Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater (28 page)

The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu cut through the tree's massive trunk in eight well-aimed chops. The roots creaked and crunched as they made their way back into the hole and sealed it up. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it would do.

It may have been the wind, but Chuggie swore he heard Kale's muffled screams. He spat some blood on the makeshift grave, then returned to the terrified boy.

The sun left behind a furnace-red glow that painted the forest a deep burgundy. Six crescent moons loomed overhead like elders bent in a conspiratorial cluster. Angry, purple-gray clouds crawled across their faces.

The ghosts didn't come near Faben's resting place. The drunken bastard had left a church key in her pocket, which was probably the reason they stayed away. But the darker it got, the closer the spirits came.

Ghosts convulsed and bucked through the tall grass as if they were connected to torture devices. Some screamed and wailed, which made Dawes' skin crawl, but the silent ones were worse. At least with the screamers, he knew where they were. The creepers pressed in closer and closer as the darkness descended. Some of them grabbed for him, others just stared. A little boy with a stretched and twisted version of Dawes' own face pedaled through the clearing on a tricycle. The squeal of his rusty chain played an ominous theme for his own personal horror story.

Dawes didn't know how long the church key would hold them back. He'd need warmth, light, and any little scrap of security he could get. He eyed up all the wood on the ground. He needed a fire.

Dawes took a hesitant step away from Faben. He dashed forward and grabbed a piece of firewood.

"The master is coming," a voice whispered in his ear.

Dawes spun around to see who had spoken. A ghost wearing Faben's face grinned at him. Its smile grew and distorted as its eye sockets deepened, becoming a hideous caricature of a jack-o-lantern.

"What do you want?" Dawes screamed, scrambling back to the cairn. "Just leave me alone.
Leave me alone
!"

"We want your
blood
, little man!" a voice chortled from the trees.

Dawes gasped but couldn't catch his breath. That voice belonged to Gargulak. A chill touched his core, but then a revelation hit him.

"This isn't real!" Dawes laughed and pointed at the ghosts. "You're another test! You're a test, and I
beat
you!"

Dawes fell to his knees and pawed at the stones of Faben's cairn, tossing them aside. The drunk, no doubt nearby, was certainly watching the whole scene with great amusement. Dawes uncovered Faben's face, then her torso. Once her arms were free, he sat her up and gave her a shake.

"Faben! I won this time!" He laughed. Her shoulders felt a bit stiff as he shook her.

All around, the ghosts froze.

"Faben?" He shook her harder. "You can drop the illusion. I passed your test!" Dawes felt reborn. She'd shown him the absolute depths of fear, and he'd climbed out on his own as only a Woodsman could. He cast all doubt aside and imagined telling Fey Voletta about this day.

A tiny shadow darted though his peripheral vision, but it disappeared before he could get a good look. Something to his left — he turned. Something to his right — he turned again. Behind him — he spun.

Dozens of little, snarling creatures skittered out of the shadows. They surrounded him. The forest came alive with the sound of things moving in through the leaves. Trees snapped as something big pushed them down. He snatched up Faben's podium, ready to face this new test like a Woodsman.

"Put down toy," rumbled a deep but oddly infantile voice. A hulking, shadowy form stomped from the forest.

Dawes froze, trying to access something —
anything
— useful Faben may have taught him. Not one single thing came to mind.

The little, needle-mouthed monstrosities crawled up his legs and drug him to the ground. Their needle teeth bit deep. Each bite erupted in a geyser of agony. They pinned his muscles to his bones. Trying to move was useless.

The monstrous shadow lumbered up to his circle of safety and stood over him, stinking like rotting meat.

Faben had outdone herself this time. Dawes' vision faded as the black fog of unconsciousness dragged him down.

Chuggie carried Olin through the woods as the red sky turned to black. The six crescent moons grouped above were a good omen, he decided. The night clouds reflected Stagwater's orange city light as if ten thousand jack-o-lanterns lit the town. Getting away from the city felt like climbing free of quicksand.

The boy clung to his neck. The deeper into the woods they pushed the harder the boy shivered. Chuggie had hoped they could make it all the way to Shola's, but poor Olin just wasn't in any condition for a late-night hike.

When the path opened up into a clearing, Chuggie set the boy down and wrapped him up in his coat. The kid looked like a dirty little refugee. His teeth chattered and weary tears trickled down his cheeks. Chuggie tried to think of ways to soothe the little fella. He nearly offered the kid some rum, but then he remembered he wasn't supposed to give alcohol to children.

What the boy really needed was a fire. Chuggie located a hefty dead log for them to sit on. He set to work gathering sticks and twigs.

"Hey, kid," Chuggie said, "you thinkin' about helpin' me gather up this firewood?"

"I… I don't know," Olin sniveled.

"Well, how 'bout I get the wood and you cook the food?"

"I don't know."

"You said your name's Olin, right?"

"Yes."

"Olin, you got nothin' to be afraid of." Chuggie paused to look at the shivering child.

"Mr. Kale said that, too. He said I was safe. He said it might feel scary at first, but that I'd feel better when it was over." Olin pulled Chuggie's coat around him and sobbed into the sleeve.

Chuggie gritted his teeth. He hoped Kale was still alive under the blow-down, maybe trying to claw his way out. If anyone deserved a slow death….

"Kale is gone, boss. I made sure he'd never come back." Chuggie struck a match, lit the bundle of sticks, and blew until the kindling ignited. "You wanna know what's gonna happen to you, is that it?" asked Chuggie.

The boy nodded and hugged his knees.

"We're goin' to my friend's house. Her name is Shola. She's been held prisoner in the wilds by that Kale bastard and all his friends. We're gonna jailbreak her, then the three of us are off to find a new home."

Olin lifted his head when Chuggie mentioned a new home. His mouth nearly formed a little smile.

"That's right, and it'll be someplace warm. Someplace with water. A place where the women hardly wear any clothes at all." Chuggie nudged the boy with his elbow. "Now I want you to lie down and close your eyes. You had yourself a pretty awful day, by my accounting. I think you earned some rest. I'll be right here."

Olin lay down in the grass but didn't close his eyes. Instead, he squirmed and watched Chuggie stoke the campfire.

Lighting his pipe, Chuggie listened to the night sounds of the forest. In the distance, an owl hooted. Something small, probably a hare, rustled some leaves. He heard nothing that troubled him, save for Olin's occasional full-body shudder. Eventually, the boy broke into full-powered sobs.

"Alright, junior. Pipe down a minute," Chuggie said in his most soothing voice. "Listen, you quiet down some, an' I'll tell you a story. How'd you like that?"

Olin's sobbing reduced to light sniffs, which Chuggie took as a yes.

"You ever hear of
The Boy with the Wooden Face
?" Chuggie asked.

Olin shook his head.

"It's a story about a little boy, kind of like you. Want me to tell it to you?"

Olin nodded.

"All right. You're gonna have to bear with me. It's been a while since I last told this one."

The smell of campfire smoke filled the little glade. What could go wrong around a campfire? Nothing, that's what. What gods there were must have smiled upon Chuggie and the boy as these moments of smoky peace were granted. The fire popped and danced as Chuggie began his tale.

Once long, long ago,

Down by the sea shore,

There lived a fam'ly

Both happy and poor.

There were Mom and Dad,

Five children, as well.

It's the youngest son

Whose tale I now tell.

The boy's name was Clyde.

At dawn he was born.

His happy parents

Felt blessed on that morn.

Ten fingers and toes,

His health seemed quite good.

But oddly, his face

Was quite made of wood.

As he grew, little Clyde

Felt diff'rent and strange.

He hoped that one day

To normal he'd change.

And like I mentioned,

The fam'ly was poor.

To make it each day,

Each one had a chore.

Clyde, ev'ry morning,

Went berry picking

Out in the patches

Full of thorns pricking.

And that's how they lived

'Til one lucky day,

Dad found a job with

A fortune to pay.

He'd be the first mate

On a cargo ship,

To return in two months

From an ocean trip.

Sad farewells were said,

And the ship went to sea.

One month passed slowly,

Then two and then three.

The fam'ly was scared,

And nervous and sad.

Would the tides return

Their kind, loving Dad?

They went on each day,

All doing their chore.

Mom went ev'ry night

To stand by the shore.

Each day little Clyde,

With little wood face,

Brought back his berries

To his family's place.

Daily, he picked them

Though bushes were few.

He oft had to look

For patches anew.

Each day he ventured

Further from his home,

On into the woods

Where troubles may roam.

One day our dear Clyde,

So deep in the trees,

Hunted for berries

While filled with unease.

So deep in the woods,

He was lost a tad.

Hungry from hunting,

Snacks had to be had.

His basket was empty,

But some berries were found.

Clyde set his basket

Right down on the ground.

To keep his little basket

From blowing away,

He put stones in the bottom

While he enjoyed his berry buffet.

When his belly was full,

With a stretch and some groans,

Clyde got to picking,

Forgetting the stones.

With a full berry basket,

And ready to walk,

Clyde was surprised

When he heard a voice talk.

He spun round to see,

That above on a limb,

A silky-voiced blackbird

Was speaking to him.

"Hello, friend," the bird said,

"What's that you carry?

A basket, I see,

And it's chock full of berries."

"It's for my family,"

Said the wooden faced boy.

"We're poor and we're hungry,

But berries bring joy."

The blackbird hopped closer.

"Yes, berries you hold,

But what if your basket

Was instead full of gold?"

Said Clyde to the blackbird,

"Then I'd be rich indeed.

Now please excuse me,

I've a family to feed."

The blackbird said, "Wait!

You misunderstand.

I'm a magical bird.

One wish I may grant!

All you must do

Is catch me, you see?

Wish for a fortune!

Easy as can be!

So, what do you say?

Don't you have a dream?

I can see that you do,

Your wood eye has a gleam."

Clyde thought of his family,

His wood mouth gave a grin

As he thought of his father

Coming home to his kin.

Said Clyde, "I don't trust you.

Unless you have proof,

I'll say thanks for the chat,

You feathery goof."

Clyde turned to leave.

The bird gave a squawk.

"It's not enough for you

That a blackbird may talk?

All right, my young friend,

Please stand a step back,

As I speak magic words,

Zim Zummy Zarak!"

And poof! Just like that,

The sky turned to green.

Said Clyde, "That's amazing!

The best trick I've seen!"

The sky went back to blue

As the blackbird replied,

"So how about that wish

That I long to provide?"

"It's a deal," said Clyde,

And without one more word

Launched his wooden faced body

In a blur at the bird.

The boy barely missed.

The bird just got away.

"You nearly had me!"

The bird was heard to say.

"I've no doubt that shortly

You'll catch hold of me.

You'll have your wish granted,

Most definitely!"

With one hand for the basket

And one for the bird,

Clyde chased his wish,

Never deterred.

At the end of the day,

He'd chased the bird far.

The wooden faced boy

Had grown tired as tar.

He started to pout,

He started to weep.

Said the blackbird, "My boy,

You just need some sleep.

In the morning, you'll wake.