Crooked Hills

by Cullen Bunn

  Lisa pointed the slingshot at the witch. She fired. The projectile seemed to spin in the air in slow motion. It wasn’t a rock, I realized, but the half-empty bottle of Scent-Be-Gone. The bottle spun end over end before striking the witch right between the eyes, shattering and spilling skunk urine all over her face.

  “Reaaghh!” She dropped the cane and clawed at her face. Blood oozed down the valley between her eyes and over her nose.

  I jumped to my feet, laughing in triumph as I scooped Mrs. Brewster’s cane off the ground.

  Hit me, will you? I thought.

  Holding the walking stick in both hands, I raised it over my head and brought it down—hard—over my knee.

  “Yowch!” I cried.

  The cane didn’t break, but it felt like my leg did. I dropped the stick and clutched my knee. I limped in a circle, trying to walk off the pain.

  “Sic him!” the old woman ordered the dog.

  I heard the rapid footsteps of the fetch as it chased after me, growling.

  As much as I wanted to help my brother, I’d be no good to him dead. I turned and hightailed it away from the dog.

  “Run, Alex!” I yelled.

  Hopefully, Alex could get away while Mrs. Brewster was blinded and the fetch pursued me.

  Don’t look back! I thought to myself. My blood thundered at my temples. Whatever you do, don’t look back!

  I kept moving forward, but staggered a little as I glanced back. The dog was less than a foot away from me and closing in fast. I saw malice in its glowing, almost human eyes—malice and glee. It wanted to catch me, wanted to rip me to shreds!

  Like a bullet, Lisa’s lucky stone zipped out of the shadows. It struck the fetch hard right between its eyes. The dog yelped. It stumbled forward and crashed to the ground, tumbling head over feet in the dirt.

  Throwing my hands in front of my face, I crashed through the brush, the limbs slapping me.

  Alex?

  Where’s Alex?

  I looked back at the house. Mrs. Brewster had Alex. The old woman leaned over, pinching Alex’s ear between her cruel nails.

  “Ow ow ow!” Alex said.

  “Get back here!” the old woman cried. “Get back here right now or I’ll skin him alive!” She held one of her clawed hands out in front of Alex’s face. I believed she was ready to use those curling fingernails of hers to peel my little brother like a grape. She had me between a rock and a hard place.

  I stepped out of the shadows.

  Alex whined and cried, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “Come here, child,” the old woman said.

  I shook my head. “Let him go first.”

  She pinched his ear a little harder. “Owww!” Alex cried.

  I took a step closer.

  She looked into the woods. “Where are the others?” she said.

  “I’m all alone,” I lied. I raised my voice so Marty and Lisa could hear. If they could get away, they could bring back help... if the witch didn’t kill me and Alex both on the spot.

  Mrs. Brewster gave Alex’s ear a hard twist. His legs started to buckle. Tears leapt from his eyes.

  “Okay! Okay!” I cried. “Just don’t hurt him.”

  I looked into the trees.

  “Come on out, Lisa.”

  She stepped out of the brush, slingshot at the ready and pointed directly at the old woman.

  “Drop it!” the woman cackled. Her fingernails flashed in front of Alex’s reddened face.

  Reluctantly, Lisa tossed the slingshot to the ground.

  “Where’s the other one?” she asked. “Where’s Marty Widows?”

  She knew his name! That couldn’t be good!

  “He’s not here,” I bluffed.

  “Don’t lie to me, child. I saw him with you just two days ago.”

  Stay where you are, Marty, I thought. She hasn’t seen you. She doesn’t know for sure you’re here.

  “I’m not lying. He didn’t come out with us tonight. He—” I thought for a split second. “—He got beat up by one of the Crewes boys.”

  The old woman made a tsk-tsk-tsk sound in her throat and smiled. “That’s what nosy little boys get when they stick their noses where they don’t belong.”

  She believed me!

  “Come closer, child,” Mrs. Brewster said. “You’re going to pay dearly for what you’ve done!”

  For what we had done? At first, I thought she meant freeing Alex from the cellar.

  Then I noticed the fetch.

  The dog lay still on the ground.

  I think we had killed it!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  STILL PINCHING MY LITTLE BROTHER’S EAR between her spindly fingers, Mrs. Brewster hobbled over to the unmoving form of the fetch. She nudged it with her toe. No doubt about it, the dog was dead. Just a few feet away from its body was the stone—Lisa’s lucky stone—that had killed it. I wondered how the old woman would react to the death of her beloved pet.

  “You children have caused me a great deal of trouble,” she said. With one quick tug, she could rip Alex’s ear right off. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to raise and train a fetch?”

  She didn’t really care about the dog as a pet, I realized. She wasn’t sad about its death at all. She was only angry that we’d killed it. Maybe the only thing left in her heart was rage.

  Her witching eyes flashed.

  “Lucky for you,” she continued, “the fetch’s work was already done.”

  “But you don’t have all the pieces,” I blurted.

  “Aren’t you a smart child?” Mrs. Brewster cackled dryly. “Seems you know more about my work than you ought to.”

  I clamped my teeth down on my tongue to keep it from wagging.

  “That’s good,” Mrs. Brewster said. “Very good. Because you’re going to help me find the last piece.”

  “I’m going to what?”

  “The fetch was never able to find the final piece of Maddie’s body,” Mrs. Brewster said. “It had been buried out in the woods at one time, just like the rest, but I think it must have been moved. I don’t know why anyone would want to take her arm from its burial place.”

  “Maybe someone else is trying to bring her back from the dead,” I said.

  I couldn’t tell if she was angry with that idea or frightened.

  “The fetch was failing me, but it was still a useful creature,” Mrs. Brewster said. “Since you killed it, you’re going to take its place.”

  She’s going to turn me into a dog!

  “W-w-what do you mean take its place?” I stammered.

  “I’m offering a simple trade, child,” she said sweetly. “If you ever want to see your little brother alive again, you’ll find the arm and bring it back to me.”

  “How are we supposed to find the arm?” Lisa asked.

  The woman made the tsk-tsk sound again, and said, “You should have thought of that before you stuck your nose in my business.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Do we have a deal?”

  I knew if I refused, she’d kill Alex—and probably the rest of us—right then and there. I didn’t trust her, but what choice did I have?

  “Do you give your word you won’t hurt him?”

  Witches were bound to keep their word, I knew, so if I could just get her to promise, I knew Alex would be safe.

  She tilted her head and gave me a wicked grin. Some of her teeth were gone. Others were worn down to stubs.

  “And if we find the arm for you, you’ll let Alex go?”

  “Are you trying to trick me, child? You’re in no position to barter, and you know it. Either you do as I say, or I’ll kill your brother right now and bury him with my dog.”

  “All right.” Reluctantly, I nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” the witch muttered. “Wait right here.”

  She dragged Alex to the root cellar doors. He squirmed and struggled. She dug her nails into the flesh of his ear.

  “What are you doing?” I yelled.

  �
�I’m just putting your brother back somewhere safe and sound until you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

  Mrs. Brewster released Alex, and he sprawled back to the ground, clutching at his ear and sniffling. He stood up, and the old witch prodded him with her cane. Crying, he stepped down into the shadows.

  “I’ll get you out of there,” I called after him. “I promise.”

  “And I’d hurry if I were you.” The woman hobbled toward me now, the end of her cane scraping the earth. “There’s not much in the way of food down there, unless he takes to eating worms.”

  She threw the doors closed behind him.

  She crossed the yard in three long, quick strides. I blinked, and she was standing in front of me.

  She doesn’t need the cane at all, I thought.

  Her fingers snaked around the wrist of my right hand and squeezed tight. Her touch was hot. It reminded me of the feel of Greg Crewes’ cigarette so close to my skin. My fingers flexed open. She pulled my arm up. I realized the scars on the back of her hand matched the witch’s brand on the fetch’s side.

  “Let him go!” Lisa snapped. She grabbed her slingshot off the ground and took a step.

  “Stay back, Lisa Summers.” Mrs. Brewster glared at her and snarled like a wild animal. “I’m not hurting him—”

  I relaxed just a bit.

  “—much!” Mrs. Brewster laughed, and she dug her claw into my flesh.

  As much as it hurt, as bad as I wanted to scream, I bit my lip and kept quiet. I wouldn’t give the old hag the pleasure of hearing me cry out in pain. She scraped her nail across the back of my hand. It couldn’t have possibly burned any worse if she’d pressed a hot poker against my skin. Her nail scratched a circle with a line slashing through it into the back of my hand. It matched the symbol I had seen on the dog’s side and on Mrs. Brewster’s own hand.

  She pulled me close and whispered in my ear. Her voice was a rattling hiss. Her breath was a graveyard stink.

  “You’re Maddie’s creature now!”

  I jerked my hand away and checked the wound. For all the pain, there wasn’t as much blood as I would have thought. The scratches weren’t very deep at all. But it burned fiercely, like hundreds of fire ants chewed at my skin.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  She hummed a somber tune as she turned her back on me, walked to the house, and climbed the steps.

  “Better hurry, child,” she said.

  My eyes narrowed as I watched her. I hated her so much, and it drove me crazy that I couldn’t do anything about it. I hated her for locking my little brother in the slimy root cellar. I hated her for sending me out after the dead witch’s arm. I hated that she planned on bringing Maddie Someday back to life.

  I hated that, in more ways than one, I was her fetch now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I FELT WEARY down to the very center of my bones. Even breathing felt like work. All I wanted to do was sleep for a week. But there was no chance of that.

  A fetch’s work is never done, I mused.

  After Mrs. Brewster re-entered her house, Lisa and I scrambled for the woods. We found Marty where we’d left him, squatting in his hiding spot. He had grabbed a heavy branch to use as a weapon, and he clutched it close. For a few minutes, nobody said anything about what had happened, but Marty and Lisa both wore the same dazed, frightened expressions.

  “What are we going to do?” Marty asked at last. “We’ve got to save Alex... right now!”

  “The only choice we have is to find the arm.”

  “Well, we’d best hurry and start looking.”

  “Actually, Marty... you’re not coming with us.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I need you to go back to the witch house, keep your head low, and keep an eye on Alex. I want to make sure Mrs. Brewster doesn’t do anything to hurt him. Besides, the two of us will be able to sneak around a lot more easily than three. I don’t want you to try anything foolish. Just keep watch until we come back with the arm.”

  “You make it sound simple.” Lisa rubbed her hands together nervously. “We don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” Lisa asked.

  “I think I know where we can find the arm.”

  “You do?” Lisa asked.

  I nodded.

  “What’s the bad news?” Marty asked.

  “That’s another reason you need to stay here,” I told my cousin.

  “I don’t understand,” Lisa said. “Where’s the arm?”

  “The Crewes brothers have it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “GREG AND HATCH are mixed up in this, too?” Lisa asked as we trekked through the woods.

  “I won’t know for sure,” I said, “until I get into their house and search for the arm.”

  “Wait a minute. I must not have heard you right. You’re going to break into their house?”

  I shot her a look but didn’t answer.

  We slipped through the woods at a brisk pace, and while Lisa knew the way better than me, I stayed right alongside her.

  “I still don’t know why you think they have it,” Lisa said.

  “The fetch led us straight to their house, remember? Greg chased it off before it could figure a way inside. It must have followed Maddie’s scent trail to their house, so the arm was most likely somewhere around there.”

  I didn’t even bother spitting when I said Maddie’s name. Our luck couldn’t get any worse.

  I didn’t know why Greg and Hatch Crewes had Maddie’s arm, and I didn’t know how they had found it. I didn’t really care, to tell the truth. All that mattered to me was that they stood in between me and the grisly thing that would save my brother’s life.

  From what I gathered, most people in the area didn’t bother locking their doors, and I hoped that was the case with the Crewes brothers. If the door was unlocked, it wouldn’t feel so much like “breaking in.” Maybe Greg and Hatch were bad news, and maybe saving my little brother was a worthy cause, but I didn’t want to think of myself as a common thief.

  “What if they’re home?” Lisa asked.

  “I hadn’t really planned that far ahead,” I told her.

  As luck would have it, no one was home. The house was dark and quiet. The beat-up truck was not in the driveway, and the Firebird wasn’t under the cover of the parking shed. The doors of the shed stood open. We walked right up to the back door.

  “They sure do stay out late,” I muttered.

  “Look who’s talking,” Lisa said.

  “Good point.”

  I took a deep breath and gently turned the door knob. With a click! the door opened, less than an inch.

  “All right,” I told Lisa. “You stay out here and keep lookout.”

  “You’re going in alone?”

  “It makes the most sense. If someone shows up, I’ll need you to let me know. And if I can’t get out of the house fast enough, you can at least hide so we both won’t get caught.”

  She nodded.

  I opened the door another few inches and shone the flashlight inside.

  “The coast is clear,” I said. “Wish me luck.”

  “Be careful,” Lisa said.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” I said. “If you see someone coming, let me know and I’ll get out as quick as I can.”

  I entered the house.

  The back door opened into the kitchen. What a mess! The floor looked like it had never been mopped or swept. Crumbs of food and splashes of spilled liquids covered the tiles, as well as the counters. A stack of dirty dishes teetered in the sink, and a couple of greasy frying pans sat on the stove—leftover, I thought, from this morning’s breakfast.

  Now if I was a severed arm, I thought, where would I be?

  I half-heartedly checked a few kitchen cabinets, knowing I wouldn’t find Maddie’s arm within. I even looked in the fridge, just in case they were keepin
g the moldy relic on ice. All I found was decaying leftovers.

  I stepped into the dining room. Old newspapers and muscle car magazines covered the table. It didn’t look like they ate many meals together.

  The rest of the house was just as filthy. Furniture needed dusting. Carpets needed vacuuming. The almost choking smell of cigarettes clung to the air.

  In the living room, the stuffed heads of deer were mounted on the wall, their glassy eyes staring at me as I explored the house. A rack full of hunting rifles dominated one wall. The room gave me the creeps. I didn’t have anything against hunters in general. I just didn’t have the killer instinct.

  I searched closets and cabinets, but couldn’t find the arm. I looked under couches, but discovered only dust bunnies. What had I expected? A withered arm hanging above the mantle with the rest of the dead things?

  I tiptoed down the hall. The walls were lined with framed photographs. Most of them were a few years old, and they were all very dusty. Many of them had a woman—Greg and Hatch’s mother, I guessed. I noticed how different the Crewes boys looked in those pictures. They were younger, of course, but they also looked happier. Their faces didn’t have the cruel edge.

  The flashlight’s beam scanned across the floor, walls, and furniture as I moved through the house.

  The first bedroom I checked belonged to Mr. Crewes. I could tell by the work clothes and work boots scattered throughout the room. It was as cluttered and unclean as the rest of the house. It smelled sour. I didn’t find the arm there.

  The next room must have belonged to Greg, because posters of muscle cars—often alongside girls in bikinis—lined the walls. I searched beneath the bed and in the dresser.

  Nothing!

  So Greg’s room was a bust. Only one more to go.

  I opened the door to Hatch’s room. Again, it was cluttered and disorganized. I started to search through the closets and drawers. A pile of dirty laundry covered much of the floor, and I wrinkled my nose as I kicked around in the mire of smelly clothes.

  My foot struck something. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I nudged at the shape until a vague outline showed through the sweat-stained shirts and underwear. It was just about the right size. Could this be where they kept Maddie’s arm? As disgusted as I was, I picked up some of the clothes and flicked them away.