TwoSpells

by Mark Morrison

  “Chores, lad?” Grandpa said. “We got chores ta’ do down at the pond.”

  “I’m going too, right Grandma?” Sarah asked.

  “Aye! All the lasses in our family go fishin’,” Grandma answered, clearing the table. “I’ll wait here. Go and fetch us dinner.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” Sarah asked.

  “Granny’s too old. Ya’ go on and have ah’ good time rompin’ at the pond.”

  Before they left, Sarah made a stop in the bathroom and the first thing she noticed was that the vanity mirror was missing. Just like the one in the hallway.

  She pulled Jon aside when she’d finished. “It’s gone too!”

  “What is?” he asked.

  “The bathroom mirror. You know, like the one in the hall.”

  “Maybe it broke when you looked into it,” Jon said with a grin. He trotted off toward the garage before Sarah could react.

  Grandpa was helping the handyman load the fishing gear into his truck. “What are ya’ waitin’ for, ah’ special invitation?” Grandpa said, motioning with his walking stick.

  Sarah pointed at the handyman. “Is he—er, going with us?”

  “Oh! So sorry,” Grandpa said. “This is Mr. Clyde Shyfoss, handyman extraordinaire.”

  Both kids inched toward him until Grandpa intervened. “Now come on. He won’t bite. And if he did it wouldn’t hurt much. He’s barely got any teeth!”

  As Clyde limped toward them, he smiled shyly, exposing the few teeth he had. He made a peculiar jingling sound when he walked, but he didn’t seem to be carrying a key ring or anything like that.

  Grandpa pointed with his walking stick again. “Sorry Clyde, the kids haven’t seen ah’ wooden leg before. Show em’ yours.”

  “I don’t think that’s ah’ good idea, mate,” Clyde said.

  “What, ya’ embarrassed? It wasn’t your fault that barmy fish ate it!”

  Sarah reached her hand out to meet his, but he wouldn’t look her directly in the eyes. “H-hello, Mr. Shyfoss. It’s a p-pleasure meeting you.”

  He kept his face pointing downward. “Call me Clyde.”

  Jon stepped up, jabbing his tiny hand up at the handyman. “Hello, Mr. Clyde, I’m Jon. Can I see your wooden leg?”

  “Jon, don’t ask that!” Sarah whispered, swatting him on the shoulder. “That’s rude.”

  “Ain’t rude at all. I asked Clyde ta’ show ya’, didn’t I?” Grandpa said. “Now show them so we can go about our fishin’.”

  Halfway up Clyde’s right pant leg was a zipper. He reached down and unzipped it, exposing an intricately carved wooden leg.

  “Cool!” Jon exclaimed, stooping down to get a closer look. “Why does it jingle like that?”

  “Show them what ya’ got in that hollow leg, Clyde. Ya’ kids are gonna fancy it for sure.”

  He reached to the inside of his wooden leg and fidgeted around. A sharp clicking sound released a hidden latch and the leg parted on brass hinges into two equal pieces. Inside was a secret space that held all kinds of fishing tackle.

  “Now ain’t that the bees knees!” Grandpa said, slapping Clyde on the shoulder.

  Both children eyed the wooden leg. Every imaginable type of fishing lure and bobber dangled and sparkled inside the secret compartment.

  “All right, enough showin’ off now, Clyde. The fish’ll be in school if we don’t get out there soon,” Grandpa said with a chuckle. He tossed the last of their gear into the back of the truck.

  Clyde snapped his leg shut and crawled into the driver’s seat of the truck. Everyone else piled in as he cranked it up. The old truck backfired, blowing a big puff of gray smoke as it pulled out onto the main road. His dog barked wildly running back and forth as they pulled away.

  Jon looked at Clyde. “What’s wrong with your dog?”

  Clyde turned his head sharply with a snarl. “He don’t fancy wee ones.”

  They returned late afternoon and the kids unloaded a pail of fish, passing them to Grandma to clean. She prepared them her own special way, gutting, breading and spicing them with the heads still on. Everyone else had gone to wash up, leaving Sarah with Grandma as she loaded the fish into the oven, slathered with butter.

  Grandpa and Clyde sat around the fireplace telling unbelievable fish stories from their past as Sarah helped Grandma clean up the kitchen.

  “Are we going to hear about TwoSpells tonight?” Sarah asked.

  “Maybe after dinner,” Grandma replied. “Now go freshen up. I’ll set the table.”

  An hour later, they were all sitting down to dinner. Sarah sat across from Clyde and worked up the courage to ask him something she’d been thinking about. “Mr. Shyfoss, do you have any kids?”

  The room fell dead silent for several moments as both Grandma and Grandpa froze with heaping forks partway to their mouths.

  “Does anyone care for a slice of pie?” Grandma asked, changing the subject. “I’m sure there’s still ah’ bit in the fridge.”

  Sarah furrowed her brow. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. Just don’t think Clyde wants ta’ talk about that right now,” Grandpa whispered to her.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Shyfoss,” Sarah said, hanging her head. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “No, lass. I’d like ta’ talk about it. If for no other reason than no one around here will let me,” Clyde said.

  “Ya don’t have ta’, Clyde, if ya’ don’t want ta’,” Grandma said.

  “Aye. But I do,” Clyde said, pulling an old red handkerchief from his back pocket. He wiped his eyes and then blew his nose loudly. “I did have two wee ones—about your ages, in fact—when the accident happened. We used ta’ go ta’ TwoSpells library every day. We had many ah’ fine memory of travelin’ ta’ different places in different times, ya’ know.”

  He paused to regroup his thoughts before continuing. “One day me children asked ta’ go fishin’. I enjoyed the idea me self, so I asked where they wanted ta’ go. They had ah’ special storybook in mind, they did. Was the story of Moby Dick, ah’ real corker. Do ya’ wee ones know the tale?”

  Jon shook his head.

  Sarah perked up. “Is that the story about the Captain who chases a white whale who ate his leg?”

  “Aye. That be the one,” he said, frowning. “Ahab was ah’ might angry ya’ might say.”

  “Cool! So you got your leg eaten by a whale?” Jon asked excitedly.

  Sarah scowled at Jon. “What’s wrong with you!”

  “For sure, but not me leg first. That was just dessert,” Clyde answered, waving his fork. “Me and me kids were there with Captain Ahab himself, huntin’ for whales when that bloody white beast rammed the side of his vessel. Ah’ vile and nasty beast of ah’ fish it was. No good at all, I say. I was standin’ at the bow of the ship with me harpoon in hand when it happened. The beast rammed the starboard again, knockin’ me children clean overboard in the chaos and confusion. Me and Ahab got ta’ our feet, cast our harpoons port-side and stickin’ the fish just before we jumped into the freezin’ Pacific ta’ try and rescue me babes. But it be too late. We swam about tryin’ ta’ find them for sometime, we did. But that beastly whale wasn’t through yet. He decided ta’ have biscuits for dessert, our legs that be.”

  The kids stared in apprehension as Clyde’s eyes watered. He patted his wooden leg.

  “Then what happened?” Jon asked. “Did he eat the ship too?”

  Clyde dabbed his eyes. “No. Not even sure if’n he ate me babes. But the beast smiled and swam off, leavin’ me babblin’ and weepin’ adrift in the frigid sea. And ol’ Ahab, leg gone too and screamin’ angry.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Shyfoss. I shouldn’t have asked,” Sarah said, teary eyed. “But can’t you go back and look for them?”

  “Aye! I did for many ah’ years. Ah’ hundred times over—until the librarian refused ta’ let me check the book out. Claimed I was wearin’ the pages ta’ tatters. Was for me own good I suppose.”

  �
�We should go back and eat him like these fish!” Jon suggested, waving his knife and fork and then stabbing the fish on his plate.

  “Thanks, lad, but it’s too late,” Clyde moaned, wiping his leaking nose. “I’ve moved on.”

  His hand trembled as he took a bite of fish, tears dropping onto his plate.

  “Every night I’m reminded of what happened when I take me bloody leg off ta’ sleep,” he said with a choked sob.

  “Mr. Shyfoss, can we go fishing again sometime?” Sarah asked, reaching across to touch his rough hand.

  “Aye, lassie. I’d fancy that. Ya’ both remind me of me wee ones.”

  They finished their meals in solemn silence. Clyde didn’t stay for small talk afterward, claiming it was time to turn in for the night. As Clyde was closing the backdoor, they could hear his dog whimpering. The kids watched from the window as he lit up a cigar and wrestled playfully with his dog.

  “Grandma, I’m sorry,” Sarah said.

  “No need to be, lass. Ya’ couldn’t have known,” Grandma said, wiping several loose tears on her napkin. “It’s nearin’ bedtime now. Aren’t ya’ at all tired?”

  “No, Grandma. I thought you were going to tell us some more about TwoSpells,” Sarah said as she helped clear the table.

  “Yeah! More story!” Jon cheered.

  “More story!” Grandpa joined in, raising his walking stick proudly.

  “I’d love ta’, but I can’t,” Grandma answered. She continued wiping down the table without looking up. “But you’re livin’ the yarn, ain’t ya’ now.”

  CHAPTER 9

  THE FARM’S OBNOXIOUS ROOSTER let Sarah know in its own special way that it was time to wake up. She jumped out of bed, dressed and made her way to Jon’s room. When she got to his door, she noticed that it was ajar. Jon was already gone. She searched the hall and kitchen and found Jon sipping coffee with Clyde.

  “A good—good—good morning, sis,” Jon said, energetically. “Are you ready to go exploring?”

  “Ah. It’s kinda early,” Sarah said. She looked wearily at Clyde. “How much coffee have you had?”

  Jon took a huge swig. “A couple. Maybe three. Four—”

  “Top of the mornin’ ta’ ya’, lassie,” Clyde said. “It’s ah’ fine day ta’ enjoy the farm, ain’t it though?”

  “I guess so. And a good morning to you,” Sarah said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Kinda harsh for ah’ wee lass,” Clyde said, nodding at the coffee.

  “I’m almost thirteen,” Sarah said, stirring in several cubes of sugar.

  “I guess if ya fancy the bitters,” Clyde said. He stood and limped across the kitchen. “I was tellin’ your fine brother that ya’ need ta’ be careful. An old homestead like this can be ah’ might dangerous, ya’ know. Now ya’ can romp anywhere ya’ please, but leave the root cellar be.”

  “Why?” Jon asked.

  Clyde angrily slammed his cup down on the counter, splashing hot coffee over his hand. “Cause I told ya’ not to, that’s why!”

  The kitchen was uncomfortably silent for several minutes before Clyde spoke again. “Ah. Sorry kids, but it’s—ah’—under repairs. So don’t ya’ go near it.”

  He limped out the back door, mumbling obscenities. Jon followed at a distance and cracked the back door open, watching him limp away. “Well, that was different wasn’t it?”

  Sarah sat down. “What’s with him?”

  Grandma and Grandpa entered the kitchen and said their good mornings. They each grabbed a cup from the cabinet and poured themselves coffee. Grandma sighed as she wiped up the spilled coffee on the counter. She didn’t ask how it happened.

  “Ya’ kids are up ah’ wee bit early,” Grandma said. “In ah’ rush ta’ explore the farm?”

  “Yeah, how’d you know, Grandma?” Sarah asked.

  Grandpa smirked at her. “Grandma’s got eyes and ears about the estate.”

  The kids looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. They rinsed their dirty cups in the sink and marched towards the door.

  Grandma groaned as she sat down. “Off ya’ be now. They’ll be no chores today. But don’t ya’ get in Clyde’s way or I reckon he’ll curse ya’ some.”

  “Okay, Grandma,” Sarah said as she and Jon started out the back door. She stopped short. “Grandma, is the root cellar under repair?”

  “Heavens no. What would make ya’ think ah’ foolish thing like that?”

  “Just wondering,” Sarah answered.

  Grandpa was just returning with the newspaper as they were about to leave. “Hold on. I hear you’re headin’ out ta’ the root cellar?”

  “I guess,” Sarah replied. “Are we allowed to?”

  “Of course,” Grandpa said, looking perplexed. “Fetch me two jars of me favorite sweet pickles while you’re down there explorin’.”

  “You’re already half pickled as it is,” Grandma said. “Only bring one back.”

  “I want one, but I need two,” he scoffed. “I’m lookin’ to fully pickle me self by the end of the day.”

  “Will do!” Jon called. He snatched Sarah by the hand and pulled her through the door.

  “Why would Clyde lie to us?” Sarah asked Jon as they rounded the corner of the house.

  “I’m not sure, but the answer must be in that cellar,” Jon replied.

  They paused, watching Clyde for a few minutes as he played with his dog. The mastiff was attached to a long steel chain that was fastened to the front of the barn. A rickety wooden shelter made of scrap wood stood nearby, surrounded by a sandy trench. Inside was a dirty plaid blanket and a collection of animal bones. A sign above the entrance to the dog house read:

  TORNADO ABADDON

  Sarah pointed at the sign. “Hey, Jon! I’ve seen that word somewhere before.”

  “Tornado?”

  “No. Abaddon! I wonder what that means.”

  “Who cares? Let’s go,” he replied, tugging on her arm.

  Clyde knelt and hugged the dog, pulling something from his pocket and tossing it into the eager jaws of the dog before he hobbled to his own room next to the pen. As the kids passed by the dog, he bared his massive teeth and snarled when they made eye contact.

  Sarah whispered to Jon. “I don’t think he likes kids.”

  “No kidding. Did you see that big pile of kids’ bones?”

  “Stop it! Those weren’t kids’ bones,” Sarah said, punching him in the arm. She turned back toward the doghouse. “Were they?”

  They picked up their pace and rounded the corner of the barn. There stood the entrance to the root cellar—two rickety wooden doors set in a stone frame at a steep angle. An enormous padlock hung from the handles.

  “I thought Grandma said it was fine,” Jon said, tugging at the lock.

  Sarah scratched her head. “She did—”

  “Hey!” Clyde appeared, limping toward them. “I told ya’ kids to stay away from there!”

  Jon looked to Sarah. “What do we do? Do we run? He’s pretty fast for a guy with only one leg.”

  “I said stay away from there!” Clyde roared. He was quickly closing the gap between them. Sarah and Jon froze, unsure of what to do. Grandpa had asked them to get pickles. Why was Clyde doing this?

  “It’s locked! We can’t even get inside!” Jon protested as Clyde snatched him by the collar.

  “Do ya’ got a bloody listenin’ problem?” Clyde barked. He positioned himself between the doors and the children. “It’s dangerous. Keep out!”

  Jon rubbed his neck where the collar of his shirt had bit into it. “We’re only doing what we were told by Grandpa. He told us to get him pickles.”

  “He knows better,” Clyde muttered. “I’ll fetch them me self. Go now. Go!”

  Sarah and Jon walked away as Clyde mumbled obscenities and paced about the doors. When they reached the barn, they opened the two large wooden doors and went inside, slamming one door but leaving the other cracked open. Both of them pressed an eye to the gap and wa
tched Clyde. He unlatched his leg, removed a large shiny key and opened the padlock.

  “What do you think he’s gonna do now?” Jon whispered.

  “Get those pickles for Grandpa.”

  “Then what?”

  Before she could answer, Clyde placed the key back in his wooden leg and latched it shut. After that, he limped cautiously down into the cellar, slipping slightly. “Bloody hell!”

  The kids giggled.

  “I bet we could get a hold of that key and find out,” Jon said.

  Moments later, Clyde popped up holding two large jars of pickles. He glanced toward the barn, causing Sarah and Jon to stumble backward to the floor. Sarah looked up and noticed a huge shattered mirror on the barn wall. The pieces were strewn across the dirt floor and a red brick lay at the foot.

  “Jon, look!” Sarah whispered, pointing at the broken glass.

  “What?”

  “The mirror, it’s broken!”

  “You’ve never seen a broken mirror before?”

  “Yeah, but all the mirrors in the house are gone and this one is broken. Don’t you find that strange?”

  “No. What I find strange is that you care so much. I’m more concerned about that key,” Jon replied.

  “Do you think Clyde saw us?” Sarah asked, cracking the door open again and pressing her eye to the gap.

  Jon joined her at the door. “Nah. Not a chance.”

  “He’s locking the doors,” Sarah groaned. “Now we’ll never know what’s down there.”

  “Don’t give up yet. Remember what Clyde said he does with that leg at night?”

  “Oh yeah. He takes it off to sleep.”

  “So it’s settled then. All we have to do is sneak in and snatch it,” Jon said with a smirk.

  Sarah and Jon spent the rest of the day exploring the farm and trying to figure out a way to get that key. They saw Clyde hop into his truck and speed off, so they seized the opportunity to scout out his shack.

  There were several signs nailed above his front door, all of them poorly scrawled and riddled with misspellings.

  NO TRUSSPASSIN