“Where is my house?” he rasped. Spit formed on the sides of his mouth when he talked.
“Excuse me?” I gasped.
“My house,” he rumbled. “I want my house.”
I tried to sit up. But he was surprisingly heavy on my chest. “Who are you?” I repeated.
“You might call me an imp,” he said. “I believe that’s your word for me. My name is Seelum. I am an imp. A very angry imp. I want my house.”
I finally realized what he meant. The little cabin. It must be his house.
“I ... know where it is,” I said. “I can get it for you.”
He grabbed my hand with both of his. His hands felt hard, strong as metal. He squeezed my skin till it hurt.
“Bring it to me,” he rasped. “Return my house to the woods.”
“Now?” I cried. “It’s late. It’s dark. I—I—”
“Now,” he said, squeezing my hand again. “Bring my house to the woods, and I’ll give you three wishes.”
I nearly choked. I couldn’t catch my breath. Fear, I guess. Or maybe I was in shock.
“You’ll give me three wishes?”
“If you bring my house now,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “No problem.”
He slid down the bedcovers and scrambled to the open window. I watched him climb up the curtains. His pointed beard gleamed in the moonlight.
He gave me one last glance. Then he dove through the window and disappeared.
I realized I was shivering. My teeth were chattering. I took a deep breath and held it. But I couldn’t stop my shakes.
Did I say it would be no problem to get the little guy’s house back?
I leaped out of bed, crossed the room to my closet, and pulled on clothes I’d left in a heap on the floor. I glanced at my bed table clock—nearly one in the morning.
My first problem was sneaking out of the house without my parents catching me. The stairs creaked and groaned if you put one foot on them. But I had no choice. I couldn’t leap out the window like that imp.
I lifted myself onto the banister, leaned forward—and slid downstairs. Much quieter—except for the thud I made when I hit the floor.
Holding my breath, I tiptoed to the front door. It made a soft click as I pulled it open. I slid outside and closed it silently behind me.
Okay. Step one. I made it out of the house. So far, so good. If only I could stop the shakes.
It was a hot, steamy night. The wind had died. The tall trees stood perfectly still. Nothing moved. The little houses on my block were all dark.
The front lawn sparkled from a heavy dew. A rabbit standing on the grass saw me and froze. It was all so still. Not even cricket sounds. It felt like I was in a dream.
But I knew it was real. I had to sneak into Lydia’s house. Creep into her room. Grab the little cabin and run.
I’ve never sneaked into anyone’s house before, day or night. What if her parents heard me moving around in the dark and thought I was a burglar? What would they do?
I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about anything. I felt like that rabbit on my lawn, frozen in terror.
I thought of calling Brad. But he had to be sound asleep. And he couldn’t really help me. I had to do this on my own.
Somehow I walked to Lydia’s house. I tried to keep in the deep shadows of the overhanging trees. My heart was beating hard as I crept up her driveway.
Whoa. Hold on. I glanced at the empty drive. No car.
I let out a long whoosh of air. Her family wasn’t home. Sometimes they drove to Lydia’s aunt’s house and stayed overnight.
Maybe I caught a break. I tried the back door. Still unlocked.
I stepped into the kitchen. No sign that anyone had been there. The plate of brownies hadn’t been touched.
I wanted to jump up and down and cheer. No one home! That made my job a lot easier. I hurried up to Lydia’s room. I didn’t even bother to be quiet.
It was hard to see. The curtains were drawn. It was nearly pitch black. But I knew where I’d left the little wood cabin.
A few seconds later, I had it in my hands. A few seconds after that, I was running down Lydia’s driveway, carrying it in front of me.
My sneakers slapped the pavement. Then I turned and ran along the side of a house toward the woods. “Whoooa!” I slipped on the dewy grass and almost fell face forward onto the cabin.
Luckily, I caught my balance and kept moving. The crickets started up as I reached the edge of the woods. The shrill sound rang in my ears.
I stopped and glanced around. The trees were like a dark wall, high above my head. I’d never been in the woods in the middle of the night. What kind of creatures came out at night? How would I ever find the imp?
I took a few steps on the path. Narrow beams of yellow moonlight lit my way. I took a few more steps, the crickets rasping in my ears.
I gasped as the imp stepped out from behind a fallen tree. The moon gleamed off his bald head. His bare shoulders and chest were yellow in the moonlight.
“I ... I brought your house,” I said breathlessly.
He gazed up at me, hands on the waist of his diaper. “Where? Where is it?”
“Here.” I shoved the cabin at him.
To my surprise, he shook his head and spit on the ground. Then he gazed up at me, his face twisted in anger. “Idiot!” he cried. “That’s not my house!”
“N-not your house?” I stammered. The cabin fell from my hands. It hit the ground and broke into a hundred pieces.
“Fool! That doesn’t even look like my house!” the imp screamed. He kicked my ankle with his bare foot.
I jumped back. His foot was too tiny to hurt me.
He kicked me again. “My house! My house! Where is my house?” He was screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Okay,” I said. “You need a time-out. Just take a deep breath. I think I know where your house is.”
“Bring it to me! Now!” He tried to kick my ankle. Slipped in the dirt. And landed on his back.
I didn’t wait for him to get up. I ran through the trees and out of the woods. I was pretty sure I knew what his house was. I ran without stopping all the way to the mailbox where Brad and I had stashed the nest.
Was it still inside? I pulled down the lid. Yes!
Carefully, I eased the nest out of the mailbox. The twigs and weeds scratched my hands. I held it tightly. I knew it was delicate. I had to get it back to that angry imp in one piece.
My shoes slipped on the wet grass again. I half walked, half ran back to the woods. My heart was racing. This had to be his house. It had to.
He was waiting for me on the path, hands on his waist, tapping one bare foot on the dirt.
“Is this ... is this your house?” I stammered.
“Of course it is,” he snapped. “Put it down on the ground and scram out of here.”
I set the nest down. He climbed into it and marched back and forth. Testing it, I guess.
“Beat it, kid,” he growled. He made a nasty face. Then he spit over the side of the nest.
I leaned over him. “You’re forgetting something,” I said. “Remember? You promised me three wishes?”
He spit again. He just missed my shoe. “Take a walk, kid. And don’t steal anyone’s house on your way home.”
“But—what about my three wishes?” I asked in a shaky voice.
He shook his bald head. “I’m an imp. I don’t grant wishes. I don’t know how.”
I blinked. “You mean you lied?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Imps lie a lot. What grade did you get in imp history?”
“I didn’t take imp history,” I said. “I can’t believe you lied to me.”
He shrugged his slender shoulders. “That’s the breaks, I guess. I don’t have any wish powers, kid. My only power is to change humans into imps.”
I leaned closer. “Really? You can do that?”
A thin-lipped grin spread over his face. “Yeah. It’s easy. L
ike that.” He snapped his tiny fingers. “Shut your eyes, kid. I’ll turn you into an imp. But you’ll have to build your own house. I don’t share.”
“Uh ... no! No, thanks!” I screamed. “But I have an idea.”
I reached down, wrapped my fingers around his waist, and picked him up.
“Put me down!” he screamed. “Put me down—now! I’ll turn you into an imp. I swear!”
“Just be patient,” I told him. “I have a very funny idea.”
The next afternoon, Brad and I walked up to Big Sid Harcher’s house and rang the doorbell. I could hear music inside and kids talking and laughing.
After a few seconds, Sid opened the door and poked his big blond head out. “What do you two geeks want?” he snarled. “Don’t try to crash my birthday party. You’re definitely not invited.”
“We know,” I said. “But we didn’t forget your present.”
I shoved the brightly gift-wrapped box toward Sid’s hands. I could feel the imp bouncing around inside.
Sid squeezed the box in both hands and shook it. “This better be good,” he said. He slammed the door shut before Brad or I could say happy birthday.
We laughed all the way to my house.
Maybe the angry imp would change Big Sid into an imp. Or maybe he wouldn’t.
But either way, it was a funny thing.
MARILYN NELSON
CAUTIOUS WISHING
Say you’ve trapped an elf or caught a magic fish:
Beware of greed, ambition, and desire.
When it offers you anything your heart can wish,
just free it. Because wishes can backfire.
If you wish every meal will be a sumptuous feast,
you could wind up having to diet to lose weight.
If you wish unwisely, in anger, or in haste,
you just might destroy every good thing you create.
We’re all living with side effects unforeseen
by the science that wished us forward toward new frontiers.
The thirteen-year-olds who wished they were nineteen
are too soon fifty, lamenting the passing years.
And the girl who wished her golden retriever could talk
has to listen to his detailed monologue
about pees and poops he encounters on every walk.
Because a talking dog is still a dog.
Many children fled Darfur on their families’ donkeys.
Photo Credit (both): UNHCR / H. Caux
FRANCISCO X. STORK
THE RULES FOR WISHING
I
Dear Pablito:
Happy Birthday. I can’t believe you’re fifteen now. I know your birthday is not for another month, but I don’t know how long it takes for a letter to get to you. Sometimes the letters sit up there in the warden’s office for weeks while they get read and inspected. I’m sending you fifty dollars for your birthday. It’s most all I earned except for what I kept for cigarettes. I’ve been trying to quit but it’s very hard on account of the boredom. I know I say this in every letter, but I wish you’d write to me. Even just a note to let me know the money got to you safely. I’m afraid the guards in the warden’s office may stash the bills in their pockets. I have no way of knowing. Just let me know you got the money. That would mean a lot to me. Remember if you can that your mama needs you. I’m just asking for some little sign that you know I’m alive. As for me, I’m doing okay. I’m doing a good job working at the printing shop. The head trustee told me if I keep up the good work, pretty soon I’ll be getting a raise to three dollars a day. I’ll be able to send you a little more. I got a letter from Sherry B. She tells me you don’t talk much and that you spend all your time alone. That worries me a lot. You don’t know how bad I feel I can’t be with you.
I need to go now. I hope you write me just a tiny note.
Love you.
Mama
II
Pablo manages to hide the letter under the sheets just as the door opens. Mrs. W peeps in and smiles. It is hard to interpret that smile. It could be that she likes waking kids up at 5:30 A.M. or it could be that she’s happy. She’s the kind of person that wakes up happy. Pablo can tell by the sunken space on her upper lip that she has forgotten her front teeth. According to Breaker-Breaker, Mrs. W lost her teeth when Dennis, a kid that lived at the farm a couple of years ago, punched her in the mouth. Sherry B denies this story. She says that Mrs. W’s teeth fell out of their own accord, probably from eating the wretched taffy she loves so much.
Mrs. W soaks her dentures in a cream-colored tub that used to hold margarine. She keeps the tub with the teeth in her own private bathroom that no one is supposed to enter, except that everyone sneaks up there when Mrs. W is not looking. Pablo goes in there to steal aspirin or to take swigs of Pepto-Bismol. There’s a closet in that bathroom that holds all the emergency supplies: a red hot-water bottle, Band-Aids of different shapes, a bottle of alcohol that is now empty because Breaker-Breaker drank the original contents, glycerine suppositories, a box of sanitary napkins that get dispensed to Sherry B once a month.
“Oh good, ure up.” It is difficult for Mrs. W to enunciate without her teeth. “Is ure durn doo meek de cows.” It is Pablo’s turn to milk the cows. As if he didn’t know. He nods. She is still at the door, perhaps expecting to catch a glimpse of him in his underwear. Breaker-Breaker swears from “personal experience” that Mrs. W likes young blood. But who can believe what Breaker-Breaker says?
She finally turns around slowly and leaves. She’s headed back in the direction of her bathroom, hopefully to glue her teeth back in. He swings his legs over the side of the bed. The first thing he does is put the folded letter inside his Count of Monte Cristo book. The book is lying on the floor next to the bed where he dropped it just before he fell asleep. He places the book in the top drawer of the dresser. Then he takes off his T-shirt, folds it, and places it under the pillow. He only wears the orange University of Texas T-shirt at night. It’s true that it hasn’t been washed in months, but how dirty can a T-shirt get if all you do is sleep in it? He remembers suddenly last night’s dream and how his body burned with sweat. He quickly shakes this memory away. It’s good that he can do that, shake memories away. Sometimes they get stuck and do their dirty grind until they have their fill.
He puts on the blue jeans and the gray T-shirt that he always wears. Mrs. W makes him wash these once a week whether they are dirty or not. While he’s tying on his red sneakers, he thinks of the letter he just folded. Why did Sherry B say that he wasn’t talking much? He talks enough. As needed. What more is there to say? Forget that. Why did Sherry B write his mother? He hasn’t felt anger in a long time, but he feels it now.
He walks down the stairs and goes out the front door quickly. He wants to be out there before the other three are up. The other three are Breaker-Breaker, Rolando and Sherry B. Breaker-Breaker and Rolando share a room. Sherry B has her own room. Sherry B’s room has an empty bed and Mrs. W told them that another girl is coming in a few days. Sherry B is not happy about that. She likes being the only female in the house. Mrs. W doesn’t count. Breaker-Breaker says Mrs. W has been neutered. The whole group semi-agrees with Sherry B, about the new girl, that is. They are all fearful of someone new coming. The wrong person can stink up the whole place. “Even if she’s hotter than hot, if she’s got the wrong attitude, it’s bad news.” That’s what Breaker-Breaker says.
The truth is that the present group is not all perfect. Breaker-Breaker especially with his ongoing addiction to alcohol is problematic. Heck, everyone has problems. But all things considered, the farm is not a bad place and everyone knows that. You milk cows, shovel manure and other kinds of animal poop, feed chickens and turkeys and sheep and hogs, and hoe and plant and water and weed, and it’s still not a bad place. For Pablo, the farm is good because he’s left alone. More or less. And he has his own room.
It’s a small room, really. It fits a bed, a dresser, a desk, a chair, and a bedside table. The room h
as one small window that looks out into the barn. The room is so small that it must have been a storage closet at some point. It’s perfect as far as Pablo is concerned. Its tightness is comforting. Its very smallness serves as protection against the recurring dream.
The farm has two cows—Josephine and Magda. For some reason no one calls them Josie and Maggie. This could have something to do with their disposition, which is grumpy. They like to whack whoever is milking them with their tail under the pretense that they are swatting flies. Josephine is Magda’s mother, but you’d never know it. Whenever possible, Josephine bites Magda in the rump.
It took a while for Pablo to learn how to handle the cow’s teats. At the beginning he’d squeeze and pull but could never get a consistent flow going. It was Sherry B who finally showed him how to master the technique. The movement of the thumb, index finger, and hand required a combination of tenderness and strength. The milk is like a child too shy to come out and play. You have to coax it out tenderly, firmly. Except for Sherry B, Pablo is the best milker in the farm. Not that Josephine and Magda ever appreciate him.
He gets a half a pail from Josephine and is moving on to Magda in the next stall when he hears someone behind him. It is Sherry B.
“You were talking to yourself again last night,” she says to him. Sherry B’s room is next to his and noises can be heard through the wall. Pablo himself has heard the smooth rustle of Sherry B taking off her blue jeans. Sherry B is almost sixteen, taller than everyone in the farm except Pablo. She has short brown hair that she insists on cutting herself and so her head looks like a badly mowed lawn. She has eyes that change tint from light brown to dark green depending on the time of day and bushy eyebrows that give her an intense, concentrated look. She is beautiful but rough. Someone you would like to pet but don’t.
“I wasn’t talking,” Pablo says. He places the pail on the cement ledge that separates the stalls and covers it with a piece of white cloth to keep the flies away.
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