Crooked Hills

by Cullen Bunn

  Tangles of rusty barbed wire clung to rotting fence posts around the yard. The ground was bare. No grass grew in a wide circle around the shack.

  “Who’s house is this?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Marty said. “Never been out this way.”

  “I think I know who’s house this is,” Lisa said. “I think it’s the witch house.”

  “No way,” Marty said. “I thought it was torn down.”

  “That’s what I always heard, too.” Lisa shivered. “But it sure looks like the witch house straight out of all the stories.”

  “The witch house?” I asked.

  “It’s Maddie’s house,” Marty said. “This is where she lived.”

  A gusting wind swept past.

  Clenching the skull in its jaws, the fetch approached the cabin’s front porch. It dropped the bones on the ground at the foot of the steps. It barked a couple of times.

  After a few minutes, the screen door snapped open and shut, and an old woman hobbled out, using her cane to support the weight her bad leg would not. I recognized her right away.

  Dottie Brewster.

  Old Brewsterstein herself.

  The dog didn’t wag its tail or jump excitedly as the woman approached. It only stared up at her as she descended the half-rotted wood and cinderblock steps.

  Mrs. Brewster winced painfully as she knelt and picked up the skull. She hooked her fingers through the eye sockets like she was picking up a bowling ball. She straightened up and cradled the skull in her arms, the way a mother cradles a baby—like she feared dropping and breaking it. As she hobbled toward the root cellar, we ducked down so she couldn’t see us spying. She hobbled down the steps and into darkness.

  The dog waited at the edge of the steps for the woman to return.

  I felt a tickling in my gut, as if a butterfly was loose and fluttering in my stomach.

  “What do you think she’s doing down there?” I asked. “What’s she want with Maddie’s old bones?”

  “I don’t know,” Marty said. “But it can’t be good.”

  Lisa shushed us.

  Seconds later, Mrs. Brewster climbed out of the root cellar, empty-handed save for her cane. She ran a withered hand over the dog’s head to acknowledge a job well done. The dog rose and trotted back into the woods on the opposite side of the clearing.

  “I want to see what’s down in the cellar,” Marty said.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He wanted to sneak down into the darkness of the cellar to get a look-see at whatever old bones the woman had been storing below.

  “No way! You’re as crazy as that old woman is! It’s too dangerous. You’ll get caught.”

  “Don’t you want to know what she’s doing with those old bones?” he asked.

  “I’m curious, sure. But I’m not foolish enough to try to sneak over there. We should wait until daylight... until Mrs. Brewster’s away from the house, don’t you think?”

  “Both of you,” Lisa hissed, “be quiet!”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Listen!”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Marty said.

  Lisa gave him a dirty look. “That’s because you’re still talking!”

  A hush fell over our little group. For a few minutes, I didn’t hear anything other than the shrill cry of insects and the distant hooting of an owl...

  Then, a cry for help.

  I gasped.

  It was definitely a person yelling for help. I couldn’t tell exactly where the sound was coming from—it was too soft to pinpoint—but I could guess.

  The cellar.

  Mrs. Brewster had someone held prisoner down in the root cellar! There was no telling what the hideous old hag had planned for her prisoner, but it couldn’t be good. I hated to consider the possibilities. She might be subjecting her prisoner to one of her terrible experiments. For all I knew, she might have been planning to chop her hostage into bits to be fed to the fetch!

  I felt like I might throw up.

  “We have to tell someone,” I said, “our parents or the police... anybody!”

  “We can’t just leave!” Marty said. “We’ve got to help!”

  “What can we do?” I asked. “We’re just a bunch of kids!”

  Hoping for a little support, I looked at Lisa. She just shrugged, as if she was unsure of the right course of action.

  “We need to go and get help,” I said.

  “What if there isn’t time?” Marty asked. “What if old Brewsterstein is inside sharpening her meat cleaver right this very second?”

  “If she is,” I said, “I don’t think we want to get caught once she comes outside.”

  I’ll admit, at that moment, I just wanted to hurry home, tell an adult about the prisoner trapped in the root cellar, and forget all about the dog, Dottie Brewster, and Maddie Someday. I would have been a lot happier if I’d have been able to do just that. I might have been curious about whatever she was doing... I might’ve been worried about what she had planned for her prisoner... but it would be smarter just to keep my distance.

  But just then, the cries for help grew louder, as if the night air had shifted, carrying them to our ears.

  I recognized the voice.

  Alex.

  My brother was trapped in Mrs. Brewster’s cellar!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AS MUCH AS I WANTED to head for safety, I couldn’t just leave my little brother behind.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  “We’re going to have to rescue him!” Marty said.

  “I know that. But how? What about Mrs. Brewster? What about the fetch?”

  “It’s just a dog and an old woman.”

  “A witch,” I said.

  “All right.” Marty shrugged. “A witch. Nothing we can’t handle. This is Alex we’re talking about. My cousin. Your brother. I’m not letting some old hag take him away from us.”

  He was right, of course.

  “It’s going to be all right.” Lisa grabbed my hand and squeezed. “We’re going to get him out of there.”

  I was surprised Marty didn’t make fun of me right then, batting his eyelashes and making kissing noises. I guessed it was so serious, though, he didn’t feel like poking fun.

  The witch house was dead quiet.

  We didn’t have time for much of a plan. We had to do something—fast—before Mrs. Brewster came back outside... or the dog came back.

  “Lisa,” I said, “you stay here and keep a lookout. Keep your slingshot handy, and if you see anything, yell.”

  “Will do.”

  Marty and I stuck close together as we prowled around the house. We didn’t see any sign of Dottie Brewster, but for all we knew she was watching us from behind one of the filthy windows overlooking the yard. We kept the flashlight extinguished for the time being, and we relied only on the light of the moon.

  As we neared the cellar door, I heard a sad moaning from below.

  I leaned down and carefully slid the plank aside. The door was heavy, and I needed Marty’s help to lug it open and set it aside. We struggled to keep it from crashing to the earth.

  It was pitch black inside the cellar.

  Marty handed me the flashlight. I turned it on and shined the beam into the cellar. I hoped no one could see the light from the house. A rickety set of steps led down into blackness. The staircase looked impossibly deep, each step crooked and bent, tilted at an odd angle. The dirt floor at the bottom looked damp. The air wafting up from below smelled of freshly turned earth.

  “Alex!” I called into the darkness. “Alex!”

  His voice came from below, small and weak.

  “Is that you, Charlie?”

  “Come on, Alex!” I called. “We’ve got to get out of here before Mrs. Brewster finds us.”

  “I can’t.” He sounded like he was about to cry. “I’m all tied up.”

  “We’re going to have to go get him,” I told Marty.
/>   He nodded and set his chin in a look of determination.

  I peered back toward the woods. I couldn’t see Lisa in the darkness, but I knew she was there, watching. She’d warn us if anyone or anything came our way. I just hoped nothing waited for us down below.

  I had the nightmare image of Dottie Brewster lurking in the darkness, calling to us with Alex’s voice, waiting to lure us down into her clutches.

  I started down the stairs. Marty was just a step or two behind.

  The steps felt slippery, the wood water-logged and covered in slime, and they sagged and creaked as we descended. I’m surprised they supported my weight. I held the railing—actually a long knotted tree limb set into the wall—for dear life. A spill down the steps would put a quick end to our rescue mission. Large wooden beams supported the earthen walls, and tangled, grasping roots dangled from the ceiling like hideous party streamers. The chamber looked impossibly big, and while some of the walls had been carved out of the earth by hand, other portions of the room looked like a natural cave system.

  “There are caves all over the place out here,” Marty said. “Whoever dug out this cellar must have stumbled into one.”

  Somewhere, water dripped, plopping steadily to the muddy floor. The flashlight did little to push back the darkness of the cellar, but it helped a little. If the batteries suddenly died, we wouldn’t have been able to see our hands in front of our faces.

  “Alex?”

  The flashlight’s glow swept across the pasty, frightened face of my little brother. He was huddled in a corner, his wrists tied together, his arms over his head. The rope was looped through a rusty metal ring driven into one of the support beams. His clothes—jeans and his hooded shirt—were ruined, covered in glistening mud. Dirt covered his face, and his tears had cut paths down his cheeks, revealing clean skin.

  “Charlie!” he cried.

  I rushed to his side. The damp earth tugged at my shoes, trying to drag me down and drown me in the mud. I looked at my feet. Dozens of fat, wriggling earthworms squirmed in the mud.

  Earthworms enriched the soil. Made things grow.

  What was Mrs. Brewster growing here in the shadows?

  I untied Alex’s wrists, and his arms flopped to the floor like dead weights.

  “I’m sorry I followed you, Charlie!” Tears and snot from a runny nose dripped down my little brother’s face. “I’m real sorry! I shouldn’t have snuck out of the house to follow you!”

  So, Alex had been sneaking out of the house to follow us. It added up. The strange noises in the night. The dirt on the floor. Alex being so tired the day before. We hadn’t been seeing a goblin at all. We had seen my little brother wearing the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. He must have been following us when Mrs. Brewster caught and kidnapped him.

  “I thought you said he was too scared to come with us,” Marty said. “Guess he wasn’t as much of a scaredy-cat as you thought, huh?”

  This was all my fault. If I hadn’t excluded my little brother, he wouldn’t have sneaked out on his own to follow us... and he wouldn’t have gotten himself captured by a witch!

  Suddenly, Alex stopped crying, and he fell dead silent.

  “Alex! Are you all right?”

  His trembling eyes stared toward the opposite corner.

  I followed his gaze.

  Marty crept toward a figure squatting in the far corner. Another of Mrs. Brewster’s victims? I followed him with the light. The glow spilled over my cousin’s shoulders and illuminated a form leaning against the wall. Marty recoiled.

  A corpse was propped against the wall like an unused doll. The skeletal face leered at us. Worms crawled over the body, oozing around old bones. The same type of twine that had been used to tie Alex’s hands was looped around and around the body, secured the legs in place, and was even stitched through the dried-out meat of the neck to hold the skull in place. Except for the right arm, the corpse was complete.

  Maddie Someday.

  I forced my eyes away from the witch’s body.

  I grabbed Alex’s cheeks and turned his head so he looked me in the eyes.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “It’s just a dead body.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but I needed to get my brother on his feet and moving.

  Looking back at me, he said, “No, Charlie. It’s not dead. It... it talks.”

  I swallowed back a wave of fear. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  I helped him to his feet.

  “Marty,” I said, “let’s go.”

  Marty nodded, backing away slowly from the dead body, unable to take his eyes from it. He backed right into the steps, tripped, and almost fell over.

  “Careful!” I said.

  Marty rushed up the steps, two at a time. When he reached the top, he looked back down and waited for us to join him. We had a harder time of it. Alex’s arms and legs were numb and near useless. I pretty much dragged him step by step to the surface. I kept telling myself not to look back, not to look back. As we emerged, Alex managed to stand on his own, as if just being a little farther away from the thing in the cellar strengthened his muscles.

  “Think you can walk?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  Marty didn’t need convincing. He sprinted for the tree line. Alex stumbled a little at first, and I stayed by his side, lugging him along like we were in a three-legged race. We were only half way across the clearing when my cousin jumped head first into the weeds and bushes.

  Lisa stood out in the open at the forest’s edge. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out a long whistle.

  Too loud!

  Someone would hear!

  She pointed across the clearing with a shaky finger.

  Looking over my shoulder, I breathed, “Oh no.”

  The fetch crashed out of the tree line. Froth covered its snout, stringy drool like spilling from its fangs. The hair along its back bristled. It lowered its head and growled.

  “Slowly.” I held Alex by the arm and took a cautious step, then another. “Slowly.”

  The fetch started barking, its lips pulled away from its yellowish teeth.

  “We’re going to have to run, Alex.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  I looked back again.

  The dog charged.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “RUN!”

  Kicking up clouds of dirt from beneath its feet, the dog bared down on Alex. My little brother ran with all his might, his weak legs and arms pumping, but the dog closed in on him.

  Marty waved his arms frantically. “Over here!”

  Whenever I started to outdistance Alex, I jerked to a stop and waited for him to catch up.

  “Come on, Alex! Faster! Don’t look back!”

  The dog barked ferociously as it bared down on my brother. Alex had a head start, but the dog closed in on him. Any minute now it would be nipping at his heels, ready to tear his legs off.

  Alex veered across the yard and headed my way. His face was flushed, and sweat ran into his eyes. He puffed for air, but he didn’t stop running. The dog snapped at his heels, trying to bring him down. But Alex was gaining ground, his fear fueling his strength, pushing him to run faster than he’d ever gone before.

  He’s going to make it, I thought.

  But his shoestrings did him in.

  The muddy-slathered shoestrings flapped at his feet, untied as always. His foot descended on one of the whipping strings, pulling it tight. Alex lost his footing and tripped. He took a header onto the ground, tumbling head over foot. One of his shoes flew across the yard.

  “Ooph!” he grunted.

  He knocked himself out cold.

  I stumbled to a stop and ran back for him. Before I got there, the dog snatched Alex’s foot, its yellowed fangs punching through the shoe. The shoestrings dangled out the sides of its mouth. It started to drag him back to the cellar.

  The beast’s human-like
eyes glowed with fiendish delight.

  “Let him go!” I cried. I stomped my feet, trying to scare the cur away.

  The dog released Alex long enough to bark and snarl and bare its teeth at me. Instinctively, I jumped back. I grabbed Alex’s hands. The fetch and I played a game of human tug-of-war, but the dog was much stronger than I thought it would be. It whipped its head from side to side, yanking at my brother’s leg.

  Alex came to, screaming like a maniac.

  I pulled for all I was worth. The muddy shoestring started to slide from the fetch’s lips. The fetch tore Alex’s shoe from his foot. For a dreadful second, I thought it had ripped his entire foot off! But my brother’s foot was intact... for now. The fetch flung the shoe around and let it sail off. I took the opportunity to quickly hoist Alex to his feet.

  The fetch snapped at Alex’s leg, clamping its teeth around his ankle.

  “Owww!” Alex cried.

  A rock sailed out of the bushes and struck the dog in the side. Lisa was firing away with her trusty slingshot. The dog didn’t release Alex though. It tightened its grip. If I kept trying to yank him free, the beast’s teeth would dig deeper into his flesh. I had no choice but to let my brother go. I released his hand, and Alex stumbled to the ground again. The dog dragged him along.

  I got between the fetch and the cellar, gave it a kick in the side. I didn’t like being mean to dogs, but something told me the fetch wasn’t a natural animal at all. The fetch didn’t even yelp. Try as I might, I couldn’t get the dog to let Alex go.

  “Look out!” Lisa cried.

  I wheeled around—just as a crooked cane swept in the direction of my head. I ducked out of the way. Otherwise, the walking stick would have thumped me right between the eyes. As it was, it clipped my shoulder.

  Mrs. Brewster stood over me like a fearsome scarecrow, lips pulled away from her snaggly teeth.

  She raised the cane above her head and brought it down. I dodged to the side, turned, and bolted for the trees.

  “Get out of there!” Lisa yelled. “Run for it!”

  Mrs. Brewster pegged me between the shoulder blades with her cane. The blow knocked the wind out of me, and I crumpled to the ground. She drew the cane back to smack me in the head with it.