Fablehaven I (5 page)

to mark the point where he had intersected the path.

Finding his way back would probably be no problem, but

better safe than sorry. If he took too long, Grandpa might

figure out he had disobeyed orders.

Rummaging in his cereal box, Seth withdrew a

compass. The animal track ran northeast. He had set off on

an easterly course, but the undergrowth had grown denser

as he progressed. A faint trail was a good excuse to veer

slightly off course. It would be much easier going than trying

to hack his way through shrubbery with a pocketknife.

He wished he owned a machete.

Seth followed the trail. The tall trees stood fairly close

together, diffusing the sunlight into a greenish glow laced

with shadows. Seth imagined that the forest would be black

as a cave after nightfall.

Something rustled in the bushes. He paused, removing

a small pair of plastic binoculars from his cereal box.

Scanning the area, he spotted nothing of interest.

He proceeded along the trail until an animal emerged

from the undergrowth onto the path not twenty feet ahead.

It was a round, bristly creature no taller than his knees. A

porcupine. The animal started down the path in his direction

with complete confidence. Seth froze. The porcupine

was close enough that he could discern the individual

quills, slender and sharp.

As the animal trundled toward him, Seth backed away.

Weren’t animals supposed to flee from humans? Maybe it

had rabies. Or maybe it just hadn’t see him. After all, he

was wearing a camouflage shirt.

Seth spread his arms wide, stomped a foot, and growled.

The porcupine looked up, twitched its nose, and then

turned from the path. Seth listened as it pushed through

foliage away from the trail.

He took a deep breath. He had been really scared for a

minute there. He could almost feel the quills pricking

through his jeans into his leg. It would be pretty hard to

conceal his excursion into the woods if he came home

looking like a pincushion.

Though he dreaded admitting it, he wished Kendra had

come. The porcupine probably would have made her

scream, and her fear would have increased his bravery. He

could have made fun of her instead of feeling frightened

himself. He had never seen a porcupine in the wild before.

He was surprised how exposed he felt staring at all those

pointy quills. What if he stepped on one in the undergrowth?

He looked around. He had come a long way. Of course,

finding his way back would be no trick. He just needed to

backtrack along the trail and then head west. But if he

turned for home now, he might never make it back this

way again.

Seth continued along the trail. Some of the trees had

moss and lichen growing on them. A few had ivy twisting

around their bases. The path forked. Checking his compass,

Seth saw that one path went northwest, the other due east.

Staying with his theme, Seth turned east.

There began to be more space between the trees, and

the shrubs grew closer to the ground. Soon he could see

much farther in all directions, and the forest became a little

brighter. To one side of the path, at the limit of his sight,

he noticed something abnormal. It looked like a large

square of ivy hidden among the trees. The whole point of

exploring the woods was to find strange things, so he left

the path and walked toward the ivy square.

The dense undergrowth came up to his shins, grasping

at his ankles with every step. As he tromped toward the

square, he realized it was a structure completely overgrown

with ivy. It appeared to be a big shed.

He stopped and looked more closely. The ivy was thick

enough that he could not tell what the shed was made of ——

he could see only leafy vines. He walked around the structure.

On the far side a door stood open. Seth almost cried

out when he peered inside.

The shed was actually a shack constructed around a

large tree stump. Beside the stump, dressed in crude rags,

sat a wiry old woman gnawing at a knot in a bristly rope.

Shriveled with age, she clutched the rope in bony hands

with knobby knuckles. Her long, white hair was matted

and had a sickly yellowish tint. One of her filmy eyes was

terribly bloodshot. She was missing teeth, and there was

blood on the knot she was chewing, apparently from her

gums. Her pale arms, bare almost to the shoulder, were thin

and wrinkled, with faint blue veins and a few purple scabs.

When the woman saw Seth, she dropped the rope

immediately, wiping pink saliva from the corners of her

meager lips. Supporting herself against the stump, she stood

up. He noticed her long feet, the color of ivory, peppered

with insect bites. Her gray toenails looked thick with

fungus.

Hail, young master, what brings you to my home? Her

voice was incongruently melodious and smooth.

For a moment, Seth could only stare. Even as bent and

crooked as she was, the woman was tall. She smelled bad.

You live out here? he finally said.

I do. Care to come inside?

Probably not. I’m just out for a walk.

The woman narrowed her eyes. Strange place for a boy

to walk alone.

I like exploring. My grandpa owns this land.

Owns it, you say?

Does he know you’re here? asked Seth.

Depends who he is.

Stan Sorenson.

She grinned. He knows.

The rope she had chewed lay on the dirt floor. It had

one other knot besides the one she had been gnawing.

Why were you biting the rope? Seth asked.

She eyed him suspiciously. I don’t care for knots.

Are you a hermit?

You could say that. Come inside and I will brew some

tea.

I better not.

She looked down at her hands. I must look frightful.

Let me show you something. She turned and crouched

behind the stump. A rat ventured a few steps out of a hole

in a corner of the shack. When she came back from behind

the stump, the rat hid.

The old woman sat with her back to the stump. She

held a little wooden puppet about nine inches high. It

looked primitive, made entirely of dark wood, with no

clothes or painted features. Just a basic human figure with

tiny gold hooks serving as joints. The puppet had a stick in

its back. The woman set a paddle on her lap. She began

making the puppet dance by bobbing the stick and tapping

the paddle. There was a musical regularity to the rhythm.

What is that thing? Seth asked.

A limberjack, she replied.

Where’s his ax?

Not a
lumberjack,
a
limberjack.
A clog doll. A jigger.

Dancing Dan. Shuffling Sam. I call him Mendigo. He

keeps me company. Come inside and I’ll let you give it a

try.

I better not, he said again. I don’t see how you could

live out here like this and not be crazy.

Sometimes good people grow weary of society. She

sounded a little annoyed. You happened upon me by accident?

Out exploring?

Actually, I’m selling candy bars for my soccer team. It’s

a good cause.

She stared at him.

I have my best luck in the rich neighborhoods.

She kept staring.

That was a joke. I’m kidding.

Her voice became stern. You are an impudent young

man.

And you live with a tree stump.

She gave him a measuring glare. Very well, my arrogant

young adventurer. Why not test your courage? Every

explorer deserves a chance to prove his mettle. The old

woman withdrew into the shack and crouched behind the

stump again. She returned to the doorway holding a crude,

narrow box made of splintered wood, wire, and long, jutting

nails.

What’s that?

Place your hand inside the box to prove your valor

and earn a reward.

I’d rather play with the creepy puppet.

Just reach inside and touch the back of the box. She

shook it, and it rattled a bit. The box was long enough that

he would have to reach in to his elbow in order to touch

the back.

Are you a witch?

A man with a brave tongue should support his words

with courageous actions.

This seems like something a witch would do.

Stand by your loose words, young man, or you may not

have a pleasant journey home.

Seth backed away, watching her closely. I better get

going. Have fun eating your rope.

She clucked her tongue. Such insolence. Her voice

remained soothing and calm, but now held a menacing

undertone. Why not step inside and have some tea?

Next time. Seth moved around the shack, not taking

his eyes from the ragged woman in the doorway. She made

no move to pursue him. Before he moved out of her sight,

the woman raised an arthritic hand with the middle fingers

crossed and the others bent awkwardly. Eyes half-shut, she

appeared to be murmuring something. Then she was out of

view.

On the far side of the shack, Seth plunged through the

tangled undergrowth back to the path, glancing over his

shoulder all the way. The woman was not chasing him. Just

looking back at the ivy-covered shack made him shiver.

The old hag looked so wretched and smelled so foul. There

was no way he was sticking his hand in her weird box.

After she had offered the challenge, all he could think

about was learning in school how shark teeth angled

inward so fish could swim in but not out. He imagined the

homemade box was probably full of nails or broken glass set

at cruel angles for a similar purpose.

Even though the woman was not following him, Seth

felt unsafe. Compass in hand, he hurried along the path

toward home. Without warning, something struck him on

the ear, barely hard enough to sting. A pebble the size of a

thimble dropped to the path at his feet.

Seth whirled. Somebody had thrown the little stone at

him, but he saw nobody. Could the old woman be stealthily

following him? She probably knew the woods really well.

Another small object bounced off the back of his neck.

It was not as hard or heavy as a stone. Turning, he saw

another acorn whistling toward him, and he ducked. The

acorns and the pebble had come at him from opposite sides

of the path. What was going on?

From above came the sound of wood splitting, and a

huge limb fell across the path behind him, a few leaves and

twigs swishing against him as it passed. If Seth had been

standing two or three yards back along the path, a branch

thicker than his leg would have clubbed him on the head.

One look at the heavy limb, and Seth took off down

the path at a full sprint. He seemed to hear rustling sounds