The Entirely True Story of the Unbelievable FIB

by Adam Shaughnessy

Pru picked up the pen attached to the clipboard by a worn string and started to write her name. Her hand paused midway through writing the r, however, as she noticed the name that occupied the line above. Aloysius B. Evans.

  “Alloy-­see-­us? That’s your real name?”

  “It’s pronounced Al-­oh-­ISH-­us,” ABE corrected, looking down. His face turned as red as Pru’s hair as he added, “It means ‘famous warrior.’ ”

  “Famous warrior?” Pru tried not to laugh. She failed miserably.

  “I didn’t name myself.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Pru said, seeing how upset ABE looked. “Really. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were a Scout?” ABE looked up, surprised.

  “Well, no. Not exactly. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” Pru tilted her head, remembering the first time she saw ABE. “Wait a second. So that’s why you wrote ABE in all capitals on your name tag, isn’t it? Because A, B, and E are your initials. But if you don’t like your first name, how come you don’t just go by your middle name? Lots of kids do that.”

  “It’s Bartholomew.”

  “Oh.” Pru didn’t have to say anything more. Bartholomew got shortened to Bart, and everyone knew what Bart rhymed with. ABE looked so miserable that Pru took pity on him. “Well, it could be worse. Your name’s better than Prudence, at least.”

  “What’s wrong with Prudence?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s bad enough it sounds like an old lady’s name. But do you even know what Prudence means?”

  Pru wished she could take the question back as soon as she asked it. She’d learned in the woods that asking ABE if he knew what a word meant was like asking Mrs. Edleman if she liked giving kids detention.

  “It means using good judgment to plan for the future, right?”

  “See?” Pru’s face darkened. “It’s a stupid name. You can’t plan for the future. Things just happen. Terrible things, and you can’t see them coming or stop them. People die, even. And you can’t know. You can’t. Anything is possible. I hate my name.”

  ABE opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, another voice made itself heard.

  “Oh my, how familiar that sounds.”

  Startled, Pru looked up to see an older woman standing behind the Earth Center’s table. She hadn’t been there when Pru first approached ABE. Pru figured she must have stepped up, unnoticed, while they were talking.

  The woman had the sort of face that made Pru immediately think she was someone’s mother, or possibly someone’s grandmother (it was also the sort of face that made it hard to judge her age). Even though it was October, the woman wore a long, flowing dress and sandals. She looked nice enough, Pru supposed. Actually, at second glance, Pru thought she looked annoyingly nice. She was gazing at Pru with her hands clasped over her heart and a “Let’s talk” expression on her face.

  Definitely someone’s mother.

  “I’m Fay Loningtime. And I feel your pain, little girl. Oh, how I hated my name when I was your age.” Pru flexed her elbows at the “little girl” comment that followed the woman’s introduction, but curiosity got the better of her.

  “What’s wrong with your name? Fay doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t seem so to you. But where I grew up, I was very different from those around me. Some things that were very easy for my peers were difficult for me. They delighted in teasing me and making up names for me.”

  “Like what?” Pru asked. She tried not to sound too curious.

  “Well, for example, they called me ‘Fay Long-­in-­time’ because I was never quite as fast as them, or as strong.” Fay sighed, and the fingers of one hand fluttered over her heart. “But we outgrow such things, don’t we? Still, do you know what I did when my name bothered me most? I made a game out of it. Shall I show you?”

  Pru shrugged. It was still better than math. Fay turned to the table to grab a pen and piece of paper. She wrote her full name: FAY LONINGTIME.

  “First, I would write my name. Then I would rearrange the letters to try and make new words or phrases. It always excited me to find one. I pretended each new word or phrase was a secret message written just for me, revealing hidden truths about myself. Would you like to see my favorite?”

  “I would,” ABE said. Pru rolled her eyes at ABE’s eagerness for another riddle.

  One at a time, Fay crossed out the letters of her name and rewrote them in a different order until they spelled FLY INTO ENIGMA.

  “Do you know what an enigma is?” Fay asked.

  “It’s another word for a riddle, or mystery,” ABE-­the-­walking-­dictionary answered.

  “Exactly. I liked it because it seemed to tell me to seek mystery and adventure in life. I happen to think that’s good advice for anyone, young or old.”

  Pru looked up at that. Anyone who liked mysteries couldn’t be all bad.

  A shuffling of bodies around her drew Pru’s attention to the front of the gym. Mrs. Edleman stood there, summoning her students back into line.

  “Well, okay, thanks. But we’ve got to go,” Pru said, grabbing ABE’s arm.

  “No, thank you. It warms my heart to see you children getting involved in helping your world. Welcome to the Earth Center. Go now and seek your own mysteries. Fly into enigma!” Fay thrust one hand into the air in an enthusiastic gesture as Pru led ABE quickly away.

  “And we’re going to have to see her every day for community service,” Pru muttered to ABE as they lined up. Still, it would be worth it for an excuse to explore the town.

  And Pru knew just where to start their explorations that very afternoon. She wasn’t ready to go back to the cemetery—the fear she’d felt in the woods had been too real. But her dad wouldn’t have turned his back on an investigation, and neither would she.

  Luckily, there was another option. Every strange thing that had happened so far had started the morning of the class trip to Winterhaven House. That was where she first met Mister Fox, too. Pru had no idea what was going on in Middleton, but there was one thing she was sure of.

  A place as big as Winterhaven House had to have plenty of recyclables.

  CHAPTER

  8

  WINTERHAVEN HOUSE ROSE UP FROM THE CLIFF TOP and imposed its presence on the blotted skies. The wind whipped Pru’s hair about her face, and thunder boomed as she and ABE stood outside the gates of the mansion that afternoon.

  “So, ah, remind me why you wanted to come here, again?” ABE said.

  “It all started here.” Pru combed the hair from her eyes. “That card you saw in the library? The one that led us to the cemetery? It appeared in my house the same morning our class had a field trip here. That was the day before you started school.”

  “It just appeared in your house?”

  Pru nodded. “Weird, right? That was the same morning all this strange weather started. And then we got here to Winterhaven House and I”—Pru cleared her throat—“accidentally got separated from the class. That’s when I met Mister Fox for the first time.”

  “He was here? Okay, that does sound like a lot of coincidences. I can see why you might want to, ah, investigate here.” ABE lowered his voice as Pru turned to face the mansion. “Now I just wish someone would explain to me what I’m doing here.”

  Perhaps the wind carried ABE’s words, or perhaps he spoke louder than he’d meant to, but Pru heard his muttered comment and turned back to face him.

  “Actually I was kind of wondering that, too,” Pru said. She’d met him at the Earth Center after her detention and, a bit to her surprise, managed to persuade him to go with her to Winterhaven House. Other people didn’t usually show much interest in her investigations, unless it was to tell her to stop one. “Why did you decide to come?”

  “I’m not sure, I guess. I mean . . . I’m curious. Something strange happened in those woods over the weekend. So I kind of want to know what’s going on. Also, you’re, ah, basically the only kid in school who’s talked to me.”r />
  Pru had to smile at that. “Well, anyway, come on. I can show you where I first met Mister Fox.”

  She led ABE into the museum wing and past bored-­looking docents in red vests and badges that expressed far more welcome than the volunteers themselves. She did her best to retrace her route to the room with the Middleton Stone. When she found it, she stepped back and let ABE read the sign in front of the exhibit, just as she had done.

  “So this stone is like a treasure map to something called the Eye of Odin?” ABE said when he had finished. “That’s kind of cool. I wonder what ‘the Eye’ is, really. And I wonder how it could be Odin’s greatest treasure and his greatest torment.”

  “I don’t know. Wait a minute.” Pru frowned as she considered a piece of information she hadn’t had on her last visit. “Odin? I know that name. He was in that story we read, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He’s like the head of the Norse gods. I mean, it’s just a story, obviously, but I wonder if the Eye of Odin was a real thing that got named after him.”

  “Just a story.” The words rang in Pru’s ears. “There’s no such thing as ‘just a story,’ ” she muttered. She shot a glance at ABE to see if he’d heard her, but he appeared distracted by another exhibit in a corner of the room.

  “Pru, did you see this?”

  Set back in a shadowed corner of the room was another glass-­enclosed exhibit. Pru must have been too distracted by Mister Fox on her first visit to notice it.

  “No way,” Pru said when she stepped up beside ABE and peered through the glass. Inside was a life-­size model of a squirrel. Pru read the sign on the front of the case.

  Ratatosk the Messenger

  There are three worlds in Norse mythology. Asgard is the world of the gods. Midgard is the world of mortals. Niflheim is the world of the dead. A giant ash tree called Yggdrasil connects the three worlds. Many animals make Yggdrasil their home. One of those animals is Ratatosk, the squirrel. Ratatosk often serves as a messenger in the myths. He carries insults back and forth between an eagle at the top of the tree and a dragon at the bottom. Ratatosk also carries messages for the gods. Because of the ease with which he travels between worlds and the messages he carries, Ratatosk often knows more of the affairs of the gods than even they suspect.

  “No way,” Pru repeated. “According to this, Ratatosk was a talking insult squirrel.”

  “It’s got to be a joke, right? Do you think that guy, that Mister Fox, could be playing a trick on us? He was here in this room with you that other time. Maybe he saw this and—” ABE stopped suddenly as a small rustling noise came from the opposite side of the room, close to the door.

  Pru and ABE exchanged a glance and then, slowly, edged their way around the exhibit of the Middleton Stone that stood in the center of the room. Together, they peered around the corner of the exhibit toward the doorway. At first, it looked empty.

  Then they looked down.

  Standing on its hind legs in the center of the doorway was a small gray squirrel. His tail looked a bit worse for wear, and his left ear had a small tear in it.

  Pru and ABE looked at the squirrel.

  The squirrel looked at Pru and ABE.

  He winked.

  Then, he turned tail and ran.

  Pru hesitated only a second before shouting, “Get it!” and taking off in pursuit.

  “What? Pru, wait!”

  “I want answers,” Pru yelled back over her shoulder. She ran as fast as she could manage in the packed exhibit rooms and halls. The squirrel had a much easier time of it as he scampered under glass exhibit cases and along woven tapestries.

  At one point, the squirrel’s flight forced Pru to take a corner sharply—too sharply. She managed (barely) to avoid bumping into a tall, narrow pedestal that displayed an old earthen jar. But her messenger bag swung out and caught the corner of the display.

  Pru didn’t stop. She did look back, though, just in time to see ABE slide on his knees to catch the falling artifact.

  The squirrel led Pru into a hallway that ended at a closed door. She had him!

  Triumph turned into doubt, however, when Pru noticed that the door had a narrow, rectangular window at the top that had been opened to allow air to pass through. Pru whispered a silent prayer that it was not open wide enough for the squirrel to fit through.

  It was.

  The squirrel scampered up the wooden doorframe with ease and leapt through the window. Just before he did, however, Pru saw him turn his little squirrel head to her and stick out his tongue.

  “Rudest. Squirrel. Ever,” Pru said through clenched teeth as she sprinted for the door.

  “Pru, wait!” ABE called from behind. “You can’t!”

  Pru hadn’t even been aware that ABE had caught up again, but she ignored his warning and opened the door, and then raced through. On the other side, Pru found that the squirrel had increased his lead. She chased him, and ABE’s footfalls soon sounded once again behind her.

  The hallway around Pru widened and became far less cluttered, but she remained focused on the chase and hardly noticed. After a final turn around a corner, Pru entered a large open space. The squirrel was nowhere to be seen.

  ABE came up behind her, breathing heavily. He looked nervous. Well, he looked more nervous than usual, anyway.

  “Pru, we have to go back,” he said between breaths.

  “Why? Where are we, anyway?” She didn’t remember this part of the museum. The room they stood in was huge. Various figures and creatures were carved into the granite walls around her. Fierce Viking warriors brandished swords at beasts of every sort, though most often their opponents were giants and serpents and wolves, everywhere wolves. The figures marched along the walls. They prowled around corners and slithered over archways, recurring often enough in different configurations that Pru sensed there was a specific tale unfolding before her. From what she could tell, the story told by the figures stretched out into other parts of the building. Pru wondered what chapters waited in unexplored rooms.

  It took a moment for Pru to see that there weren’t any exhibit cases in the room. Nothing was labeled, as it had been elsewhere in the museum. All in all, it looked more like someone’s house than a museum.

  “Uh-­oh,” she said.

  “Didn’t you see the sign on the door you went through?” ABE’s eyes darted from one spot in the room to another. “The one that said DO NOT ENTER in big black letters? We’re not in the museum anymore. We’re in Mr. Grimnir’s house.”

  “It’s not my fault. The door wasn’t locked! Why wouldn’t they lock the door?” Pru glanced around, trying to figure out the way they’d come. There were three hallways leading from the room. “Do you remember the way back?”

  “I’m not sure. All the hallways look alike.”

  “I’m really starting to hate that squirrel,” Pru muttered. “Come on. I think it’s this way.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She wasn’t sure at all.

  ABE was right. All the halls looked exactly alike. Pru quickened her step, but she soon became certain she’d chosen the wrong direction and would have to go back. Before Pru could say anything, however, a sound reached her that made her freeze. She grabbed ABE’s arm and raised a finger to her lips. After a moment ABE’s eyes widened. He heard it, too.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall from the direction Pru and ABE had come, and they were getting louder. Pru took some comfort in the fact that they sounded like the footsteps of a normal-­sized person. It was a small comfort, though. She and ABE were, technically, breaking and entering. She didn’t care to think about how many weeks of detention and grounding she would get if they were caught.

  A small door stood nearby. Pru pulled on its handle, hoping that unlocked doors were the rule in Winterhaven House. It turned out they were. The door opened to reveal a small broom closet. Pru yanked ABE inside. She had to fight the urge to slam the door shut, but she took some pride in the soft click as i
t finally settled into place. Closing a door quietly was another detective skill she’d practiced (the trick was keeping the knob turned until the door was shut, so the latch wouldn’t make much noise).

  Huddled in the dark, Pru felt a gossamer thread brush against her cheek. It made her think of spiderwebs, and then of spiders, and she had to clench her teeth and tighten her fists to keep still. The sound of ABE’s quick breathing was surprisingly comforting.

  They’d be fine. Whoever was coming would pass them by, and then she and ABE could slip back out the way they’d come and try another hallway. Pru listened as the footsteps got closer and closer. Then they stopped.

  They stopped right outside the door.

  Pru held her breath and willed the person to just keep walking. The closet was empty. There was nothing in it at all that anyone could want!

  Except for them.

  The door opened, revealing a tall, young-­looking woman with a severe expression. Her blonde hair hung to her waist in a long, heavy braid. She did not appear at all startled to see them there, which surprised Pru quite a bit.

  “You will both come with me,” the woman said, studying them with sharp blue eyes.

  Pru swallowed, feverishly trying to come up with a perfectly good reason why she and ABE might be hiding in the closet of the house of the richest man in town. She would have preferred a reason that made no mention of a talking squirrel. Before she could think of anything to say, the woman spoke again and her words so astonished Pru that her mind went blank.

  “I’m Hilde,” the woman said. “I’m to take you to Mr. Grimnir. He has been expecting you.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  AS PRU AND ABE FOLLOWED HILDE, PRU SAW THAT the figures on the walls did extend into other parts of the building. Warriors and creatures of stone flowed through the halls of Winterhaven House in a frozen tableau. Every so often, a shifting shadow would create the impression that the figures weren’t still at all but were moving at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  “It’s like a story, written in stone,” ABE said, also studying the figures as they walked.