“No,” Corey said.
Tin put her finger to her lips and nodded. Pip giggled. She raced down the steps. Tin told her to slow down. There were no railings in some places, and there was a ladder at the end. Monkeybrain stared over her shoulder, hands latched around her neck.
“What was that all about?” he said.
“Did you hear what she said about the pig? I thought you escaped? I found this in the woods.” She picked up the pig. “Weird, right?”
“Um, it was weird you said I had a girlfriend.”
“That’s what you got out of that?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t believe all these stories about Pan Doe and Uncle Wally and then you just make up something about Brenda being my girlfriend. So you tell me what’s weird.”
“I didn’t say Brenda.” She put Piggy in the corner and pulled the hat out from beneath the covers, careful to keep the bell from ringing. Pip seemed to have forgotten about it. Last thing Tin wanted to happen was her little sister warping her brain on the North Pole.
Dream or not.
“One more time?” She offered the hat. “Just to make sure I’m not crazy.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Humor me.” She dumped the hat into his hands. “I’ll text Brenda for you, tell her you’re a stud.”
He held it by the bell then stared inside it, feeling the seams with his fingers, turning it inside out. With a shrug, he pulled it on his head. Immediately, his eyes went wide. Tin didn’t know what to do. Time went so fast when she had done it. He folded his arms.
“Oompa-loompa, doom a dee do.”
He threw the hat at her and started dancing more like a robot than an elf. Although, to be honest, she didn’t know what an elf danced like. It wasn’t that.
“Nothing happened?”
“No. Nothing.”
She looked at the hat like a rabbit was hiding inside it. It was warmer than when she gave it to him. And he only had it on a few seconds.
“So you going to text Brenda?” he said.
She was rubbing the hat between her finger and thumb. Her scalp tingled. She wanted to put it on. It wants me to. That was a crazy thought. It feels true.
“I’m going to put this on,” she said.
“Good for you.”
“I want you to count off one second then take it off. Got it?”
“How about you count a second and take it off. It’s not that hard.”
“Say it. Say you’ll take it off my head in one second.”
“Really?” he said. “I’m getting hungry.”
She took a deep breath. Her chest fluttered. It was the way her scalp tightened as she lifted it up; the way her belly twisted. Corey made a stupid face. It was just a hat.
“Hold out your hand,” she said. “Like that, be ready.”
She grabbed his arm and propped it next to her head. She felt better if he was right in front of her. He was the safety net. And if nothing happened, then she’d put the hat in Pip’s stocking.
“As soon as—”
“It’s on your head,” he said. “Got it.”
She took another breath. Downstairs, Pip and Mom began singing “Jingle Bells.” Tin held her breath like she was diving into the deep end and did what she did the first time she stepped off the high dive.
Pip was singing, “Oh what fun it is—”
Mosquitoes.
They buzzed in her ears, hovering high-pitched in the muggy, humid air. Green was everywhere. The walls and ceiling were branches and tree trunks. Diffuse sunshine filtered through the forest canopy.
She was standing in a soft bed of ferns and matted foliage.
A loud cry of a small engine broke the melody of birdsong. It was followed by a series of cracks that grew progressively louder. There was an explosion. Branches crashed to the ground. A giant was coming.
“Timber!”
There was a rush of wind and a cascade of debris. She looked up from a bed of ferns. The sky peeked through a hole in the forest. A beam of sunlight fell like a spotlight.
She remained still.
Sweat stung her eyes. A red line had scratched her forearm. A stream of blood had reached her elbow. She reached for her head, where a little bell jingled.
Footsteps crunched through the leaves.
The smell of smoke preceded a shadow over a mossy log. An old leather boot stomped the rotten bark. She watched a stout man with suspenders nearly put his boot on her stomach. A cigar caught between his teeth, he stopped a few feet from where she lay and took the wide-brimmed hat off and wiped the sweat from his balding forehead.
There were two moles above his eyebrow.
A woman followed. She was much younger than him. He was weathered with gray in his beard. She was maybe twenty years younger or more, her complexion smooth beneath the shade of a wide-brimmed hat.
Awnty Awnie!
She wore a flannel shirt rolled up to her elbows and cargo pants tucked into boots. It was Wallace with the cigar, the icy blue eyes darting around the forest. He tugged the yellow ribbon on a scroll of stiff paper and unrolled it.
He muttered to Awnty Awnie around clouds of smoke. Even when Tin stood up, they didn’t turn or address her. They only stared at the paper.
Off in the distance, an old structure was mounted above the canopies. It was square and roofed, perched on four legs of scaffolding. There were figures up there, pulling materials up with winches and ropes.
The fire tower.
Wallace surveyed the space around him, consulting the plan with Awnty Awnie. She offered advice, tracing her finger across the page—a fingernail that was unpainted and chewed down to the cuticle. Just like Awnty Awnie always did. The roar of a chainsaw called from the trees again, this time going to work on the fallen giant.
Tin moved around them, her eyes on Wallace’s face. They didn’t notice her. His beard was thick, dark brown with streaks of gray. His icy blue eyes were tucked beneath bushy eyebrows. The moles were unmistakable.
The nose was scarred.
The tip was bulbous and wide with raised bands of scar tissue. He grunted and sort of laughed at something Awnty Awnie said. She put her arms around his belly. He looked strong, not overweight.
Tin caught a glimpse of the paper. It was an architectural drawing.
He rolled it up and marched forward. She reached for it, but the paper was like sheets of concrete, not fluttering or wrinkling beneath her touch. His arm was immovable, the sleeve not giving when she brushed it. He ducked beneath branches, and Awnty Awnie was right behind him.
Tin was in their wake.
“In a one-horse open sleigh,” Pip sang.
The walls and ceiling were back. The moldy smell. Corey had his hand out, fingers apart. Tin’s legs were cold rubber. She fell on the bed. All her strength had drained like a plug had been pulled. She drew a tentative breath.
“Uuuuh, you all right?” he said.
“You were supposed to grab the hat.”
“I didn’t even say, like, one before it, uh, did that.” He picked the hat up like a dirty diaper.
“Did what?”
“Just flew off. And your hair, it was like all electricity. I thought maybe you were goofing on me.”
Her thoughts were a shaken snow globe. The smell of popcorn was in the room. She began salivating. I’m starving.
Oscar called to come downstairs. Corey responded he would be there in a minute. She almost drooled. His dad called again.
“What’s going on down there?” she asked.
“The house, it, uh, did that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Like before.” He shrugged, wide-eyed. “The noise.”
The house had shuddered when she put the hat on, just like the first time. Her mom thought it might’ve been the boiler room. Corey ignored his dad while Tin stood up. There wasn’t a cut on her arm.
Still shaky, she explained what had happened. The forest, the falling tree. Wallace.
“Awntie Awnie was with him.”
“Your aunt? Like with him with him?”
“His nose was fixed.”
She could argue that it didn’t mean it was Wallace, but the moles. It was him. He looked healthy and those eyes were the same icy blue.
The fire tower was there.
It was probably always there. Wallace built the place next to it. There were workers up there doing something, adding onto it. Changing it.
“What did it say?” he said. “The plan? He was looking at plans, right?”
“It was Toyland.”
She’d barely had time to glimpse it. She’d seen something on it that was interesting, but the memory was fading. She closed her eyes to concentrate. What was it?
“Tin?”
Pip climbed up the slide and crawled onto her lap. Monkeybrain was around her neck.
“Hey, Pied Piper. I’m coming. Corey will take you. I’ll get my jammies on so we can sleep down there again, okay?”
Pip sucked her thumb and didn’t move when Corey reached for her. Tin kissed her forehead.
“Race you,” he said.
She bolted in a fit of giggles. Corey peeked back into the doorway.
“Told you,” he said. “Uncle Wallace.”
The stairs sounded like they were about to crash into pieces. Tin was tired and weak and couldn’t understand what had happened. Or what any of this meant. Maybe he was her uncle and they had secretly married. That would explain why Awnty Awnie inherited the property.
Why did she ignore it?
She closed her eyes again and concentrated. She reimagined the whole thing, starting with when the tree fell and she watched him unroll the plan. She’d gotten up and looked. There were words all over it, but two of them stood out.
Toy Room.
4
Popcorn.
Crunchy, buttery popcorn danced in her dreams. It wasn’t sugar plums or fanciful wishes or Christmas presents stacked to the ceiling. It was white puffy kernels of popcorn all in a line, marching one by one into her mouth, over her tongue and down into her stomach. And they were all dancing to a familiar song.
Where have I heard that song?
Tin opened her eyes and stared at the little door in the ceiling.
“Hungry?” Mom was folding sheets on the other couch.
“What time is it?”
“I was about to wake you up.” She sort of smiled. “Can’t sleep through our haunted vacation.”
Tin rubbed her face. She could smell the popcorn on the sad little tree, strings of it sagging on the branches. The thought of it made her hungry.
“Where is everyone?” Tin said.
“Pip is outside. Corey is helping his father.” She started rolling sleeping bags.
“Something wrong?”
“That sound last night has got me a little concerned, that’s all.”
“Was it the boiler room?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. This whole place is a little strange, in case you haven’t noticed. The way the solar panels and wind turbines work is a little over my head. And it’s not really a boiler room. I don’t know what it is. It’s more complicated than anything Oscar and I have seen.”
She took Tin’s pillow. That was what she did when she was nervous. Fold stuff and put it away.
“I don’t know, maybe I rushed us up here. It might not be safe, the power system, I mean. I’ve been thinking maybe we should go back before Christmas and send someone up to check things out.”
Mom looked at her. She was checking Tin’s mood, seeing how she felt about leaving.
“Anyway, you hungry?”
“Starving.”
Her mom led the way to the kitchen. She was wearing three sweatshirts and a pair of gloves. Despite being heavyset, Mom was always on the cold-blooded side. Tin was barefoot with a T-shirt that was slightly damp. She’d been sweating all night.
Scrambled eggs were on a plate. Tin pulled up a stool and dug in. They were slightly cold and crispy on the edges. The cheese was stiff and gooey. Tin barely chewed.
“You feeling all right?” Her mom’s hand was cold on her forehead. “You’re a little warm.”
“I’m good. Do you have any more?”
The cold air was making her hungry. This must be what bears felt like after hibernating. Tin found a tub of cold eggs in the refrigerator and didn’t bother dumping them on her plate. She drowned them in ketchup.
“Slow down,” her mom said.
Tin made an effort, counting to three before each bite. Her mom finally stopped staring. There was nothing left to fold, so she started wiping down the counters.
“How did Awnty Awnie know Wallace?” Tin asked.
“I don’t know. She never said anything about him. She was always single. I don’t even remember her dating.”
She wrung the sponge in the sink.
“Then again,” she continued, “I thought she hardly ever left her house.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mom told her about those pictures in the footlocker while she washed the last of the dishes. Most of them were vintage 35mm slides that if you held them up to the light, you could make out the image. Mom had found a projector and went through them. They were from all over the world—remote mountaintops and desolate islands, crowded cities and foreign lands. Sunsets in lush valleys and sunrises on sandy beaches. Awnty Awnie was a world traveler before she was a homebody.
“I had no idea,” her mom said.
“Were there photos of her?”
“Some, yeah. One of her walking on a beach.” Her mom smiled. “Her bathing suit looked like a nightgown.”
Someone had to take the picture. “Did she ever go to the North Pole?”
Her mom took the empty container from Tin. She had been licking the ketchup from the inside. She could eat another tub full if it were in front of her.
“The pictures were from all over the world, so maybe.”
“Were there any photos in the snow?”
“Why are you so curious?”
“You inherited this place from a man you never heard of. Aren’t you?”
The legal papers had been pored over months ago. Awnty Awnie was the rightful owner of ten thousand acres of undeveloped mountains in the middle of nowhere. It had been signed over to her by Wallace Noel with no explanations, and Awnty Awnie had never said a word about it. There was no one to ask, either. The how and why it happened seemed to be inconsequential.
“Did you know Wallace became an urban legend after his business closed?” Tin said.
“Who told you that?”
“There were all those stories in the leather journal. Didn’t you read them?”
She chuckled. “Your aunt used to read a lot of gossip mags.”
“Corey found some stuff on the internet.”
Her mom dried the last plate and began unpacking a cardboard box. That was her standard reply to something ridiculous.
“Look what we found.” Mom pulled a large package out of the box. It was a kit for an elaborate three-story gingerbread house that looked more like a mansion. “There are twenty of these in the back of the pantry. I guess Wallace liked gingerbread.”
“Wallace has a Wikipedia page, did you know that?”
Mom sighed. She wanted to move on and get back to their haunted Christmas without focusing on the haunted part.
“Corey got reception down the driveway. There are tons of sightings of a man who calls himself Mr. Doe. Corey thinks his first name is Pan.”
“Did it also talk about aliens and elves living in the North Pole?”
“In the North Pole? What do you mean in?”
“That’s what Awnty Awnie used to say, but it doesn’t matter. Websites like that go down deep rabbit holes. Better to stay aboveground where the sun is.”
“Wallace travelled to the North Pole, did you know that?” Tin said. “He went on an expedition that was shipwrecked. Almost everyone died. You can look that up. That’s
not in a rabbit hole.”
“Look, don’t get wrapped up in Wallace Noel. He was an eccentric businessman. A lot of successful ones are. This place is old and spooky, I get it. But if you start looking for ghosts, you’re going to see ghosts.”
She kissed Tin’s forehead.
“We’re going to make gingerbread.”
A door closed somewhere. Boots squeaked down a long hallway. Pip tracked bits of snow into the kitchen. Her cheeks were pink and her nose snotty. Monkeybrain was latched around her neck, with snow clinging to his fur.
“Mom, Mom, Mom, the snowman is gone. Corey knocked him down.”
“Boots, please,” Mom said.
Pip wiped her nose and began stripping off her winter gear. Her mom made her stand in the corner. Pip handed Monkeybrain to Tin and latched his arms over her head. Despite the wet snow clinging to his fur, he was warm.
“He-he took the sticks and the carrot,” Pip continued, “and didn’t leave anything. And Monkeybrain is nervous.”
“We can make another one. Want to help with the gingerbread house?”
Pip leaped up and down with her socks dangling off her feet. Snowman forgotten. She climbed onto a stool and pulled the gingerbread house kit out of the box. Tin snuck a few errant crumbs to eat while she and Monkeybrain watched them unpack. Mom pulled a floppy red hat out of the box.
“Look at this.”
She put it on Pip’s head. Tin involuntarily flinched. The white furry trim fell over her sister’s eyes. Pip pushed the hat back. A tag was attached to the seam. It was from the store.
There’s no tag on the green hat.
“I don’t see directions,” Mom said. “Can you check another box?”
Tin went to the pantry and tugged the string. The lightbulb was burned out, so she lit up her phone. It was a deep pantry. The shelves were empty except for the boxes of food they’d brought with them. Something crunched underfoot.
“Ahhh,” she cried. “Look.”
It was pieces of gingerbread, hardened and crushed. The remnants of the body had been pulverized. The head was barely intact.
“He must’ve fallen out of the box,” Mom said.
“Can we make him back?” Pip asked.
“Of course. And maybe we can make him a friend.” Mom pulled the Santa hat over Pip’s eyes and turned to Tin. “Hey, where’s that elf hat you found—”
Toyland- the Legacy of Wallace Noel Page 4