Rise of the Miser: Claus, #5

by Tony Bertauski

“No.”

  His pajama bottoms hiked above his ankles and exposed part of his shins. The boy she’d seen at the tower had been in shorts and barefoot. He’d run between the same trees Kandi had hid behind and she was covered in cuts.

  Sonny wasn’t even scratched.

  “I don’t feel like talking.” He held the dustpan near his waist. “Maybe tomorrow. Is that all right?”

  The doors began to quietly close before she could answer. Popcorn spilled from the dustpan as he carried it sluggishly in one hand. Kandi stepped back to avoid the doors. “It wasn’t him. That wasn’t Sonny at the tower.”

  “Told you.”

  “Does he have a twin?”

  “Define twin.” His bottom scratched around. If he had legs, he would’ve been kicking the ground to avoid the question.

  “Sandy? Ask and receive, remember? Does he have a twin?”

  “There have been others.”

  “Others?”

  “Other Sonnys.”

  Kandi frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither.”

  She stood on the glider without urging it forward. The boy at the tower looked like Sonny, but Sonny would never go barefoot. The Sonny who was stringing popcorn chains was proper and quiet and fearful, unless he was a superb actor. Or bipolar. That might explain feeling slow.

  Split personality?

  “The others,” she said, zooming away, “where are they?”

  “You’re asking the wrong sandman.”

  When she stopped beneath the chandelier, he watched her walk onto the veranda. The pool was empty and the beach pristine. It was still early. Her dad would be asleep till lunch. Hopefully longer.

  Secretly, she was happy they were staying.

  THE POEM AT THE END of the beach had been washed away by the tide. Kandi tucked her phone into a palm tree. If her dad pinged her location, he would guess she was lounging on the beach.

  He was still fully clothed and sleeping when she peeked into the room. The sat laptop was under his arm. Kandi grabbed her backpack and snuck into the adjacent room. The tower was bright and shiny in the late morning.

  “What’s weirder?” Sandy said. “That I suddenly have the urge to recite the poem or that you saw Santa Claus?”

  “A guy dressed like him.”

  “Or was it him?”

  Kandi pulled away from the telescope, heavy-lidded. “You’re weird.”

  That wide path was the only way past the tower. If there were side paths, she couldn’t see them. She couldn’t blaze a new path, not without a bulldozer. The cuts from last night still stung. If she stuck to the outside of the wide path and was fast about it, she could make it around the tower.

  “Where you going?” Sandy sang.

  “Exploring.” She checked the water bottle in her backpack.

  “Bad idea.”

  “If someone finds me, I’ll say I got lost.”

  “Someone is the miser. She told you not to, ’member? You ’member.”

  “She’s not God.”

  “She kind of is.”

  “Maybe for you because you’re... whatever you are. I’m fifteen years old. I’m a curious teenager. Don’t tell me not to do something and expect me not to do it.”

  “You’ve heard of consequences?”

  “I’m just going for a walk.”

  She stepped on the glider. Sandy didn’t follow along this time. His voice, though, carried the distance.

  “There are things out there in the woods. You know that, right?”

  A chill caught up to and ran down her neck. There were those things she saw in the jungle and the branches breaking in the trees last night. She convinced herself it was Sonny out there or someone who looked like him.

  One of the others.

  THE PATH FELT WIDER in the daylight.

  The cart was gone, the one she’d used the night before. Now it was just a wide-open field. The tower stared down like an effigy of a technology god. No amount of garland or happy Christmas lights could hide the feeling it was a cruel one.

  The guy dressed like Santa hadn’t look thrilled.

  He had been exhausted. And the way he’d looked at the sky, relieved. That was the same building her dad had been inside all night, too. And he came back a little more than bummed out. He seemed worried.

  What did he see?

  The gnats were waiting for her this time.

  She took three deep breaths and muttered a little pep talk before she rounded the corner. The tower loomed with multifaceted eyes from three floors. The jungle shadows were deepest on the other side. She tried not to hurry, didn’t want to look suspicious. Thumbs hooked beneath the straps of her backpack, she tried to look like a casual day hiker. She made it three steps.

  A hard tug yanked her into the trees.

  Wide fronds fluttered as she stumbled backwards between spiny palm trunks. She was pulled into the shadows and started to fall. Something caught her.

  “Are you crazy?”

  It was him. It was the boy.

  He looked through the narrow slot of foliage he’d just pulled her through and put his finger to his lips. Sun-bleached hair hung over his ears in long looping curls. He wore dirty shorts and that was it. His chest was tanned leather with scarred traces of sharp foliage. The shorts were torn and smudged, but the faint crease lines were still visible. A headband kept his hair out of his eyes. It looked like it had been torn from a checkered shirt.

  “Sonny?” she whispered. “You... look like Sonny.”

  “If she saw you walking toward the tower, her head would explode.”

  “What?”

  “She’ll get angry.” He looked through the narrow opening again, as if there was something to see. Nothing was moving. And the gnats were gone.

  “I was going for a walk,” she said.

  “Bad idea.”

  “It wasn’t a bad idea last night.”

  “Shhh.” He shoved his finger on her lips. It smelled earthy. “It was night and she was distracted. But you can’t just go off on your own.”

  “I’m not going to sit in my room.”

  A smile cracked his face. “You should be scared.”

  “I’m not.”

  He covered his mouth and stifled laughter, pointing at her face. Was her chin quivering? Did she swallow too hard? Or was it just written on her forehead. I’m scared. He was disheveled and wild. He didn’t smell bad, but he wasn’t exactly clean. His hands were callused and his arms were shaped from climbing.

  “Do you live out here?” she whispered.

  “Where else is there?”

  “The resort—”

  “I don’t live there.”

  “The miser,” she said, “isn’t she your mother?”

  “No.”

  The humor drained from him. He backed up a step and she was afraid he would bolt. She didn’t know how she was getting out of the trees without sacrificing a pint of blood. Kandi stepped closer, but he didn’t run. He leaned back like she might bite. Grimy creases of sweat lined his neck and the corners of his sharp blue eyes. Kandi pinched his arm.

  “You’re real,” she whispered.

  Sandy had taught her not to trust her senses. An illusion couldn’t drag her into the trees, but she had to be sure. She didn’t want to be attracted to an illusion. She didn’t want to be attracted to anyone, but definitely not an illusion.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “Who are you?”

  “You’re Sonny.”

  He shook his head. The same pall that had possessed him when she asked about his mother was back, and again she was nervous about him abandoning her. He was tense and nervous, ears perked, eyes dancing. He was a rabbit, albeit a very strong rabbit.

  “You left me a riddle, to meet you at the tower. What did you want?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “The miser hired my dad.”

  He stopped looking around and smiled. His stare was kind but penetrating. She glan
ced away, her thought suddenly exposed. When she looked back, he was still smiling.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “Is that why you’ve been taking my stuff, leaving me riddles?” She raised her voice and blocked him from covering her mouth again. “Who are you?”

  “I just saved you. If you think you can just hike over to the North Pole, you’re cracked worse than she is.”

  “The North Pole?”

  He squinted at her. It was snowing inside the warehouse. The North Pole. “How did you know where I was going?”

  He was back in rabbit mode, tense and jittery. He peeked through the foliage then stepped through it. She was alone. Maybe he’d had enough. He’d said he saved her from the path and maybe that was it. Surely he wouldn’t abandon her in the trees.

  She was glad she pinched him.

  A minute passed and she wasn’t sure which direction to go. Everything looked the same. If she stumbled in the wrong direction, it could be hours before someone found her.

  Or something.

  If the miser caught her, what was she going to do, ground her? Then again, if the miser caught her, Kandi wouldn’t make it to the warehouse. The North Pole... that would explain the man dressed like Santa Claus.

  “Sonny.” She pulled back a giant frond. “Sonny—”

  “My name isn’t Sonny.” He was behind her without making a sound. “You want to see the North Pole? We have to go now while your dad is still asleep.”

  “How do you know he’s still—”

  “So yes or no, now or not? The miser sees and hears all, but she don’t see me. We stay in the trees, I’ll show you how to move. If you’re fast enough, I’ll show you everything.” He looked up. He saw something she wasn’t seeing, hearing something she wasn’t hearing. “Now, now. Yes or no?”

  Her chest fluttered. “Yes.”

  He broke open a smile and turned sideways to duck beneath a quivering frond. Kandi started to follow. He was slashed with thin scars, the kind of cuts she’d collected the night before. But there was a different scar on his back.

  It was thick and shapely.

  “Are you coming?” He popped back out.

  “I don’t know your name.”

  “Is that important?”

  She shrugged. “What do I call you?”

  He shook his head. If he was alone in the trees, why would he need a name?

  “Can I call you Cris?”

  “Is that an old boyfriend?”

  “It’s my goldfish.”

  He slipped out of sight again but not before flashing the strange scar on his back. Kandi did like he did and turned sideways, dipping into a narrow opening, and recognized what was burned on his back.

  It was a handprint.

  KANDI

  21

  He was too fast.

  Three times he vanished and Kandi was left in the damp embrace of the jungle. Every nick and slash—fresh and old—was awake and stinging. Claustrophobia started to take hold. She had no sense of how deep the jungle was or how to get out. Paradise was smothering her. Before she could panic, a hand would reach for her and the race was back on.

  Occasionally, he would stop and listen, eyes alert. His finger would rise before she could ask a question; then they’d double back and find another path. She knew who he was avoiding.

  She just didn’t know how.

  Walking seemed impossible, the jungle too dense and sticky, but doing as he did—trotting sideways and dodging low-hanging branches—kept them moving in all directions. The jungle abruptly ended. There was a building in front of them, two stories tall and plastered with lights.

  “What—”

  Cris grabbed her arm with a finger to his lips. His thumb had been freshly gouged, his blood sticky and warm. He was watching something she couldn’t see. Or was he listening? There was nothing between them and the building, nothing to the left or right. Still, he remained still. His eyes followed something, and then she saw it.

  The gnats.

  They swarmed in a dancing ball, buzzed around one of the windows then dispersed to another one. Down the wall they went, window by window, one by one. Kandi put her lips to his ear, his checkered headband soaked with sweat, hair stuck to his cheek.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered.

  He pulled a glove from his pocket. It was metallic and slid on his hand like fine silk. His fingers twittered like he was playing an instrument—an invisible trumpet or unseen keyboard—and then he waved off like a begging dog was in the way. And then a weird thing happened.

  The gnats stopped what they were doing.

  It was like they all looked in one direction before forming a tight ball. They darted away. Not a single one stayed behind.

  “Did you—”

  He pulled her out of the trees and raced to the nearest window. Pushing it open, he laced his hands into a saddle.

  “Hurry.

  Kandi stepped into his hands. He flung her up and over and into the window. She stumbled inside and he fell next to her. Quietly, he closed the window and lay against the wall. He pulled her next to him.

  It was a bedroom with two bunk beds, each stacked five high. The room was stagnant and steamy. The jungle left her parched and shaky.

  What am I doing?

  She was about to ask him that question when the buzzing was back. It streamed past the window and hovered just outside it. There was a tap, tap, tap as they threw themselves against the pane. Cris waved his hand like he’d done before.

  And then it was quiet.

  “Microeyes,” he whispered. “She knows if you’re naughty or nice.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Magic.”

  He slid the glove off and smiled. She didn’t believe in magic. There was deception and phenomena, but nothing was beyond the reach of explanation. But magic was a good answer for the moment. Whatever that glove did wouldn’t be explained in a minute or two.

  And neither would those gnats.

  “What is this place?”

  “Welcome to Miser Island.”

  “Heether Miser?”

  “It’s not her.”

  That was the third time she’d heard that. “What’s that mean?”

  He cocked his head and listened. The gnats hadn’t returned. He pulled the headband tighter. The edges were frayed, the ends hanging down to his shoulders. The fabric was familiar. It was the pattern, she’d seen that before.

  Sonny wore a shirt like that.

  “You’re one of the others,” she said. “You ran away.”

  “I didn’t run away. I set myself free.”

  “You won’t get far on an island.”

  He crawled on his knees and peeked through the window. He looked at her with a guarded yet penetrating stare, so wild yet innocent, traces of Sonny in his kindness with hard edges carved by the jungle.

  “True freedom,” he said, “has nothing to do with land.”

  He held out his hand and pulled her up. It wasn’t the way he sped through an impenetrable jungle or the ease with which he lifted her off the floor or the muscles that bunched around his shoulders or even the mystery surrounding him that made her stomach suddenly bubbly.

  She followed him out of the small room, thinking about Alaska and how she felt so trapped. There were days she wanted to start walking and never turn around, keep going until she was all alone with nothing but sky above and ground below, unfettered by expectations and responsibility. To be raw and wild.

  Like the boy holding her hand. True freedom has nothing to do with land.

  “DO EXACTLY AS I DO.” He looked into the hall. “Got it?”

  He leaped out of the room and took giant steps. The floor was checkered with black and white tiles. He was only stepping on the white ones. She hopscotched past three closed doors. He stopped before passing an open one and pressed against the wall, tapping the space next to him.

  Next, he crawl
ed.

  They did this past two closed doors before sprinting past the next five rooms. Slightly out of breath, they waited with their backs against the wall. He turned to her.

  “Ready?”

  Kandi didn’t think about what he was doing next. She tucked her thumbs into her armpits and followed along. There were gnats out there he could control and things on the island that were dangerous and the miser in her tower. He knew what he was doing.

  He was doing a chicken-walk.

  Kandi had flapped her elbows and even bobbed her head before he burst out laughing. Confused, she stared down at him and frowned. His face was red with laughter.

  She kicked him. “I’m so stupid.”

  “No, no, no... shh-shh.” He held out his hand and she swatted it away. He wiped his eyes and held out his hand. She wouldn’t take it. “I’m sorry, I won’t do that again. I swear. It’s just, you looked so serious.”

  “You want me to trust you now?”

  Her voice echoed down the long hall. He put his finger on her lips and, despite her best efforts, her stomach swirled with affection.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

  His pace was confident and patient. He stopped a few times and did that listening thing before continuing to a large lobby. The ceiling was vaulted. Light cut sharply across it from an enormous window. Cris hugged the far wall and stayed in the shadows. He waved her over and pointed out the window.

  It was the warehouse.

  The lights were flashing and the animated ornaments moving. A small train chugged along a set of elaborate tracks, white smoke puffing from a straight pipe. Candy canes led up to closed doors. She had followed the miser around the building she was now inside, had seen the decorations and door.

  But those people weren’t there.

  They were round with long beards and extremely large feet. They waddled when they walked like wind-up toys. So round were their bellies that they could barely reach past them.

  They were straightening decorations and weaving palm fronds into festive wreaths. Three of them were standing on each other’s shoulders. The one on the bottom was an overinflated exercise ball. The one on top—half the size as the one on the bottom—teetered with fistfuls of lights.