Bone Hollow

by Kim Ventrella

  To his surprise, Ollie rolled it around in his mouth and then spit it out, puckering up his lips like he’d just tasted a lemon.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Gabe said. He gave him a hunk of buttery biscuit instead, but Ollie turned his nose up at that just as fast. “Oh well, you dodo brain. More for me.”

  Gabe took his time relishing that crunchy, greasy, mapley ball of goodness. He had no idea how long it took him to eat it, but it was worth every second. And the strange thing was, even though it looked just like Miss Cleo’s biscuits, it tasted even better. That was partly because of the maple that melted on his tongue and made the whole inside of his mouth tingle. But it was also partly because Miss Cleo wasn’t standing right over him nagging him to stop dropping crumbs on the carpet.

  Ollie, being the stubborn dog he was, kept right up with his begging. Gabe gave him a peanut, a pretzel, and a piece of shortbread cookie. He turned up his nose at each and every one.

  “Oh well, your loss, you silly mutt.”

  He was just sticking some foil over the rest of the food when he realized what must have happened. “You think it’s because this food is only for dead people?” Ollie tilted his head at Gabe, as if he was really considering. “Ain’t that just about the creepiest.”

  But Ollie didn’t seem to be much concerned with the reason, he just wanted to eat. He wiggled off the couch, despite his recent dire injury, and wobbled all the way to the kitchen on three legs, where he promptly started to howl.

  “Now, aren’t you something,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “Who said you could get up and walk around already?” But Ollie ignored him and put on his cutest, dopiest puppy face.

  Gabe sighed. “Alright, you dang ornery mutt.” He followed him into the kitchen, intending to search out some scraps, when he found a boiled egg in a little plastic baggie on the countertop. It had Ollie’s name on it.

  “Well, I’ll be danged,” Gabe said, a little shiver working its way up his spine.

  “Rarf, rarf, rarf!”

  “Alright, alright, but you’d better eat it this time.”

  He gave Ollie the egg, and he gobbled it down, just like normal. Strange, that egg having Ollie’s name on it, but then again, it wasn’t even close to the strangest thing he’d seen that day, so he decided not to worry about it.

  Once he was finished with his egg, Ollie hobbled back to the living room, crawled onto the couch, and went straight to sleep, leaving Gabe alone in the kitchen. The tile felt cool under his bare feet. He bent down and saw that each one had been painted like the squares of a quilt, all in different colors and patterns. A dozen teapots hung from hooks on the wall, in the shape of mice or cats or dragons wearing fuzzy sweaters with scarves around their necks.

  Gabe wandered around the kitchen into the small nook that held a dining table but only two chairs. Everything was cozy and quaint and inviting, like the hand-knitted placemats on the dining table that read, “Why not sit and stay a while?”

  Maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed like the candles in the windowsills and on the shelves had started to dwindle. Gabe peeked out through the picture window to find the moon well on its way back to earth. It would be morning soon, and he’d better try and get some sleep.

  What had Wynne said about having plans for him in the morning? He scrunched up his forehead, but quickly decided he was too tired to ponder. Whatever it was would just have to wait.

  He squeezed onto the couch next to Ollie, using him as a footrest this time instead of a pillow. He was careful not to touch his hurt leg, and Ollie was so tuckered he didn’t so much as stir. Gabe closed his eyes, thinking it would take him a while to calm down from all the day’s events, but he sank right then and there into a deep, untroubled sleep.

  All around and unbeknownst to him, the candle flames dimmed and then went out one by one with tiny puffs of silvery smoke.

  Gabe woke up to the sharp stench of chicken feathers. That would be on account of Miss Cleo letting those dang chickens roost in his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the sound of pans banging together in the kitchen. That was the sign it was time to get up and muck out the coops. Worse than that, once he was done he had to sit down for one of Miss Cleo’s tribulation-filled breakfasts. Tribulation because if he did one thing wrong, like slurp his grits or spill his milk, Miss Cleo would start sucking on her teeth and be downright nasty to him for the whole rest of the day.

  He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. It was like walking on eggshells in his very own house, and not to mention Ollie. Miss Cleo kept him chained up in the barn all night, and most of the day while Gabe was working, in the name of protecting her dumb old chickens. But that dog had never looked foul at a chicken in his whole dang life, and Miss Cleo knew it.

  Cursing his luck and Miss Cleo and those stinky chickens, Gabe opened his eyes, and even as he did the smell around him started to change. Instead of chicken gunk and toe cream, his nostrils picked up the faintest scent of hot honey buns. Gabe blinked, and a pair of warm brown eyes peered down at him, and they didn’t belong to any chicken. It was Ollie, and he was sitting square on Gabe’s chest.

  “How’d you get in here, you clever hound? Only don’t let Miss Cleo catch you, ’cause she’ll have your behind.”

  “Not today, she won’t,” said a voice behind him. Slowly, the rest of the room swirled back into focus, the quilts and the candles and the sea-green china cabinet. Something sizzled and popped in the background, and Gabe sat up to see Wynne in the kitchen, frying up some bacon. “Morning, sleepyhead. ’Bout time you two woke up.”

  Gabe was about to say something, but then Ollie’s tongue attacked his mouth and nose, and it was all he could do to keep breathing. Strange, seeing as he was dead, but in that moment he was pretty sure he’d never been happier in his whole life. At least not since Mama and Daddy and Gramps had died.

  “Alright, alright, that’s enough, you dang pup.”

  “Rarf!”

  Gabe lifted Ollie onto the ground, and he proceeded to wobble into the kitchen on his three good legs and start licking Wynne’s ankles.

  “Sorry about that; I can put him out if you want.” Miss Cleo could be heard screeching halfway down the block anytime Ollie’s tongue came within a foot of her skin.

  Wynne, on the other hand, bent down and kissed him on the nose. “And lose my best helper? No thank you.” She scooped two thick strips of bacon onto a plate, blew on them to cool them down, and set them at Ollie’s feet. That dog was so darn happy, he nearly fell over from excitement.

  “So where’s your bedroom?” Gabe said, peering around the tiny cottage, searching for a doorway he hadn’t noticed the night before. There wasn’t one.

  “I don’t get much sleep nowadays.” Wynne shrugged. She stowed the rest of the bacon in a plastic baggie and stuck it in the fridge.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?” Gabe said.

  Wynne offered a sad smile. “Oh, that food’s not for us. Ours is right behind you.”

  Gabe turned around to find the tray from last night, only now it was piled with buttery eggs, steaming sausages, and stacks of sugary waffles.

  “How on earth?” Gabe said, taking in the wonderful, salty-sweet smells. It all looked so real. “Is it magic?”

  “Definitely.” Wynne picked up Ollie and came to sit beside Gabe on the couch. Ollie would usually be begging in the presence of so much delicious food, but today he just ignored it. “Here, let me show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “You’ll see.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement, despite the long shadows under her lids that looked even darker than the night before. “First step is to picture something someone else wants. It can’t be for you, or the magic won’t work.”

  As she spoke, Ollie licked underneath her chin. Miss Cleo would have clocked him one for sure if he’d tried that, but Wynne just smiled wider. “Ready? Close your eyes, go on.” Gabe did as he was told. “Good, now hold out your hand and imagine somet
hing you’d like to give to someone else. It could be anything. Think about the shape, the color, the smell of it. Focus all your energy on that one thing. See if you can feel it in your hand.”

  Gabe did his best to focus. He thought about the shape, small and round and silver, the cool feel of it against his palm. He thought and thought, but no matter what he did his hand stayed empty. “I don’t think I’ve got any magic.”

  “Nonsense, you only need to focus on the person you want the item for. Go on.”

  So he did, and before he knew it something cool and solid appeared in his hand. He could feel the weight of it, pressing down on his palm.

  “Open your eyes.”

  He did, and there was his ma’s old necklace, a silver St. Christopher medal on a matching silver chain. She’d left it to Gabe, or she would have if she’d made a will, but somehow it had ended up in Miss Cleo’s jewelry box. It had just about burned him up the day he’d gone to church to see her wearing it. That same night, he’d snatched it back when she was busy with poultry business and hid it under his mattress.

  “I want you to have it.”

  He held it out to Wynne, and she stared down at it for a long time, chewing on her bottom lip.

  “I don’t mean it romantic or nothing like that,” Gabe said quickly. “Just a thank-you for saving my dog.” And for making him feel at home for the first time in just about forever. He didn’t know Wynne that well, true, but now that he was dead, it wasn’t like he was gonna meet anyone else to give it to. Besides, he’d rather Wynne have it than nasty ol’ Miss Cleo.

  “No one’s ever given me a present like this before,” she said. “Are you sure you want me to have it?”

  “’Course I’m sure.”

  “Okay, then.”

  With her fingers shaking just a little, Wynne slid the chain over her head and examined it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks, it belonged to my ma.” He didn’t explain about Miss Cleo or how he was grateful to Wynne for giving him a home, but hopefully the necklace said what he couldn’t.

  “I know,” Wynne said, and outside the wind picked up and the chimes clanked against the side of the cottage.

  “What do you mean, you know?” Gabe’s skin prickled.

  “Come on,” she said, dropping the pendant down the front of her dress. “I’ve got something else to show you.”

  Wynne picked up Ollie, who was happy for a chance to nuzzle into her neck and lick behind her earlobes, and led Gabe outside. He expected it to look different in the daylight, the way Christmas decorations seemed to lose their magic as soon as the sun came up. But Bone Hollow hadn’t changed a bit. If anything, it looked better. Mist still clung to the valley, but it was clear and sparkling with sunlight. The wooden flutes tinkled in the breeze, forming a happy, woodsy tune. The blue flowers bloomed all around the cottage and down the path, only a little less bright than in the nighttime. And the valley wasn’t nearly as small as he’d imagined.

  The winding stone path and neatly trimmed hedges stretched on for acres, past mossy hillsides and squat, dew-covered pines.

  “Come on, follow me!” Wynne said, and she took off running down the path with Ollie yapping away in her arms.

  They passed cozy hollows thick with green vines and twisting, ancient bark. There were streams and gardens and a bush cut in the shape of a giant lion with sunflowers for eyes. It was all so strange and wonderful, Gabe could have spent hours examining every nook, but Wynne was running too fast.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  She zoomed around corners, running so swiftly along the tall hedgerows that her feet blurred and all he could see was her white dress whipping in the wind like a ghost.

  “Rarf, rarf, rarf!”

  Ollie was having the time of his life, by the sound of it. Wynne crossed an old wooden bridge in a single bound, and then came to a stop, fast as a lightning bolt, at the edge of a small pond. She placed Ollie gently on the ground, then plopped down onto the grass. Gabe skidded to a stop just in time. One more second and he might have run them over.

  “Where are we?” Gabe said, peering around and pulling Ollie into his lap. The pond was surrounded by trees all around except for the spot where they were sitting. To his astonishment, he saw two fishing poles propped up on sticks and a tackle box full of rubber worms.

  “You must fish here a lot,” Gabe said.

  “Nope.” Wynne picked up the rod closest to her and slid a worm onto the hook. “This is my first time.”

  “But you’ve got fishing poles and everything.” A thick green film covered the pond, just like the one where he and Gramps had always liked to fish.

  Wynne rolled out a bit of extra line and dropped her hook in the water.

  “That’s not how you do it,” Gabe said. “You’ve got to cast it, like this, so you get your hook right in the center of the pond.”

  Gabe showed her how to do it, but Wynne just smiled.

  “You went fishing a lot, didn’t you? With your gramps?”

  “You gotta stop doing that,” Gabe said, shivering against the chilly morning air.

  “What?”

  “Saying things you’re not supposed to know. It’s creeping me out.”

  That made Wynne laugh. “It’s easy, you know. You should try it.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, go on.”

  “I wouldn’t know how to start.”

  “First, you’ve got to look at someone, really look at them. You can try it on Ollie if you want.”

  “But I already know what he’s thinking.” As if to confirm this, Ollie swatted Gabe’s chin with one of his paws. “Hey, now, mind your manners.”

  “Alright, you can try it on me, then.”

  “You?”

  “Come on.” Wynne set down her pole and turned to face him. “First you have to look at me.”

  “Now?” Gabe said.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “No reason, it’s just … maybe you could look out at the water instead.”

  Wynne rolled her eyes, but she shifted her body so she was facing the water. “Now pick one spot and look real hard at it. Like my earlobe or my nose.”

  “Or the strand of gold in your hair?”

  “That’ll do,” said Wynne, smiling. “Now stare at that spot until your eyes start to go fuzzy around the edges. Don’t blink and don’t move, just let it go fuzzy. Keep on staring, that’s right, and after a while …”

  “After a while what?”

  “Shhh, don’t talk! You have to concentrate.”

  So Gabe stared hard and concentrated, until his eyes started to go fuzzy. He was about to say it wasn’t working when an image appeared to him out of the fuzz. It was a girl, about Wynne’s age, scrubbing out erasers in a big bucket of water. She couldn’t be Wynne, though, because she looked different, with shorter hair and skin a richer shade of brown.

  “What’d you see?”

  But Gabe ignored her, because just then he saw another image. A woman with deep lines under her eyes and her hair pulled into a bun came around the corner. “Come on, Winifred, time for lunch. Bread and cheese and Papa’s world-famous gravy.”

  “Did he call it that?” said the girl, drying off her hands on her apron.

  “Sure did. You know your papa.”

  “Sure do.”

  They both laughed, and then the girl ran toward a small house, more like a shack, where a man with a scraggly black beard was holding out his hands, waiting for her.

  Gabe would’ve liked to see more, but a cool breeze drifted across the pond just then, ruffling Wynne’s hair and drawing him out of the vision.

  Gabe blinked, wondering why the girl in Wynne’s memory didn’t look a thing like Wynne. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “My papa sure made some mighty fine gravy,” Wynne said, eyes still focused on the pond. “Best in the county.”

  “But that wasn’t you. Couldn’t be.” Gabe stared so hard at Wynne’s face, she had no choice but to tu
rn and look at him. How could she be one person now and another person in her memories?

  “And what if it was?”

  “But that old schoolhouse you were standing behind. It reminds me of the one Gramps’s pa used to go to. He showed me a picture of it once, and that school was nearly eighty years old.”

  “Is that right?” she said, sounding amused as usual, but also a little afraid.

  “And you can’t be more than a year older than me, at most. Besides,” Gabe said, ignoring the sudden tugging he felt on the end of his rod, “that wasn’t you. You look like …”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, like my old friend, that’s who.”

  “Your best friend.” Wynne tugged on her earlobe, the same way Gabe did when he was waiting to get back his score on a test he already knew he’d failed.

  “No, that was …” But the more Gabe thought about it, the more he realized Wynne was right. Niko might have moved away in third grade, but at least she’d always been there for him. Even after Mama and Daddy passed on, she’d never once laughed at him when he cried. That was more than he could say for Chance. He’d once called Gabe a sissy in front of everyone in class, even Maisy Hughes, and all because he’d refused to help Chance shove a raccoon down old Mr. Benton’s well. “Now that you mention it, I suppose she was my best friend.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Hang on,” Gabe said, wild thoughts racing through his head. “What’re you trying to tell me? You’re not … I mean … you’re not really Niko, are you? She’s not dead?”

  Wynne laughed, looking the slightest bit relieved. “Definitely not, at least as far as I know. She moved to California, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but … you do look like her.”

  “About that.” Lazy clouds drifted by overhead, scattering the sunlight sparkling on the surface of the pond. Wynne smiled, that same strange but familiar smile, just like Niko’s. Gabe looked at her, right in the eyes this time, and as he did her smile faltered.

  “Don’t be mad,” she said. “I was trying to be helpful, I swear.”

  “Why would I be mad?” To his surprise, Gabe noticed his heart beating in his chest, so fast it was hard to believe he was dead. A fresh breeze blew in across the pond, shaking pine needles from the trees into Wynne’s hair. Then, as the breeze fell quiet, Wynne started to change.