This Book Is Not Good for You

by Pseudonymous Bosch

  The tram was painted with a camouflage pattern that suggested military maneuvers and jungle adventures, and on its sides were the words:

  WILD WORLD

  The World’s Wildest Wild Animal Park

  Go WILD! Go WILD WORLD!

  But so far, the wildest part of the ride had been a too-close encounter with the tongue of an animal named, according the tour guide, “Jerry, the Very Merry Giraffe.”

  In his lap, Max-Ernest held the glossy Welcome to Wild World map they’d received when they bought their tickets. It showed how the animal habitats at Wild World were divided into eco-hoods—the ecological neighborhoods the kids had read about earlier—with names like Misty Marsh, Dead Man’s Desert, and Rainbow Rainforest.

  This last eco-hood, the rainforest, was by far the largest, occupying nearly half the area on the map. It was there, our heroes hoped, that they would find the hidden chocolate plantation and perhaps even the new secret headquarters of the Midnight Sun.

  Currently, the tram was winding its way through the park’s version of African grassland—SERENGETI SAVANNA. The sun was just starting to go down—this was, after all, the SUNSET SAFARI tram ride—and the landscape glowed gold. In the distance, a flamboyance of flamingoes was silhouetted, gathered around a watering hole. **

  “It’s kind of like we got to go to Africa, after all,” said Max-Ernest. “How ’bout that?”

  “Kind of,” said Yo-Yoji, whose parents had made him look at one too many pictures of the real Africa. “And kind of not.”

  Cass looked out across the rolling, grass-covered hills of the manmade savanna. Maybe it could be Africa, she thought, if you ignored all the popcorn and candy strewn along the side of the road.

  As they rounded a turn, an excited murmur rippled through the tram. A large yellow sign was posted on the hillside:

  WARNING

  ENTERING LION COUNTRY

  KEEP ARMS INSIDE TRAM AT ALL TIMES!

  But the only animal in sight was a zebra ambling away. If there were any lions nearby, he didn’t seem very scared of them.

  “Where are the lions? I want to see a lion!” shouted a child up front.

  “Sorry—looks like they’re sleeping,” explained the tour guide. “Did you know the average lion sleeps over twenty hours a day? That’s why they call them the king of beasts—because they’re so lazy!”

  The crowd tittered.

  “Can you hear that ringing sound? Believe it or not, those are frogs croaking. We are now approaching Rainbow Rainforest.”

  This was our friends’ cue to start paying attention. Cass, Max-Ernest, and Yo-Yoji all craned their necks, straining to look ahead.

  Rainbow Rainforest definitely lived up to its name—at least if you weren’t expecting a real rainbow or a real rainforest.

  As soon as they crossed into the (so-called) rainforest, hidden sprinklers drenched the tram with water; it was like driving through a torrential downpour in the tropics. (Or maybe just like driving through a car wash.) Meanwhile, a strategically placed floodlight created a prism effect—a rainbow. Of sorts.

  Unlike SERENGETI SAVANNA, which was wide open with views in all directions, the rainforest was dense and dark and, if you were somebody like Max-Ernest, extremely claustrophobia-inducing. The leaves were so big, and the trees so tall, that you couldn’t help feeling small—as if you were looking at the world through the eyes of an ant.

  “Out in the real world, more animal species live in rainforests than in any other type of environment—and that’s true here at Wild World, too. We have over twenty species of frogs, including one species that flies. And twelve kinds of monkeys—though no flying ones. You’ll have to visit the Wicked Witch of the West to find those!”

  As the tram drove deeper into the rainforest, the park visitors experienced a kind of sensory overload. While tropical birds cawed from every direction, the frog croaking grew louder and louder until it was almost deafening. The last rays of sunlight penetrated the trees from above, casting shadows in the shapes of vines and leaves, and creating dizzying patterns of light and dark, brown and green. The air was so pungent—with honey and cinnamon and vanilla, but also with musk and mold and much fouler scents—that they had to hold their noses.

  All in all, the rainforest was not an easy place to look for a hidden chocolate plantation.

  The kids heard no shouts between invisible plantation workers. They caught no whiffs of chocolate floating through the air. They saw no tractor tracks buried in the mud. No secret messages tied to tree trunks. No signs of illicit activity whatsoever.

  Then again, all those things could have been there—and they still might not have been able to detect them.

  Boldly, Cass walked up the tram’s center aisle and asked the tour guide whether there had been an old zoo where Wild World now stood. But the tour guide said that if anything like that had ever existed, she didn’t know about it. And it certainly didn’t exist now.

  Cass climbed back into her seat and stared out into the shadows. It was now almost completely dark in the rainforest—the only illumination coming from the lights of the tram.

  “This is crazy. How’re we supposed to see anything?”

  “How’re we even supposed to think?” echoed Max-Ernest. “It’s so loud.”

  “Let’s face it—there’s nothing to see, yo,” said Yo-Yoji. “We picked the wrong zoo. Or maybe it wasn’t even in a zoo in the first place.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Cass, slinking down in her seat as misery weighed down on her.

  The possibility of not finding her mother was too horrible to think about; and yet she couldn’t not think about it.

  By the time the tram drove out of the rainforest, all that was left of the sun was a pinkish red tip peaking over a hill.

  “Hey, what’s that—?”

  Max-Ernest pointed to a small gray tree—dead, by the looks of it—sticking out of the grassy hillside. A bright green bird was sitting on one of the tree’s skinny, bare branches.

  As the last rays of sunshine slipped away, the bird flapped its wings and lurched into the sky.

  Tense with anticipation, all three kids stuck their heads out of the tram and watched the bird pass overhead. There was just enough light left to see its red belly—and then its long tail waving in the wind.

  There was no doubt: it was a quetzal.

  “Hey, you three in back!—heads back in the tram, please,” came the order from up front.

  As they watched, the bird flew straight toward the rainforest. Then veered left and entered the rainforest directly above the point where they’d entered some twenty minutes earlier—just past the lion warning sign.

  “Did you hear me? Yes, you with the backpack—and your two boyfriends. If you don’t sit down in your seats I’m going to have to stop the tram!”

  The kids yanked their heads back inside and sat down. Cass was so excited she didn’t even get angry at the tour guide for calling Yo-Yoji and Max-Ernest her boyfriends.

  Max-Ernest pulled a pen out of his pocket and drew an arrow on the map where the quetzal had flown into the rainforest.

  They were in the right place, after all.

  Somewhere, deep inside that manmade jungle, lurked the Midnight Sun.

  THE KITCHEN WITCH

  “Are you Cassandra’s grandfather?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  Normally, Grandpa Larry was not very suspicious of strangers, but the woman standing on his doorstep looked like she’d been dropped there by a tornado. Her hair stuck out in every direction. Her lipstick was smeared across her face.

  “Her principal,” said the woman, breathing heavily. “You’re listed as an emergency contact.”

  “What happened?” asked Grandpa Larry in alarm. “Is she all right?”

  “As far I know. She’s not home.”

  “So then it’s you who’s having the emergency? I didn’t realize an emergency contact would be responsible for the entire school staff! Wha
t a curious system—”

  “Well, that’s not exactly—”

  “By the way,” Larry continued in a huff. “Since you’re here, I’d like to have a word about assigning homework in summer. This report Cass is doing on tuning forks—”

  Mrs. Johnson shrieked like a wounded animal. “Don’t say that word!”

  “What?”

  “Tuning forks… Fork. That… dreaded thing is why I’m here,” she said, gasping for air. “I… need it back.”

  Shaking, she tried to light a cigarette. It fell from her hand.

  “It was my ancestor’s,” said Mrs. Johnson in an increasingly agitated and disjointed fashion. “She was… well, I never believed the rumors… so what if her fudge was addictive, that just makes her a good cook, right? It doesn’t make her a… a witch.”

  Mrs. Johnson laughed a hoarse little laugh.

  “But now I don’t know what to think. She’s punishing me from… the Beyond… for giving up the Tuning Fork… what other explanation is there?… I have this… this kitchen witch… you know those little cloth figures on a broom—doesn’t everybody have one? It’s hanging from a lamp and it keeps swinging and swinging.”

  “Perhaps an effect of the heat?” suggested Grandpa Larry.

  Mrs. Johnson shook her head vehemently. “Sometimes I think I hear it laugh.… And that’s not all… I… I keep losing at cards.”

  Grandpa Larry smiled. “Oh, we all have a bit of bad luck sometimes. That doesn’t mean the ghost of a witch is seeking revenge on us.”

  “I’m… losing all my money. Soon, I’ll be penniless.”

  Larry shook his head. “Have you considered getting professional help?”

  “There’s only one thing that can help me!” Mrs. Johnson gripped Larry’s arm. “Please. Tell Cass to get me my Tuning Fork back! I’ll forgive everything. She and her horrid little friends can come back to school in the fall just like nothing happened…”

  THE FIRE HOSE

  “Lar-ry!”

  When Larry reentered the fire station, Wayne was shouting at him from the most crowded corner of their crowded store.

  “What’s so important? I’ve just spent twenty minutes talking to Cass’s school principal and you know how I feel about principals.”

  “I went outside to water and the old hose sprung a leak,” Wayne explained. “So I thought, why not use a real-man’s hose…?”

  He gestured to the big coil of fire hose at his feet.

  “You were going to water the lawn with a fire hose? Isn’t that a little like lighting a candle with a blowtorch?”

  “That’s not the point. Look what I found—”

  Wayne pushed the fire hose aside, revealing the cardboard box behind it. “You recognize that, don’t you?”

  “How could I forget? You’re talking about the birth of our granddaughter… her arrival, anyway,” Larry amended.

  “The funny thing is—I could swear it was all taped up,” said Wayne, puzzled.

  “Of course it was!” exclaimed Larry. “We were saving it for when Cass turned eighteen.”

  Wayne nodded, remembering. “And yet somebody…”

  “But whoever comes back here?”

  “Nobody… except Cass.”

  “Oh, no,” said Larry, anxiously stroking his long, long beard.

  Wayne shook his head, twisting the two long braids of his beard with his finger. “I wonder why she didn’t say anything…”

  “When would she have? This is the second day she hasn’t shown up for work. And her principal said she wasn’t home…”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Larry nodded gravely. “The note.”

  He pushed the box out and opened the top. Mr. Wallace’s letter was in plain view.

  THE SWISS SURPRISE

  A few minutes later, Mr. Wallace hung up the phone.

  He sat at a table in the middle of his beloved Terces Society archives, thinking. He was fairly certain he’d convinced Cass’s grandfathers that he hadn’t seen Cass since she was a baby, and that he barely remembered who she was. But, in truth, he was just as concerned as they were. Perhaps more so.

  The question was: if Cass had found the letter, why hadn’t she confronted him? Cass was so hotheaded. It was unlike her to delay something like that. Unless there was an emergency. Or there was some reason she was unable to reach him. Her grandfathers claimed she wasn’t home. So where was she?

  He could think of several possibilities, each more worrisome than the last.

  “Guten Tag, Herr Wallace.” A man in a pilot’s uniform stepped into the trailer. The uniform was torn and muddy, but the wearer himself was no worse for wear.

  “Owen?!” Mr. Wallace stared at the younger man in surprise.

  “Why’s everyone always so shocked to see me? Makes me feel like a ghost… Where are the others?”

  Mr. Wallace smiled thinly. “In Africa. Looking for you.”

  “Ah. Well, they won’t find me there. Or the Midnight Sun either.”

  “No?”

  Owen shook his head. “I think they planted the Africa idea to divert us. I just discovered they’re much closer. At the zoo, in fact.”

  “The zoo, huh?” Mr. Wallace looked at him thoughtfully. “Could Cass have made the same discovery?”

  Owen chuckled, taking a seat opposite Mr. Wallace. “Cass? Are you kidding? She’s always a step ahead of us.”

  “I know—to her detriment.”

  “Don’t start on that again, Old Man,” said Owen testily. He loved Cass like a sister and didn’t like Mr. Wallace’s tone. “The Society is much better off with her as a member. And she’s better off, too.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Mr. Wallace snorted derisively. “She’s missing, Owen.”

  “Missing?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “So you think she went after them herself?”

  “What I think is that I’d feel better if I knew where she was.”

  “Me, too,” said Owen, his face serious.

  “The girl must be protected at all costs,” said Mr. Wallace quietly.

  Owen nodded. “We agree on that at least.”

  He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Who do you think should pay a visit to the zoo? Large animal veterinarian…? Concerned dad who’s just lost his daughter…?”

  He took off his pilot’s hat and started making faces in a pocket mirror, devising his new character.

  It was closing time at Wild World. Tired parents and whiny children spilled out of the park gates.

  Behind them, a park worker in a giraffe suit waved good-bye.

  The crowd thinned as it spread across the parking lot, some people stopping right away at cars parked in SECTION A-ANACONDA or SECTION B-BOBCAT, others drifting toward SECTION C-CAPUCHIN or SECTION D-DINGO.

  “What’s a capuchin?” asked Cass. “Is it like the color of a cappuccino or something?”

  “No, that has nothing to do with it—it’s an animal, not a drink,” said Max-Ernest in mild disbelief. “Haven’t you ever heard of a capuchin monkey?”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so snitty about it.”

  The normally talkative friends fell into a restless silence. The vast parking lot stretched in front of them.

  Long after all the other park visitors had peeled away, Cass, Max-Ernest, and Yo-Yoji kept walking—all the way past SECTIONS W-WOMBAT, X-XERUS, Y-YAK, and Z-ZEBRA.

  “If you’re so smart, what’s a xerus?” Yo-Yoji asked Max-Ernest, interrupting the quiet.

  “Uh, I forgot, well, I mean, never heard of it,” Max-Ernest reluctantly admitted. “But there are signs on the poles—it probably says.” He turned around, about to go back and read about the xerus.

  “No—it’s not important right now!” Cass and Yo-Yoji said in unison. *

  The highway that bordered Wild World was not intended for pedestrians, and for a few minutes they had to walk single file along the narrow strip of cement that passed
for a sidewalk. Cars whizzed by, flattening the kids against the park’s tall wroughtiron fence.

  “What if somebody sees us?” worried Max-Ernest as a headlight briefly illuminated his face.

  “Then they’ll just think our car broke down,” said Yo-Yoji.

  “But we don’t have a car. We’re not old enough to drive.”

  “So then they’ll think we’re walking to the bus!” said Cass.

  When the fence turned a corner, they turned, too. After they’d walked only a short distance, the highway noise faded away and they found themselves surrounded by darkness.

  Cass reached into her backpack and took out a flashlight. But when she turned it on they couldn’t see much more than the road below them, now unpaved and lined with muddy tire tracks.

  Where the road led they could not see.

  Cass moved the circle of light to the right. No longer wrought iron, the fence here was chain link and topped with spools of razor wire. The light reflected in a yellow sign bearing a picture of a hand struck by lightning bolts. Not a fence you’d want to climb.

  “Let’s keep going,” said Yo-Yoji. “There’s gotta be a back entrance somewhere.”

  “Yeah, but it’s probably for people who work here. Like veterinarians or whatever,” said Max-Ernest. “We’ll need a pass or something—”

  “Well, figuring out something has never been a problem for us before, has it?” asked Cass, pushing ahead.

  The night was dark, and—except for a few moments when the clouds parted to reveal a bright crescent moon—they relied on Cass’s flashlight to navigate. (It was the kind that recharges whenever you move it, so there was no danger of the battery dying.) They each stumbled a few times—the road was dotted with rocks and potholes—but for the most part they managed fairly well. I think eating at Hugo’s restaurant must have sharpened their senses, just as he’d said it would.

  They passed three back entrances to the park, but one was locked up with so many chains it would have taken Houdini himself to open it, and the other two had been welded closed. After forty minutes of hiking in the dark, they were all getting tired and discouraged, but nobody was willing to say so.