Nightbooks

by J. A. White

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “After all this time . . . I never thought I would see trees again.”

  “Same here,” Alex said. He wiped a stray tear from his own eye. “Yasmin?”

  She looked up.

  “Can you lock the door, please?” he asked.

  With a startled gasp, Yasmin stumbled to the doorframe that sat in the center of the clearing. From the sides and back, it didn’t look special at all—just three wooden beams nailed together in a rectangular shape. It was only by looking through the frame dead-on that one was able to see the hallway of the apartment.

  Yasmin closed the door and turned the bonekey. The lock clicked into place.

  “Do you really think that’s going to keep her out?” she asked.

  “I hope so,” Alex said. “Those keys seem pretty one-of-a-kind. But who knows? Maybe Natacha has an extra set somewhere.”

  “Let’s make sure we’re long gone by then,” Yasmin said.

  Alex looked around. The trees that surrounded them were packed closely together except for a small gap directly across from the door. A path led into the deeper darkness.

  “Guess we’re going that way,” he said.

  They left the clearing and passed between the trees. There were no stars in the sky, making it difficult to see. The twisting trail was just wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side, their footsteps muffled by pine needles.

  “Why isn’t it cold out?” Yasmin asked.

  The forest, especially at night, should have been freezing this time of year—yet the air was warm and balmy, without a single breeze to stir the trees.

  “We passed through a magic portal,” Alex said. “We could be anywhere in the world right now. Some place warm.”

  But Yasmin didn’t seem to be listening to him. Her attention was elsewhere.

  “That’s widow grub,” she said, pointing to a yellow fungus growing at the base of a tree. It glowed gently, providing a little light for them to see. “And look over there, that patch of purple flowers? Sunken lily. Sure, we could be any place on earth, but what kind of forest has magical plants?”

  “This must be where Natacha gets her ingredients,” Alex said.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “All we can do is keep—”

  A branch snapped, cutting through the eerie silence of the forest like a gunshot.

  “What was that?” Yasmin whispered. “Do you think Natacha’s awake already?”

  Alex shook his head.

  “That didn’t come from the direction of the door,” he said. “It’s probably just an animal or something.”

  “What kind of animal?”

  They heard a second branch snap, a third. And then, as if some sort of gate had been lifted, an avalanche of sounds: rustling, clicking, the clap of approaching footsteps.

  It wasn’t just one animal. It was an entire herd. And it was heading in their direction.

  The children ran.

  Alex heard movement to his left and saw an odd-shaped pair of red eyes following him from between the trees. They bobbed up and down, as though the owner of the eyes was galloping. A horse? Alex thought. He turned his head to get a closer look and nearly lost his balance.

  Just keep moving, he thought, focusing on the trail.

  Carrying Lenore was starting to take its toll. His legs were weak and rubbery, his heart an angry prisoner drumming fists against its cage. More creatures joined the ones hunting them, their hoofbeats rising to a deafening crescendo. It was like being trapped in the middle of a stampede.

  They’re so close, he wondered. Why don’t they attack?

  He tripped.

  As he fell, Alex used his arms to cushion Lenore and landed hard on his elbows. They rang out in excruciating pain. He lay there for a few moments, tasting blood in his mouth. The creatures came to a halt around him. Alex turned his head and saw narrow white legs standing just beyond the path.

  He looked up.

  The thing staring down at him was cut from the fabric of nightmares. It had the body of a horse, but its black hair was missing in patches, revealing large swathes of oozing skin. One eye was the size of a coffee saucer, the other no bigger than a quarter. Both were red. The worst part, however, was the black horn that protruded from the top of its head: as sharp as any blade.

  It’s a unicorn. Or, at least, it used to be.

  Alex’s fertile mind instantly recognized that there were connections to be made here. A girl who loves unicorns. Deformed, unicorn-type creatures. It was too strange and specific to be a coincidence. Solving that mystery would have to wait, however; right now he needed to focus on staying alive. At least two dozen unicorns were packed together along each side of the path, like a crowd gathered at a zoo exhibit. As one, they bent their heads and speared their horns forward. Alex screamed, certain that he was about to be impaled in several places, but the sharp tips of the horns fell just short of his body.

  He looked at the unicorns in bewilderment as they readied themselves for a second attack.

  All they have to do is take a single step forward, Alex thought. Why do they keep their distance?

  They jabbed again. Fell short.

  Gathering his senses, Alex noticed that their horns never crossed the clearly defined line separating the path from the forest. It was as though there was an invisible wall there.

  Magic, Alex concluded.

  He scooped up Lenore and got to his feet. Yasmin had stopped about ten yards ahead of him. A second pack of unicorns surrounded her, pressing as close to the trail as possible without actually setting foot on it. Yasmin turned from side to side, unsure what to do. There was a bloody gash on her arm.

  “Stay on the path!” Alex exclaimed. “They can’t reach you there!”

  Alex took a few hesitant steps forward. The unicorns followed him by shuffling their feet to the side. Their horn jabs grew frenzied and desperate.

  Yasmin waited for him until he caught up.

  “What are these things?” she asked.

  “Monsters,” Alex said. “No time to figure it out now. As long as we stay on the path, we should be safe. Well, maybe not ‘safe,’ exactly. More like . . . not dead.”

  “Close enough,” said Yasmin. “Your arms must be killing you. Let’s trade.”

  Alex was too tired to argue. He gratefully exchanged Lenore for the backpack full of supplies. After that, they navigated the trail at a half jog, too nervous to run and risk falling. The unicorns kept pace. Every so often one of them jabbed too far and recoiled in agony as silver light sparked from its horn.

  Maybe the unicorns attack anyone who comes here, Alex thought. Including Natacha. That would explain why there’s a protection spell on the path. But then why doesn’t she just kill the unicorns and be done with it? That seems more Natacha’s style. And what does this all have to do with Unicorn Girl? Alex’s stomach churned as a horrible thought occurred to him. Did Natacha turn the poor girl into one of these monsters as a special punishment when she tried to escape? What about the other unicorns? Are they all prisoners too?

  Alex’s head spun. By opening the door to the outside world, he had somehow found more questions than answers.

  The trail narrowed. Less than a foot separated them from the unicorn horns now. Alex felt like he was walking through a cave booby-trapped with spikes.

  “Still think we’re in a regular old forest?” Yasmin asked, carefully placing one foot in front of the other as though walking along a tightrope.

  “We’re outside the apartment,” Alex said. “At least that’s—”

  He nearly fell backward as the lead unicorn kicked its front hooves into the air and neighed. The others joined in: a shrill, sad chorus. Alex covered his ears. The unicorns spun in circles, bit one another, rammed trees with their horns.

  Finally, they pranced away like deer fleeing a hunting party.

  “What was that?” Yasmin asked.

  “Some
thing spooked them.”

  Yasmin looked nervously into the trees.

  “I don’t see anything. You think it’s Natacha?”

  “Lenore’s not awake yet,” Alex said. “That means Natacha should still be asleep, too.”

  “Or maybe the sleeping oil affects people and cats differently,” Yasmin said. “Who knows? They don’t exactly teach you this stuff in school.” She exhaled with relief. “At least the monsters are gone.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said, scanning the trees. What could have made them react that way? He noticed a tree in the distance whose bark had been gouged away. There was something underneath it. “Pretty weird that it’s unicorns, don’t you think? After what we read in the library?”

  “This whole thing is weird. But yeah. We’re missing something.”

  What is that? Alex wondered, looking closer at the tree. He cleaned his glasses on the bottom of his shirt and then, looking left and right as though crossing the street, stepped off the path to get a better look.

  “Hey!” Yasmin exclaimed. “What are you doing? Those things might come back!”

  He saw what lay beneath the bark. For a few moments, he couldn’t breathe. A heavy gloom cloaked his heart.

  Please don’t be true, he thought. Please just be my overactive imagination doing its thing.

  “Look,” he said, pointing at the tree. “Do you see it?”

  The shocked expression on Yasmin’s face was all the confirmation he needed.

  That’s why it isn’t cold, he thought. That’s why there aren’t any stars in the sky. That’s why magical plants grow here.

  Beneath the bark of the tree was a second skin: red wallpaper with a black floral pattern.

  “We’re still inside the apartment,” Yasmin said. “We never left.”

  “There’s no way to escape.” Alex’s tone was clipped and matter-of-fact, all hope scrubbed away. “We’re never going to see our families again.”

  “Stop that,” Yasmin said, taking him by the shoulders. “There has to be a reason why Natacha never let us inside this particular”—she paused, considering the trees around her—“room. There must be something special about it. Let’s find out what it is.”

  “Our plan failed.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Yasmin said. “But you of all people should know what we do then.”

  “What?”

  “We revise.”

  Alex looked into the eyes of the girl who had become his best friend in the world. The fog around his heart began to dissipate.

  “There might be another exit,” he said. “We have to keep looking.”

  Yasmin grinned.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  They climbed upward. Alex’s legs throbbed in protest. He was no longer feeling hopeless, but he was still worried.

  What frightened the unicorns away? Something bigger? Scarier? Whatever it is must be close. The unicorns ran away at the bottom of this hill, so . . . what’s waiting for us on the other side?

  The incline grew sharper as they headed toward a peak just twenty yards away. A sheen of sweat gathered between Alex’s back and the backpack. He glanced at the forest behind them and wondered if they were going in the wrong direction. We have to find out, he thought, swallowing his fear. There’s no turning back. Steeling himself for a new horror that would put the unicorns to shame, Alex crossed the remaining distance to the top of the hill at a run.

  In the clearing below him was a tiny house made entirely from candy.

  Shortbread cookies composed the exterior walls, with the occasional row of chocolate bricks for stability. Frosting caked the roof like snow. Peppermints framed sugar-glass windows latticed with gingerbread.

  Alex turned to Yasmin. He was certain her startled expression mirrored his own.

  “That’s the house from the fairy tale,” Yasmin said. “The one with the two kids whose dad leaves them in the woods.”

  “Hansel and Gretel,” Alex said.

  “There’s a witch in that one, too, isn’t there? And bread crumbs. I remember bread crumbs.” She knelt in the dirt and pressed her face into her hands. “But it’s not real. None of this is supposed to be real.”

  Alex took a seat next to Yasmin. She seemed more confused than ever. But to Alex, things were finally starting to make sense.

  “I think Natacha is the same witch that captured Hansel and Gretel,” he said.

  “That’s a story.”

  “Apparently not,” Alex said, assembling the pieces on the fly. “Think about it—Natacha’s apartment is just like that house down there. Only instead of tempting kids with candy it uses whatever they love most. Unicorns. Scary movies. Grandmas.”

  “Like an update,” Yasmin said, mulling it over. “A more modern version.”

  “Exactly,” Alex said. “Natacha’s been alive for a long time—this proves it. In the old days, I’m sure kids got lost in the woods all the time. But now? An apartment is a better bet if you want to catch anyone.”

  “How many kids has she . . . ,” Yasmin started. Her face set into a look of grim determination. “We can’t just escape, Alex. We have to stop her.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Let’s take a closer look,” he said.

  “Who knows?” asked Yasmin, straightening her cap. “Maybe we’ll see Snow White. Or Rapunzel. At this point, nothing will surprise me.”

  They followed a jelly-bean-graveled path to the front door, a slab of white chocolate panels stuck together with some kind of jam. The smell was overwhelming, a storm of sweetness that bombarded Alex’s mind with delicious memories: licking chocolate batter straight from the bowl, biting into that first piece of candy at Halloween, ice cream melting on his tongue. His stomach grumbled; Alex had never been so hungry in his life. Another trick, he thought, tottering on his feet as the sweets beckoned him like a physical force. Alex hesitated with his hand over the doorknob; it looked like one of those button candies that you eat off long sheets of wax paper. He longed to taste it.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said. “I think we better get out of here.”

  Yasmin didn’t respond. He turned around and saw her shoveling giant marshmallows into her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “So hungry. I can’t stop . . . I can’t . . .”

  She collapsed onto the ground. Marshmallows rolled out of her outstretched hand.

  “Yasmin!” Alex exclaimed, only the words sounded funny to him. Garbled. And then he realized: My mouth is full. He tasted something blissfully sweet and saw the candy doorknob in his hand. Or rather, half the candy doorknob.

  I don’t even remember taking a bite, he thought, still chewing. A soothing warmth spread throughout his body. He fell.

  19

  Natacha’s Story

  The entire world was shaking.

  Alex groggily opened his eyes. He heard rattling glass, felt something solid vibrating beneath his head. He tried to remember where he was. Candy house, he thought, the gears of his brain beginning to spin again. I ate . . . a doorknob? Why did I eat a doorknob?

  The world blurred into focus.

  He was on the floor of a kitchen. It looked like something you might see during a field trip to a historical village: stone floor and walls, long benches beneath a simple wooden table. Across from him was a massive iron door. It was partially open, revealing a deep recess filled with charred wood.

  I’m inside the candy house, Alex thought. That’s the oven from the fairy tale, where the witch . . .

  Terror slapped him awake. He pushed himself into a sitting position. As he did, the room finally stopped shaking.

  Behind him: a chopping noise.

  Alex straightened his glasses and turned around. Natacha was standing on the other side of the room. She wasn’t facing him, but he could see the butcher’s knife in her hand. She raised and lowered it with violent enthusiasm, hacking away at something on the wooden counter in front of her.

  “Finally,” Natacha said withou
t turning around. “It’s been almost two days. I thought you were never going to wake up. Even after all these years, the magic in that candy still packs a wallop. Lures kids into eating it whether they want to or not, and then—there’s little else to do but wait. You know how powerful sleeping spells can be. Don’t you, Alex?”

  To Natacha’s left, a cauldron hung from an iron hook. Steam rose from its surface, courtesy of the flickering flames beneath it. The spicy smell of stew filled the room.

  “Where’s Yasmin?” he asked.

  “Alive,” Natacha said. “For now. Provided you help me.”

  “Help you with what?”

  Natacha flung a handful of something red and stringy into the cauldron. It made a sizzling noise as it hit the broth.

  “You felt the house rumble,” Natacha said. “Third time this hour. It’s getting worse. She needs a story, Alex. I tried reading her one of the old ones from the library. It doesn’t work anymore. She only wants yours.”

  “What do you mean, she?” Alex asked. “I thought you said the stories were for the apartment.”

  Natacha slammed the knife down.

  “She is the apartment, Alex. Don’t you understand anything? They’re one and the same now!”

  Natacha turned around. Her face was haggard and drawn, her eyes sunk deep in their sockets.

  “Would you like to hear a story?” she asked.

  Alex nodded and pulled himself onto a bench at the kitchen table. Things were still fuzzy, and the longer Natacha talked, the more time he had to clear his head. He would have to be at his best to rescue Yasmin.

  The stew popped and bubbled.

  “How old do you think I am?” Natacha asked.

  Alex considered the question—What should I admit I know? He decided that the time for deceit had passed.

  “In your hundreds,” Alex said.

  “I’m twenty-nine.”

  “You look twenty-nine,” Alex corrected her. “But you’ve been alive for—”

  “Twenty-nine years,” Natacha said. “Almost thirty. I was going to give you a slice of my birthday cake in a few weeks. I don’t see that happening now.”

  “That can’t be right,” Alex said, shaking his head. “The blue mist . . .”