Mally leapt off the bear and landed squarely on Patch’s back. Pulling a seam ripper out of her pocket, she raced down his body to his tail. Several mice and monkeys were trying to help free him, but they couldn’t break the attacking fibers and were becoming ensnared themselves.
“Watch out!” Mally yelled.
She cut through the threads binding Patch and they fell away. The entire rope extending from the wall fell flat on the ground and stopped moving. That was all she needed to see. She jumped off the cat’s back and ran along the wall, cutting every cord she could reach.
But for every rope she sliced, ten more took its place. Mally slashed directly into the spider web. A long rip formed and the edges curled inward. She cut again, and again and a hole began to form. She stepped closer, but dangling blue threads caught her shirt and immediately began weaving through the fabric. She sliced herself free and backed away quickly.
“Mally! Mally! Mally!” Sunshine called from above, surrounded by a flock of flying geese. “What do we do? We can’t get past this wall!”
“I don’t know, Sunshine!” Mally shouted. “I’ve started a hole, but I can’t get through.” She gestured at the opening she’d cut into the wall. Patch suddenly appeared at her side, a small group of animals on his back. Pattern followed with more mice and two frogs clinging to his head and shoulders.
“We must retreat. She won this round. We’ll have to find a new–”
Sunshine interrupted, “I have an idea! Yes! Yes! Yes! Mally, start ripping! Cut that hole in the wall and keep cutting. Don’t stop until it’s big enough for all of you.”
“Okay!” Mally turned and slashed through the threads above her head and down to the ground. The hole widened, but she couldn’t cut again without risking her shirt getting stitched. She turned and met Sunshine’s brilliant eyes.
“You have to get Menda!” the bird said urgently. “Mally, you must take her crown! Please! Please! Please! You have to take her crown! Promise me!”
“I promise, Sunshine. I’ll take it.” Mally said, quickly, not really sure what she was agreeing to.
“Good!” Sunshine nodded once, instantly doubled her size and flew straight into the spider web. She pressed her wings against the surface and instantly purple and blue threads wove over her bright fabrics.
“No! Sunshine, what are you doing?” Mally cried.
“Keep cutting, Mally! You have to get thru —” Her last words were cut off as her body was engulfed in the hungry wall.
“Sunshine!” Mally pulled out her second seam ripper and slashed with both hands, but it was too late for her friend. Suddenly she saw what Sunshine’s sacrifice had accomplished. While the wall was busy ripping apart one fabric, it couldn’t attack another. With Sunshine’s help, she could cut deeper into the spider web.
She hacked at the wall viciously, ripping through as many threads as she could reach with every pass. The hole widened, then lengthened, turning into a tunnel.
Wings fluttered against her back and two more flying geese pressed themselves against the spider web. Mally’s vision blurred as the animals slowly dissolved around her. She kept cutting, tearing deeper and deeper into the tangle of fibers. She soon found a rhythm: cut vertically then horizontally, step forward, cut vertical, cut horizontal, step forward.
She felt the wings of more birds at her back and kept count as she slashed through layer after layer of the spider web wall. She’d counted to one hundred, twenty-three when she brought the seam ripper down and suddenly there was nothing to cut.
She’d slashed all the way through the spider web and was now standing in the narrow space between the wall and the mountain. The light of the suns was filtered strangely by the spider web, and for the first time in Quilst, Mally felt cold.
She turned and cut the hole wider so Patch could fit through the opening. More than two dozen tiny mice, monkeys, and even a pint-sized pink bear rode on his back. More animals emerged one by one and Pattern squeezed through last. They stared at one another in the dim light. Less than forty patchwork faces stared back.
“Is this everyone?” Mally asked, dreading the answer.
Patch nodded sadly as the animals scrambled off his back. Goldie rushed up the path and gestured frantically for them to follow her.
“Maker Mally, we’re very close to the entrance of the tunnels. Let me guide you inside.” She darted around the purple mountain and stopped by a small hole in the ground.
“It will be completely dark for the first hundred feet. Just keep crawling and it will get easier once we get into the upper tunnels.”
Mally slipped her seam rippers back into her pocket and crouched down on her hands and knees. Her bookbag felt awkward on her back, so she shifted it quickly to her front before crawling into the dark hole.
It was a tight squeeze, but surprisingly comfortable. Fabric pressed against her on all sides. It was like being in a very squishy, soft tube. She wiggled forward, following Goldie as she heard Patch grumbling behind.
“I may be able to change my size, but for the record I am neither a mouse nor a ferret.”
Mally smiled to herself. Then she remembered the battle outside. How many animals were just ripped apart? Will I be able to fix them? Why did Sunshine make me promise to take Menda’s crown? A swirl of unanswerable questions churned through her mind.
After a hundred feet of wiggling and squishing herself through the tight space, the tunnel widened out and Mally was able to crawl easier on her hands and knees. Light shone from the end of the tunnel and she could see the openings to other passages running in different directions.
“This way, Maker. The halls branch off so you must follow me carefully. You don’t want to turn the wrong way,” Goldie whispered.
Mally followed the little mouse through a maze of twisting tunnels. It felt like they were sloping upward as well as angling towards the center of the mountain. The tunnel curled around a tight bend and suddenly the path opened onto a wide hall with purple walls and blue doors spaced every few yards. It was lit with yellow fabric stretched across the ceiling that reminded Mally of the old fluorescent lights in her dentist’s office.
The smaller animals shrank against the wall and, being made of fabric, were able to tuck themselves so tightly into the soft cloth they disappeared. That same trick wouldn’t work for Mally so she rose to her feet. She slipped her bookbag off and stretched in relief.
She glanced behind and caught Patch’s eye. He’d expanded to the size of a great dane and after a long stretch, tucked his wings neatly at his sides. Clearly he wasn’t shrinking into the wall, either.
And they weren’t alone. The pink bear stood behind Patch, growing quickly to match Mally’s height, and Pin, the green monkey came next. Pattern rose slowly to his feet at the very back and she looked to him for a nod that he was ready.
“Let’s go,” she whispered to Goldie.
Without a word they darted out to check if the path was clear. Mally leaned against the wall, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans. Seconds later, the little golden mouse scurried back and wiggled her tail. The group turned the corner to find an empty hallway. Mally crept after the mouse, straining to hear anything above the pounding of her heart.
They turned a corner, then another, each twist taking them deeper into the mountain. The empty halls blurred together in a monotonous stream of purple.
At one point Mally bent down and whispered, “Is it usually this empty? Do you think she knows we’re inside?”
“It’s always like this. The only one who lives here is the Ripping Witch, Maker Mally. She is always alone
,” Goldie replied and for a sliver of a second Mally felt sorry for Menda. It seemed very lonely to live in a mountain castle all by yourself.
Then she remembered what Menda had done. There was a reason the witch was alone. She was a monster, pure and simple.
They seemed to be getting closer as Goldie advanced slowly and tucked herself into the walls to turn corners. Several of the rooms had no doors and Mally glanced inside as they passed. Each room was empty. Purple fabric stretched from floor to ceiling, and there wasn’t a scrap of furniture, decoration, or embellishment anywhere she could see. It was barren, and more to the point: boring.
They crept down two more deserted hallways. With a squeak that had everyone scrambling to hide against the walls, three mice and a tiny cat emerged from the opposite direction. They had a short exchange with Goldie, wiggling ears and whiskers in an improvised sign language.
Mally crept down the hall and stuck her head around the next corner to see what was going on. It was yet another purple passageway with more open doorways on all sides. It felt like she’d walked down this hall at least a hundred times now.
Something caught her eye in the next room. Directly opposite the door, a familiar square window was cut in one corner. It was the room. Her room. Unconsciously she stepped closer, her eyes locked on a strange shape in the middle of the floor. She didn’t hear the warning squeaks of the mice behind her.
All Mally could see was a small bundle of brown fabrics and stuffing piled in the middle of the room.
A square of pink calico lay crumpled on top.
Chapter 11 - The Queen in the Quilt
“Ms. Bunny!” Mally rushed into the room. She sank to her knees and grabbed for the little bundle.
“Mally, no!” Patch leapt in after her. He knocked her out of the way, expanding in size instantaneously to block the doll’s pieces from view.
“What are you doing? She’s right there!” Mally cried, shoving past him. Then she froze, staring at the spot where the open doorway had been just seconds before. A thick spider web woven from purple and pink threads now filled the space completely.
They were trapped.
“Well, well, look who the cat dragged in,” the voice from Mally’s nightmares floated out of a dark corner of the room. Menda stepped into the light, all her teeth showing in a wide smile.
Mally took an involuntary step back, pressing against Patch. The witch had changed dramatically since the last time she’d seen her in this room. Her shoulders hunched and her head craned forward at an unnatural angle. The scissor necklace she’d stolen from Mally hung from her crooked neck. Her crown was spinning so fast around her head it was heating the room, filling the space with a sickly odor of lavender and singed fabric.
But the worst change was her face. The silk fabric on her head had been smooth and flawless but now was streaked with burn marks and deep wrinkles. Every expression Menda made was exaggerated as the stitches forming her eyes and mouth bulged against the distorted material.
“I was so sad you left so quickly the last time.” Like a switch had been flipped, Menda suddenly sounded on the verge of tears. She clutched her black hands together at her chest and looked genuinely heartbroken, but Mally couldn’t be fooled again.
Mally reached into her pockets for her seam rippers, but her arms were suddenly wrenched backwards. Patch gripped her backpack with his teeth and wasn’t letting go. She glared at him, struggling in his grip. Then he winked, so quick and sly she almost missed it.
A cold chill ran up her spine and she twisted, trying to hide her fear with anger. “What are you doing? Let me get her!”
“Yes, I’d love to see you try to ‘get me’ when you’ve just waltzed in the room with one of my most loyal subjects,” Menda laughed, all traces of sorrow in her voice vanishing in an instant.
Mally froze. “What are you talking about?”
“You may find in life that it pays to be a little less trusting. Not everyone handing out lollipops just wants to give you sweets. Not every orange cat really wants to be your friend.” Menda sauntered over, her wide hips swinging jauntily and stroked Patch’s head with her strange mitten shaped hand. “You can let her go now, my pet.”
Patch yanked the bookbag straight up. With a loud rip, the seams on the straps gave way and Mally landed in a heap on the floor. She scrambled to her knees as he spat the broken bag into a corner of the room.
“Thank the Great Maker that’s over,” the cat said, rolling his eyes. “I believe that was the dullest ruse I’ve ever endured. Can you please find me a smarter plaything next time?”
“Oh, I will,” Menda said, planting a kiss on his cheek with her bulbous lips.
“You lied to me,” Mally whispered. “I thought you were my friend.”
“Like I said, boring and stupid. Why are those two traits so often found together? Like chocolate and strawberries. But not nearly so sweet,” Patch said.
“You’re the idiot if you think she’s on your side. She’s evil! You call her the Ripping Witch!”
With a snarl of rage, Menda grabbed Mally’s arm and yanked her to her feet.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
The witch dragged her to the window. She gripped her chin and forced her to view the landscape below.
“See your army? See all the creatures you brought into this world? I’m going to make you watch as I slaughter them. I am the Queen of Quilst and I can destroy everything you make,” Menda spat in her ear. Then her grip suddenly slackened and her next words came out in a sob, “Why do you keep attacking me? I just want what’s best for this world, and you keep messing it all up!”
For a second, Mally couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. The spider web wall had grown nearly as tall as the mountain. Only a few animals remained clustered together in a tight group as thick ropes surrounded them. Thimble was still on her feet lashing out with her huge trunk to shield the others. A handful of flying geese were trying to distract the tendrils, but every time a bird swooped down, it didn’t return to the sky.
With an ear splitting rip, a gap opened in the wall and five massive snarls rolled out. The ground trembled with their movement and Mally could feel it even in the middle of the mountain. The fabric the monsters rolled over disappeared instantly, leaving a wide stripe of batting exposed. As they ate the quilt, the monsters grew even bigger and they were headed straight for the small band of animals trapped on the field.
“No! Flying Geese, tell them to run! Get away!”
Menda whirled, jerking Mally away from the window. She caught her hand and gripped it so tight Mally felt her bones grinding together. She twisted, trying to pull away, but Menda just tightened her hold. Mally’s tiny scissors flashed in the witch’s hand and she began to sing:
“There is no running Mally May.
You cannot, cannot save the day.
Let’s see what happens when YOU fray.”
Menda slashed the blades against her palm. Mally stared at her hand, dumbstruck as blood welled around the cut. Then the pain registered and she cried out, struggling to get away, but Menda wouldn’t let her go. The witch held tight as she brought the scissors down a second and third time.
Mally screamed, crumpling to the ground as Menda finally released her. The blades had cut deep, but the pain was nothing to the fear filling Mally’s mind. Her vision blurred as blood trickled between her fingers and dripped on the floor.
“Oh dear. You’re bleeding on the quilt.” Menda clicked the scissors into the metal case on the necklace and swung the heavy end back and forth, watching gleefully. “You know how much Grandma Grace hates that. Mally May has ruined the day. I wonder what Grandma will say?”
Mally looked up at Patch, tears pouring down her face.
“Help me! Please Patch! I thought you were my friend!” But the cat just smiled down at her with a strange mix of pity and scorn on his face.
“Why would he help you? Why would anyone?” Menda pondered the question for a second. “I know! The only creatures that really love you are the ones you’ve made yourself. Pathetic. You have to stitch your own friends.” She wandered back across the room and gave a little kick to the bundle of brown fabrics on the floor. Mally flinched.
“So much like Grandma Grace. She didn’t know what to do with herself when she was lonely. She stitched all manner of things when her heart was torn in two after pathetic David died.”
“What? What does my Grandpa have to do with anything?”
“He has everything to do with me!” Menda snarled, rising to the tips of her largest scissors to tower over Mally. “You must have realized by now, Mally May, the only way I could be here, the only way I can exist is if Grace Wright made me herself.”
“No! She would never —” Mally stopped speaking, suddenly unsure. The Great Tree had been filled with fabrics and threads. Grandma could have been living in Quilst this whole time and Menda even smelled like the lavender sachets Grandma packed her quilts in for storage.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Menda drew close, her face curious. “How well do you really know dear old Grandma? You didn’t exist when I was being stitched by her hand. You have no idea who she really is.”
“Yes, I do and she’s nothing like you!” Mally shouted.
Menda caught hold of her face and tilted it to one side. “I see some of us in you. Do you want to know why I love ripping things apart?”
Mally shook her head slowly, closing her eyes to block out Menda’s twisted face. But the witch squeezed her chin painfully until she met her gaze.
“It fills the void.” She whispered and Mally knew exactly what she meant. Ever since Grandma disappeared and Mama stopped caring it was like she had a hole in her heart. No matter what she did, no matter how much fun she was having with friends, the empty place was always there, begging to be filled.
“No.” Mally whispered, then with more force. “NO!” She jerked her face free of Menda’s grip. Swiping the tears from her eyes, she glared at the witch towering above her. “You choose to be like this. You could make this place pretty, but you don’t. You could make friends, but you don’t! You choose to be ugly and horrible!”