Oddity

by Sarah Cannon

  “Hey!” I yell. “Pinocchio!”

  The puppet ignores me, closing the gap between her and my neighbor boy, puppeteer jogging behind her. I run after them. What else can I do? I’m tougher and more experienced. If I can distract Maggie, maybe he can get away.

  What would insult a puppet? “Look at me, you Muppet!” I yell, but that doesn’t work, either.

  Maggie slashes with her knife, and it slices through Cayden’s T-shirt. From her cage, Pearl shouts, “Jump, NOW!”

  Cayden hears her. He takes a running leap, and disappears into the pit.

  I give a wordless shout of disbelief, and rush to the edge to look in.

  Cayden is already getting to his feet. The pit’s too deep for Maggie to reach him, but not nearly as deep as I thought. I don’t understand, though. How am I going to get him out of there?

  I turn to scan the pit house, and Maggie’s blade whisks past my cheek. One of my braids falls to the floor, beads clicking, but I still have my knife in my hand. Before she pulls back for another strike, I lunge into her and stab her in the middle of her canvas face, jerking my bodkin left and right to make as big a mess as I can. The fabric rends, and sawdust explodes in a puff all over the place. Maggie flails wildly with her butcher knife, but I duck behind her. The ripped edges of her empty head flap open when she moves, making it hard for her button eyes to see me.

  There’s only one way to stop her for sure. While she’s still seeking in front of her with her knife, I step up between her and her puppeteer, and with one sweep slash all her strings.

  Maggie falls to the ground with a clatter, facedown, backside in the air, and lies unmoving.

  I wait, knife held ready, to see what the puppeteer will do. Her hands, still holding the wooden controls, fall limply in front of her, and she stands mutely, as if her battery has died.

  When I’m sure the pair of them are out of commission, I finish my survey of the pit house. There, propped against the wall, is a ladder. The old-fashioned kind, made of two long poles with lengths of wood lashed between them to form steps. I drag it to the pit, pushing it across the opening until enough of it’s hanging in the air to make it pivot down into the pit. The end that seesaws up hits the log ceiling with a clunk, and I wince. Why the heck is it that tall?

  “Quick!” I hiss.

  Cayden’s working his way up when I hear a voice behind me.

  “I think we’ve had enough nonsense for one night, don’t you?”

  Whanslaw is standing right behind me. In his blue hand is a small silver pistol. It is pointed at my head.

  Chapter 25

  Flight

  “I like the mask,” says Whanslaw, “but we’ll have company shortly, and they’ll be far less accommodating than I.” He glances at Maggie, still sprawled akimbo on the floor. I look past him at Pearl, who’s gripping the bars of her cell, watching. How am I going to get her out now that the puppets know we’re here?

  “There was no point to this, you know,” he says, breaking into my thoughts.

  “No point to what?” I hope he doesn’t recognize my voice. I calculate how fast I can get to him, but don’t know how I’m supposed to knock him down with Sparky behind him holding the controls.

  “Releasing the winners, for a start. The town has already accepted the necessity of their sacrifice.”

  Tonight I can see that for the lie it is. “Nobody’s accepted anything. They’re just scared. The grown-ups in this town need to step up!” I exclaim, but it’s like I’m betraying every grown-up I know by saying it. Aunt Bets, Daddy, Song, Badri … I think of them all in one guilty flash.

  “They understand what side their bread is buttered on, that’s all.”

  “You had no right to start taking children away from their families!”

  He clicks his wooden tongue.

  “I had every right. I make your world go round.”

  “No, you don’t! You orphan children, and leave parents with dead hearts!”

  “No thanks to you children and your little stunts. Greeley is checking behind every door for zombie rabbits, can’t focus on anything. He’s usually such a dependable sort of fellow. Were you involved? Would you and some of your little friends like to join Miss Roundtree in here? Because that can certainly be arranged.”

  I glare, though of course all he can see is his cardboard clone. I’m not going to say another word.

  He isn’t done, though.

  “Truly, dear, why do you care? Is the other Miss Roundtree a classmate of yours, perhaps? I imagine things are rather looking up for her. A bigger share of sweeties, more parental attention…”

  Of course, I have neither of those things. I have less than I had before because Mama has one foot out the door and Daddy is barely holding things together. The truth is I’d be thrilled to have attention and sweeties right now, and I hate him for being right for all the wrong reasons.

  There’s a disturbance at the door. I shiver with dread.

  The other puppets have arrived.

  Lanchester has seen Maggie lying shredded on the floor and begins glubbing. He hurries across the pit house to her, and Whanslaw says nothing to stop him as he picks her up. Lanchester’s fish mouth opens and closes in distress. I could almost feel sorry for him if I didn’t remember Maggie’s wild giggles and the flash of her knife.

  Kiyo takes in the scene, then speaks with a rage that makes me tremble.

  “Whanslaw, what are you waiting for? Shoot the little animal.”

  His answer is calm.

  “I don’t really see the point. Why waste resources? After all, that one’s good for nothing but the compost heap now.” He waves the pistol at Maggie’s puppeteer, and I realize for the first time that she still isn’t moving. I would have guessed that disconnecting her from Maggie would free her, but I’ve doomed her instead.

  I’m so sorry.

  Lanchester is still burbling on the floor. Kiyo begins to advance on me.… Just me, because I’ve just realized Cayden isn’t up here yet. I might get past the two of them, but not without leaving Cayden in the pit. And how am I going to save Pearl? If only I’d left her the knife when I ran, so she could pick the lock.

  “It’s not a standoff, tsuu no!” says Kiyo impatiently. “It’s just one bratty child!”

  She flies forward, sleeves and hem rippling, and SCREAMS.

  Then I scream because as she reaches me, her face transforms. Parts click, drop down, and reverse, making short, pointed horns rise up out of her hair. Her eyes have no whites and are ringed with red. Her sneering mouth is filled with sharp, predatory teeth.

  I shove her, hard, connecting with something solid under her robes. Before she can hit me again, I have my bodkin back out. Her face is wood, not cloth like Maggie’s, but I’ll do as much damage as I can without slashing any more strings. She must be a little bit vain about those robes, because she hangs back, growling. My skin crawls, but I have a second of breathing room. I adjust my mask with one hand.

  “Honestly, Kiyo, what did that accomplish?” asks Whanslaw, but he looks … oh, he looks like he liked it. Those glassy eyes just shine, and the almost-smile of his mouth seems larger.

  We have to get out of here, and bless my BASH!-soaked neighbor boy, he understands what needs doing before I do.

  “Help me!” he shouts, and suddenly the ladder, which is still sticking out of the pit, drops so fast it just about clocks me in the head. I end up trapped in a single rectangle between two rungs, and I’m dragged along as it starts sliding into the pit.

  “What the heck are you doing?” I yell over my shoulder.

  He jumps in the air to get a look at me, and I hear Kiyo hiss as she sees him wearing her visage.

  “Push! Tilt it up! Hurry!”

  Up? What good will that do? I waste a precious second staring wildly up at the ceiling.… At the trapdoor in the middle of the PC’s parlor. Holy lipless cow!

  I spin to face the pit, grab the nearest rung, and push up with all my might. The whole l
adder starts moving toward me again, but this time, I get what Cayden is doing. Working with the momentum he creates, I shift my grip to the uprights and run the ladder up. When I get to the edge of the pit, and the ladder is standing straight up and down, I step onto it and shove off. I ride it in a freaky free fall until the top of it wedges itself against the roof just beneath the trapdoor, offering a perfect exit.

  Cayden is already pulling himself up between the rungs below me, as if he’s using monkey bars.

  “Well, that’s at least interesting,” says Whanslaw. I hope he’s serious about his conservation ethic. I don’t want to get shot.

  Then it hits me. What about Pearl? If I climb down, I’ll get caught for sure, and my parents will lose both their daughters. If I call out to her, promise to come back, I might as well take my mask off, and Cayden’s, too. The puppets will know exactly who we are.

  Whanslaw looks up at Cayden and me.

  “We really only need one of you,” he says, and takes aim with his pistol. There’s a bang, and I feel a breeze on my cheek.

  I do the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. I turn my back on my twin, my Pearl, and climb for my life.

  There’s a slide bolt holding the trapdoor shut on this side. It’s old, and sticking a bit, but I’m banging on it with the hilt of my knife, and it’s moving, when I hear Kiyo’s hateful voice say,

  “Let’s play a game. Children like games, don’t they?” She gives another shrill, garbled scream. I look down to see Kiyo’s puppeteer fling her arms upward, sending Kiyo flying to the fullest extent of her strings, right at Cayden. Kiyo shrieks aloud with rageful joy. Cayden turns, bracing his back against the ladder and pushing her away with both hands, but the ladder shakes with the force of the impact, and I can’t understand how any puppet could be so strong. Kiyo grabs for Cayden’s mask, pulls his hair, pokes his stomach. Cayden guards his mask, arms extended against the attack. He tries to fend Kiyo off, but he can’t make any sudden moves with his arms or he’ll fall. If he turns to climb, she’ll grab him from behind.

  I have to get the trapdoor open. I bash the bolt again, as hard as I can, and it shoots back. The door lands on my head, hard. I see stars, but I start back down toward my friend to help. I have to get him out of Kiyo’s reach.

  Cayden’s leaning back against the ladder, his arms hooked over a rung, kicking Kiyo with all his might every time she comes near. Lanchester’s still glubbing over Maggie, and Whanslaw begins to laugh a deep, froglike laugh as he watches us fight for our lives.

  Kiyo hits Cayden from the side one more time in a blur of pink silk and black hair. Then I’m low enough to kick her in the head, higher than Cayden could reach. She reels backward, crashing into her puppeteer, and while they’re getting untangled, we scramble up the ladder.

  There’s another shot, and chips fly from the log roof, so close they ping off my arms. I extend a hand to the hole of the trapdoor, to freedom—

  I can’t push through. Something’s stopping my hand. What is that?

  “I can’t get out!” I scream at Cayden.

  He’s right below me. “It’s the carpet! We rolled it back down to hide the trapdoor. Push!”

  But I know pushing isn’t going to work. That thing is huge. One last time, I pull my bodkin, and I thrust it through the rug as hard as I can. Another bullet smacks the logs somewhere nearby, and if Whanslaw kills me, Pearl will see it.

  “Hurry!” says Cayden, as I pull the knife toward me through the fibers of the Oriental rug. Another bullet. I can’t go any faster. It’s a miracle the bodkin is this sharp. I make a second cut at a right angle to the first, hoping it will be enough.

  To my shock, another knife blade plunges down through the rug. I almost fall off the ladder, but Cayden reaches up and steadies me just in time.

  Instead of vanishing and plunging down again to stab at us, the knife makes a third long cut, connecting with my own. A familiar brown hand reaches down through the gap and rips the flap of carpet upward.

  “Come on!” shouts Raymond, reaching a hand down to me. I grab it and climb, letting him grab me under the arms and haul me up once my shoulders are through. Cayden’s right behind me, and somewhere in the dark parlor Xerple babbles, “I bring the Raymond, just like you said.”

  “Good, Xerple. You did good,” Cayden says.

  “Pearl,” I say to Raymond. “I lost her.” I think I’m crying.

  “We have to go, Ada,” says Raymond. “We have to run.”

  And I’m so ashamed, but I do.

  Chapter 26

  Fist Bumps

  So we escaped. I’m so guilty and scared, it’s difficult to care. A while back, I said the trick to lying was to do it with conviction and loads of eye contact. I’m failing on both counts. I can hardly stand to be in the same room with my family. At breakfast, I keep my head down and shovel my food into my mouth as fast as I can, then ask to be excused.

  I go rummaging in Pearl’s room again. She has a thing for bow ties (the kind you tie yourself, not the clip-ons). She makes them into headbands and belts and stuff. She likes vintage watches, and those boyfriend sweaters with the patches on the elbows, too. I get through an hour by trying on her things, which is how I realize that, on top of everything else, I lost my locket.

  If Daddy notices what I’m doing, he doesn’t say anything this time. No one does. As the miserable day drags on, though, something else nags for my attention.

  My closet door isn’t slamming as much as usual.

  A bit of investigation yields strange results. It seems my closet is empty.

  This should not be terribly surprising. After all, I’m dealing with a ghost. But ever since she first started showing herself, Stella has been easy to get a rise out of. Usually if I pick on her while she’s invisible, the hangers come flying off the rod and the door flaps. She’ll go from invisible to in my face in two seconds flat, but she’s always in the closet. Now, when the closet looks empty, it is. She’s not there.

  Does she know I lost the locket? Maybe the locket was the only reason she was here, and now that it’s gone, she’s going to leave me. Like Pearl left me. Like I left Pearl.

  I slam her door myself, just for company, while I listen for a fist pounding on the front door, for the idling motor of a black van, here to take me away. I spend some time patching up the masks, using Pearl’s art supplies. My plan is to pretend I don’t know where they are, that someone ripped them off from school. That way, in theory anyone could have used them. But if I do have to take them back into the building, I don’t want them to show any evidence of our disastrous sneak.

  Meanwhile, Cayden, Raymond, and I are in the strange situation of having to post to Nopes twice as much as we used to. You’d think we’d be keeping a low profile, but instead we have to be überobvious and keep our post count up—so that no one will suspect that the angry new anonymous posts are from us. And by us, I mean me.

  There’s some disagreement in the ranks about that decision.

  Then again, there’s no question I’m getting a reaction, and not just from that bunch of talking heads up on the hill. People believe us about the puppeteers.

  At first there are only a few, each pair snapped in half.

  Sunglasses.

  Someone hits on the idea of taking a string and tying one end around each ear stem, so they can hang them from street signs and railings. Every one is gone the next morning, confiscated by the PC. But there are more the next day, and the next. Once we’re sure that they are actually being confiscated, people start going to a lot of trouble to get them into the most inconvenient places possible. People sort out that they can sling the sunglasses-string combo at power lines, and it will wrap itself around several times, leaving the broken halves of the glasses to hang down. Those are harder to get, and there are a lot of power lines in Oddity. Street crews are visible during the day then, going up in the buckets of utility trucks, but they never get them all.

  Cayden calls it throwing shades.

/>   I don’t participate.

  “Maybe the masks worked,” I whisper on Wednesday afternoon.

  “Or the PC has bigger things to worry about,” says Raymond.

  He, Cayden, and I are sitting on my front porch, watching the zombie rabbits try to light things on fire with some sunglasses they stole from city workers.

  “Like what?” I ask. “We could tell everybody they tried to murder us.” In truth, I haven’t for one second thought of telling. The only way to make things worse than they are now is to get my whole family in the puppets’ bad graces.

  I take it back. If I tell my dad and Aunt Bets and they don’t believe me, that’ll be worse.

  Raymond says, “First the video of the Blurmonster ‘attack,’ now your post about the puppeteers. You got people all riled up.”

  “What should I do, Raymond? Hole up in the hide-and-shack?”

  “It’s not even here right now,” says Cayden.

  Raymond and I stare.

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  “I thought I left my phone in it, so I hiked back out there.”

  “Alone?” Raymond asks. “You’re lucky the Blurmonster didn’t get you.”

  I disagree. “I don’t think luck has anything to do with it. All this time, the PC’s been telling us the Blurmonster’s after everybody, but think a minute. It’s been around forever, and the first time anyone remembers it bashing things up—”

  “Was when the puppets came to town,” Raymond says, turning to me in surprise.

  I nod. “Exactly. I bet we never needed to be afraid of it in the first place. The puppets did.”

  “Those jerks,” says Raymond. “We thought the PC was protecting us by teaching us to guard against it, and all this time, we’ve been protecting them.”

  That doesn’t solve our bigger problem, though.

  “Some of the grown-ups have obviously learned to see the puppeteers,” says Cayden. “That’s why they run from us when we come to sign them up for the Sweepstakes. Why haven’t they rebelled?”

  I snort.

  “If they can’t successfully rebel against ordering coffee in languages they don’t speak, how are they going to handle this?”