Fablehaven: The Complete Series (5 page)

“What are you doing?” Kendra asked.

“Just taking some milk to the house,” he replied, changing direction a bit. He had been heading toward the woods.

“Really? Why’d you leave that other milk behind the hedge?”

“Other milk?” He could not have looked more guilty.

“Yeah. The butterflies were drinking it.”

Dale was no longer walking. He regarded Kendra shrewdly. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure.”

Dale looked around as if someone might be watching. “We have a few milking cows. They make plenty of milk, so I put out some of the excess for the insects. Keeps the garden lively.”

“Why’s that a secret?”

“I’m not sure your grandfather would approve. Never asked permission. He might consider it wasteful.”

“Seems like a good idea to me. I noticed all the different kinds of butterflies in your garden. More than I’ve ever seen. Plus all the hummingbirds.”

He nodded. “I like it. Adds to the atmosphere.”

“So you weren’t taking that milk to the house.”

“No, no. This milk hasn’t been pasteurized. Full of bacteria. You could catch all sorts of diseases. Not fit for people. Insects, on the other hand, they seem to like it best this way. You won’t spoil my secret?”

“I’ll keep quiet.”

“Good girl,” he said with a conspiratorial wink.

“Where are you putting that one?”

“Over there.” He jerked his head toward the woods. “I set a few on the border of the yard every day.”

“Does it spoil?”

“I don’t leave it out long enough. Some days the insects consume all the milk before I collect the pans. Thirsty critters.”

“See you later, Dale.”

“You seen your brother hereabout?”

“I think he’s in the house.”

“That so?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

Kendra turned and started toward the house. She glanced back as she mounted the stairs to the rear porch. Dale was placing the milk behind a small, round bush.

Chapter 3

The Ivy Shack

Seth pressed through dense undergrowth until he reached a faint, crooked path, the kind made by animals. Nearby stood a squat, gnarled tree with thorny leaves and black bark. Seth examined his sleeves for ticks, scrutinizing the camouflage pattern. So far he had not seen a single tick. Of course, it would probably be the ticks he failed to see that would get him. He hoped the insect repellent he had sprayed on was helping.

Stooping, he collected rocks and built a small pyramid 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 seen 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.