by D. B. Magee
Unbeknownst to the children, their every movement was under careful observation. From a new and secluded vantage point upon a hill, Mr. Smith teetered unsteadily against his walking stick while peering through binoculars toward the Walborg residence. “I know it’s there,” he croaked. “I can feel it.” He handed the spy glasses back to Bubba. “And I will have it!”
Later that evening, up in William’s room, the two boys sat at the computer, staring at a blank email page, mentally preparing for the wish list they were about to concoct.
Ryan suddenly snapped his hands forward, palms out, fingers intertwined, and popped his knuckles. “Ok,” he said, “let’s get this shin-dig started!” He began typing: Granny, I need your help. There are some things we’re going to need here. Following is our list. He looked at William. “Okay Willy, what should we start with?”
Coming from a family of modest income, William looked on amazed, wondering how Ryan could be so bold as to expect Granny to surrender, so freely, all of the merchandise they were about to ask for. He scratched his head and blinked. His eyes appeared as huge marbles through his oversized and unflattering spectacles.
Ryan stared intently at his new friend, awaiting an answer.
William shrugged. “Another glider would be nice,” he mustered, feeling a little guilty for even asking. This was out of character for William, to ask for things from strangers. All of the sudden he felt uncomfortable and really wished he hadn’t said anything. He was considering withdrawing his request, when Ryan smartly returned to the keyboard.
“Right you are, Willy,” Ryan agrees. And with that he began their list. He read off the following as he types:
“R.C. Planes – gliders and motorized!” He grinned at William.
“R.C. Boats,
“Snorkeling Gear,
“Metal Detectors,
“Hiking Supplies . . .”
Meanwhile, Lisa had just finished her nightly shower and was drying her hair when Stacy stormed into her room. “Did you notice their smugness at dinner?” she said, still outraged by the boys’ earlier antics at the lake. “I swear I am going to get them back for this!” she vowed, shaking her fist in the air.
Lisa grinned wolfishly. “We will, don’t worry.” She wrapped a dry towel around her wet hair. “We’ll just wait ‘til they don’t expect it.”
Elsewhere, Granny sat in her corporate office waiting for her call to connect, while skimming over an e-mail she just received from Ryan. It sure didn’t take him long to get things rolling, she thought with a chuckle. I knew he could do it. She reminisced about the plan that she and Mrs. Walborg had hatched concerning the twins and Ryan, when:
“Hello!” A masculine voice answered on the other end of the line.
“We may have a problem,” Granny said, plainly.
“Tell me,” the voice answered back.
“There was suspicious activity outside the property, two men. One of them looked familiar—I think it was Musrat.”
“Are you sure?”
“A bit older, of course, but he has the same distinguishing features you gave for him.”
“What the devil is he doing in this part of the country?”
“You don’t suppose he’s looking for . . .?”
“No,” the man said, interrupting her. “He never gave any indication that he was in this country searching for anything. He probably just found out my identity and is looking for revenge. Keep an eye out, and let me know if he continues to hang around.”
“Will do.” Granny slapped the cell phone closed.
Stacy and Lisa Get Revenge
The next morning, with breakfast over, Mr. Walborg out to the shop, and Mrs. Walborg finishing her chores upstairs, William followed Ryan along the lengthy hallway toward the back of the house.
“Come on. I’ll show you,” Ryan said. “It’s up here. I saw it yesterday.”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember ever seeing it,” William said, dawdling along behind his long-legged friend. “Besides, even if it is, I don’t think we’re supposed to go up there—and—I don’t think I want to, either,” he added, looking nervously behind them.
“Ah, come on, Willy,” Ryan coaxed. “I wanna scope it out. I’m thinking of building a tree house up there.”
William’s face contorts in disdain. He shook his head. “I don’t really . . .”
“Just think,” Ryan said, cutting him off mid-sentence, “we’ll be able to launch your new planes from up there!”
The thought of being up in that foreboding tree turned William’s stomach. It was not an uncommon feeling: He had what the doctors call a nervous stomach. Whenever he worried about something, or something bothered him, he got a sick feeling in his gut, kind of like coming down with the stomach flu.
Coming to his target, Ryan stopped. “See!” he said, pointing to the pull-down stairway in the ceiling. “I told ya it was here.”
William halted a few steps back, trying to come up with a good excuse for abandoning this plan. “Maybe we should get permission, first,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”
“Have they specifically told you not to go up there?”
William hesitated. “No, but . . .”
“All right then, all they can really do is forbid us from doing it again. Besides,” Ryan said, producing a convincing smile, “we have a good reason for going up there. We need to recover your glider.”
William looked up again at the ceiling that was almost twice the height of two full grown men. A short pull rope hung from the attic ladder’s panel. There may be a way out of this yet, he thought. “It’s too high,” he said aloud, feigning disappointment. “There’s no way to reach it.”
With a wily grin, Ryan cupped his hands together. “Step up, I’ll boost ya!”
Under raised eyebrows, and with his heavy, thick-rimmed glasses resting on the tip of his nose, William stared dubiously at Ryan.
“You’re a little guy. I got this. Now, give me your foot!”
Reluctantly, William stepped into Ryan’s hands.
Without warning, or much effort at all, Ryan heaved William up through the air.
William cried out in pain as his hands slammed forcefully into the ladder’s panel covering.
“Grab the handle!” Ryan grunted.
“Watch what you’re doing!” William bellowed. “You almost shoved me through the ceiling. Okay,” he said, finding the handle. “I’ve got it!”
“Hold on tight.” Ryan let go and stepped aside.
William shrieked as his body suddenly dropped and then he jerked to a halt, holding on for dear life, at the end of the rope. “You could’ve warned me first!” He glared down between his arms at Ryan.
“Ah, keep your shirt on, you’re all right. Now, pull!”
William shot Ryan a dirty look. “I am pulling! I knew this wouldn’t work—now get me down!”
“Not so fast, Willy. Now—hold on!” Ryan leapt up and threw both arms around William’s waist.
“Aaaahhh! What are you doing? Get off me! I can’t hold on!”
For an instant, the boys hung swinging and twisting, four feet above the floor, when suddenly they heard a POP! above them. They looked up as the stairway gave way and began to drop, squeaking as it fell. William let go, and both boys hit the floor and rolled out of the way, just as the descending stairway landed between them.
Ryan jumped up and beamed proudly.
William, still sprawled on the floor, looked up contemptuously through beady eyes. His glasses lay bent and twisted, a few feet from his head.
Ryan started up the stairs. “You coming?”
Unaware of the boys’ escapades upstairs, the girls sat around the kitchen table, finishing their breakfast, and speaking about the many and varied things that girls talk about. Just then the doorbell chimed.
Startled by the bell, Stacy jumped.
Lisa giggled at Stacy and hopped up. “I’ll get it,” she said.
“Special delivery f
or Ryan Whitmore!” a uniformed delivery driver announced.
Stacy peeked out from behind Lisa to see about a dozen boxes of various sizes stacked on the porch.
“Sign here, please,” the deliveryman directed. He handed Lisa an electronic signature device and pointed at the signature line.
Being accustomed to accepting packages for her parents, Lisa knew the drill and swiftly signed the digital device.
“Thank you, Miss.” The man slipped the signature device onto his belt. “Would you like some help with these?”
Lisa glanced at the boxes. “Maybe that one,” she said, pointing to a very large, three-foot cubed, heavy-duty cardboard crate.
Leaving a few of the smaller boxes on top of the crate (not that any of the boxes were really small, mind you; even the smallest of the boxes were still half as tall as the girls) the deliveryman used his hand truck and scooped up the tall stack. “It’s a good thing these old houses have large doorways,” he said, bringing the stack into the house.
Stacy began pushing one of the smaller packages through the doorway. “What is all this stuff?”
“I don’t know,” Lisa said, testing the weight of a large box. “But how much stuff does one kid need?” She read the label. “Wow! They’re from Over the Top.”
The deliveryman scooped up another stack of boxes with his hand truck, brought them into the house for the girls, said goodbye, and left.
Stacy helped Lisa with the last box. “What is Over the Top?”
“A big sporting goods store in town,” Lisa replied.
Stacy’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What could he need from there? And who paid for all of it?”
The girls set the last box in the house. Lisa shrugged. “Maybe he’s a rich cowboy—who knows? Let’s go tell him they’re here!”
The floor boards creaked eerily under Ryan and William’s feet as they treaded cautiously across the dark, spooky attic.
“This way,” Ryan uttered.
William followed Ryan toward a window with thin streams of light coming through the cracks of the closed shutters, all the while keeping his eyes on the eerie shapes scattered about the gloomy loft. “Ah, yuk!” he croaked, spitting and swinging his arms wildly at the cobwebs that seemed to come out of nowhere, encircling him.
Ryan looked back, shaking his head. “They won’t hurt ya. They’re just dusty old webs.”
William squirmed while trying to pull off the sticky threads. “I hate spiders!”
“There’s no spiders left in them, they’re long gone,” Ryan said, not exactly sure that it was true, but trying to calm his new pardner. “Now, quit horsing around and get over here!”
William scurried up beside Ryan, still wiping the unyielding entanglement from his hair.
Ryan’s eyes suddenly widened at the sight of a black widow spider on the back of Willy’s shirt collar, heading toward bare skin. “Here, you’ve got some web on your back,” he fibbed. “Let me give ya a hand.” He quickly swiped the poisonous critter to the floor and quietly squashed it under his boot. Then, breathing a silent sigh of relief he brushed William’s back a few times for effect. “There! You’re clean. Now, give me a hand with this here window.”
Together the boys pushed, pried and jiggled the old wood-framed window until it broke free and slid, scraping and dragging up the weathered jamb.
Ryan unlatched the shutters and pushed them open.
Fresh air and bright sunlight blasted past the boys, filling the steeple attic. Squinting against the brightness, they peered up at the overbearing and sinister looking Baobab tree. Up in the branches remained the remnants of William’s glider.
William grimaced at the sight of broken balsa wood, torn film, and bare control wires rustling about in the wind.
Outside, and a few feet below the window’s ledge, was an adjustable gangway, complete with railing, leading to the gnarly and branchless tree trunk. The fixed end was attached to the house, with hinges that allowed it to pivot up and down, while the adjustable end hooked onto one of the rungs of the twenty-foot ladder mounted to the tree’s trunk.
The well-thought-out design allowed for the growth and movement of the tree. As the tree expanded, the gangway was free to move inward, and as it grew in height, the gangway was free to pivot upward. When the gangway’s incline became excessive, it was a simple matter to unhook it and re-hook it to a rung below its present position, leveling it once again. From there it was an easy climb up the ladder to the trimming platform. At the moment, the gangway was pretty level and there were only about eight rungs to the top.
William peered out over the window’s ledge to the ground three stories below, his forehead wrinkled in uncertainty. “I don’t know about this. What if it’s not safe? What if that thing breaks?”
“I reckon it wouldn’t be here if it weren’t strong enough, Willy.” Ryan climbed out onto the metal gangway and jumped up and down. The only movement from the platform was a minor shimmy and the rattling of its hooks against the ladder’s rungs. “See! This thing’ll hold an elephant! But stay if you want. I’m going over.”
A minute later, Ryan stood atop the soil- and crud-encrusted pruning platform, which was constructed between the largest of the branches and directly over the tree’s trunk. Being subjected to the dirty and dusty farmlands of the San Joaquin Valley, combined with the gusty winds and heavy dust storms, the platform’s wood planks were almost entirely covered in a thick layer of caked-on dirt. Even the spaces between the boards were filled in and hardly noticeable.
“Willy,” Ryan called out, “this’ll make one great tree house, and the floor’s already in place. The rest’ll be a cinch to build.”
Strolling down the hallway and jabbering like the school girls they were, Lisa and Stacy came to a halt at the attic’s open stairway.
“Why are the stairs down?” Stacy wondered aloud.
Lisa put a finger to her mouth. “Shh! I think the boys are up there. Let’s sneak up on them.” With her good hand she signaled Stacy to take the lead.
Delighted and eager to surprise the boys, Stacy slipped past Lisa and tiptoed up the stairs. She paused briefly at the top to peek over the edge of the attic floor. Strands of her long fine hair whipped gently around her face from the breeze blowing in from above. “No boys,” she mouthed, shaking her head. “But they opened a window.”
Lisa carefully ascended the ladder, and then stopped to peer over Stacy’s shoulder, puzzlement showing on her face.
“Where could they be?” Stacy whispered.
Lisa pointed to the open window. “It looks like they went outside.”
“Why would they go out on the roof?”
“Not the roof,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “There’s an old stand built in the tree for trimming branches. I bet that’s where they went. Come on, let’s take a look.”
Together the girls proceeded stealthily into the attic. A wealth of dust particles glistened in the streaming sunlight.
As she hadn’t been able to fully investigate the attic before now, Lisa passed through the rays of sunlight and disappeared into the somewhat cluttered darkness beyond.
Meanwhile, Stacy headed straight for the open window. Squinting, she peered up at the pruning platform and spied Ryan lounging carelessly against a thick tree branch, his cowboy hat tilted over his eyes and a toothpick sticking out the corner of his mouth.
Standing next to Ryan on the filthy deck, William leaned out nervously against the railing of the trimming platform. He was doing his best to pull what was left of his glider from the grip of the ominous Baobab tree.
“It serves you right!” Stacy muttered, with the thought of yesterday’s prank still a sour memory.
Lisa strolled up and looked out the window. “What are they doing?”
“William’s plane is stuck in the tree,” Stacy said. “That must have been why they came up here.”
Seeing the boys—no way of escape!—on the platform, Lisa’s plan for revenge began to form in he
r mind. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Stacy asked.
Lisa pulled Stacy from in front of the window. “I have an idea to get back at the boys,” she said quietly. “Don’t let them know you are here.”
A short while later Lisa returned with a bucket full of water balloons and a super soaker squirt gun.
Stacy squeaked with excitement upon hearing Lisa’s idea, and quickly put her hands over her mouth.
Up on the trimming platform, a feeling of doom suddenly overcame William. He spun around and stared back at the open attic window.
The girls had already ducked out of sight.
Stacy, what are you up to? William thought, as if projecting the thought directly to her. He watched the window—had he seen a shadow move there? He searched his mind for some clue as to why he felt so—so—he couldn’t quite put a word to it, but something felt very wrong. Finally, deciding it must be his imagination or a guilty conscience over yesterday’s caper, he returned to salvaging glider parts from his wreckage.
Then he heard Lisa shout.
“Now!”
Stacy leapt in front of the window, cocked her arm back, and let loose a big, fat, water grenade.
Seeing his sister jump into view, William instantly realized the danger and sprang forward. He threw up his hands, dropping the remains of his glider onto the pruning platform. “Stacy, STOP! You better not or . . .”
Just then, SPLAT! William got it, right in the forehead. The splashing impact knocked him backward, spitting and coughing.
Stacy didn’t relent; she continued bombarding her brother with water balloons.
Ryan roared with laughter.
Seeing Ryan laughing at his friend’s misfortune, Lisa stepped forward and let him have it with the super soaker. The benefit was twofold: the blast of water hit the underside of his hat brim, causing it to sail to the other side of the platform, while dousing his face with the ricocheting spray at the same time.
