The Entirely True Story of the Unbelievable FIB

by Adam Shaughnessy

  It was a long time before Pru fell asleep. When sleep finally did claim her, she had fewer answers, and far more questions, than she’d begun with.

  Pru avoided ABE as much as she could on Thursday. She didn’t make eye contact in the hallway when everyone put their bags in their lockers. She hung back when it was time to line up for lunch so she could see where in the cafeteria ABE sat. Then she tried to ignore his wounded, puppy-­dog look when, for the first time since they’d met, she sat somewhere else.

  There was no avoiding him at recess, though.

  “Hi,” he said, walking over to her with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops and his eyes downcast. “Uh, is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. Um, how were things at the dentist?”

  “Good.” Pru peered at him. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. Just wondering? I mean, we found out all this amazing stuff the other day. Then you had your appointment yesterday, and I haven’t had anyone to talk to about it all. Anyone else would think I’m crazy, or something. By the way, I looked around town yesterday after school for Thor while I collected recyclables. I couldn’t find him.”

  Pru glanced at the clouds overhead and thought of her discovery of Thor. She wished she could tell ABE all about it. But could she trust him? She felt even less sure standing there than she had the night before. Since she couldn’t just ask ABE if he was trustworthy, she took a different approach.

  “What do you think of Mister Fox?” she asked.

  “Oh. Well, he’s . . . different.”

  “What does that mean? You don’t like him?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Well, sort of. I don’t know.” ABE took a deep breath. “This is going to sound stupid, but when I was little—well, littler—we used to play this game at my old school called What Time Is It, Mr. Fox? I know the name is just coincidence, but it’s the first thing I thought of when he told us what to call him. Anyway, in the game, everyone would line up on one side of a field, shoulder to shoulder. Then we’d all ask, ‘What time is it, Mr. Fox?’ The teacher, who played Mr. Fox, would say a time. If he said, ‘Three o’clock,’ then we’d take three steps. We’d get closer and closer each turn, until Mr. Fox yelled ‘Midnight!’ and started chasing everyone. The thing is, I always hated that game. It was like the teacher suddenly turned into someone else, someone scary.”

  Pru frowned. She’d played a variation of the game in gym class. Her teacher had called it What Time Is It, Mr. Wolf ? Did the fact that ABE talked about his other school and the games he played there mean he was who he said he was . . . or was he just a really good liar?

  “Mister Fox—the real Mister Fox—reminds me of that game,” ABE continued. “It’s not just the name. There’s something about him. He’s great, I guess. He’s amazing, anyway. But there’s something that doesn’t feel quite safe about him. I’m not sure I trust him.”

  “He saved our lives that day at the fort,” Pru said, suddenly defensive.

  “I know, I know,” ABE said, nodding. But then, more quietly, he added, “But if you think about it, he also used us as bait. He drew the giant’s attention to us so we could lure him to Mister Fox.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pru, who had just been considering the possibility that Mister Fox might not be who he pretended to be, found herself growing angry.

  “Sorry.” ABE flinched at Pru’s tone. “I . . . I know you must like him because he’s a detective like your dad—”

  “What?” Pru sucked in her breath. “Who told you about that?”

  “It’s a small town. I’m sorry. I just . . . I wanted you to know . . .” ABE sighed. “I’m just sorry.”

  “You want to know what I think? I think you don’t like Mister Fox because he scares you. It has nothing to do with trust. You just want to not like him because he reminds you of all the stuff that’s going on that terrifies you and makes you speak in your scaredy-­cat, high-­pitched voice.” Pru did her best imitation of ABE’s frightened squeak. “So much for Aloysius, the famous warrior.”

  ABE ducked his head and hunched his shoulders forward like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  “I’m not going to make it to the Earth Center today,” Pru finished. “I’m not feeling good. I guess lunch or something disagreed with me, so I’m going to go home after school.”

  With that, Pru walked away from ABE. She didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER

  17

  PRU WOKE UP FRIDAY MORNING RESOLVED TO TAKE action. She had no idea what that action should be, but she was resolved to take it.

  She was so focused on figuring out what to do while she ate her breakfast that she almost didn’t hear the news report that came on the television moments before she left for school. Normally, the words “breaking news” and “robbery” would have captured her attention instantly. Now, she had bigger mysteries to solve.

  Inspiration struck as Pru walked to school. If she couldn’t figure out on her own who was lying, then her best chance would be to get Mister Fox and ABE together and confront them both. That way, at least, Loki would be outnumbered. It was risky (the sensible part of Pru’s brain shouted that it was reckless), but Pru had to do something. Giants were out there in the woods and could attack at any time. Thor’s thunder wouldn’t keep them away forever.

  Pru plotted the best ways to avoid ABE until she could put her plan into action. It turned out she needn’t have bothered. ABE remained absent as her class settled in for morning announcements. Pru felt an awful, empty sort of feeling begin to grow in her stomach. The feeling grew worse as the morning pressed on and it became clear that ABE wouldn’t be in school at all. She wasn’t sure if it was guilt over being mean to ABE the day before or suspicion about where he was—all she knew was she felt sick.

  When school ended, Pru served her final day of detention with Mrs. Edleman. Each second that ticked by seemed like an eternity. She had decided sometime during math that she would go to the Earth Center after school and see if ABE was there. If he was, she would still try to act on her plan. If he wasn’t . . . Pru didn’t know what she’d do.

  When her time was up, Pru nearly knocked her desk over in her hurry to leave the classroom. Mrs. Edleman called Pru to her desk, though, before she made it to the door.

  “I hope you’ve learned something from this, Prudence,” her teacher said, looking at Pru over her reading glasses.

  Pru nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “These investigations of yours simply must stop.” Mrs. Edleman put the cap on the pen she’d been using to mark papers and, after carefully setting the pen aside, folded her hands on her desk. “This has all gone on quite long enough, young lady. Let me tell you what I think. I think we have all been too soft on you, Prudence Potts. What happened to your father was . . . is . . . tragic.”

  For just a moment, sympathy showed on Mrs. Edleman’s face. That just made the tightness that had suddenly gripped Pru’s chest all the worse.

  “But since then, I fear the adults in your life have been far too indulgent. It is time for the truth. You are a child, Prudence. You are not a detective, and it is time for you to put these absurd investigations of yours behind you once and for all. I care too much about your future to permit this ridiculous charade to continue. Do we understand each other?”

  Pru’s cheeks burned so hot she was sure that flames would shoot out from her mouth if she opened it.

  “I’ll take your silence as a yes, then. Your mother left a message with the office,” Mrs. Edleman said, handing Pru a blue slip of paper that read Change of Dismissal at the top. “Apparently, you’re to go straight home today. You’ll be excused from your community service. You may go. Have a nice weekend.”

  Pru arrived at the Earth Center a short time later, her face still burning. She had to see if ABE was there. Then she’d go straight home.

  Most people stepped out of her way when they s
aw her. A few of them had, possibly, heard of her skill with her elbows and knew from the look on her face not to get too close. One person did not know better.

  “Pru, I wonder if we could talk for a moment?” Fay said, and, reluctantly, Pru followed the woman into her office. There had been no sign of ABE.

  Fay straightened her shoulders as she closed the door behind them, but they slumped almost immediately as a look of regret showed on her face. “Pru, I hate to do this, but I have to be honest with you. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to sign your community service slip.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Pru was so upset by Mrs. Edleman and worried about ABE’s absence that it took her a moment to understand what Fay was talking about.

  “I’m sorry, Pru,” Fay said, wringing her hands. “But what can I do? You were supposed to spend a week with the recycling drive. You’ve only come half of the time, and even on the days you’ve been here, you haven’t come back with any recyclables. None.”

  Pru squirmed in her chair. If Mrs. Edleman found out—if her mom found out!—that she hadn’t been doing her volunteer work, there would be more detention and more talks.

  “Please, Fay, I’m sorry. I really am. It’s been a hard week. I swear, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do extra volunteer work. I’ll do anything.”

  “Pru, I like you. I really, really do. But I can’t lie for you.” Fay bit her lower lip, and Pru saw in the gesture a glimmer of hope. She knew hesitation on sight.

  “Please, Fay,” she pressed.

  “Oh dear. Pru, I can’t. Don’t you understand? I have no idea where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing all week. What if you’re doing something dangerous? I couldn’t live with myself if I lied for you and you got hurt—”

  “It’s not like that,” Pru interrupted, knowing she was close to losing Fay. “It’s just, I’ve been going . . . to the cemetery.”

  The words were out before Pru could stop them.

  “The cemetery?” Fay said, startled. “Whatever for, dear?”

  Pru closed her eyes. She hated using her dad in a lie. But she had to say something now, and she couldn’t tell Fay about Mister Fox.

  “My dad’s buried there.” Pru chose her words carefully, keeping as close to the truth as she could.

  “Oh, Pru. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry,” Fay said, cupping her hand to her mouth and speaking through her fingers.

  “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but . . . It happened last year. My dad ran to the store at the gas station to get something for my mom. There was a guy there with a gun. My dad was a detective, but he wasn’t even on duty that night.” Pru closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “He just tried to help.”

  She felt Fay’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Pru, I haven’t the words to say how sorry I am. But there’s no reason to sneak off to visit your father’s grave. I’m sure your mother would take you to his grave anytime you’d like.”

  Pru opened her eyes and pulled away.

  “You don’t understand. My mom always tries to talk about things, like that’s going to make it better. Like I can even believe what she says. I can’t believe what anyone says.” Pru pressed the palms of her hands to her temples, desperate to keep all the thoughts that were jumble-­banging about her brain contained.

  “I might understand better than you think. Relationships between mothers and children are complicated.”

  Pru looked up at that. “You’re a mom?”

  “I am. Though motherhood came to me unexpectedly, and it saddens me to say that I gave my child to someone else to raise shortly after his birth. But this isn’t about me,” Fay said. “We’re talking about you, and I have an offer to make you. I will sign your slip for school. Honoring the memory of a good man, a hero, seems like a service to the community to me. But there is one condition. I want you to promise me that you will think about telling your mother about your trips to the cemetery. You may be surprised by what comes from the conversation.”

  “Okay,” Pry said instantly, “I promise I’ll think about it.”

  “Really think about it.”

  “Fine. I’ll really think about it,” Pru said, surprised to find that she really was considering it.

  “Good. I’m glad. Now, then. I haven’t seen your partner in crime yet. Is ABE coming today?”

  “I don’t know.” The momentary relief Pru had felt slipped away. “We kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

  “Oh dear. Can I help?”

  “No. No one can. It’s just . . . I know one of my friends is lying to me, only I don’t know who.” Pru expected Fay to jump to ABE’s defense. Instead, a look of surprise crossed the woman’s face.

  “What is it?” Pru asked her.

  “What? No, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Fay said, but she looked troubled. “ABE is such a good boy.”

  “Fay, please . . .”

  With a sigh, Fay gestured for Pru to wait a moment and then stepped into another room. She returned carrying a notebook.

  “ABE left this behind yesterday. I didn’t mean to read it, but he left it open. I happened to see what he’d written at the bottom of the page.”

  Pru took the notebook. There at the bottom, beneath a line of crossed-­out text and written neatly in ABE’s handwriting, were the words I AM OFTEN LYING. Pru felt a chill pass through her worse than anything she’d felt in the presence of a frost giant.

  “I have to go,” she said. She had to get to Mister Fox. “You can get rid of the notebook. I don’t think ABE will be back for it.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  PRU RAN ALL THE WAY FROM THE ABANDONED church to the cemetery. Then she hit a wall.

  In fact, she hit four walls.

  When Pru arrived at the Henhouse, she discovered once again that the ramshackle building did not appear to have a door. She circled the Henhouse twice, just to be sure. The same thing had happened on her first visit, she remembered. She hadn’t been able to find a door that time, either. Not at first. Then something had happened and the entrance just appeared.

  What had happened? Pru concentrated, trying to remember.

  A memory of creaking wood and rustling feathers came to mind. Just before those sounds, Mister Fox had said something. Only he hadn’t spoken the words out loud. He’d whispered them. Pru remembered his lips moving in a silent incantation.

  She hadn’t thought much about it at the time. There had been too much happening. Now, Pru scrunched her eyes shut and tried to re-­create the moment. She pictured the movement of Mister Fox’s mouth and tried to read his lips from memory.

  What was it he’d said?

  There was something about a house. A little house. He’d repeated that.

  Little house, little house . . .

  Then what? He’d asked the house to hear something. It had started with a p. Pru recognized the positioning of the lips from having practiced speaking her own name while looking in a mirror so many times.

  Little house, little house, hear my please . . .

  No. That didn’t make sense.

  That was the problem with reading lips. You could only get so much from the way a person moved their mouth. Sometimes, you had to guess the rest depending on what made sense.

  Pru thought about the rest of what she’d seen. The last bit came easily. He’d asked the little house to turn from the woods and look at him. She remembered because when the house had turned to reveal its door and its single round window, Pru had thought the window looked like an eye.

  Little house, little house, hear my . . . something. Turn from the woods and look at me.

  There was something singsongy about the words. Maybe the two sentences were meant to rhyme?

  Just like that, she had it. Still with her eyes closed and picturing Mister Fox while she repeated his whispered words, she spoke aloud: “Little house, little house, hear my plea. Turn from the woods and look at me!”

  A rustling sound filled the air, something
between creaking wood and the ruffling of feathers. When Pru opened her eyes, the entrance to the Henhouse stood in front of her. Pru threw open the double doors and rushed inside, keeping pace as the arched hallway opened up before her, door after door. She burst through the final set of doors prepared to shout for Mister Fox, but as she entered the central chamber of the Henhouse, the words died on her lips.

  Darkness seeped down from the vaulted heights above, and an eerie wind blew through the empty hall. It filled the space with a soft, haunting whine. Only a few lanterns were lit, and those burned dimly. The scene looked very different than it had on her first visit, when the space had been filled with an inviting glow.

  Among the pillars of trees, Pru felt once again like she stood in an ancient forest. Only this time she felt like she stood there at night, alone, which was a very different sort of thing.

  She considered leaving right then, but a soft thud from somewhere overhead held her in place. A door on the level above her creaked open. Pru thought she saw a shadow pass across the opening.

  “Mister Fox?” Pru called.

  She meant to call, anyway. The words came out in a nervous whisper.

  “Mister Fox?” Pru said again, a little more loudly. The words echoed through the cavernous chamber. No one answered.

  Pru began to walk slowly toward the room upstairs. It took her a moment to find her way. The first set of stairs wasn’t quite where she remembered it. Eventually, she made her way up (she didn’t remember the stairs creaking quite so much the last time) and approached the open door.

  “Mister Fox? It’s me, Pru. Are you in here?”

  The room beyond the door turned out to be a library. In keeping with the unusual design of the Henhouse, the library was a mystery in itself, a riddle of overflowing bookshelves and aisles. Pru wandered the labyrinth of shelves and worktables, all of which were covered with maps, diagrams, and open books with more dog-­ears than a litter of puppies.

  In a far corner of the room, on a long wooden table that was scratched and pitted with age, Pru found a stone, about the size of a dinner plate and covered with strange markings. She had seen the stone twice before.