Witherwood Reform School

by Obert Skye

  “Not yet.”

  Witherwood was a mystery in many ways. Its purpose was a secret that few people knew. It was built on top of a mesa that had sprouted from a meteorite. It was made of stone and hardwood—a mighty, formidable fortress. But it had pathetic old locks. At night they chained and padlocked all the outside doors. The school would have benefited greatly from electronic keys. Instead, most doors still had the original hardware made in the 1800s. It took a little time, but by simply using the bent spring, Tobias picked the lock and opened the door to their room.

  “That’s such a useful talent,” Charlotte said.

  “It’s an ancient lock. Remember when I started Dad’s car without a key? This was way easier.”

  Tobias carefully stepped out into the hall. It was quiet, and the smell of something earthy filled his nose.

  “Someone’s cooking broccoli,” he whispered.

  “Then we really have to get out of here,” Charlotte said, following him. “I’m hungry, but not for broccoli.”

  The two of them crept up the hall to the eighth door. Carved on the front was a picture of an eagle carrying a fish. Tobias grabbed the doorknob but didn’t turn it.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Charlotte asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Beneath the low light of the hallway, Tobias smiled and then slowly twisted the doorknob.

  CHAPTER 9

  DOOR NUMBER NINE

  Opening things can be quite interesting—you never know for sure what you might find. If you open a refrigerator, you often find food, but you also might find disappointment and mold. When you open a wallet, you might find money, or you might discover that you’ll be skipping lunch. Opening a letter might bring you kind words from a loved one or maybe just another bill. But there’s nothing quite as exciting as opening a door. The possibilities are endless.

  Well, the eighth door in Weary Hall was locked, so the Eggers kids didn’t find anything there. And the keyhole was filled in with some kind of glue. They momentarily considered returning to their room, but Charlotte suggested they try door number nine. Unlike number eight, it opened easily.

  Tobias stuck his head in and looked around. “It’s just a dark room.”

  Charlotte nudged him forward.

  “Hold on,” Tobias complained. “There’s a light switch.”

  Tobias flipped a switch on the wall. A large chandelier in the middle of the room popped as it came to life. The smell of burning ozone filled their nostrils.

  “Ew,” Charlotte said.

  The room was beautifully decorated. Ornate dressers and chairs clung to the walls. There was an empty fireplace against the back wall and two large windows covered with heavy shutters. The most impressive feature was a massive four-poster bed sitting directly under the chandelier. It was high off the floor and made of dark wood with gold inlay. The posts had purple curtains between them that were closed, making it impossible to see if anyone was occupying the bed. A ticking noise was coming from somewhere. Charlotte looked around, taking it all in. Her eyes settled on the bed.

  “I bet that’s more comfortable than our cots,” she whispered.

  “No kidding,” Tobias whispered back. “Maybe that’s why Orrin didn’t want us to come in here. Now I’ve got bed envy.”

  “Do you hear that clicking sound?”

  Tobias crept nearer to the bed. The floor was blanketed with a thick white rug that covered everything but the edges of the room and made it look like winter. He glanced back at his sister and motioned for her to come. Tobias lifted his right foot and took a long step. He then stopped to listen. The clicking was a little louder and definitely coming from behind the curtains on the bed.

  “Hello?” he said. “Is anybody in there?”

  “Come on,” Charlotte said. “It’s just a ticking bed.”

  Tobias took three more steps and stopped. The closed purple curtains were now inches from his face. From behind the curtains, the clicking became louder.

  As a rule, it’s probably best not to touch or bother other people’s things. As tempting as it can be at times, you’d be smart to not mess with your neighbor’s car. There is wisdom in keeping your mitts off your friend’s lunch. And people might label you a genius if they were to witness you keeping your hands to yourself while visiting a dynamite factory. Tobias, however, was not looking to be labeled a genius. For some reason, “do not touch” seemed more like an invitation to him than a warning. He lifted his right hand, grabbed one purple curtain, and tore it back.

  “Ahhhhrrrrrap!”

  Something blurry leapt up at him, screaming. It tackled him and sent him flying to the ground. The thing scratched and kicked as Tobias tried to shake off his surprise and fight back. Charlotte grabbed a book from one of the dressers and came running across the room, doing some screaming of her own. She hefted the book above her and threw it down against the attacker’s head. The assailant hollered and rolled off Tobias, who scrambled to his feet and stood next to his sister. They both stared at the attacker as he whimpered like a baby on the floor.

  “Thanks,” Tobias said, breathing hard.

  “No problem,” Charlotte replied. “So who is it?”

  Whoever he was wore old blue jeans and a puke-green sweater vest. He had long dark hair and untied shoes. After listening to him sob for a few more minutes, Tobias tried to reason with him.

  “Honestly, she didn’t hit you that hard.”

  “It was just a book,” Charlotte said. “And not a particularly big one.”

  The attacker stopped blubbering.

  “Where’s my cube?”

  He got onto his knees and scurried across the floor toward the object that had flown out of his hands earlier. It was a Rubik’s Cube that was nowhere near being solved. He reached the cube and picked it up, acting like it was the last jewel in a jewel-powered world. He instantly began to turn and shift the squares. The familiar clicking noise returned.

  Tobias cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  The attacker stood up and sat on the edge of his bed. He looked at Tobias and Charlotte and spoke, still playing with the cube.

  “This is my room.”

  “Sorry,” Tobias said. “We got lost.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tobias, and this is my sister, Charlotte. We’ve sorta been kidnapped.”

  “How does someone get sorta kidnapped?”

  “Well, our dad dropped us off here, but I don’t think we’re supposed to stay.”

  “That’s a new one.”

  “What’s a new one?” Tobias asked.

  “You being from outside,” he replied. “Most of the things I make up in my head are from here in Witherwood.”

  Tobias and Charlotte looked at each other.

  “We’re not made up,” Charlotte insisted.

  “That’s not new,” the boy said. “The things I make up always say that.”

  “I hit you with a book,” Charlotte reminded him.

  “My imagination’s done worse,” he informed them. “I’m Fiddle, by the way. Of course it’s not like you didn’t already know that.”

  “We didn’t,” Tobias said, staring at him.

  Fiddle seemed a couple years older than Tobias and smiled every time he talked. He had green eyes, and his long dark hair hung from his head like thin spaghetti. He wouldn’t stop playing with the cube in his hand. He looked friendly in the way that some squirrels do. He also looked a little wild, much the way some other squirrels do.

  “Your ears are different,” Fiddle told Charlotte. “Interesting.”

  Charlotte pulled her hair forward.

  “Why does your shirt say hope?”

  It was a fair question. Charlotte seemed more likely to wear a shirt that read CONCERN or I WONDER; the word hope didn’t fit. But Charlotte had been given the shirt a few years ago, and it brought her comfort. Not comfort in the sense that it was comfortable to wear; in fact, the shirt was too small. It was the kind of comfort th
at comes from a warm memory or a safe, quiet spot in a loud, hazardous world.

  Fiddle stared at Charlotte for a few moments. When she didn’t answer his question, he turned his gaze to Tobias. “So why are you in my room?”

  “Shouldn’t you know?” Tobias asked, still curious about being called imaginary. “If you made us up, we shouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “You’re not,” Fiddle said. “I heard you call out, but I hear so many voices, I’m never sure who to believe.”

  “Well, do you know where a phone is?” Tobias asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t know what a phone is?” Charlotte asked, confused. “You call people with it.”

  Fiddle lay back on his bed and continued to fidget with the puzzle cube. “I don’t know where one of those is.”

  “So why do you have this nice room?” Charlotte asked. “Ours is awful.”

  “I have this room because of my last name.”

  “And what’s your last name?” Tobias asked.

  “I forget at the moment, but my uncle says it’s a good one.”

  “Who’s your uncle?”

  “He lives in that square building,” Fiddle answered. “The one in the middle of the gardens. He always says, ‘Fiddle, you are placed where you are because of your name.’ Maybe my last name is Nicebedroom.”

  “Fiddle Nicebedroom?” Charlotte laughed.

  “Nope, that’s not it,” Fiddle said, sighing. “I think it starts with an upside-down M. Did you guys know I sleepwalk?”

  Both the Eggers kids shook their heads.

  “I’m not positive I do, but my uncle has mentioned there’s something wrong with me. I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

  “Maybe they should lock your door,” Tobias suggested. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to be sleeping so close to your room.”

  “You can’t be too safe,” Fiddle agreed.

  “We should go,” Charlotte said to her brother. “I don’t want them to notice that we’re missing.”

  “Yeah,” Fiddle said. “Beware of the voices.”

  “Like in your head?” Tobias asked.

  “No.” Fiddle laughed. “The voices! The guards who walk the halls at night and sing. My uncle says the singing keeps things at bay, but I don’t know what that means. I guess the dark makes the mesa a little dangerous, and the music helps. Lots of times I can hear the voices singing as they pass my door. I’ll tell you this—the songs they pick are pretty awful.”

  “It seems foolish to be a singing night watchman,” Charlotte said. “People will always hear you coming.”

  “They’re not worried about people inside. I think they’re more interested in what’s on the outside of Witherwood. Have you seen the chains they use to lock things up at night?”

  Tobias and Charlotte nodded.

  “That’s because something went wrong.”

  It’s a fact of life that sometimes things go wrong. Most people don’t make it through an entire day without something happening that shouldn’t have. But when you’re trapped in a strange place talking to a strange person, the phrase “something went wrong” is particularly unsettling.

  “What happened?” Tobias asked.

  “Something with the animals outside. It’s okay now.”

  It didn’t feel okay.

  “Don’t listen to me,” Fiddle said kindly. “There are good things to be found here.” He sat up, dropped his Rubik’s Cube, and instantly began twisting a loose string that was coming off the worn knee hole on his jeans. “For example, I know something nice.”

  “Something nice and useful?” Tobias asked, picking up the Rubik’s Cube.

  Fiddle looked confused. His forehead wrinkled, and his eyes grew squinty. “Maybe I’m not sure what I know,” he finally answered.

  “We really should go,” Charlotte said once more.

  Tobias quickly twisted and solved the Rubik’s Cube. He tossed it back to Fiddle, who stared at it in awe.

  The Eggers kids turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Fiddle shouted. “I remember what I know. There’s a door somewhere.”

  “That door?” Tobias asked, pointing to a small door at the far end of Fiddle’s room.

  “No, that’s my bathroom.”

  “You’ve got your own bathroom?” Charlotte asked jealously.

  “I don’t like sharing,” Fiddle admitted.

  “Forget about the bathroom. What door are you talking about?” Tobias asked.

  “The door off the mesa,” Fiddle replied. “I—”

  The bedroom door flew open. Standing in the doorway was Ms. Gulp. Her gloved hands were reaching out. Her face was as red as her hair.

  Fiddle screamed.

  “What are you doing in here?” Ms. Gulp snapped. “I thought I locked your door.”

  “It wasn’t locked,” Tobias lied. “We went to the bathroom and came back to the wrong room.”

  “Door number seven is your door. What kind of children can’t count to seven? I think you’re being curious, and curiosity flattened the cat.”

  “That’s true,” Fiddle confirmed.

  “We’re sorry,” Charlotte apologized.

  “I’m sure you are,” she snipped. “Now come!”

  “Wait,” Fiddle said. “I was about to tell them something.”

  “Sorry, Fiddle,” she replied. “You’ll have to save it for later. These two children need to get their sleep so they don’t wake up on the wrong side of the room.”

  Fiddle shrugged. “Okay. Good-bye, imaginations. Oh, and, Ms. Gulp, they suggested you might want to lock my door. You know, to be safe.”

  Tobias looked down at the white rug, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth.

  “Thank you, Fiddle,” Ms. Gulp said. “We’ll start locking it straightaway.”

  Ms. Gulp led Tobias and Charlotte to their room. She asked them a bunch of barely understandable questions, gave them a little information, and warned them to behave. She also let them know that she wouldn’t forget to use the lock this time.

  “You might want to lie down and take a nap. You will be picked up for service in about three hours.”

  “What kind of service?” Charlotte asked.

  “Dinner service. We’ll start you in the kitchen. We have extra menus and work to complete before the parade next week. Student Morale Day means a lot of extra work for me.”

  “Sorry,” Charlotte said.

  “That doesn’t help.”

  “So, where are the other students?” Tobias asked. “The ones who sleep on these other cots?”

  “They’ve graduated. Now, lie down.”

  “Are there any blankets and pillows?” Charlotte asked.

  “Plenty,” Ms. Gulp answered.

  “Could we get some?”

  Ms. Gulp laughed, and spittle flew from her mouth. “We don’t just hand blankets and pillows out,” she said with disgust. “You’ll have to earn them. And you can start earning them this evening in the kitchen.”

  Ms. Gulp took her large, boxy body and interesting speech skills and left the room. She slammed the door behind her, and it clicked.

  “I don’t like Ms. Gulp,” Charlotte whispered.

  “More like Big Gulp,” Tobias added.

  “Well, I don’t like Big Gulp,” Charlotte said. “I can’t understand half of what she’s talking about. She almost makes me miss Orrin. We have to get out of here.”

  “I know, and I think Fiddle might know how.”

  “I don’t think Fiddle knows anything,” Charlotte said sadly.

  Tobias yawned. “I think he does, and we’ll ask him as soon as we can, but right now I’m going to sleep.”

  Charlotte yawned even wider as she lay down on her cot.

  “Do you think Dad is worried about us?” she asked drowsily.

  Tobias was already asleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  STARTING FROM SCRATCHES

  Ralph Eggers slowly opened his eyes.
A flood of white light was covering his body. He blinked twice and then snapped his eyelids shut again.

  “Hello?” A soft voice beckoned.

  He opened his eyes to see an angel in a nurse’s uniform standing beside him. He displayed a weak smile while she showed off one of her strongest grins.

  “You’re awake,” she said happily. “Let me get the doctor.”

  The beautiful nurse hurried off, leaving Ralph alone. He peered down and saw the tube running into his left wrist and the thin beige blanket covering his body. He tried to lift his right arm to scratch an itch on his forehead, but his arm wouldn’t cooperate. In fact, it was in a white cast and impossible to move.

  Ralph Eggers looked around the room, wondering where he was and if he was even awake. A big machine next to his bed beeped a few times and then went silent. He wiggled his toes and shifted his legs under the blanket. There was a small TV up in the corner. The sound was off, but on the screen was a woman wearing a shawl and holding a bird—looking at the picture made him more confused.

  The beautiful nurse with the soft voice came back, a gray-haired man trailing behind her. “Doctor,” she said nicely, “our patient’s awake.”

  “That’s good to see,” the doctor replied. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine,” Ralph said. “My head hurts a little.”

  “That’s not surprising. You sustained a minor concussion—nothing too serious. And as you probably noticed, your arm’s broken but it was a clean break and should heal well.”

  “That’s good,” Ralph said. “So what happened to me?”

  The doctor smiled the way doctors do when they need to say something unpleasant in a pleasant way.

  “We’re not sure. You were found walking through the desert this morning by a rancher. He said you were speaking incoherently and staggering around. He thought you had been drinking, but the tests show there’s no alcohol in your system. You were pretty scratched up. The rancher brought you here, and we put your arm in a cast. We were actually hoping you’d be able to tell us what happened.”

  Ralph Eggers looked down at his left arm. He could see a couple of small scratches and a long, finger-wide bruise.

  “So—” The doctor stopped to look at the chart. “Oh, that’s right. We don’t even have your name.” He clicked his pen and held it over the chart in preparation for writing. “Now, what is your name?”