The Whispers

by Greg Howard

  “I said she was nice to me,” he says, like that’s his final answer. Period. End of story.

  But he didn’t answer my question and the anger that’s been stewing in my gut the past few weeks and months comes to a quick boil because I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows something he’s not telling me. Before I can stop myself, I lean over and scream in his hairy hobgoblin face, “What did you do to her?”

  I don’t think I scared him too much because he just sits there staring at me. Looking at me like I’m the weirdo here. Like this is my run-down shack out in the middle of the woods and not his.

  “Did you hurt Peetie Munn too?” I say, my anger making me stupidly mouthier, which it does a lot.

  Mordecai takes a deep breath. His gaze grows ice cold on me, his mouth tightens, and his voice becomes a throaty growl that grows in volume with each word.

  “I. Never. Hurt. Nobody.” He slams his fist on the table in front of me and I jump in my chair.

  He looks down, exhaling slowly, like he feels bad for yelling at me. His hands shake. His shoulders slump, making him look smaller. He actually looks more human than hobgoblin right now. He looks almost . . . scared.

  “She brought me cookies at the jailhouse, your mama,” he says, staring over my head. “Said she didn’t believe what they were saying I did to that boy.” His eyes are glassy. “She was the only person to ever visit me there. Not even my own family came.”

  Mordecai takes another deep breath and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s a very un-hobgoblin-like thing to do. “You said the Whispers led you here? You saw them?”

  I just nod, but I don’t know what to think anymore. Mordecai Mathews was my only solid lead and it cost me Grandpa’s Swiss Army knife and Mama’s wedding ring. In a weird way, Mordecai was my only hope. And now I’m beginning to think he might not be as guilty as I thought. Of any of it—Mama or Peetie Munn or any crime at all. Maybe he’s just afraid of being accused of one again. I mean, if Mama believed him, who am I to disagree?

  “What’d they look like?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

  I swallow and sit up straight. No one’s ever taken me so seriously about the Whispers and I’ve never described them to anyone.

  “They’re small,” I say. “They can fly, so I guess they have wings. And they have this blue glow to them like Christmas lights. You can only get a glimpse of them for a second or two when they’re glowing. I haven’t looked one directly in the eye yet. They’re fast. But I guess they kind of look like . . . fairies.”

  I stop talking so I don’t sound any crazier than usual. But Mordecai doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy. He just scratches his beard, or the family of squirrels living in there, and studies me with squinted eyes. At least I think they’re squinted. He has really bushy eyebrows. Now that I think about it, if there were such a thing as a hobgoblin Santa, Mordecai could totally get a job playing him in the mall at Christmas.

  “Little blue fairies, huh?” he asks, his eyes more curious than glassy now.

  I shrug. “Sort of.”

  “And they talk to you?”

  I nod. “I heard them plain as day. And they took my tributes, so I know they’re real.”

  “Tributes,” he says. “Like in the story.” Mordecai nods at me, but slowly like an adult who you can’t tell if they believe you or they’re just playing along.

  “I’ve seen ’em too,” he says. “But they ain’t never talked to me.”

  “Where?” I ask, trying to contain my excitement. “Where did you see them?”

  Mordecai rests his arms on his knees and clasps his hands together like he’s about to pray. “I see ’em over by the beaver dam. Sometimes it looks like hundreds of ’em out there—hundreds of little blue fairies flying around, fading in and out. Sort of beautiful . . . and magical looking.”

  I nod slowly. Magical. I know exactly what he means.

  “Maybe that’s where they live,” I say. “At the beaver dam.”

  This must be why the Whispers led me to Mordecai. He knows where to find them. Maybe that’s where Mama is—with the Whispers at the beaver dam. That’s probably what they meant when they said, She’s here. They meant here with them. Not just here in the woods.

  “Will you take me there?” I ask as innocently as possible without whining. “I have to find Mama before it’s too late.”

  “Too late?” Mordecai just squint-stares at me a long time, like he can’t decide if he wants to help me or eat me. My heartbeat suddenly speeds up. Hopefully it’s sending him a Morse code message to do the first thing and not the second.

  Finally, he sighs and looks away, shaking his head. “I can take you as far as the beaver dam if you want. It’s close to the north tree line.”

  “You will?” A burst of energy charges through my sleep-deprived body. I don’t really understand what he means by as far as the beaver dam when that’s all the way where I want to go. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to find the Whispers and Mama, and I’m not going to get eaten by a hobgoblin—at least not today.

  “I reckon you need to find your mama.” Mordecai stands, towering over me like a big, hairy skyscraper. “And you can’t stay here, that’s for sure. You can’t tell anybody you was here neither.”

  He grabs his canvas satchel off the table and slings it over his shoulder. “You have to leave. Now.”

  22

  CONVERSATIONS WITH A HOBGOBLIN

  I find Tucker napping by the front door of the shack when we leave. Once he sees I’m okay, he doesn’t try to rip Mordecai to shreds. He looks too tired for all that business. He just kind of semi-growls at Mordecai and sniffs him cautiously. Tucker must not like what he smells, because he backs away and becomes something Tucker never is. Timid.

  Timid is when you act like you ain’t got no balls.

  As in, Technically, Tucker lost his balls a long time ago, but he’s never acted timid until now.

  Balls or no balls, he still plants himself between Mordecai and me as we head north, away from the shack and deeper into the woods than I’ve ever been.

  Mordecai’s legs are a lot longer than mine, and Tucker has four Rottie-shepherd legs, but I keep up as best I can. With every step my body reminds me that I’ve been without hardly any sleep for almost a day and a half. That’s a record for me, especially without a CID: Chicago marathon and an endless supply of Mountain Dew. I peer up at the sky. As best as I can tell it’s afternoon, but I don’t have any idea if it’s closer to lunchtime or suppertime. My stomach wouldn’t be too picky right about now. I’d be just as happy to find a bag of Flamin’ Hot Funyuns lying around out here. I don’t think that’s very likely, but why not hope?

  Mordecai hums as we walk, like hobgoblins can actually sing or something. It crosses my mind that this could all be for show and although he’s acting really casual by humming and stuff, he’s really leading me deeper into the woods for reasons other than finding the Whispers. He could be marching me right into the middle of a hobgoblin convention for all I know. Hopefully Tucker will find his balls again if anything like that goes down. On the other hand, Mordecai seemed like he was telling the truth when he said he never hurt anyone, even though he was yelling and slamming his fist on the table when he said it. And Mama believed him, at least he says she did. How do I know for sure? All I can do now is stay alert and keep using Detective Chase Cooper’s humanizing strategy to stay alive.

  “What’s that song you’re humming?” I ask all sweet and innocent, like a little kid.

  “Billy Joel,” he kind of grunts over his shoulder.

  I happen to know Billy Joel is a singer and not the name of a song, because Mama loves Billy Joel’s music. She said Daddy used to sing “Just the Way You Are” to her all the time because it was their song. But I don’t ask Mordecai which Billy Joel song he’s humming. I try something else.

&nb
sp; “I’m sorry I thought you hurt Mama. And Peetie,” I say, my voice raised enough so Mordecai can hear me over the crunchy leaves underfoot.

  He doesn’t respond. Just keeps walking and humming like I’m not even here.

  “You scared the crap out of us last night,” I say a little louder, trying again.

  Mordecai glances over his shoulder at me but doesn’t say anything and doesn’t stop walking or humming.

  “Why’d you do that?” I say, but not in a mean way. Just like we’re two regular dudes shootin’ the breeze on a normal afternoon walk through the woods and not at all like a hobgoblin tenderizing his supper with a little physical exercise.

  “Just wanted y’all to go home or back to the tree line,” he says with another grunt over his shoulder. “Ain’t safe way out here at night. Bobcats, coyotes, and such.”

  I give him a second or two before I ask another question. “Was that you watching me the other night at the tree line?”

  He doesn’t look back at me, but he nods, confirming he was the shadow monster I saw. I don’t ask him why he was watching me. I want to believe him. Believe that he was just looking out for a stupid little kid getting too close to the woods in the dark.

  Tucker trots off to the left, sniffs around, and then squats. Mordecai notices and stops, I guess to let me rest while Tucker goes number two. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with his shirtsleeve and pulls a bottle of water out of his satchel. He drinks the whole thing down without offering me any. I think it’s kind of rude until he pulls out another one and tosses it to me. The bottle hits me in the chest and falls to the ground before it even clicks in my brain that I’m supposed to catch it. I’m not very good at sports. That’s Danny’s department. I pick up the bottle and nod a quick thanks to him as I drink.

  “So when was the last time you saw your mama?” he asks.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “About four months ago in our living room. She was taking a nap on the sofa. Then she went missing.”

  He looks at me and nods a little. Tucker trots back to us, panting really hard. He eyes my water and licks his chops. Mordecai walks over to me, kneels down, and cups his big hands together, making a water bowl for Tucker. It’s a very nice thing to do. I pour some water into his hand-bowl and Tucker goes to town on it.

  “Do you remember anything else about that day?” Mordecai asks.

  I shrug and pour the last bit of water into Mordecai’s hand-bowl for Tucker. “Not too much. I was playing outside with Gary and Carl. And there were two suspicious-looking dudes sitting in a big, fancy white car in the driveway. That’s about it.”

  Tucker finishes all the water and then does something semi-traitorous. He licks Mordecai once on the side of the head. Then Mordecai scratches Tucker’s neck. I think he even smiles at Tucker. I can’t be sure under that bushy beard, but it’s really hard for anyone to look at Tucker and not smile—even a possibly falsely accused hobgoblin.

  “Two guys in a fancy white car, huh?” he mumbles, looking at Tucker. “Was anybody else there?”

  I never really thought about who else was inside the house that day. But now with my brain half awake and half asleep, I do remember someone being there.

  “Sister Grimes,” I say, surprising myself with the memory. “Sister Grimes was in the kitchen.” Holy crap. I have to be sure to tell Frank this the next time I see him.

  Mordecai cocks his head at me. “Sister Grimes?”

  “She’s a gossip who goes to North Creek Church of God,” I say, looking him square in the eyes. They seem different now. They’re not cold and scary-looking anymore.

  “Becky Grimes?”

  I nod. “She threatened Mama at the church potluck a few months before that,” I say.

  “Threatened?” Mordecai glances away from me real fast and looks at Tucker, scratching him on the head again. It makes him look shifty. “What did she say exactly?”

  I should probably tell him that I don’t remember because of self-incrimination.

  Self-incrimination is when you say something real dumb by accident that links you to a crime and then you’re screwed.

  But I do remember now. Like it was yesterday. I can hear her saying it in my head just like she said it while I was playing hide-and-seek with the preacher’s daughter, Lily. Sister Grimes didn’t know I was hiding under the dessert table while she stood there gossiping with the preacher’s wife.

  It’ll kill Carolyn if she finds out that boy is funny.

  I knew she was talking about me. She always looked at me with raised eyebrows when I played with Lily and her American Girl dolls at church potlucks instead of playing softball with the other boys. And I’m sure Gene told her all about the Coat Cubby Serial Kisser of Buckingham Elementary.

  “I don’t know,” I lie, handing him the empty water bottle. “I don’t remember. Shouldn’t we keep going? It’s getting late, right?”

  Mordecai does that hairy eye squint-stare thing at me again, like he knows I’m lying. But he doesn’t ask anything more about Sister Grimes. He stands, glances up at the sky, and then points forward. “This way. Not too much farther.”

  He leads Tucker and me for a while longer, humming Billy Joel the whole time. I kind of recognize the melody. Mama knew all the Billy Joel songs and sang them a lot. I bet I would know it if he sang the words, but I’m not about to ask him to sing. We just walk and walk and walk. Could be fifteen minutes, could be fifty. Heck if I know. But we need to hurry. This might be my last chance to find the Whispers and save Mama. And it looks like the sun will be setting soon.

  We walk some more. And then some more. My legs ache and my stomach growls. Tucker slugs along getting slower and slower. Finally Mordecai has mercy on us and stops.

  “This is as far as I can take you.” He reaches into his canvas satchel, pulls out another bottle of water, and hands it to me.

  I look up at him. “Why? Are you scared of the Whispers?”

  He kind of chuckle-grunts. “It’s not your Whispers I’m worried about. The north tree line ain’t far past the beaver dam. I like to keep my distance from the world beyond it. They don’t like me out there, and to be honest, I don’t care much for how they treat each other.” He points with his whole arm. “Just keep walking thataway. The beaver dam’s not far. You can’t miss it. Keep walking in the same direction past that and you’ll find your way home.” He lowers his head and stares at the ground or at Tucker. I can’t tell which. “I’ll hang back, but I’ll keep an eye on you until you’re out of the woods. Make sure you get there okay.”

  I stare at Mordecai and search for words. I think about the sad run-down shack he lives in all alone. About the way people have talked about him all these years and the horrible stuff they say he did. How he looked me in the eye and told me he never hurt anyone and I believe him. And how he knew my mama and that she was one of the only people who was kind to him. But I don’t think Mordecai cares about any of that anymore. Right now he only cares about helping me find Mama. That he’s helping a little boy lost in the woods—doing the opposite of what the outside world thinks he would do. Doing the opposite of what a hobgoblin would do.

  “If you see Dylan again, will you tell him I’m okay?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

  He glances down at me, his whole beard curling up into a smile. “And that I didn’t eat you?”

  I smile at him. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

  I think that’s all that needs to be said, so I nod at him, smile, and nudge Tucker in the direction of the beaver dam. I don’t look back at Mordecai until he calls out my name. I stop and turn to face him.

  He stands there a ways behind me with his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sure your mama misses you just as much as you miss her. Go find her.”

  For some reason a huge lump clogs my throat, my eyes start itching, and I can’t say anything. Wouldn’t
know what to say if I could. Not only that, but I’m really hungry, and I’m so tired I could sit down right here on the ground and cry. Mama says sometimes you just get so tired and plumb wore out with everything that you need a good cry to wash all the bad stuff out of your insides. But I don’t have time for that right now, so instead I wave goodbye to Mordecai and march off with Tucker to find the Whispers. And Mama.

  23

  THE BEAVER DAM

  Mordecai was right. It didn’t take me long to find the beaver dam. The sound of rushing water led me right to the creek where a huge wall of sticks and branches blocks the flow of water. I can’t imagine how long it took the beavers to build this thing, but now I understand what Grandma means when she says she’s busy as a beaver. She ain’t lying.

  Tucker laps up water from the creek, then goes over to a nearby tree and vomits it right back up. I kneel next to him and rub his head—my stomach twisting in knots. He’s panting really heavy through a toothy smile. I know he doesn’t want me to worry about him.

  “It’s okay, Tuck. You’ll be all right.”

  He looks up at me with those huge, dark eyes of his and whimpers, like he’s embarrassed. Tucker’s never been one to make a fuss about anything, even when he’s sick. And he hates leaving a mess anywhere, but sometimes he can’t help it. I scratch behind his ear and search the bank of the creek. A tree stump sits near the dam, almost as if it was put there so you could sit and study the handiwork of the beavers. I drag myself over to it, Tucker lumbering and panting beside me. My legs are numb and my eyes are heavy with needed sleep. If I can just sit for a few minutes and rest, I’ll be in better shape to help Mama when I find her.

  My butt hits the ground with a plop and I lean against the stump. Tucker lies down right beside me and rests his big Rottie head on my leg, looking thankful for the break. He closes his eyes and less than a minute later he’s snoring like Grandma does on the sofa after a pill-box dessert. Tucker doesn’t need pills, though. He can fall asleep on a dime whenever he wants to. He’s like a robot shutting down for temporary maintenance or something. That would be pretty cool if Tucker was really a cyborg dog, and actually it would explain a lot. Like how smart and huge and perfect-looking he is. Then he could live forever.