“Willow said you were headed for the factory,” he blurted. “What on the round blue Earth were you thinking? This whole place looks like it was hit by a tornado. There are fire trucks everywhere. What did you do? Are you all right?” He checked her over for scrapes and bruises, finding many. He hugged her close.
“I’m OK, Dad.” Lucy held him tightly.
The sheriff entered the room on Silas’s heels, the spurs on her cowboy boots jingling. “Where’s Fisher?” she demanded, a hand on the gun at her hip. “The fire department is having a heck of a time upstairs. Looks like there was some kind of explosion.”
“Yes, an explosion,” Fisher hastily agreed. “There was a gas leak. Thank goodness you’re here.”
“Who are all these people?” The sheriff paled as she recognised the English teacher. “Stricks? Millepoids. Chelon! Holy smokes, they’re all here,” she shouted. “Somebody get a medic!”
“Please, we just want to go home,” said Mrs Stricks. “There’s no need for more doctors.”
“How did you get down here?” asked Sheriff Pryce, flabbergasted. “Some of these people have been missing for weeks, for Pete’s sake.”
“We had an allergic reaction to the new sweetener,” Mr Millepoids calmly explained. “We needed specialised medical attention, which we have received.” He wiped a streak of yellow paint from his forehead with the back of his now normal, human hand.
An allergic reaction? Lucy’s mouth fell open. Are you flippin’ kidding me?
“With Mr Fisher’s generous assistance,” said Mrs Stricks, “the issue has now been resolved. Isn’t that right, Richard?”
Mr Fisher nodded curtly.
Lucy watched in dismay as each of the adults lied to the sheriff with a straight face. She had never seen such coordination outside of an anthill. Nobody in here is telling the truth. Why? And then something occurred to her that made her feel like a twig swaying at the top of a giant sequoia. Is Mr Fisher RIGHT? Is there something wrong with the people in Sticky Pines?
“Yes. An allergic reaction.” Fisher coughed. “It involves proprietary information. All very hush-hush. Shareholders,” he added.
“I cannot fathom,” the sheriff seethed, “why no one notified me about this sooner. What does any of this have to do with that fire-alarm mayhem upstairs?” Her eyes landed on Lucy, huddled in her father’s arms. “Sladan.” Sheriff Pryce rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Of course you’re here. I’m surprised you didn’t call this gorram nonsense in yourself.”
Everyone focused on Lucy.
The sheriff bent down. “All right, kid,” she said. “Now’s your chance. If there’s anything you want to tell me, say it now. I don’t care if it’s Bigfoot, mermaids or poltergeists. What did you see, girl?”
Lucy had been waiting to hear those words her entire life. She looked around at the many faces in the room. Millepoids, shifting uncomfortably in his green gown. Her concerned and clueless father, unaware that his job was very much in jeopardy, along with everyone else’s in town. Mrs Stricks, silently imploring Lucy not to say anything. And then there was Milo, who had gone against his own father to defend her quest for the Truth. But if she told the truth, what would she be exposing? And at what cost?
She had always wanted to be the first person to prove to the world that there’s a vast inexplicable universe outside our puny understanding of reality – but at the expense of her teacher, her neighbours, her family? She felt like she was going to throw up.
“Go ahead,” said Milo. “Tell them.”
“Um…” said Lucy.
“Go on,” said Silas.
Milo squeezed her hand. “I’ve got your back.”
Which only made what she was about to do even harder. “It sounds crazy but…” She shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. “It’s like they said. Milo and I left the carnival and we got lost in the woods. Somehow we ended up at the factory.” Each word felt like a knife to her soul. “Everything was on fire. There was an explosion and we ran down here for help. Then we just … stumbled on the missing people.” She slumped under the weight of her weary shoulders. “I’m just happy everyone’s OK.” She half-heartedly raised a fist in the air.
When she opened her eyes, Milo was staring at her as though she had just run over his new puppy.
“So much for the Truth.” He stormed off, hitting her with his elbow on the way out.
Lucy touched her arm. Of all the many injuries she had sustained that day, this one stung the most.
Mr Fisher smiled triumphantly. “You see?” he said. “Just as I explained. Let’s discuss the rest of this matter in private.” He patted the sheriff on the shoulder.
“We certainly will,” Sheriff Pryce replied. “Nobody leaves until they talk to a police officer,” she announced to the crowd. “Snakes alive, this is going to be a lot of paperwork.” She spat on the floor and ushered the formerly missing Sticky Pines residents into the hallway with the others.
“Sir.” Silas extended his hand to Mr Fisher. “I just want to thank you for helping my girl.”
Mr Fisher shook his hand. “Of course,” he said, graciously insincere. “I’m so glad neither of our children was seriously injured.”
Lucy felt like her head was going to implode.
Silas wiped a happy tear on his sleeve. “Luce.” He guided his daughter towards his boss. “Thank Mr Fisher for everything he did for you today.”
Lucy stood before the man, stone-faced. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” said Fisher.
Sticky Pines had gone relatively quiet in the two weeks since the harrowing events at the Nu Co. factory. Autumn had settled in with a cloak of crispy brown leaves and endless cloudy skies. There were no more unusual creature sightings, no disappearances. Everything was, on the surface, mind-meltingly ordinary.
Mrs Stricks returned to school the week after she was found. She threw a pizza party for her students, and provided a vague explanation involving an unexpected stay at the hospital. People raised few questions, and those that went unanswered stayed that way.
Most of the townspeople remembered Fisher’s carnival quite fondly. Local news reporters, including the de-fanged Carlos Felina, declared that they were looking forward to the Nu Co. Par-T in Da Pines next year and for many more to come. Everyone involved in the monstrous events seemed happy to let it all evaporate into the mist of rumour that often hung over the last and least-known corner of the New World. Everyone, of course, but Lucy Sladan and Milo Fisher.
It was a Saturday morning in early October, and everyone in the Sladan household was recovering from eating cookies for breakfast. Each family member had made their own batch. Willow’s Millepoids-inspired banana nut chocolate chips had been the overwhelming favourite, handily beating Lucy’s rather uninspired snickerdoodles. As a reward, Silas had taken Willow owl pellet hunting for the day.
Lucy sat at her desk staring wistfully out the window at a pair of ravens squawking on a skeletal birch, silhouetted against the silver sky. Her room was unrecognisably tidy, her desk free of anything but a lamp and a laptop, her figurines dusted and arranged according to size rather than genre. The “Keep Out, Unbelievers” sign on the door had been replaced with one that read simply: “Please Knock”.
For the past two weeks, Lucy had been trying to relax, to not ask questions, to stop thinking about lies and Nucralose and monsters and everything that had happened since the Fishers came to town. To stop thinking about Milo Fisher full stop. It wasn’t working.
Errol rose from the beanbag chair and trotted to the attic doorway to greet Miranda.
Lucy’s mother regarded the too-tidy surroundings with concern. She scratched Errol behind the ears. “Are you planning on staying up here all weekend?”
“What else is there to do?” said Lucy.
Miranda smoothed the covers on the not-so-skilfully made bed. “Why don’t you take Errol for a walk?”
Upon hearing the “W” word, the dog jumped up from the floor,
tail wagging and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“Mph.” Lucy threw up her arms limply. “What’s the point?”
“The point is that the doggy,” Miranda said in a voice designed to make Errol bounce from one massive foot to the other, “clearly wants to go outside.”
Errol barked affirmatively.
“And the rest of us are tired of watching you sulk,” she added.
Errol barked again.
“But there’s nothing out there,” said Lucy. “Not for me, anyways.” She lolled in her chair. “And even if there is, nobody will ever know about it.”
“If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it,” said Miranda, “does that mean you have to live the rest of your life as a couch potato?”
Errol whimpered.
“Fine, I’ll go outside,” said Lucy. She laboriously clambered out of her chair, the dog grinning from ear to ear. “But it’s because Errol’s all excited, not because existence has any meaning.”
“Whatever you say, spud.” Miranda walked over to the attic landing. “Take a snack, take your time,” she said. “And don’t worry about me, all alone in this empty house with nothing but a good book and a bubble bath.” She traipsed down the stairs, humming.
Lucy laced up her boots and threw on her red hoodie. She stopped by the kitchen, where her mom was tidying up the dishes, and grabbed a bag of leftover cookies to take with her.
“Later, tater!” Miranda called through the kitchen window as Lucy ran out of the garage with Errol at her heels.
Lucy inhaled the late-morning air, savouring the scent of forced freedom. She saluted Arnold the crooked tree as they entered the woods. The larches were putting on a glorious golden show before their needles fell to the winds of winter. The deep greens and blues of the other pines would soon be the only colour in the landscape.
Lucy practised her balancing skills on a rotting log while Errol did his business behind a bulbous cedar.
Her head jerked around hopefully at a rustling sound in the bushes. Fish?
She hadn’t seen Milo since the factory. At first, she thought he’d been sent off to boarding school, like he’d said back at the carnival. However, her mother informed her that he was still showing up to class, though his attendance had become “erratic”.
Lucy couldn’t imagine what must be going on inside the Fisher household. She felt guilty and angry, often both at the same time. The look on Milo’s face when she had lied still haunted her.
Errol barked excitedly and dived into the bushes, chasing a dodging and darting rabbit out on to the path. Of course Milo’s not following me. He hates me.
If Lucy had stopped kicking herself and looked skyward, she might have noticed that something was indeed following her: hovering near the treetops was a set of four blue lights glowing dimly in the daylight, set in a diamond formation, buzzing softly.
She soon found herself someplace she had headed to almost instinctively: the Strickses’ cabin. The carved owl statues were back on their perches on the porch steps. They had been freshly repainted, but the owl in flight seemed to have permanently lost a wing. Lucy couldn’t remember if she, Milo, the search party or the monster formerly known as the Other Mrs Stricks had knocked it over. It all seemed so very long ago.
“What do you want?” said a gruff voice. The Other Mrs Stricks was standing behind the screen door. It was the first time Lucy had seen her since the day she had turned into a Bigwoof. She was pleased to see the old woman in her usual good spirits.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by to say thank you,” said Lucy. “For, you know, saving us from the bear and everything.”
“You should tell your friend not to mess with cubs,” said the Other Mrs Stricks. “Mama bears don’t like it.”
“Yeah, well,” Lucy kicked a dirt clod, “he’s not really my friend any more.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Twyla says he’s a good kid, all things considered.”
“May I come in?” asked Lucy. “I brought cookies.” She pulled the bag out of her front pocket.
“Did someone say cookies?” Lucy heard Mrs Stricks call from inside the cabin.
The Other Mrs Stricks glowered at the overcast sky. “All right, Sladan, come in. But make it quick.” She opened the tattered screen door with a creak. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
Lucy signalled for Errol to wait outside. He lay down and rolled in a pile of leaves as she ascended the porch steps.
The cosy cabin had been cleaned up, though it was not entirely restored from its previous destruction. A new cuckoo clock adorned the wall in place of the one that had been smashed to smithereens. The broken shelves had been swept away, the salvaged knick-knacks lined up meticulously on the dining-room table.
Lucy shook a small snow globe featuring Mount St Helens. The glittery fake snow flurried around the peak and slowly settled once more at the bottom of the tiny tableau.
Four wooden crates were arranged at the centre of the room in place of the shattered coffee table. Sitting behind them in a wooden folding chair was Mrs Stricks, wearing her customary shorts and a bedazzled floral sweatshirt.
Lucy plunked the bag of cookies on a crate and offered one to each of the ladies.
Mrs Stricks took a bite of one of Silas’s oatmeal cookies. “Pardon our dust,” she said.
“This place looks way better than last time I saw it,” said Lucy.
“Turning into a big hairy monster is messy business,” said the Other Mrs Stricks, crumbs spittling on to her rainbow shawl.
“Would you like some tea?” said Mrs Stricks.
“No thank you,” said Lucy. The events of the weeks prior swirled unendingly through her mind. “Do you feel back to normal?” she asked. “After everything, I mean…”
“As normal as one ever feels.” The Other Mrs Stricks wrapped her scarf tightly around her broad shoulders. “It takes more than a little forced transfiguration to scare me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Esther,” Mrs Stricks admonished. “It was all quite upsetting. None of us have ever experienced anything like that before. I hope to never again.”
“The lack of self-control was unsatisfactory,” the Other Mrs Stricks frowned, flexing her fingers.
Lucy offered her another cookie. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask, if that’s OK.”
“Questions, questions,” tsked the Other Mrs Stricks. “Can’t you just leave well enough alone, girl? You saved the day, didn’t you? What more do you want?” She took the cookie.
“I want to know the truth,” said Lucy. “The whole truth.”
Mrs Stricks clasped her hands and furrowed her brow sympathetically. “Sometimes the truth isn’t so simple. Sometimes people keep secrets for a reason.”
“But … I lied,” said Lucy. “I lied because you asked me to.” She tried to suppress the anger welling up inside her. “And ever since then I’ve felt … I’ve lost…” She couldn’t find the words. “Please, you have to help me understand.”
“All you need to know,” said the Other Mrs Stricks, waving her cookie matter-of-factly, “is when to stop asking questions.”
The cuckoo clock came to life to announce the hour. A small red bird emerged from a green door. It cocked its head from side to side and chirped twelve times, its eyes lit up in electric blue.
Mrs Stricks stood. “I’m afraid it’s time to go,” she said. “We have an appointment.”
“Wait.” Lucy gripped her teacher’s sleeve. “Please. Not everything makes sense to me.”
“That sounds uncomfortable,” said the Other Mrs Stricks, “but it’s not our problem.” She dusted crumbs from her green muumuu and fished out one of Miranda’s powdery polvoróns for the road.
“Look, Lucy—” Mrs Stricks began.
“Why didn’t you tell everyone what happened?” Lucy interrupted. “Why didn’t you tell the truth?”
Mrs Stricks shook her head. “My poor dear. I know how difficult this must be for you
.”
“You can’t always get what you want,” said the Other Mrs Stricks. “Don’t they teach the Rolling Stones in school?”
“It’s all for the greater good, dear, please believe me,” said Mrs Stricks. “Someday, perhaps, you’ll understand. For now, it’s best that you forget any of this ever happened.”
“Are you serious?” Lucy screwed up her face in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but that’s bunk.”
“This is like trying to teach a banana slug to go fly fishing,” grunted the Other Mrs Stricks.
“Mr Fisher is not going to forget what happened,” said Lucy.
“Oh please.” The Other Mrs Stricks snorted. “After what we’ve been through over the years, I’m hardly afraid of a middle-aged man in a tie.”
“A middle-aged man in a tie is a powerful thing to be these days, Esther,” muttered Mrs Stricks. “Perhaps we shouldn’t underestimate him.”
“You shouldn’t,” said Lucy. “The guy’s nuts, believe me.” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Fisher was making crazy claims about the people of Sticky Pines. He thinks you’re dangerous, you and everyone who changed. He wants to dissect you, and maybe me too. If we all just went on the news and told our story, I’ve got plenty of proof that could—”
“I told you, Lucita,” Mrs Stricks cut her off. “We’re not talking to the press.”
“But why not?” Lucy demanded. “What was Mr Fisher talking about? Is there really something weird about Sticky Pines?”
“You’ve got our answer,” said the Other Mrs Stricks. “What more do you require from us?”
“Require?” said Lucy. She pounded the milk crate with a fist. “I require that people start telling the truth for once,” she declared. “I require that the world not run on lies.”
“That’s not our fault,” the Other Mrs Stricks objected. “Talk to your congressman.”
Mrs Stricks gave her wife a grave look. “She’s right about one thing, Esther. We have been noticed. We knew it was coming sooner or later, it always does. Human technology has advanced by leaps and bounds in the blink of an eye. Maybe we need to face facts…”
The Bigwoof Conspiracy Page 14