chapter 30
In Which Jackson Has a Very Good Idea Indeed
Muffy’s fangs were sharp and glistening with drool.
His snarls were loud and deeper, and he had foamy froth all over his large black snout. Jackson slowly stepped behind the gold toilet. Muffy took one step forward. Jackson’s clammy fingers clenched the flashlight tightly, waiting for the right moment. His breathing was uneven, and his skin was covered in goosebumps. He slowly raised the clenched flashlight overhead, waiting for the right moment.
But then he had an idea.
“M-Muffy? Are you thirsty?” Jackson cooed softly, lifting up the golden toilet seat.
Muffy’s appearance changed immediately. His hackles dropped down, his ears perked up into two perfect triangles, and his teeth disappeared behind a goofy grin.
“Are you thirsty? Eh, buddy? Want a drink?” Muffy pushed forward and shoved his snout into the toilet bowl. Messy slurps and swallows echoed in the bowl.
Jackson heaved a sigh of relief. But then a horrible thought struck him: What happens when he’s done drinking? Jackson searched his bag, trying not to make any sudden movements, and pulled out the roll of toilet paper. He tore off several lengths and began twisting them into a complicated braid. After just a moment he’d tied a makeshift collar.
Muffy lifted his head and stared at Jackson. That deep, low grumbling had started again. Jackson tugged the gold-tasseled flush handle and more water gushed into the toilet bowl. Muffy shoved his whole head back in, snorting and sneezing like a water buffalo. It was now or never.
Jackson’s deft fingers slipped the collar around Muffy’s neck and tied it, careful not to get the toilet paper wet, and tied the leash to the base. The slurping and slopping stopped. Muffy lifted his head and looked at Jackson, a big slobber of water splashing the ground and Jackson’s feet. Muffy laid down, his head resting on his neatly-crossed legs. His big tongue lolled out the side, a glistening strand of drool hanging from it as he panted. And as Jackson watched, his eyelids began to grow heavy and droop. Muffy was asleep.
Jackson stepped back from the toilet bowl, quietly and stealthily slipping back into the patch of sunflowers before Muffy noticed.
chapter 31
Which Is Simply Full of Tears and Boogers
Jackson followed the path back toward the garden door. He’d go find Stimple or Sir Shaw—maybe Stimple would be done with his chores now, and would help Jackson find his way home! He looked around the garden, searching for the door.
A screech pierced the air. And then very loud crying and wailing. It was coming from the direction of the wrought iron table and chairs. Jackson rushed back to the gazebo, his heart pounding. The wailing grew louder with each step he took, punctuated by gulps and gasps and the honk of someone blowing her nose. He could hear the distinct sound of nose-blowing.
“Burt?”
chapter 32
In Which Burt Shrieks a Lot. You’d Better Cover Your Ears.
A very messy head of hair was trembling as the body sobbed with loud sobs.
Jackson stepped closer, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Burt? Are you okay?”
The messy head of hair whipped around, and a very scowly face glared at Jackson. Burt pointed at the table and chairs. “Look at this!” she shrieked.
Jackson looked around. “What? What happened?”
“Someone sat here!” she hissed. Jackson coughed uncomfortably. “Um, well, I was going to sit down and then Muffy came and …”
“You?” Burt stood up, her hands in fists at her side. “You sat in that … chair?” Her voice went up a few decibels.
“Well, almost. I was clean and pressed, and I made sure not to touch anything else, but Muffy started chasing me so I bumped the table …”
“You bumped into the table?” she screeched.
“It was an accident! See, Muffy was growling …”
“You? You … did … this?” she spluttered, pointing at a glass lying broken beside a golden plate.
“Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry, Burt. It really was an accident. Look, I’d be happy to … let me clean it up for you.” Jackson reached for the shards of broken glass.
“Don’t touch anything!” Burt yelled. Her little hands shoved him in the chest with surprising force.
“Hey now! You don’t have to shove me! I said I was sorry!”
Burt whirled on him, her face menacing with fury.
“You have ruined everything!” She took a step toward him. “I told you and told you! You were not supposed to touch anything!” Her face began to turn very red.
“Burt! We can clean …”
“NO!” she screamed.
Silence.
Not a word, not a sound.
Jackson watched Burt’s face change from red to pink. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes filled with tears.
“What do I do now?” she whispered. She looked back at the table and the broken glass. “He’ll never forgive me … and … and I’ve worked so hard!” She gulped back a sob.
Jackson didn’t say anything.
“Do you have any idea? Any idea … how exhausting it is?” She turned and sat down heavily on a step. Her head hung between her knees, big drops of tears splashing the ground. Jackson sat down beside her.
“I worked so hard and … I figured if … I wanted so badly …” Burt looked up at Jackson. “What do I do now?”
Jackson held out his hand. She stared at it, then put her little hand in his. “You don’t have to do anything,” he whispered. Her eyes grew big and she began to pull away, but he held on.
“Burt, the Author is like … he’s like a dad. See, last week I was practicing my baseball swing, and I hit the ball through a window. Smash. Just like that. I knew my dad was going to come out and yell at me, so I ran and hid up in my tree house. I didn’t come down for a long time. And then he came up to get me. I figured he was going to yell at me.”
Burt nodded, fascinated. “He yelled at you, right? He kicked you out and now you have to live in this tree?”
Jackson burst out laughing. “No! I said I was very sorry and I cried and I asked him to forgive me and you know what he said?” Burt shook her head. “He said, ‘That was a nice shot. Don’t do it again.’ “
Burt’s eyes grew huge. “But that’s your dad. That’s not the Author. He won’t forgive me. And,” she said with a sniff, “he definitely won’t forgive you.”
“Burt, you’re not getting it. The Author is like a dad. He loves you, and he always forgives you. He made you, right? Why do you think he made you?”
Burt blinked. “To serve him. That’s my job.”
Jackson laughed. “No! He made you because he wants to love you.”
Burt shook her head so hard that her messy hair became a blur. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sense or not, it’s fact.”
Burt squeezed Jackson’s hand. “OK. That sounds easy. But I don’t know.”
“One step at a time.” Jackson hugged her. “Now let me help you clean this up.”
And they cleaned up. Jackson picked up the shards of glass and put them in the garbage receptacle. Burt swept the gazebo.
“Now what?” she asked.
Jackson smiled. “Now we have hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles!”
chapter 33
In Which It’s Time to Move Along
Jackson slurped the last of his hot chocolate and wiped his face on his sleeve. “So you really don’t know how to get out of here?” he asked.
Burt dabbed at her mouth daintily with a napkin. “No. I’ve never had a reason to leave.”
“But surely someone must know! I have to get home. I …” Jackson paused. Did he have to get home? He thought about his circumstances. And he was still a little mad. And still not talking to his little brother.
“How about you just take me to the elevator and I’ll figure it out?” Jackson said.
They both stood up and carried
their finished mugs of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles to the sink (A sink in the garden? Yes. A sink in the garden.) and cleaned them out.
“Burt, do you know Stimple?” Jackson asked.
She frowned. “Yes. Grouchy fellow, isn’t he?”
“I wonder why he’s so grouchy.” Burt shrugged.
They had arrived at the elevator. Burt pushed the button.
“Well, thanks for everything, Burt.” He held out his hand to her. She looked down. “Did you use an antibacterial wipe?”
Jackson sighed. “Well, anyway, see ya later.”
And with a whir and a churn …
DING!
The elevator door opened.
chapter 34
A Chapter of Grouchy Proportions
And where do ya think you’re goin’?” came a growl from the corner.
Jackson jumped. “Oh, Stimple. Hi, Sir Shaw.” Sir Shaw nodded. Jackson stepped into the elevator, and the door closed. Stimple scowled.
“Took ya long enough,” muttered the tree troll.
“I was visiting Burt. Right where you left me,” Jackson said.
“I suppose she gave you a hard time too?”
“No, actually, it all worked out in the end. She’s really very sweet, you know.,” Jackson said.
Stimple scowled even harder and mumbled something about “friends” and “la dee da.”
With a whir and a churn and …
DING!
The elevator door opened.
chapter 35
Yet Another Chapter
Bright greeny greenness was everywhere. Jackson was so blinded by the greenness he thought he had gone green-blind.
But he hadn’t.
When the elevator door had opened, large green leaves pushed their way into the elevator until there was barely room to stand. Jackson held his arms over his face. Sir Shaw just stood to the side, apparently accustomed to this kind of bad behavior from leaves.
Stimple gave a low growl, and the leaves moved out of the way. (Perhaps they didn’t mind moving for Stimple.)
Sir Shaw’s white-gloved hand was on Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson turned to look at him.
“Find your adventure yet?” Sir Shaw asked.
Jackson looked at Stimple who was stomping down a path. “I’m not sure. The garden was pretty cool, though.”
Sir Shaw’s blue eyes twinkled. “Well, don’t stay too long. You still have that matter at home to deal with.”
“How did you …” Jackson spluttered.
“Have a nice day, sir,” he said, and gave Jackson a gentle shove out of the elevator. And with a whir and a churn, the door closed.
chapter 36
Which Ends on a Cliffhanger
How did Sir Shaw know? How could he possibly have known? Jackson scratched his head. Then he stamped his foot. How had he known what had happened that morning? Jackson shook his head. Sir Shaw knew nothing. Jackson probably just didn’t hear right.
Jackson ran to catch up with Stimple.
“Where are we going now? Are you taking me home?” Jackson asked.
“I’ll take ya home when I’m good and ready.” Stimple whacked at a couple of dangling leaves.
“If you just tell me I can …” but Jackson stopped talking. And the reason Jackson stopped talking was because …
chapter 37
In Which Jackson’s Eyes Just about Bug Out of His Head
Now I know you’ve seen some forts before. There are forts that you can make in your basement with blankets and boxes. And cookies. Only the best forts have cookies to eat. There are forts that you build yourself with broken bits of wood and some old nails from the garage. And while you nail the boards, sometimes you accidentally nail your fingers too. And then there are the forts you only see in magazines that someone has built out of mud and sticks.
But these forts were not like any forts Jackson had ever seen before.
There were forts with blue siding, forts with yellow siding, forts with cedar siding, and forts made of rough-sawn pine. There were forts with rope ladders, forts with twig ladders, forts with fireman poles and slides, and forts with long zip lines going back and forth between them. Some were perched so high up in the trees that you had to climb a spiral staircase to reach them; some were half-hidden in the ground. Some of the forts had trap doors that required secret knocks to enter. Some had steep roofs that needed a long rope on a pulley to open. One fort had red geraniums planted in the window boxes.
Jackson could hardly contain his delight. He ran three steps toward the nearest fort when …
“And wherrrrrre do you think you’re gooooing, young man?”
chapter 38
In Which Stimple Comes to Jackson’s Rescue (with Disastrous Results)
A rather large chicken was eyeing Jackson with disdain. The chicken was bright red, and on her chest laid a set of glistening white pearls. Her eye lids were slathered in blue eye shadow and her eyes kept twitching as though her long, false eyelashes were giving her grief. A bright purple hat (which was not at all becoming) was perched precariously on top of her head. She ruffled and fluffed her feathers and said again: “Wherrrrre are you going, young man?”
“Uh …” was the best answer Jackson could manage.
“You weren’t thinking of going into my forts, werrrrre you?” she squawked, her eyes narrowing. “Um … yes?”
“Oh! And did youuuuu ask permission?”
Jackson looked around for Stimple, but Stimple was nowhere to be found. Jackson cleared his throat. “Uh, no.”
“And do you think it wise to go somewhere youuuu did not ask permission to go?” The chicken’s eyelashes were twitching like mad.
“Well, I’m with Stimple, so I assumed that …”
“You assuuuuuuumed? And wherrrrre is Stimple now?” The chicken’s eyelids seemed to be stuck together. She shook her head trying to free them.
Jackson looked around. “He was here a minute ago.”
“So!” The chicken began to strut around him, waving her feathers wildly about. “Yooou thought you would just wander off on your own and you just happened to wander in heeeeere and you just thought you could help yourself, is that it?” Her orange beak was right up in his face now. She smelled of very cheap perfume.
“I …” Jackson backed up.
“Weeeeeell, I think that … BAAAWK!”
In the twitch of an eye (or maybe a few twitches if your eyelashes were stuck together) a white net fell on top of the chicken, pinning her to the ground.
“I say! BAAWK! Stop that!” She thrashed about, and Stimple’s grimy hands scooped up the net with the chicken inside.
“Now listen here, Missy. I won’t be havin’ anymore of your nonsense! I’m the Keeper of the Tree and …”
The net flew around in a wide arc and smashed into Stimple’s head. “Arggh! Ger off! Ger off!” The chicken attacked, pecking like mad. Bright red feathers flew out of the net as the chicken tried mightily to free herself.
“Stop! Stop!” yelled Jackson, struggling to be heard over the noise. Stimple paused for a moment, and in that moment the chicken pecked him hard on the nose. “Gaaaagh!” Stimple threw down the net and sat on it.
“You fiendish, heavy brrrrute! Get off of me! You’re rrrrruining my hair!”
Stimple laughed. “Hair? Yer a chicken!”
Jackson ran over and started pushing Stimple, trying to get him off the net. “She didn’t mean anything! She just wanted to know what I was doing!”
“Humph! Nosy thing. None of her business what we’re doing here! I’m the Keeper of the Tree and …”
“Oh, and you’re doing a fiiiiine job letting this hoooooligan rrrrun around and smash everything!” the net squawked.
“I wasn’t smashing anything!” Jackson protested.
“Well! I knooooow little boys, and I knooooow what you were intending! I was preventing the inevitable!” (Inevitable is something that is going to happen whether you like
it or not. Like if you break your mother’s favorite plate, going to Time Out is inevitable.)
“Want me to chuck her outta the tree?” Stimple laughed.
“NOOOOO! Don’t you DAAAARE! I will repooooort youuuuu!” shrieked the net.
Jackson sighed. “Stimple, you’d better let her out.”
Stimple growled, dark and low. He stood up slowly and opened the net. A very roughed-up and disheveled red chicken hopped out. Her feathers stood every which way, and the mascara ran down her face in angry black streaks. She fluffed and primped and straightened the purple hat on her head. “You’ve flattened my corrrrrrdebos!” she sniffed.
“What’s a cordebos?” Jackson asked.
The chicken arched an eyebrow. “It is an austere Spanish hat! And it’s pronounced corrrrrrrdebos!”
“I’m Jackson.” Jackson held out his hand.
She looked up scornfully. “I do not knoooow where that hand has beeeen, thank you! I am Miss Emiiiilia Flaversham. You may call me Miss Flaversham.” Miss Flaversham gave herself a shake, then opened her purse and pulled out a compact. With a little white poof she wiped the mascara from under her eyes, then pulled out a shiny gold tube and reapplied orange lipstick to her beak. Then, somewhere, she found another little poof and some white powder. With quick, careful strokes, she dabbed the poof into the powder and began smashing her face with it. White powder flew everywhere. Jackson choked and began to laugh.
“And what are youuuuu laughing at, young man?” Miss Flaversham did not look pleased.
Jackson gulped, trying desperately to stop the giggles. His eyes were tearing up and he wiped them with his sleeve. But he couldn’t stop.
“N-nothing!” he gasped.
Miss Flaversham placed her wings on her hips and gave him the hairy eyeball. (A hairy eyeball is a dirty look, not an eyeball with hair on it.) “I demaaaaaaand that you tell me what is so funny!”
Jackson Jones, Book 2 Page 4
