The Girl with a Spoon for a Soul

by Iva Viddal

  A third figure rushed into view. He wielded a giant cardboard spoon and cried into the sunny sky: “Avast! I am here to rescue the Wandering Witch!” The boy thrust the spoon into the monster’s writhing torso, and the monster collapsed in a heap.

  The witch sprang up from the depths of the cauldron. “Julian-the-Just has saved me!” she called out to the audience.

  The audience—which consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Benny, and Jasmine’s mother and little sister—clapped and cheered.

  “Yay! Ju’!” Benny cried. “Moon!”

  The sound of Benny’s voice resurrected the two-headed monster from its dramatic death, and it clambered awkwardly to its feet. “Ben-Ben!” shouted one of its heads.

  “Ne-Ne!” Benny hurried over and looked from Nerma’s head to Jasmine’s with a look of bewilderment.

  “We have two heads, Benny!” Nerma squealed. “And four arms! Look!” Nerma and Jasmine squirmed their way out of the oversized shirt they shared. Nerma’s body was squeezed into the wide left leg of a pair of sweatpants and Jasmine’s into the right leg. Together, they could “walk” only by hopping one at a time—Nerma then Jasmine, Nerma then Jasmine—and because Jasmine was so much taller than Nerma, they found it impossible to go more than a couple of yards without falling to the ground. The friends lay on the grass and wriggled free from the baggy pants, and Benny roared with laughter.

  “Here comes the birdie, Benny!” Julian came running over with the giant cardboard spoon held high above his head. “Want a bite?”

  Benny nodded excitedly, and Julian pretended to feed him.

  “‘Gurt! ‘Gurt-gurt-gurt!” Benny yelled. He looked from Nerma to Julian and erupted in a storm of giggles.

  Julian’s jaw dropped. “Benny told a joke! I can’t believe it!” He whooped. “Hey, that reminds me—Jasmine, do you want to hear a joke?”

  Not long after the Lee family had settled into Harmony Hill, Jasmine moved into Number 62 Splendid Street with her mother and little sister. Now, two months later, she spent most of her free time with Nerma and Julian, performing in backyard plays, playing video games or four-square, and comparing notes on which adventure novels were the best. To Nerma’s never-ending surprise, Jasmine loved Julian’s jokes and howled over the punchlines he shouted on the bus to school. Now, they both ran off into the house to hunt down his newest joke book.

  “Ne-Ne walk?” Benny touched Nerma’s hand.

  “You want to go on a walk?” she asked.

  Benny nodded. “Walk.” He pointed beyond the makeshift backyard stage to the backdrop Nerma had painted.

  “Do you like my City of Glass?” Nerma asked Benny, lifting him up to see.

  “Walk, Ne-Ne?” he asked, pointing to the middle of the mural with his arm. There, barely noticeable between two onion-shaped buildings, Nerma had sketched a meandering trail.

  She smiled. “You want to go on a walk in the City of Glass with me, Ben-Ben?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s very dangerous, so we’ll have to be brave.”

  Benny touched his forehead to Nerma’s and whispered, “Bray.”

  “That’s right. Brave.” She kissed his cheek, set him down, and adjusted her polka-dot headband. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She told her parents that she and Benny were off to explore, and hand in hand, they set off. When they reached the driveway, Nerma paused and looked over her shoulder. The pine fence at the side of the house was as smooth and gap-free as it had been for the past few months. Every day, on her way to the school bus in the morning and later during her walks with Benny, she took a moment to check. But every day, the fence was just as perfectly ordinary and perfectly boring as all the others on Harmony Hill. Today, of course, was no different.

  But Nerma missed October, and sometimes, especially at night, she could almost imagine that the soft mattress beneath her had been spun from spider’s silk. She thought about Doctor Mapple’s wardrobe and its collection of Purposes, of Doctor Leech’s sugary sweet voice, and of October’s lonely attic tower. She hoped he was okay. Did he know that she had made it home safely, and did he understand that she had to leave, that she wished she’d had the chance to say goodbye?

  Nerma breathed deeply, swung Benny’s hand, and squinted into the brilliant sunshine. It was a beautiful day, but for the first time ever, there was a slight chance of rain in Harmony Hill’s weather forecast. The only clouds in the sky were white cotton puffs like bunnies’ tails, but according to the weather report, Harmony Hill was due to be hit by “record sprinkles” that evening. Residents had been advised to stock up on American cheese and mayonnaise, and the news report warned ominously: “Be aware that the sky may lose some of its normal blueness, but it is expected that the issue will clear up on its own.” Nerma already had a book and cozy blanket picked out, and she couldn’t wait to curl up with them.

  “Ro’?” Benny asked when they got to the end of the driveway.

  “Want to count the roses?” Nerma asked. Together, she and Benny counted twelve peach-colored roses. He let go of her hand to pluck off a downy petal, which he rubbed against his cheek.

  He tucked his hand into hers again, and they slowly made their way downhill. Benny pointed out rose blossoms and robins and Nerma counted them aloud.

  “Two, four, six, eight, ten . . .” She counted onward.

  But then Benny stopped. He tugged on her hand.

  “Hm?” Nerma asked. Her mind had wandered, and she was thinking about the flowers outside Corpescule College, the kind that had bitten her.

  Benny pulled on her hand again. His eyes were fixed on something up ahead.

  “Worm!” he exclaimed.

  “It’s not a worm,” Nerma answered, her focus suddenly sharp. “It’s a snake.”

  It was the first time she had seen any animal—other than a robin or pet dog—on Harmony Hill. She didn’t know whether the snake was venomous or not, so she held Benny’s hand tightly. She began to pull Benny back up the hill, but then something else caught her eye: a movement of fur behind a rose bush.

  A marmot scuttled out, sniffed the air, and then darted back into the bush.

  “That’s weird,” Nerma murmured.

  “We’” Benny agreed.

  The snake curled itself up like a question mark in the middle of the sidewalk, evidently luxuriating in the warmth of the sun.

  “Since when have there been so many animals on Harmony Hill?” Nerma mused.

  Benny tugged on her hand. He wanted to move closer, but Nerma hesitated. “You want to see the snake?”

  “Worm!”

  Nerma picked Benny up and inched forward, ready to run back toward home at the first sign of danger. The snake uncoiled itself and followed in the marmot’s wake, disappearing beneath the rose bush.

  “Danger!” a voice shrieked from somewhere nearby.

  Nerma stopped.

  “Stranger-danger!”

  The voice came from an open window. Beyond a veil of white curtains, Nerma could just make out the flurry of black wings. Her heart began to beat faster.

  “B’ddie!” Benny shouted.

  “Yes,” Nerma replied. “A birdie . . .”

  She approached the house. Number 59 Splendid Street looked just like every other home on Harmony Hill. It was the proper shade of taffy pink, its shiny mailbox was tilted at exactly thirty-seven degrees, and before it grew a tree of perfect leafy roundness.

  And yet . . .

  Nerma opened the white gate and took a step forward.

  “Danger!” A winged shape batted against the curtains.

  “B’ddie!” Benny flapped his arms.

  Nerma grinned, for she had the feeling that something wonderful was about to happen. She set Benny down beside her, took his hand, and walked to the door. There, beside a silver doorbell identical to the one at Number 77, a small wooden sign had been hung:

  Wightworth House

  Nerma gasped. She pressed the doorbell button, and from beyond the door came the riotous soun
ds of screeches, whistles, chirps, grunts, and snorts.

  The door opened, and there, grinning back at her, stood a boy just her height with hair the color of oiled coal and foggy glasses as round as owl’s eyes.

  “Oct!” Nerma cried out.

  October’s grin widened. “Welcome, Stranger.”

  In the small hours of the night,

  Winged dreams take flight

  That in the light of day

  Prefer to hide away.

  But in shadow or in sun,

  The tale has already begun,

  And the path you choose to take

  Shall be the one upon which you wake.

  Acknowledgments

  The Girl with a Spoon for a Soul could not have come into existence without the support, help, and patience of others. To my Penn State family, thank you for your encouragement, early edits, and support as I worked through the nerves involved in writing a first novel. I owe the deepest thanks to Troy Thomas, Glen Mazis, and Gloria Clark for their guidance, help, and wisdom, and to my fellow Humanities students: thank you for walking beside me.

  To my family and friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your unending support and patience during the two years I spent talking about this story. To my wonderful editors, your kind words, encouragement, and countless catches helped more than you can know, and I will forever be grateful.

  About the Author

  Iva Viddal writes for children and adults and has won awards for her work, including the Creative Achievement in the Arts Award at Penn State in 2020 for an early version of her debut juvenile novel, The Girl with a Spoon for a Soul. She grew up in San Diego and has lived throughout the United States. She now resides in Tennessee with her husband and children—and an unbearably cute chihuahua named Mikey. You can find her at ivaviddal.com.