Woodford Brave

by Marcia Thornton Jones

  It wasn’t acid oozing from ghosts. It was worse. Much worse.

  There, with their shaggy heads hanging over the Demons’ Door, were the Nazi’s beasts, their lips curling over yellow teeth that turned black at the gums.

  The cat hissed one last time before diving through the bushes to the Mallory yard, its tail bristling like a bottlebrush. With the cat gone, the dogs turned their gaze on me as if I were some kind of midnight sacrifice. I tried rolling away, but all that kicking had left both my shoes wrapped in vines.

  “Run, Cory,” Anne yelled.

  “I can’t,” I said, jerking my foot as proof.

  “Oh, c-c-crap,” Aidan said when it finally dawned on him I was stuck.

  That’s when Sawyer made his move. He dove from behind the barrel, grabbed the Yankees baseball cap from my head, and tossed it over the bushes, right into the lair of the beasts. “Come and get it!” he hollered. Then he turned tail and sprinted up Satan’s Sidewalk.

  A rush of air chilled my sweat-soaked hair as one of the dogs snapped my imaginary Helmet of Doom out of thin air. The gate’s hinges splintered when the other pushed off with an ear-splitting howl. That’s when the back door flew open and the shadowy figure of Mr. Ziegler filled the doorway. “Who itz out there?”

  My best friend raced after Sawyer, leaving me stranded on Satan’s Sidewalk with only the rotting wood of the Demons’ Door separating me from two killer hounds and the Nazi spy who commanded them.

  7

  THE MALLORY GHOSTS

  Strength was not my superpower. I had to use every last ounce of muscle in my body to wrench the vines loose, taking a chunk of bush with them. Then I darted up Satan’s Sidewalk and skidded to where Sawyer and Aidan hid in shadows. Anne should’ve followed me. Instead, she ran past Ziegler’s and didn’t stop until she reached the far side of the Mallory house.

  I held my breath when Ziegler glanced our way, half-expecting him to shoot lightning bolts out of his eyes. Without my cap, I felt naked and exposed, but he turned his attention to his dogs and snapped his fingers at them. “Odin! Pandora! Komm! Komm!”

  The dogs obeyed Ziegler so fast it left a silence as thick and heavy as blackout curtains.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Sawyer once the dogs followed Ziegler inside the house. “He could’ve just as easily ordered them to leap that fence and tear out our throats.”

  “There you go again,” Sawyer said. “Filling the air with Nazi spy conspiracies. All your hot air can’t hide the fact that you didn’t prove anything, Cory. You’re nothing but a yellow-bellied chicken. Though I have to admit that seeing you run from a cat was funnier than a Marx Brothers routine.”

  “I’m not laughing, and I wasn’t scared. I was startled. There’s a difference.” But as the words settled on the alley, I knew he’d never believe me. Out of habit, I reached up to pull my cap down on my head, before remembering Sawyer had just tossed it to the beasts. A new wave of anger bubbled up from my gut. “You knew that was my lucky cap.”

  Sawyer looked sorry for all of ten seconds. “I had to do it, Cory,” he lied. “It was the only way you were going to get out of there alive.”

  “It was only a c-c-cap,” Aidan added, sticking with Sawyer again.

  Aidan knew full well Dad gave it to me when he was home on leave. “It wasn’t just any cap.”

  “You c-c-could always j-j-jump the fence to get it back.”

  “I’d have to have one of the Warrior’s StealthGrenades to try something that stupid,” I snapped. “Besides, it’s probably ripped to shreds by now.”

  The three of us glanced back down the alley at the Demons’ Door. That’s when we noticed Anne outside the old Mallory house. “What is this place?” she asked, her voice too light and breezy for someone who had almost been eaten by flesh-ripping devil dogs.

  The two-story Victorian house had once been bright white with wooden gingerbread trim hanging from the eaves like creamy frosting on a cake. Now the shingles hung cockeyed, there was a giant hole in the roof, and most of the gingerbread trim had turned scabby with rot. The steps leading up to the back door had collapsed and the windows were nothing more than gaping holes. The sky reflecting off what was left of the broken glass made it look like the house was blinking.

  “Get back here,” I whisper-yelled to Anne, automatically scanning every inch of the alley for signs of acid-oozing ghosts.

  “Dumb Dora,” Sawyer said. “Don’t you know a haunted house when you see one?” Then he walked stiffed-armed like some dead zombie back down the alley. I had to give Anne credit. She didn’t flinch when Sawyer came at her.

  “What makes you say it’s haunted?” Anne asked, shaking free of Sawyer’s zombie grip. “Have you actually seen a ghost?”

  “Well, no,” Aidan said. “B-B-But everybody knows the story.”

  “I don’t,” Anne said, squatting down right there in the Mallory yard. “Tell me.”

  “Cory tells it b-b-best,” Aidan said.

  Dad had told me all about the Mallorys. He’d also told me how he and Mom walked around the house on their very first date. He had stolen a kiss from my mom in the shadows of the house. Then he stole another and another. Just the thought of them getting sloppy-faced with ghosts watching was enough to make my skin get twitchy. Afterward, Dad carved their initials in the wood under the dining room window and wrapped them up with the shape of a heart. But part of the board had cracked so only half the initials were left, and dirt had caked over them.

  Sawyer snorted. “Cory’s too chicken the ghosts will give him nightmares to tell the story.” He leaned against the crooked fencepost and Aidan moved over to stand next to him, leaving me the only one with my sneakers firmly planted outside the ghosts’ territory.

  I squared my shoulders and pushed past Sawyer so I could sit down with my back to a tree as if it were no big deal. Because it wasn’t. It was only a stray breeze that made gooseflesh spread up my arms.

  “It happened a long time ago,” I said, dropping my voice low. Not because I was afraid ghosts might overhear, but because my dad always taught me to be respectful of the dead.

  Anne leaned forward to catch my words.

  “It was back during Prohibition times. Mr. Mallory was a deacon at the Baptist church over on Second Street, and his wife was a perfect match for him.”

  “F-F-Full of amens and alleluias,” Aidan added.

  I slapped at the tickle of a weed on my neck before continuing. “According to Mrs. Mallory, the world was headed straight to hell in a handbasket unless bootleggers and flapper girls got right with the Lord.”

  “D-D-Deacon Mallory preached it in the p-p-pulpit and Mrs. Mallory p-p-preached it to the women at the m-m-market.”

  “The rest of the town thought Mr. and Mrs. High-and-mighty should’ve saved the preaching for home,” Sawyer said.

  “How come?” Anne asked.

  “Because of their daughter, that’s why,” Sawyer told her. “She didn’t think the same way as her goody-two-shoes parents.”

  “Her name was Cynthia, but she w-w-went by Cyn.”

  The skin on my neck prickled at the mention of her name. I automatically glanced up at the old house even though I knew she wouldn’t be standing in a window watching us.

  “Cyn!” Anne hooted. “I bet her mother didn’t like that.”

  A bird burst from the tree overhead and I ducked. Of course, Sawyer laughed at that. I didn’t say anything, considering I was concentrating on making my heartbeat slow down to normal.

  “Cyn definitely wasn’t the church-going type,” I continued, my voice nearing a whisper. “She didn’t attend Sunday school or Wednesday night Bible study. And she definitely didn’t show up at Friday night prayer services.”

  “I don’t blame Cyn,” Sawyer said. “I’d rather go where she went on Friday nights, too.”

  “Where was that?” Anne asked.

  “Sp-Sp-Speakeasies, that’s where,” Aidan said.

  Sawyer pretended he was loop
y drunk by hiccupping. “Places full of beer and jitterbugging.”

  “The illegal taverns in Burlington,” I explained. “Every Friday night there was a big ruckus between Cyn and her parents. Her parents would tell Cyn she had to attend church services. Cyn would refuse. All the neighbors could hear them shouting back and forth until Mr. Mallory left, stomping all the way to church. Then Cyn would march out of the house, slam the door, and catch a ride to Burlington.”

  A hot breeze hissed through the branches overhead, knocking a clump of dead leaves right on top of Sawyer’s head. Anne giggled at that.

  “It wouldn’t have been so b-b-bad if the Mallorys hadn’t acted like their whole f-f-family was so p-p-perfect,” Aidan said.

  “Gossip spread faster than chicken pox,” I said with a knowing nod.

  “And if there was anything Mrs. Mallory hated m-m-more than sinners, it was gossip,” Aidan said. “Especially if it was about their p-p-perfect family.”

  Anne’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I agree with Mrs. Mallory about that. People shouldn’t gossip. After all, everyone has secrets.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Sawyer asked. “What’s yours?”

  A car making its way over the broken pavement of the alley sounded like crunching bones. While we waited for it to pass, a cloud drifted overhead, smothering the yard’s tangle of forsythia and thistle with shadows. Leaves shivered from a hot breath of air, and I caught a whiff of decaying garbage. Sawyer leaned toward Anne, still waiting for her answer. Anne shrugged, opened her mouth to tell us. But a shutter creaked free at that moment and banged against the Mallory house, and we all jumped. Even Sawyer. I would’ve ribbed him about it except I wanted to finish the story so we could get out of there.

  “Mrs. Mallory decided she had to stop her daughter from bringing shame on the entire family. So one Friday night after Mr. Mallory had stomped off to church, Mrs. Mallory stood at the top of the stairs and refused to let Cyn leave.”

  I stopped here. If I ever let my dad down I would be a disgrace to my entire family the same way the Mallorys thought Cyn was. It wasn’t a good thought.

  Aidan took over the telling. “There was a f-f-fight,” he said. “Cyn p-p-pushed past her mother and they both f-f-fell down the stairs.”

  I only jumped a little when Sawyer snapped a tree branch in two. “Broke Cyn’s neck clean in half,” he said. “She died at the foot of the steps. Mrs. Mallory saw what she had done and shot herself, splattering brains all over the place. When Mr. Mallory came home and found them dead, they say he went crazy on the spot. He hung himself from the attic rafters.”

  “J-J-Jackson says that when the moon is full you can still see his b-b-body swaying.”

  We automatically looked up at the small window tucked under the eaves, but nothing was there. “Ever since that day the Mallory ghosts have haunted Satan’s Sidewalk, seeking revenge on gossiping people in the town,” I said. “Their powers grow with each passing day, turning their ghostly essence into dripping, burning, flesh-eating acid made from pure hate and despair.”

  It was at that exact moment that something thumped into my back.

  “AHHHHHHHHHH!” I dived onto the ground, twisting around, ready to face the vengeful ghosts. Instead, I came face-to-face with the same straw-colored cat that had attacked me before. He skittered back, clawing up a dried bunch of leaves. The cat eyed me. I eyed him.

  It was Sawyer who made the first move. He slapped his knees and howled almost as loud as one of Ziegler’s hounds, sending the cat skittering back into the thicket of overgrown bushes lining the Mallory yard. “That’s strrrriiiiike three! Three times that cat has made you jump out of your breeches. Admit it, Cory. You’re scared witless of that itty-bitty kitty-cat!”

  I glared at him as if he were the Torch of Evil and I could zap him into oblivion with rays of annihilation from my eyeballs. At least shooting death rays would’ve explained why my cheeks felt like they had been singed by the Torch. “Shut up,” I told him. “I’m not scared of cats and you know it.”

  “P-P-Prove it, Cory,” Aidan said. “Truth or dare, double dare. C-C-Coward’s choice or hero’s scare?”

  Aidan stood up just a little taller at the slow grin Sawyer gave him. “Yeah, Cory. It’s time to play hardball and put your money where your mouth is. Catch that cat and stare it down, eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose, while I count to twenty.”

  “Catching a half-starved cat and looking it in the eyes?” I asked. “You have to be kidding. That’ll be a piece of cake.” Then, just because I couldn’t resist, I added, “But I didn’t know you could count that high.”

  Anne laughed so hard she snorted, which made me feel a little better. Especially since Sawyer’s face spread with red all the way up to his cowlick.

  Sawyer shifted his wad of gum from his right cheek to his left. “Just for that, make it fifty. Unless, of course, you really are a chicken.”

  “I don’t know the meaning of fear.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know. You’re Woodford B-B-Brave,” Aidan said.

  I stared at Aidan. If it hadn’t been for the way his tongue tripped up, I’d have sworn it was Sawyer saying it. I didn’t care about the cat. He wouldn’t hurt me. Except for maybe a scratch or two. Okay, so the thought of sharp claws digging into my flesh wasn’t exactly appealing, but I could deal with that. No. The worst part about this dare was it had come from my best friend.

  I stood, taking enough time to straighten a dog-eared page on the comic book still tucked in my hip pocket, before turning in a complete circle. “Where’d he go?”

  A nod from Sawyer was all I needed to know. The cat was deep in the Mallory yard.

  “You don’t have to do it,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “Truth or Dare is a silly game.”

  She was wrong, of course. If I didn’t, Sawyer would tell everyone I was scared of fuzzy-wuzzy kittens and Aidan would go right along with him once and for all. “I’m not afraid of a stupid cat, and I’m not scared of ghosts,” I told them. “Especially girly-ghosts.”

  Sawyer laughed at that, but Anne looked at me as if my words were a swarm of bumblebees between us. I reached up to tug my lucky Yankees ball cap down tight on my head, forgetting how Sawyer had fed it to the dogs. My belly flopped when I realized I was going to have to do this without my Helmet of Power. Mom always said that hate was a four-letter word, but at that moment I hated Sawyer for what he had done. After all, that was my lucky cap and right then, more than anything, I wanted it back.

  I took one step.

  Then another.

  Two more steps. I willed them to become the Kid’s fearless march.

  I looked up at the trembling leaves, expecting ghost-acid to splash in my face and eat straight through my eyeballs. Of course, nothing was there. The three of us had been in that house before, spying on Ziegler. I knew it was all just a silly story, but telling the tale of what happened to the Mallorys made the idea of ghosts more real.

  A hot breeze tickled the back of my neck and I imagined Cyn burning my skin with her breath. A bug crawling up my arm felt like a ghost clawing for veins. Even though the humid air was enough to plaster the shirt to my back, gooseflesh scattered down my neck and arms.

  I paused halfway across the yard. “He’s not here.”

  “That cat’s probably halfway to Burlington by now,” Anne said. “I’m going home before I’m eaten alive by chiggers.” She scratched her ankles to prove it.

  “Th-Th-There he is,” Aidan called before I could take two steps back toward the alley.

  The cat was closer to the house. He hunkered down with his ears pulled back as if he, too, heard ghosts tap-dancing on creaking floorboards. I muttered the kind of word that would’ve gotten my mouth washed out with soap if Mom had heard me say it, then squatted and held out my hand. The cat sniffed, pausing just long enough for me to make my move.

  I snatched him by the scruff of the neck, trapping him against my chest. The cat growled, which I didn’t know cats could do. Then h
e hissed and dug his claws into the fleshy part of my arm. I winced, but I was the Kid. I would not let go.

  The cat squirmed, trying to find an escape route. When he found none, he went limp against my chest. “Start counting,” I yelled to Sawyer.

  “You have to g-g-get nose-to-n-n-nose.”

  Hearing my best friend sounding just like Sawyer stung my eyes. I imagined my grandfather checking to see if I was being Woodford Brave and bent my nose to the cat. I wondered if the ghosts of Cyn and her mother could sense fear. Not mine, of course. The cat’s.

  Sawyer started counting, saying each number as slow as peanut butter plops from a knife. I concentrated on the cat. Just. The. Cat.

  The edge of one ear was torn completely in half and his hair was matted with burrs and grass. The darker stripe of yellow arching over his eyes gave him a worried expression. His sides rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell, and his tail lashing back and forth stuck to the sweat on my arm. Sawyer had only counted to eight when I noticed something hidden deep in the cat’s amber eyes. It was a tiny reflection of me.

  When Sawyer reached ten, Anne sneezed. It wasn’t a cute little girly sneeze, either. It was the kind of sneeze that made the ground shake. The cat let out a yowl and sprang from my arms. It wasn’t fear that made me dodge out of the way, but when Aidan let out a whoop that sounded just like Sawyer, I knew that he would never believe me. Sawyer wouldn’t let him. Not in a million years.

  Sawyer shifted his wad of gum to his left cheek as we watched the cat high-tail it around the corner of the house where Dad had once made out with Mom. “Admit it, Cory. There is no such thing as Woodford Bravery. If you ask me, that statue in the square ought to be torn down so we can have a decent baseball mound. It’s nothing but a huge bird-crap catcher. Just like all your superhero stories.”

  I had put up with Sawyer all summer. Put up with him making fun of my baseball pitches and laughing whenever I struck out. I’d watched Aidan hang on his every word. Kept my mouth shut when he took over my place in the tree house. And he’d done the unthinkable by feeding my Yankees ball cap to a Nazi spy’s dogs. This was the last straw.