The Transylvania Pocket Watch

by Tyler Jolley

  Adventurous Ali: The Transylvania Pocket Watch

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  Copyright © 2020 Tyler H. Jolley

  Cover Design by Brandon Dorman

  Interior Layout by Melissa Williams Design

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Tyler H. Jolley

  For Olivia & Monkey. Liv, may your sense of wonderment and adventure never fade. Monkey, you’ll always be my very best boy.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  Alison Liv Isner carefully sorted through heavy, rolled-up parchment maps at her dad’s archeological store. She thumbed through exactly six before she found the two she was after.

  “How have your archery lessons been?” her dad asked, from behind the bulky green register.

  “Fine,” Ali said. She tucked the maps under her arm and started toward the backroom. “I’m glad I didn’t quit after I got my gold feather.”

  “Your instructor said you’re hitting moving targets far better than he expected.”

  “Really?” Ali asked. “He said if I keep it up, I’ll be as good as Mom was.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes!” Ali said. “Dad, did Mom ever talk to you about her expedition friends?”

  “Eloise had a lot of friends.” His voice caught in a hitch.

  Ali cringed. Six years after her mom’s untimely passing, her dad still couldn’t talk about her. But curiosity got the better of Ali, and she couldn’t resist. “Sorry. Maybe one day you can tell me more about her?”

  “I will. I promise you, I will,” he said. “You will know your mom.”

  He walked over to the maps Ali had rummaged through and grabbed a smaller one and placed it on the wooden counter, next to the till. The front doorbell jingled as a customer walked in. Ali knew what that meant. Go to the back, stay out of sight. She started toward their makeshift living space in the storage room, then her dad called out to her.

  “Ali, put this away when you’re done with the others.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ali said. She collected the map from the counter and added it to the collection under her arm.

  “Hey squirt,” Tommy, the only employee of Field and Excavation Inc., said. “What are you doing with all those?”

  “Uh, nothing.” Ali twisted her long braid on her left side. “My dad might need you. A customer just walked in.”

  “I heard the bell.” Tommy grinned. “You sure have been acting weird lately.”

  “You only think that because you’re sixteen. I bet you were weirder than me when you were eleven.”

  Tommy tilted his head to the side, squinted his eyes, and said, “I guess that’s true. Well, I better see if Mr. Isner needs me.”

  Ali walked quickly to the Persian rug in the storage room and plopped down. She’d waited over a month for a new adventure. Every day she’d sit on the carpet, read her mom’s journal, and spin the globe, just like she’d done the times before. But so far, nothing had worked.

  Unrolling the first map, she smiled to herself. Honduras—the first expedition where she’d met her mom’s friends. “My friends too,” she whispered. She unrolled the second one, Egypt. Butterflies danced in her stomach. She traced the outline of it, remembering how the borders of the country had smoked and singed when it was time for the adventure. Her mom’s journal had guided her and challenged her strength. The pages were wavy from being waterlogged. She smoothed them and smiled, thinking of how brave she and her friends had been, then tucked it in her back pocket.

  She stood, walked to her cot, and pulled out a jewelry box from underneath. Inside was a small piece of rock that had crumbled away from the monkey idol. Next to it was a ruby from the headdress of the Pharaoh Zicobus. She let the cool gemstone roll around inside her closed fist—a small fortune that Ali had kept to herself. She’d have a hard time explaining how she’d acquired it.

  “Ugh,” Ali said, placing the jewel back in the box. She shoved the box back into its hiding spot under her bed. “I just wish it were time!”

  “Time for what?” Tommy peeked his head in.

  “Tommy!” Ali yelled, startled. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry, squirt. If there had been a door, I would have knocked.” He pushed back the curtain and walked into the room, arms crossed. “What do you wish it were time for?”

  “Um, Thanksgiving. It’s only a week away.”

  “It won’t be much of a Thanksgiving this year.”

  “Won’t you go home to see your family?”

  “No.” Tommy’s eyes shifted down. “Thanks to the Dust Bowl there’s not much to go home to. Plus, Mr. Isner said I could work a little extra.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ali frowned. “You could spend it with us.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Your dad already mentioned it.”

  “Okay.” Ali bit her tongue, wishing she’d done it a few moments earlier and also with her dad. “Well, I better put these maps away.”

  “I can do it.” Tommy rolled them up and secured them with a rubber band.

  “Thank you, Tommy,” Ali said.

  “It’s the least I can do.” He smiled. “I’ll be fighting you for the last drumstick.”

  Ali sat on the rug, alone again. She stared at the colorful threads, both braids fell on either side of her shoulders.

  “Oh dang, he forgot one.”

  She reached for it, the one her dad had left on the counter and told her to put away. The moment she touched it, she retracted her hand. It felt warm with static electricity. Her hands trembled.

  She slowly unrolled the parchment on the floor, securing the edges with both knees. Romania. Eyes wide, Ali turned to the globe. It was spinning on its own. Yes! She pulled the journal from her pocket and held it tight. Then, reaching for the globe, she stopped it with one finger and rotated it to Europe. The borders of Romania smoked, and the country started to burn. A light shot up and out of the globe; she fell back. The room spun, and darkness took her.

  Alison Liv Isner embarked on her next adventure, clutching her mom’s journal to her chest.

  Chapter 2

  For the first time, Ali awoke to complete darkness. Millions of stars twinkled in the sky above her; a full moon was the only light source. Ali sat and pulled her knees to her chest.

  “Guys?” she whispered. “Chicaletta? Figgy? Bait? Glenda—”

  “What about me?” A fat black rat jumped onto her lap, arms splayed out. “You just forget about me? Or maybe I’m not important to you?”

  “Of course not! You didn’t let me finish.” Ali released a pensive breath. “Oh, Tristan, I missed you.” She picked him up, nuzzling him in the crook of her neck.

  “Ah!” Tristan yelled. “I forgot she’s a hugger.”

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, placing him back onto the dirt ground. There was no camp. And no fire. Nothing was set up for an expedition.

  “H
iding behind those bushes. So, keep it down.” Tristan brought a pink finger up to his pink lips and nose. “Follow me.”

  Ali crossed a dirt road and into thick brush.

  “What plant is this?” Ali asked. “It smells so good.”

  “How am I supposed to know?” Tristan said. “I don’t eat plants.”

  “Transylvanian Sage,” Bait quipped. “It’s native here.”

  “Bait!” Ali said.

  She dropped to her knees and cupped the mason jar hanging from the burro’s neck. The piranha swam excitedly in small circles, then saluted her as best he could with a gray fin.

  “Hello, human,” the mini burro said.

  “Figgy,” Ali said, releasing Bait’s jar. She petted Figgy’s cream-colored muzzle. “It’s so good to see you.” She rubbed her nose against his, then gently stroked the soft spot between his ears and traced the black spot around his eye.

  Ali felt a calloused palm wrap around her free hand. “Chicaletta.” Her eyes filled with happy tears. She’d missed the golden lion tamarin the most, although she’d never tell Tristan that.

  “Alison, my child,” Chicaletta said. “You have returned as expected. And just in the nick of time.”

  “Are we in Romania?”

  Chicaletta nodded. “Transylvania, to be precise.”

  Ali’s spine stiffened. She was too young to read the popular vampire novel, but she’d heard campfire stories about Transylvania and vampires just the same.

  “Where’s Glenda?” Ali carefully asked.

  “See that, human?” Figgy pointed to a castle atop a large hill with his nose. “She’s doing some recon.”

  “What artifact will we save tonight?” Ali asked.

  “Alison.” Chicaletta shook her head in disappointment. “Why have you come unprepared?”

  “I—I didn’t know which expedition was next. I thought I read this one, but I didn’t get to it yet.”

  “Eloise was always prepared,” Chicaletta said.

  “I’m sorry.” Ali hung her head.

  “Do not be sorry. But rather, find the solution.” Chicaletta nodded at Ali, eyes fixed on Ali’s pocket.

  Ali pulled out her mom’s journal and flipped to the Transylvania expedition. “It says we are to find the Nobil Fel pocket watch. If we don’t and it falls into the wrong hands, they can unleash the bloodsucking vampires and cause the world to be cast in eternal darkness.”

  “Vampires!” Tristan screamed. “Ah!”

  “Eternal night is worse,” Figgy brayed, while gnawing on a piece of sage. “No sun means no plants. No plants means no food.”

  “No food?” Tristan yelled. “Ah! That is worse.”

  They all shushed him at once.

  “Alrighty then,” Bait said, his British accent strong as ever, “perhaps the bird should change into proper attire? It would seem Tristan has given away our hiding spot.”

  Ali nodded. She loved his English slang. She made a mental note to call one of her girlfriends “bird” when she got home.

  “Over here.” Tristan scurried up Figgy’s back leg. Figgy kicked in response.

  “Stop it.” He laughed. “Tristan, that tickles.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Tristan paid him no mind. “Unbuckle this. Your clothes are in here.”

  Ali unclasped a tarnished copper buckle and undid a weathered leather strap on Figgy’s pack. Inside was what she thought of as her adventure uniform, transforming her into Adventurous Ali: a white long-sleeved button-up shirt, light-brown equestrian pants, tall brown boots, and a wide-brimmed safari hat with a mesh mosquito veil.

  “Will I need the hat this time?” Ali asked.

  “Might as well skip it,” Tristan said. “Mosquitos are the last thing you should worry about biting you here.”

  “As Chicaletta says, one must always be prepared.” Ali tied the veil over the brim of her hat.

  “Tristan, that is enough,” Bait said. “Hurry, love, change behind those thick bushes.”

  Ali quickly changed and placed her plain clothes in Figgy’s pack. She bit the edge of her lip and waited for her next orders.

  “Come.” Chicaletta led the way.

  They trudged up a mucky weed field toward the looming castle. Ali’s breath quickened after a few minutes. Then her legs felt heavy. Her boots sunk into the deep mud. Thick dirt clung to her boots; her feet felt like they’d been encased in concrete.

  She stared at the castle. Moonlight glinted off of the jagged-looking towers. The building appeared like fangs in the night. The multistory castle had three turrets or towers. Ali guessed the tallest was over one hundred feet. Atop the turrets were tall spires reaching high into the sky.

  Distant lightning ripped through the dark sky with a large, sizzling crack. Ali wondered if the spires would be struck once the storm arrived. Torches jutted off the sides of the stone walls. Flickering shadows danced above the flames. She stared at the eerie yellow light and shivered.

  “I think I’m sinking,” Figgy said.

  “The ground is very soft and swampy,” Chicaletta said. “I agree, it is getting difficult to walk.”

  “What he means, love,” Bait said, “is we’ve sunk. And it seems as if we are stuck in the mire.”

  Figgy grunted. “I can’t move, and the harder I try, the more I sink.”

  “Light the torches,” Chicaletta said.

  Alison Liv Isner’s skin broke out in gooseflesh.

  Chapter 3

  Ali ran to Figgy and took two torches from his pack. She fumbled for a flint and nearly dropped it into the soggy bog. She scraped the flint across the steel, sparks fell onto the bristly ends of the wood, and Ali blew softy on them until the ember glowed. She continued to blow softly until the torches were fully ignited.

  She handed one to Chicaletta.

  “Thank you,” Chicaletta said. “You have grown much more proficient with the flint.” She waved the flame in Figgy’s direction. “Figgy, do not move. The mud is like quicksand. The more you struggle, the more you’ll sink.”

  “I’m sorry.” Figgy hung his head.

  “Don’t be,” Bait said. “We’re a strong team, Figaro. They’ll get us out straightaway.”

  “What’ll we do?” Ali asked.

  “Alison, you must pull as hard as you can, and I will push from behind,” Chicaletta said. “The ground is more stable toward the front. I am lighter, so I should be in the back.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Tristan asked.

  “Stand guard and watch for Glenda to return,” Chicaletta said.

  “No problem,” Tristan said, yawning. “I’ll just be over here.” He lay in the mud, settling in like he was ready to take a nap. “This reminds me of that mud in Honduras. A little smellier, but just as soft.”

  Ali took both torches and stabbed the handles into the soft soil, careful not to burn herself. Then she pulled on the rope around Figgy’s neck while Chicaletta pushed. The mini burro didn’t budge. Mud bubbled up around his legs as he sunk a few inches more.

  Hair on the back of Ali’s neck stood erect, and cold sweat down her back gave her a chill.

  Now, with mud up to his belly, Figgy started to panic. He brayed and tried to move his legs wildly, only making him sink more.

  “Whoa, Figgy,” Ali said, gently stroking his nose. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Figs,” Bait said, “if you keep that up, you won’t have a best mate much longer.”

  Bait’s jar was mere inches away from the mud. Figgy forced air hard and loud from his wide nostrils and seemed to calm a little.

  “Now what?” Ali asked. She wiped her forehead with her arms, smearing mud across it.

  “Pull,” Chicaletta said. “We will not lose to the mu—”

  “Help!” A high-pitched scream cut through the air.
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  Glenda.

  She looked over her shoulder toward the castle.

  “Is it the Geese?” Tristan scrambled to his feet.

  “Run,” Figgy said. “Take Bait.”

  “Absolutely not,” Chicaletta said. “Tristan, go find Glenda. Help her.”

  “We’ll never leave you.” Ali’s voice shook. “Push, Chicaletta! I know we can do it!”

  Ali grunted, her brow slick with sweat. Mud caked her boots up to her knees. She’d sunk a few inches but, she was able to forcefully pull her legs out. Figgy bit down hard, exposing his perfect, humanlike teeth. Finally, one leg pulled free. He took a tiny step forward with it, only for it to sink deeper.

  “Figgy!” Glenda landed on the bark of a downed tree. “What happened?”

  “Glenda,” Ali said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” the bat said. “It’s just that—”

  Tristan scurried back and rejoined the group.

  “Let me tell,” the fat rat said, then he rolled with laughter.

  “Tristan, it is not funny,” Glenda said. “And we need to help Figgy! Look at him and Bait!”

  “Maybe the hunchback will help us after you show yourself.” Tristan giggled.

  Ali released the reins from her hands and let out an exhausted sigh. “What are you two talking about? Are there Geese up ahead or not?”

  “Okay,” Tristan said. “No Geese. But there’s this hunchback guy, and see, he’s trying to capture Glenda because he thinks, he thinks . . .” Tristan erupted into hysterics. He wiped tears from his beady yellow eyes. “He thinks she’s a vampire but in a bat form. He keeps telling her to show herself.”

  “I think we lost him on the way back here. Doesn’t he know vampires in bat form don’t wear bright-red lipstick?” Glenda sulked.

  “We will deal with him later,” Chicaletta said. “For now, we must free Figgy. We must stick to the task at hand. And this is not an easy one.”

  Rapidly approaching hooves clapped loudly against the dirt.

  “Maybe not,” Ali said.