The Wishbreaker

by Tyler Whitesides

  “What happened to your club?” asked Jathon.

  “I thought I’d make this game a little bit harder for myself,” I said.

  “You should just use mine,” Vale said, offering it.

  “What about you?” Relieved, I took her club and tossed my broken one into the hedge.

  “One of the gators ate my ball,” she answered. “I’m out.”

  I scanned the area. Jathon’s orange ball was still at the tee area with Ridge’s and mine. On the left side of the windmill, Thackary was crouched next to his white ball, studying the angle.

  “What happened to Ms. Gomez?” I asked. She was seated on the brick border, club lying at her feet. I didn’t see her black ball anywhere on the turf.

  “Mooo,” she said sadly.

  “Burned up by yonder acid,” said Thackary. “That be where we were standing when the magical defense mode began.”

  “Those other adults didn’t seem affected,” Ridge pointed out.

  “Aye,” replied Thackary. “That be true. But Maria and I be ex-Wishmakers.”

  That left Ridge, Jathon, Thackary, and me with a chance to beat the game and get into Chasm’s hideout. I needed to make sure the rest of us got in there before Jathon’s mean dad. If he was planning something sinister (as Ridge and I suspected), then we had to leave him behind. And quickly!

  “There’s no way we’re getting past that windmill,” I said. The chainsaw blades were moving way too fast. “I wish that the windmill will stop for five seconds after I hit my ball.”

  That would only give me one shot, but those were the kinds of wishes that seemed to bring the mildest consequences.

  “If you want the propellers to stop for five seconds,” said Ridge, “then you’ll be stopped for one minute after that.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” I asked.

  “You won’t be able to move.”

  “Just for one minute?”

  “Yep.”

  “Will I be aware of what’s going on around me?” I asked. “Will I be able to see?”

  “You won’t be able to move your head,” Ridge answered. “But you can have shifty eyes to see what’s happening.”

  “That’s not bad at all,” I said.

  “Unless the way into Chasm’s hideout is only open for fifty-seven seconds,” said Ridge. “And you have to stand there frozen and watch it close.”

  “Why did you have to suggest that?”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “That probably won’t happen.”

  “Bazang.”

  I gripped Vale’s club and gave my ball a solid putt. As soon as the chainsaw windmill made contact with my golf ball, the deathtrap came to a screeching halt. I watched, my body suddenly frozen stiff. My eyes were trained on my misshapen ball, which actually seemed to be going where I wanted it to go!

  Out of nowhere, another ball came speeding in. It bumped into mine just inches away from the halted chainsaw blades. The enemy golf ball was white. And I knew exactly who it belonged to.

  In disbelief, I shifted my eyes to the left. Thackary Anderthon was still gripping his club in both hands, closely watching his shot that had just knocked mine aside.

  My poor ball didn’t quite have the momentum it needed. It rocked to a stop on its melted flat spot right as Thackary’s disappeared into the hole.

  I watched in horror as the chainsaw blades fired up again. They came around with frightening speed, tearing into my brown ball and instantly reducing it to shreds.

  I had lost! My golf ball was nothing more than bits of scrap. Even if I could move, there was nothing left to hit.

  In a silent rage, I shifted my eyes to glare at Thackary Anderthon. But the man was gone.

  Thackary had completely disappeared. His club, lying abandoned on the turf, was the only sign that he’d been there at all.

  “Dad!” Jathon called. “Where did he go?”

  “Into Chasm’s hideout,” Vale suggested.

  There was no way to be sure, but it made sense, since Thackary was the thirteenth person to complete the mini golf course.

  With my ball destroyed, I felt my hopes falling. My eyes shifted again as Ms. Gomez leaped up. She had lost, too, but I could see determination on her face as she raced across the green.

  She snatched up Thackary’s fallen golf club and held it with her own. Circling past me, she yanked the club out of my frozen grasp. Wielding all three together, she bolted forward and thrust the clubs into the blades of the high-speed windmill, a courageous “Mooo!” leaving her lips.

  The force jolted her sideways, but she didn’t let go. Bracing both feet against the green turf, Ms. Gomez struggled to jam the blades while her clubs bent, throwing a shower of sparks.

  “Mooo!” she called back to us. Locked in such a position, the chainsaw propeller was momentarily stalled, leaving the way to the hole wide open for Jathon, if he managed to shoot the ball between Ms. Gomez’s feet.

  “Vale!” called Jathon. “Get into the jar.”

  I saw her disappear into the glass pickle jar as he took aim and swung his club. The orange ball sped forward, ricocheting off the side of Ms. Gomez’s tennis shoe, but still managing to clatter into the ninth hole.

  Beside me, Jathon’s club dropped to the ground and I stared blankly at the spot where he had vanished without a trace.

  “What are we going to do?” Ridge asked, nervously gripping the red handle of his club. “We’ll be separated if I make the shot. I can’t put you in a jar.”

  Ms. Gomez let out a bovine groan, casting an anxious glance at the two of us, as if wondering why we weren’t doing anything. Then her three clubs snapped and she was thrown backward, the chainsaw windmill grinding to full speed once more.

  My frozen minute must have been up, because I suddenly lurched forward, helping Ms. Gomez to her feet.

  “You’re going to have to wish for a new ball,” Ridge said.

  Ms. Gomez let out a moo, shaking her head.

  “I don’t think that’ll work, either,” I agreed. “Shane said the golf balls were specially designed for this course.”

  Ms. Gomez looked at me earnestly and pointed at the ninth hole. “Mooo!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but my cow-talk isn’t any better than my chickenese. Besides, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Ms. Gomez pulled the peanut butter jar from my backpack and handed it to me. She mimed a few more things, and I think I understood her plan.

  “She wants you to take the swing,” I said to Ridge. “I can call you into the jar once the ball is in motion.”

  “Will that work?” Ridge asked.

  “It worked for Jathon and Vale,” I said.

  “But that was the other way around,” he said.

  “Still, they must have both been allowed into Chasm’s hideout,” I reasoned. “Otherwise, the pickle jar probably would have been left behind with Jathon’s golf club.”

  Ms. Gomez nodded, mooing.

  “You’ll have to make another wish,” Ridge said. “There’s no way I can hit it past those blades.”

  Ms. Gomez shook her head, pulling the red-handled golf club out of Ridge’s grasp. For a moment, I thought she might use it to stall the propeller again, but instead, she made a few gestures, punctuated with moos. Suddenly, we were playing charades with a lady who talked like a cow.

  Ms. Gomez held her hands into a T, and then pointed at the club.

  “Time-out?” Ridge said.

  “Tee time?”

  She let out a frustrated groan and shook her head again. Ms. Gomez pointed at herself with a questioning expression.

  “Who are you?” I said.

  “Ms. Gomez. Um . . . Tina’s mom,” Ridge started listing. “A really bad opera singer?”

  “The Trinketer!” I said.

  She nodded, pointing once again at the club Ridge had been using.

  I slapped a hand to my forehead. “The club is a trinket?”

  Ms. Gomez let out a long, satisfied “Mooooooo,” wh
ich I interpreted to mean, “Yes! I’m so glad you two dummies finally figured that out. Did you really think Ridge was that good at mini golf?”

  “But who wished for it?” I asked.

  Ms. Gomez flipped the club upside down and pointed at the striking end. It was engraved with a fancy font that said Mr. K.

  “Who’s Mr. K?” Ridge asked. “Sounds like a brand of cereal.”

  “Chasm,” I said.

  “Isn’t that spelled with a C-h?” asked Ridge.

  “He must use a different spelling when he calls himself Kaz,” I said. “Otherwise, people might call him Mr. Chaz.”

  “Mooo!” Ms. Gomez interrupted, passing the red-handled club back to Ridge.

  “Why would Chasm have a club that lets the user score a perfect hole-in-one?” Ridge asked.

  “If this is the only way into his hideout,” I said, “then Chasm would have to golf every time he wants to go inside. This trinket would make that a lot easier for him.”

  Ms. Gomez nodded furiously, pointing at the windmill.

  “It also explains why there’s still a chance to beat the course even when it’s in magical defense mode,” I continued. “If Chasm had made the course completely impossible, he could end up locking himself outside.”

  Ridge licked one finger and held it up.

  “What are you doing?” I cried.

  “I’m testing the wind,” Ridge said.

  “Don’t pretend like you’re some expert,” I said. “There is literally no way for you to mess this up as long as you use that club.”

  Ridge shot me a disapproving glance and clucked his tongue at me. “Don’t ignore the talent.”

  He took the shot, red golf ball zipping across the green.

  “Ridge, get into the jar!” I called. He disappeared as his golf ball somehow zipped through the twirling saw blades and shot into the ninth hole.

  Another hole-in-one.

  Chapter 21

  Everything suddenly changed. The bright daylight of the mini golf course was swapped for immediate dimness that made it difficult to see. The padded turf under my feet was replaced with solid stone.

  I could tell we were inside a spacious room. Wait, not a room—this was a big cave. Of course, Chasm had made his hideout in a giant underground cavern. It was a setting he was familiar with.

  Someone grabbed my arm and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Get down!” Jathon whispered, pulling me into a crouch. Vale was next to him, but there was no sign of Thackary.

  “Where’s your dad?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jathon answered. “He must be hiding somewhere in here.”

  As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I realized that this cave was actually much different from the one where we’d originally found Chasm’s jar. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. There was framed artwork on the walls, huge tapestries that looked modern and hip.

  We had appeared on an upper ledge of the cave. Now the three of us were crouching between two large potted plants.

  An illuminated escalator appeared to be the only way down to the main floor. A man was riding the long moving staircase, almost to the bottom. Must have been Brian—that talented golfer who had been the twelfth person to complete Chasm’s mini golf course.

  The main floor of the cave had been decorated like some kind of extravagant party. One wall sported a glowing aquarium, exotic fish swimming in hypnotizing patterns. There were lounge chairs scattered across the open space, with tables overflowing with food. Music pulsed through unseen speakers, all bass and rhythm with no real melody.

  Several people were milling around below. All of them were adults, so I could only focus on their feet, but they didn’t look like they were trying to escape. They relaxed on the chairs, lingered around the appetizers, socializing.

  At the center of it all was Chasm.

  I could see him clearly, even from a distance. He towered above everyone else, his fedora hat tilted stylishly on his bald head. He walked around, greeting people with a warm handshake.

  Then I saw Tina. She trailed behind Chasm like an injured puppy on an invisible leash. I couldn’t see all her consequences from here, but I could tell they were painful just by the way she walked.

  “How did I do?” Ridge’s voice floated up from the peanut butter jar in my hand. “Did I beat the ninth hole?”

  I almost fumbled the container, feeling bad that I hadn’t pulled Ridge out the moment I arrived.

  “Ridge, get out of the jar.”

  The boy appeared beside me, and I instantly pulled him down beside Jathon and Vale.

  “Whoa,” Ridge whispered. “This place is fancy.”

  “Would you expect anything less from Chasm?” I asked.

  The man on the escalator finally reached the bottom. He stepped off the metal staircase, standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

  Chasm noticed him at once and clapped his broad hands. My head spun completely around, and the music stopped, everyone quieting for an obvious announcement.

  “Welcome!” Chasm said. “Bienvenido! Willkommen! No matter how you say it, I want you to feel right at home here. Mi casa su casa, as they say.”

  The newcomer stepped forward and Chasm took him in a warm embrace. “Can we hug? I’m the hugging type. Let’s hug.”

  Chasm released Brian and turned back to the others in the cave. “Great news, all around!” he cried. “Our friend here is the final winner of the Wish-Come-True Mini Golf Park contest!”

  There was a smattering of applause and cheering that sent my head spinning a few more times.

  “You know what this means, right?” said Chasm. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived. I’ve tried to keep you happy and comfortable. Some of you have waited more than a week. Am I right, Eric?” He pointed and winked at one of the men, the gesture winning some good-natured chuckles from the others on the floor. I hiccuped.

  Chasm swung a thin leather strap off his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed it before, as it blended in with his suspenders. The strap was connected to a small bag, the top flap clasped shut with a buckle.

  “Is Chasm carrying a purse?” I whispered.

  “It’s called a man-purse,” replied Ridge. “Some call it a murse.”

  “That’s not a thing,” I said.

  “Guys need somewhere to store things, too.”

  “I thought that’s what pockets were for,” I said. “Or backpacks.”

  “Does it look like anything would fit into the pockets of those skinny jeans?” Ridge replied.

  “Good point.” Chasm’s pants were so tight, I doubted he could squeeze a stick of gum into one of those pockets.

  Chasm unclasped his man-purse and reached inside. I squinted to see what he was pulling out and gasped when I recognized it.

  It was the spool of string.

  Only, now the spool was much, much smaller, the wooden dowel showing where string had once covered.

  Chasm began unspooling it, the white string coiling at his feet. He pinched the end as the string slipped off the dowel. Then he held up the empty wooden spool, as though showing it off to everyone present.

  “When the string runs out . . .” Chasm said. “That’s when I promised to make your greatest wishes come true.” Ceremoniously, Chasm handed the end of the string to Brian. Then the big genie turned to face the waiting group of adults.

  “It’s finally time for everyone to tie on.”

  “What?” Ridge shrieked. “Tie on? What’s he talking about?”

  All around the floor, the adults were pulling items from pockets and purses. As they held them out, I realized what they were.

  Chasm had given each person a length of the string. And now, in an almost rehearsed manner, they all began tying one end around their wrists.

  “What are they doing?” Jathon muttered.

  “Chasm must be making sure that we can’t use the string,” said Vale. “It’s useless if it’s already tied onto someone.”

/>   “That’s all of it,” Ridge said.

  “Tina . . .” I muttered. What hope did we have of rescuing her now? Maybe we could use Jathon’s dagger to cut a piece of string away from one of those adults. But Ms. Gomez had explained that it wouldn’t work unless it was a full tether length.

  “Now,” Chasm said, extending one arm. “Step on up! You’ve only got forty-two feet, so you’ll need to stay close. But once you tie the other end of that string to my wrist, I’ll be able to grant your wish.”

  I suddenly felt cold as I realized what was happening. It was bad enough that Chasm had used up all the string. But his plan was far worse than simply stopping us.

  “He can’t do that . . .” Jathon said. “The string can only be used to make a tether become visible. . . .”

  “No,” I whispered, thinking back to the specific wording Ms. Gomez had used when describing the wish that had created the trinket. “The string can be used to create a visible tether between a genie and whoever is tied to the other end.”

  “I know,” snapped Jathon. “A visible tether.”

  “Don’t you realize the difference?” I said, struggling to keep my voice down. “We’ve been thinking that the string can only be used to make an existing tether visible. But that’s not it at all. According to the original wish, the string will create a tether. That could work on anybody!”

  I heard Ridge gulp in fear. “Chasm is about to get twelve new grown-up Wishmakers.”

  Chapter 22

  Our attention was fixed on the floor below. Chasm was striking an arrogant pose, one hand on his hip, with the other outstretched. Tina cowered behind him, shaking her head, voiceless mouth agape so she couldn’t warn the others.

  The dozen winners of the mini golf game stood in a half circle around Chasm. By now, each of them had knotted their piece of string around their own wrist. Several were moving forward, the other end of the string looped and ready to cinch around Chasm’s thick wrist.

  “We have to stop them,” I muttered. “I wish . . .”

  But my mind went blank as the first person tied onto Chasm. As soon as the knot tightened, the length of string between the genie and the new Wishmaker lit up like a glow stick. The magic rippled along the white string, forming that steadfast tether that the Universe required of all Wishmakers.