“Uh-uh.” I shook my head, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that there was no red raven. Or at least, no real red raven.
“Well, we have to go in.” Silver tried to get up, clutching at the banister with both hands. “She’s got to have one in there somewhere, and I have to call someone. I can’t take this pain for one more second.”
“Silver!” I stared at her, aghast. “We can’t just go inside without permission! That’s, like, breaking and entering!”
“We have to.” Silver’s face set itself into a tight grimace. “I’m in bad shape, Wren. It’s still bleeding. I can feel it seeping through the sheet.” She held up her fingers. They were stained with blood. “And it hurts so bad. It comes in these waves, and sometimes it’s so strong I feel like I’m going to faint. I just … I can’t …”
“Okay.” I stepped toward her quickly and let her lean into me. The glassiness in her eyes seemed to be getting sharper and her blue lips had started to quiver. “It’s okay, Silver. We’ll figure something out.”
Silver hobbled back up to the door with me. She leaned heavily on my shoulder as I stared down at the shaky-looking knob. “It’s not like we’re going to do anything bad,” she whispered. “We just need a phone, Wren. We have to call for help.”
Her words reverberated inside my head as I reached for the knob. Of course we weren’t going inside the house to do anything bad. Silver and I weren’t bad people. But how were we going to explain that to Witch Weatherly if she came back and found that we had broken into her house?
I pushed on the knob. The door creaked open. A smell like dirt and warm bread drifted out.
“Come on,” Silver whispered. “We gotta make this quick.”
We shuffled inside a step at a time. There was a green-and-blue chair just inside the door, and Silver sank into it with a groan. I stood next to her for a minute and looked around. It was hard to see with only the watery dusk filtering through the windows to light the dark floorboards. In fact, I didn’t see any lamps or light fixtures at all. A large candle sat on top of the mantelpiece, and I could make out a broom propped up in one of the corners. It looked as if it had been fashioned out of a piece of bark and twigs, the sweeping part tied together with twine. Draped along the wall above it hung a soft blanket of cobwebs.
“Silver,” I said. “I don’t like this. We shouldn’t be in here.”
“I know.” Silver held on to one side of the chair and looked around. She was starting to breathe heavily again, and her face looked even paler than before. “Let’s just find the phone so we can get out of here.”
I moved quickly then, hurrying around the strange little room as if I was being timed by an invisible stopwatch. Which in a way, I was. Who knew when Witch Weatherly was going to come back? I had to make the call and get us the heck out of here before she came within ten yards of her place.
“How about over there?” Silver pointed to a large urn standing next to the fireplace. It was almost as tall as me, and capped with a rusty-looking lid.
“In there?” I asked, staring at the strange-looking container. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Silver said. “But we have to look everywhere, Wren. Seriously.”
I tiptoed over to the urn and regarded it for a moment. It had a long, slender neck, like a giraffe, and then curved down into a wide, belly-shaped bowl. Who knew what could be inside? Maybe the remains of small children. Their bones or fingernails.
“Please, Wren!” Silver was getting impatient. “Just look inside!”
I put my hand on the small latch under the cover, and then lifted it slowly. Something tiny flew out—and I screamed, covering my head with my hands.
“It’s a moth!” I heard Silver say. “Wren, it’s okay! It’s just a moth!”
I brought my arms back down and watched the tiny insect as it fluttered behind the musty curtains.
“Look again,” Silver pressed. “Anything?”
I peered back inside. But there was nothing at the bottom except ashes and a few twigs. A strange odor made me wrinkle my nose, something like rotten eggs and oranges. “Ugh.” I stepped away. “Nothing in there except a really gross smell.”
“How about over by her bed?” Silver asked. “My grandma always keeps her phone right next to her bed.”
Witch Weatherly’s bed was a twin size, much smaller than the one I slept in at home, with a normal-looking sheet, pillow, and blanket. But the wooden headboard at the top of it was not like anything I’d ever seen before. Hundreds of carvings had been etched into the wood; different species of birds, plants, vines, and flowers. There was even a tiny mouse peeking out from one corner, complete with a miniscule nose and whiskers. I ran my fingers over the carvings, marveling at their beauty and complexity.
“Maybe under her pillow?” Silver called.
I lifted her pillow. A small black book lay beneath it, the cover worn and faded to a pale charcoal color.
My blood ran cold.
The Secret Power of Plants was scrawled across the front of it. Beneath the title, in cramped handwriting, someone had added the words “and Animals.”
“Wren?”
“It’s the book,” I whispered, leafing through it. “The one Aunt Marianne told us about.” Inside, the pages were filled with pencil drawings of various plants, flowers, and wildlife. There was a picture of a hornet-head snake on one page, a small, daisy-like flower on another. Beneath each drawing, Witch Weatherly had written descriptions of all the living things on Creeper Mountain. I began to read slowly, feeling my hands start to shake.
“Wren,” Silver said. “Please!”
I opened my mouth to respond, then froze as the front door banged open like a gunshot.
There, with an enormous stack of wood in her arms, stood Witch Weatherly herself.
The witch caught sight of me first and dropped her armful of wood. It clattered to the floor, scuttling in all directions like awkward, legless animals. Silver let out a small gasp, and the witch snapped her head around.
“Who are you?” Her voice was raspy, like sandpaper, and her eyes moved quickly between Silver and me. She still held a single piece of wood in both of her hands like a bat, as if we might decide to charge at her at the same time.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
The eyes that glared at me from the doorway were small and black. There was no mistaking the wrinkles around them, or the long hair, white as cotton, partially hidden beneath a triangle of dirty pink cloth. But the rest of her face seemed askew, as if someone had reached under her skin, twisted it a little to the right, and then set it back down again. Her lips looked off center, as if they had been pushed to one side, and her nose was missing the tip, ending abruptly in a strange, blunt piece of skin. She had, truth be told, one of the most horrifying faces I’d ever seen.
“Who are you?” she hissed again, taking a step toward me. Her fingers tightened as she readjusted her grip on the wood. “And what are you doing in my house?”
“I’m … I’m sorry.” My voice was a squeak. “I’m Wren. And that’s my cousin, Silver. We were just … looking.”
“I can see that,” the witch snarled. “What were you looking for?”
“For … a phone.”
“A phone?” The witch stopped in her tracks.
“Please,” Silver said, struggling to get out of the chair. The witch turned, raising her stick again. Silver sat back down quickly. “It’s not what you think, ma’am. We were taking a walk, and I fell in a hole, and I got hurt. I’m bleeding. Bad. We were just trying to find a phone so that we could call for help. That’s all.”
Witch Weatherly glanced down at Silver’s waist. The dark outline of blood seeped through the thin sheet. “You fell in a hole?” she asked.
Silver nodded. “It was covered on top, with grass and leaves and vines and everything. I didn’t see it. There was something sticking out from the side, I think …”
The witch nodded, as if recognizing
something from Silver’s description. “Was there anything inside the hole?” Her eyes gleamed a little as she spoke. “Down at the bottom?”
“No.” Silver shook her head and clutched at her side. “No, I don’t think so.”
The witch grunted and turned back around, looking at me. “Are you hurt, too?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Something wrong with your eyes, then?”
I shook my head, confused. “No, there’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”
“Then why are you poking around in my bed?”
“We …” I swallowed. “We thought maybe you had the phone under your pillow.”
The witch raised one shaggy eyebrow. “Anybody you know keep a phone under her pillow?”
I shook my head.
“Put that book back,” she snapped. “It’s personal property.”
I’d forgotten I was even holding the book. I slid it quickly under her pillow, hoping she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks.
Her tongue darted out from her mouth, and she licked her lips. “How old are you?”
“Twelve,” I answered.
She turned, thrusting her chin at Silver. “You?”
“I’m twelve, too.” Silver’s voice sounded faint. I wondered what she thought of Witch Weatherly’s horrifying face, if she was as frightened as I was.
“Old enough to understand things like trespassing on private property and basic personal privacy.” The witch snorted, glaring at me. “Who else is with you?”
I shook my head. “No one.”
“You two came all the way up here all by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Witch Weatherly asked.
Silver and I exchanged a glance.
“Just to snoop, eh?” The witch answered for us. “Surprise, surprise. Just like all the rest of ’em.”
“We didn’t mean to snoop,” I whispered. “Really, we didn’t. We knocked, but there was no answer.”
“That’s because I wasn’t here.” Witch Weatherly arched another eyebrow. “I was down by the falls, getting wood for my fire.”
“Is there any way …” Silver’s voice was hoarse, trailing across the room like an injured butterfly. She held herself up on the edge of her chair with one hand, and waved the other one weakly. “I mean, do you think you could call someone? My side … it just hurts so bad.”
“And what would you like me to use?” Witch Weatherly demanded. “Smoke signals?”
Silver stared at her, openmouthed. “You don’t … have a phone?”
“Of course I don’t have a phone,” the witch said. “I don’t have electricity.”
Silver’s shoulders sagged. For a moment, I thought she might burst into tears.
The witch didn’t seem to notice. She gripped the wood again, as if reminding us that she had it—and that she knew how to use it. Her eyes twitched at the corners, and the right side of the old brown skirt she was wearing trailed on the ground.
“Just in case it wasn’t clear the first time,” she said, “let me inform you again that this is private property, which means that, injured or not, you have no right to be here. Now get out, both of you!”
Something took hold of me then; I’m not sure what. Maybe I was tired. Or maybe I realized how long a day it had really been, how many hours we had been climbing, or how much trouble we’d be in when we got back. Maybe I was worried that Silver wouldn’t be able to bear the pain in her side much longer. Whatever it was, I took a step forward.
“We can’t go,” I heard myself say. “My friend needs to go to the hospital. And you’re the only one around. Please, you have to help us!”
The witch’s eyes disappeared into two slits. Her stub of a nose flared the tiniest bit. “I don’t have to do anything,” she hissed. “You are standing in my house, which means that I can do whatever I want. I already told you I don’t have a phone, which means there is nothing else I can do for you. Now, I’m not going to say it again. Either both of you leave by the time I count to three or …”
“But she’s hurt!” I begged. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Wrap it in something? Or help me make a stretcher so I can carry her back down the mountain? Anything!”
“One.” The witch squinted as she stared at me.
Behind her, Silver swayed in her chair. Her eyes were as wide as quarters, and the shaking in her lips had moved down to her arms.
“Please.” I struggled not to cry. “I’m scared. I don’t know what might happen if we try to go back down the mountain all by ourselves.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come all the way up here by yourselves.” The witch pointed a menacing finger at me and took a step forward. “Two.”
I looked around the room wildly, trying to collect my thoughts.
“But she saved your kite!” I burst out.
For a split second, the witch looked unsure of herself. Her finger wavered and then dropped to her side. She turned around and glanced at Silver. “You saved my kite?” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am.” Silver’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It was starting to blow off into the woods, but I grabbed the string.” A strange look came over her face then, as if she was confused. “It’s on the porch outside, if you don’t believe me. I tied the string around one of the banisters, too, so it wouldn’t fly off again.”
It was the last thing she said. As I watched, she grimaced, then slid off the chair, and like a marionette with disjointed limbs, landed in a heap next to it.
“Silver!” I cried.
A muscle pulsed along the edge of Witch Weatherly’s jaw, and her mouth set itself in a tight line.
“Please!” I took another step toward the witch. From this distance, I could see the rippled skin along her neck, thick and uneven, like old lunch meat. My voice quavered. “Please do something. She’s my friend! I don’t want her to die!”
I clutched my hands together, wringing them in front of me like an awkward prayer. I didn’t know what else I could say to convince her to help Silver. Please, I thought to myself. Pleasepleaseplease.
“She’s not going to die,” the witch said impatiently. “But she obviously needs medical attention.” Her blue eyes slid around the features of my face. “I’ll see what I can do. And when I’m finished, you’ve got to go. Both of you.”
My head nodded up and down like some kind of windup toy. I didn’t care what we had to do next, just as long as she did something—anything—to help Silver.
I didn’t say a word as the witch lifted Silver’s shirt and examined her injury. The blood didn’t seem to be oozing out quite as fast anymore, but the wound itself looked even worse than it had earlier, like a tiny piece of fruit rotting around the edges. The witch drew her fingers lightly around the perimeter of it and then brought the edges together, as if trying to squeeze it shut. Her nails were long and dirty, and up close, I could see the skin on her hands and wrists. It was deeply rutted, as if it had been clawed off at one time and then grown back unevenly. I wondered just how much of her body had been burned in the fire. It was impossible to know for sure, but just from the exposed sections, I could only imagine it had been a lot.
She stood up after a moment and wiped her hands on the front of her skirt. “Help me carry her over to the bed. We need to make her as comfortable as possible.”
I held Silver’s legs as Witch Weatherly gripped her under the arms. As we lay her down, a sound like air being forced out of a balloon came out of Silver’s mouth, and her fingers twitched.
“It’ll be okay.” My voice was a whisper. I wasn’t even sure she could hear me at this point, but it didn’t matter. “You’re gonna be okay, Silver. I promise.”
Witch Weatherly had gone back across the room and was standing in front of the fireplace, stirring something inside a small pot on top of the stove. From the back, with the handkerchief tied around her head, and the way her old work boots peeked out from beneath her skirt, she could have been anyone, I thought. Anyone at
all.
I watched as she bent down and opened the door to the tiny oven. She shoved a piece of wood inside and shut it again. The stove made a little whooshing sound and began to spit and crackle. How was it that she still fiddled around with fire? What was it inside her that made her dare such a thing after nearly getting killed by one? Did it ever frighten her anymore? Had she ever startled awake in the middle of the night, sniffing for smoke, or eyeing the stove from her bed?
She gave a satisfied grunt, and went back to stirring the pot with a long spoon. After another moment, she took the pot off the stove, and moved over to the urn I had peeked in earlier. Opening a tiny door in the front, she scooped out a few spoonfuls of something that looked like ashes. Dumping them inside the pot, she stirred it again and headed back across the room.
I reached back, keeping my hand as close to the wall as possible, and the witch came closer. She stared at me for a moment, and then said, “Move.”
I scuttled out of the way, standing at the foot of the bed, as the witch set the pot down on the floor. She pulled up the bottom of Silver’s T-shirt carefully, until the entire wound was exposed, and looked at it again. After a moment, she straightened up, walked over to the table on the other side of the room, and put on her glasses. This time, when she returned, she drew up a chair and sat down. She settled the small pot on her knees and drew out the long-handled spoon. A black sticky syrup dripped from one end, and I drew back in alarm as she drizzled the steaming liquid into the gash. Surely Silver would wake up now, screaming in pain. I waited, holding my breath, but except for a slow rolling movement beneath her eyelids, Silver did not make a sound. She didn’t even flinch. Even her breathing—slow and shallow—did not change.
“What is that?” I whispered, staring at the black, gooey ribbon still dripping from the spoon.
“Herb glue,” the witch answered, without taking her eyes off the spoon. “Calendula, ginseng, aconite, and yarrow. The mountain is full of them.”
“What will they do?”
“Stop the bleeding. Act as an antiseptic to kill germs.”
The World From Up Here Page 18