The Time Fetch

by Amy Herrick

  They all stared at her. “Yes,” Danton said uncertainly. “Do you know what they are?”

  “Unfortunately, I think I do.”

  They waited. But before she could spit it out, whatever it was, the end-of-lunch bell went off.

  A great wave of noise rolled across the lunchroom—outrage, swearing, and laughter. Nobody was ready. It seemed much too soon. But that was nothing new, Edward argued to himself. Lunch period always seemed shorter than the others.

  Feenix looked around in frustration and shouted, “MEET ME—” But wherever it was that she wanted them to meet, the words were lost in the thunder and racket of youths rushing and pushing each other down in their eagerness to get educated.

  Edward knew this might be his last chance to escape. He gathered up his books and allowed himself to be carried off by the crowd.

  He felt that he needed to think. His next class was a study hall, but he was too disturbed to sit still. As his fellow students settled themselves into their classrooms, he found himself wandering along the second floor hallway. He did not see Mr. Pomerance as he was emerging from his room. They almost bumped into each other.

  “Ahh. Edward. Just the man I need. Would you be so kind as to deliver this to Ms. Granger in room 219?” Mr. Pomerance held out a folded piece of paper.

  Edward began explaining that he’d already had a very rough day and that any further unnecessary activity was probably not a good idea, but Mr. Pomerance cut him off.

  “Unless you’ve got a doctor’s note, get moving.”

  Edward sighed and took the folded piece of paper and headed down the hallway, looking at the room numbers as he went: 201, 203, 205 . . . He thought he knew who Miss Granger was—wasn’t she that little round French teacher with the braid? He certainly hoped that Mr. Pomerance wasn’t using him to carry any hanky-panky love letters. Room 219 was probably down there around the corner where that singing was coming from. It must be the school chorus practicing. They were singing something that sounded like Latin, maybe. His aunt was always listening to old hymns and things in Latin. He couldn’t recognize any of the words. He turned and ambled down to the end of the corridor. Room 215. Room 217. The singing had stopped. There was a big window here and, to his alarm, he saw another swarm of the flickering gnats hovering in its wintry light. Edward swatted his hand at them and they were gone.

  He had reached the end of the hallway. He had been sure that it turned right here and that were some more rooms around the corner. But he must have been mistaken.

  He looked around himself uneasily. Where had that other hallway gotten to? This was very confusing. He had noticed before that whoever had numbered these rooms had apparently been dropped on his head when he was a baby. He headed back in the other direction, thinking that perhaps 219 had somehow made its way around to the beginning somewhere.

  But when he got to the beginning of the hallway, there was no 219 there, either.

  He decided that under the circumstances, he had done all he could do. He trudged slowly back to Mr. Pomerance’s class. Mr. Pomerance sat at his desk in an empty classroom. He appeared to be marking papers and he looked like he was doing it in a great hurry.

  “Uh, Mr. Pomerance?”

  The teacher looked up from his labors irritably. “Yes? Make it snappy. I’ve got another class in a few minutes.”

  “Well, uh, there doesn’t seem to be any room 219.” Edward fished in his pocket for the note. He pulled out a stub of a pencil and a shoelace, his MetroCard, a piece of orange peel, and a Canadian quarter. “Ah . . . gee . . . sorry. I think I may have dropped it.”

  Mr. Pomerance watched this whole performance with a look of wondering impatience. “Dropped what?”

  “Well . . . uh, you know, the note you gave me for room 219.”

  Mr. Pomerance frowned at something invisible in the air just beyond Edward’s shoulder. Then he gave his head a quick shake as if to clear it and returned his gaze to Edward.

  “For fifteen years, you people have been trying to drive me mad, but I assure you, you’re wasting your time. I was insane to take this job to begin with. Go to class, Edward. And take my word for it, time flies. Make the most of it.”

  Edward looked at the junk in his hands and then stuffed it back in his pockets.

  At the end of day, Edward slid out the side door and scanned the area carefully. Avoidance mode. When in doubt, it was always the best way to go.

  The wind slapped him in the face. The sun had gone out of the afternoon, and it was colder. He pulled on his hat, descended the steps, and headed toward the bus stop.

  When he got to the corner, a bus was just pulling in. The driver seemed to be in a terrible hurry. Before the bus had even finished braking to a screeching halt, the door folded open.

  “Let’s go, buddy! You think you might speed it up a bit? I got a schedule I got to keep to.”

  Edward mounted the stairs and nearly lost his balance as the bus lurched forward with a hiss. What was with this dude? He fumbled for his MetroCard, dipped it, and found a seat.

  It was an unusual bus ride. The driver raced in and out of the traffic as if the Terminator were on his tail. The pizzeria, the Dunkin’ Donuts, and the YMCA went by in a blur. At the next stop, a woman stepped into the street with her hand out, and the bus driver shot by her without slowing down. Edward turned to see the woman’s surprise turn to fury. But then he was distracted by the sound of loud horns as the bus accelerated through a light turning red and barely missed colliding with a Chinese food delivery guy barreling along Sixth Avenue on his bicycle.

  At the stop before Edward’s, two women stood waiting. Edward didn’t know much about women’s clothes, but he could see that they were oddly dressed. One of them was holding a squirming baby. As the bus approached them, the one with the red kerchief around her hair stepped into the street and planted herself right in the path of the bus with her hand up.

  The driver screeched to a halt, swearing under his breath. The women mounted the steps with the squalling baby and took the first seats they could find. Edward watched them. The baby had a red and puffy face. It was screaming its head off. The two ladies peered out the window, watching fixedly for something. A building address maybe?

  Edward pressed the tape between the windows of the bus, and stood as the STOP REQUESTED light blinked on. He half-expected the driver to ignore the request, but the brakes squealed again, the doors flew open, and Edward tumbled out onto the pavement.

  He walked the last couple of blocks slowly, feeling glad to be alive, glad to have escaped from school, and mighty relieved to have avoided whatever unnecessary expenditure of energy Feenix and the others were going to try to get him to go along with.

  It wasn’t until he had nearly reached his house that he noticed the three shapes huddled on his front steps. They looked up at him expectantly as he swung the gate open.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Time Eaters

  “What took you so long?” Feenix demanded.

  Edward sighed.

  “Feenix wouldn’t tell us her theory until you got here,” Danton said impatiently.

  “How considerate of her.” He unlocked the front door and let them all in.

  The house smelled wonderful. There was always the fragrance of fresh bread rising or baking, but now there was also all the combined deliciousness of cinnamon and vanilla and cherry pies and pfeffernusse and pine boughs and the big tree. Danton let out a small yip of happiness. Edward flicked on the lights as they made their way toward the kitchen, but when Brigit stopped to examine the tree with his aunt’s weird collection of ornaments, the others stopped with her.

  “This is incredible,” Feenix exclaimed. There were tiny birds’ eggs, seashells, cicada shells, sharks’ teeth, small animal skulls, polished stones, earrings that had lost their mates, autumn leaves that had been dipped in wax, and little wizened figures whose heads were made from dried shrunken apples. But most eye-catching were the cookies. They were cut into all sorts o
f shapes and sizes, and each one had been carefully iced and decorated. There were gingerbread boys and gingerbread girls and stars and reindeer, of course. But there was also a mermaid, a minotaur, and a three-headed dog. There were birds and lions, trolls and unicorns, and a woman with six arms.

  “I’ve never seen a Christmas tree like this,” Feenix said. She touched a cookie in the shape of a golden slipper, making it turn slowly on its golden thread.

  “We don’t exactly celebrate Christmas. We celebrate the winter solstice.”

  “Your aunt made all these?”

  Edward looked at her sharply. “How did you know I lived with my aunt?”

  Feenix laughed. “Edsel, that’s what I love about you. You are so clueless. I know so much more than you realize.”

  “I’m starving,” Danton interrupted. “You think maybe your aunt has some of that bread lying around?”

  They all followed Edward into his aunt’s holy kingdom. Edward hadn’t really looked at it in years, but now that he was bringing company in, he couldn’t help seeing it with fresh eyes. She had painted the kitchen in bright Mexican-rug kinds of colors, and the floor was a dark red tile. One wall was hung with shiny copper pots and pans. There were windows all around and a glass door leading into the little garden. Sitting on all the windowsills were pots of basil and oregano and rosemary. Edward saw the spider busy at work in one corner, but he didn’t point it out. He led them over to the green granite counter in the middle of the kitchen where there were tall stools so you could sit and eat and talk while his aunt cooked. They each took a stool. Over their heads was an upside-down forest of drying herbs and flowers and bulbs of garlic.

  “Awesome,” Danton breathed happily. “Let’s eat. Then Feenix will tell us what she wants to tell us.”

  Edward peered into the big refrigerator. He saw with relief that his aunt, as always, had left him a snack that would feed a small army in case there was an invasion. He took out the plate that was loaded with carefully cut triangles of pita bread spread with olive oil, goat cheese, and black olives.

  MICROWAVE FIFTY SECONDS, said the little paper taped to the top.

  He did as directed. A good garlicky, cheesy fragrance filled the room. Edward brought the plate over. It wasn’t just Danton but all three of them who lit up in their own peculiar ways.

  “I’ll make hot chocolate,” Edward offered. He was surprised at himself, but he prepared the hot chocolate carefully, with milk and real cocoa, and hunted down the bowl of whipped cream hiding in the back of the fridge.

  Edward found himself enjoying the snack in a way he hadn’t enjoyed a snack in a long time. The olive oil tasted peppery and sharp, and the cheese was perfect on top of it. Outside, the gray sky grew dark and the wind rattled at the windows. Inside, there was warmth and contentment.

  Well, this wasn’t so bad, after all, Edward reflected. Everyone was quiet while they ate.

  Then Feenix, of course, had to open her mouth. “All right,” she said. “That’s enough feeding our faces.” She looked around at all of them.

  Edward thought with irritation that he’d never seen anybody who liked having all eyes upon herself more than this girl.

  “Here’s the thing,” Feenix said in a low voice. “Remember I told you that when old Baba poked that needle into the stone these little spark things came shooting out?”

  “Your point?” said Edward.

  “Well, they looked just like those little things flying all around the school today.”

  Edward couldn’t help remembering the tiny glittering wizzits hanging around the pumpkin and then the cloud of them in the hallway later when he was trying to find that missing room. “Yeah, but you said there were only a couple of them,” he objected. “They’re hard to see, but there must have been hundreds of them today. Maybe more.”

  “Exactly,” she replied. “Don’t you get it?”

  “Uh . . . no,” Edward said.

  “Oh my God!” exploded Danton. “You mean they’re reproducing! Like Mr. Ross’s fruit flies!”

  Feenix nodded her head solemnly. “It started out there was just two of them and now they’re all over the place.”

  “But what are they?” Danton asked.

  “I don’t know. I tried to catch one under a glass a few times, but it’s like they vanish whenever you try to get near them.”

  Edward knew this was going nowhere he wanted anything to do with. It was a Feenix version of one his aunt’s delusions. Brigit looked distant, as if she were listening to something far away. Danton, he could see, was concentrating very hard.

  “So you think they’re some kind of insect?” Danton asked. “Maybe like a bee kind of thing? And the stone thing wasn’t really a stone, but some kind of hive? If they’re reproducing that fast, they must be feeding on something. But what?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Feenix said.

  Before anyone could say anything, Aunt Kit’s clock began to give its warning sound.

  The clock was a crazy business. It had a large round face like any old clock, but it had a boxlike wooden frame.This frame was carved all over with a snaky vine full of leaves and out of the leaves peered a number of small, curious wooden faces—sun, moon, fox. Before the clock went off it always made a faint whirring sound, which it was doing now. As they stared at it, a door on its side snapped open. Out popped a wooden gingerbread man. He began to jerk along the track that ran around the base. Behind him came a wooden baker holding a rolling pin in the air. Then came his wife, followed by a cow and a horse and then some peasant people. They all ran around the circle and then disappeared inside the door at the other side of the clock. Both doors snapped shut.The clock chimed five times.

  “That!” whispered Feenix. “That’s what they collect. You see what I mean?”

  “No,” said Edward. “We do not see what you mean. And why are you whispering?”

  “Think about it! How could it be five o’clock already? We just got out of school.”

  Edward considered this uneasily. It was true. How could it be five o’clock already? Danton and Brigit were nodding.

  “And what about those missing periods? And everybody being late for everything?” she continued. “And did you see the way people were driving and how everybody was rushing in and out of the stores bumping into each other?”

  “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?” asked Danton.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. Old Baba called the Stone a ‘Fetch.’ And I think that’s exactly what those little insects are doing. They’re fetching our time. They’re stealing our time like bees steal pollen. Then they must turn it into that honey stuff.”

  “You can’t be serious?” Edward said.

  “I’m perfectly serious.”

  “Actually,” Danton said, “it would explain a lot. I mean, think about it. Think about that pumpkin. I bet that’s why that pumpkin just shriveled up and disappeared. They sucked all the time right out of it.”

  Edward now remembered the missing room.

  “What?” Feenix said to him sharply. “What? You’re thinking something. What is it?”

  He considered not sharing, but he knew that really would not be fair. “Well, this afternoon, Mr. Pomerance sent me with a message to room 219, but when I got to where room 219 should be, it was gone. If it was your snitcher bees—and I’m not saying it was—but if it was, it would be kind of like what Mr. Ross was saying about space and time all being part of the same fabric. If you take all the time away from a thing, then the thing can’t exist in space anymore.”

  Everybody looked fearfully around the bright, warm kitchen. The clock ticked loudly. The wind banged at the windows and moaned.

  “Does anybody mind if I take this last piece?” Danton said. When nobody said anything, he took the last piece of cheesy pita bread and munched on it with great concentration.

  Edward pointed at Feenix. “You know, if any of this is true—and I’m not saying it is, because it’s crazy—but if it is, it’s
all your fault. Possibly this will teach you to stop picking up things that don’t belong to you.” Somewhat to his surprise she remained silent.

  Danton said loudly, “I don’t see that it’s really anybody’s fault. I mean, how could we have known and what does it matter? We have to figure out what to do. What if these things are reproducing, you know, like Mr. Ross’s fruit flies? Remember how he said they would just keep on reproducing until they ran out of food? What if these things just keep multiplying until they’ve eaten up all our time?”

  There was a long, unpleasant silence while everyone thought about this.

  “If only there was some way to get them all back into the stone thingy,” Feenix said. “Then maybe we could stop it up with a cork or something.”

  “That’s a brilliant plan,” Edward said. “Especially considering that, thanks to you, we don’t even have the stupid thing.”

  “Exactly what is it that makes you think you’re so much smarter than everybody else, Dweebo?”

  “The name is Edward.”

  “Whatever. In any case, you should really try working on that negative-thinking problem.” She lifted up her pink sequined purse and snapped it open. She rummaged around until she found what she was looking for and laid it on the counter.

  “Oh, no,” Edward whispered.

  “Oh, yes,” Feenix said.

  They all stared at the stone.

  Outside the kitchen the wind rattled and whimpered at the windows.

  No one moved. Then Brigit leaned in to take a closer look. Danton did the same. Edward really wanted no part of it, but he couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward, too.

  Then there was a terrific bang and a rush of cold air.

  Feenix let out a loud scream and they all spun around toward the source of the sound.

  Aunt Kit stood in the doorway, her arms loaded with bags and parcels and evergreen branches.

  There was a long pause as she took in the four of them sitting around the counter.

  “Well,” she said. “Well.”

  She laid her pine branches and red holly berries on the counter and let her bags down onto the red-tiled floor.