by Andy Young
Teal?”
“No! Of course not! I was just trying to help.”
“Or trick me. Maybe you are the bad one after all, Shrug.”
“It’s not about-”
“I know. Just tell me the real riddle and lets get this over with!”
Ms. Lavender closed her eyes, recited: “Alice told Ezra, then Ira told Otto. Who heard it next, Karen or Ursula? Just one guess, of course.”
“Heard what?” asked Natalie.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Shrug.
“Heard whatever,” said Ms. Lavender. “It can be anything.”
“I bet it has nothing to do with what it is, anyway,” said Natalie. “It’s another trick. Say it again?”
“Alice told Ezra, then Ira told Otto. Who heard it next, Karen or Ursula?”
“I could just guess and hope.”
“Bad idea,” said Shrug.
“Fifty-fifty chance,” said Natalie.
“I thought you were being serious now,” he said.
“I am,” said Natalie. “But I want to be done, Shrug. Just let me think. It could be numbers. Alice has 5 letters, Ezra has 4, Ira has 3! But then Otto has 4. Karen has 5, so that could be it, like a pattern: 5,4,3, then back up.”
Neither Shrug or Ms. Lavender said anything. Shrug’s expression was blank.
“No clues?”
“I can’t help you,” he said.
“But you can transport me here directly without going through the forest?”
Shrug shrugged.
“Ok, maybe that’s not it. Alice is a girl, Ezra is a boy, Ira is a boy, Otto is a boy. But Karen and Ursula are both girls. I don’t see much there. We’ve already done letters with the mountain thing, though...ah. Wait. Yes. It’s Ursula.”
There was a soft click from the door, and Natalie pulled it open.
Behind it was a wolf, massive and grey, its jaws covered with blood. Before the wolf, dead in the snow, was a sheep, its wool stained red, intestines oozing out from its side.
“Don’t tell me this is a gift,” said Natalie quietly.
“Nightfall-” began Shrug.
“Don’t tell me this is a gift!” she shouted. “More death?”
“It’s what a wolf would give.”
“I don’t want something killed for me, Shrug! This is horrible!”
“The wolf is just doing what it has to do.”
“And so am I, and the sheep is dead! How do I know that what I am doing isn’t going to kill people Shrug? How do I know?”
“You bring the spring.”
“Yes. Spring. That means rains and floods, right? So I am bringing rains and floods somewhere, right? And destroying houses and drowning people, right? Is that what is going to happen?”
“Nightfall,” said Shrug. “How can the spring be accountable for what happens to the water?”
“But I’m a person, Shrug! What I do matters. Maybe seasons can’t choose, but I can. Four things have died now! I can’t keep doing this.”
“I told you not to let her open the door,” said Ms. Lavender.
“It wouldn’t have been any better if she didn’t,” said Shrug sadly.
Then she was awake in her room, crying on her desk, clutching Ms. Yellow’s doll in her hand.
It was Saturday, so no school, and her mom and dad had errands planned.
“You can stay home if you want. You look exhausted,” said her dad.
“No, I’ll come. Can we run by the mall? I was thinking of donating some of my dolls to the toy drive.”
“Really?” said her mom, glancing at her dad. “That’s very sweet. Of course you can. I’ll get you a box or something from the garage.”
Natalie fell asleep in the car, between the Home Depot and the mall. She was there again, in the forest, but she wasn’t Nightfall. She was deep among the trees, maybe a tree herself, immobile, not even able to turn her head. She saw two of the creepy girls pass by: Ms. Green and Ms. White, looking one way and then another, perhaps searching for something. Minutes later Ms. Pink passed, looking at the snow, looking out through the woods. Natalie thought she might be looking for Ms. Green or Ms. White, maybe to find them and smash them. If it was Ms. Pink who had anything to do with it, and Natalie was sure she did, arms or no arms. She wanted to yell out, to distract Ms. Pink and maybe warn the others, but she couldn’t make any noise. She was rooted to the ground, unable to do anything.
“Nat?” said her father, shaking her awake. “We’re there, kid. Get your things.”
They got to the toy drive just in time; there was a truck parked by the mall entrance, and two men had the donation box on a dolly, heading for the truck.
“Wait!” called Natalie. “I have some stuff.” The men set down the dolly and she emptied her stuff into the box: a few old odds and ends, and all the creepy girl dolls (except Ms. Pink, who still remained missing).
“Just made it,” said one of the men. “We’re taking these to get donated today.”
“Good,” said Natalie. She watched them load the truck. Maybe the others will be safe now, if they aren’t with me in my room. Maybe nobody else will have to die.
That night she didn’t bother trying to avoid sleep. She was terribly tired, for one thing, and she didn’t think it would matter. They’ll get me anyway, she thought. I’ll end up in the Kingdom. But maybe there’s a way to avoid opening any more doors. I have to stop this somehow.
She appeared surrounded by the creepy girls. She was used to seeing one or two of them when she came, following her down the path or hanging out beside it, but they were all there now, all the ones still alive (except Ms. Pink).
“What’s going on?” asked Natalie.
“I’m a soldier,” Ms. Green.
“A soldier?” said Natalie. Oh, no, she thought. What if some kind of war is going on?
“I’m in a house,” said Ms. Orange.
“I’m in a bed!” exclaimed Ms. Purple; several of the creepy girls sighed happily.
“A house? What are you talking about?” Nobody answered. The girls were humming, a kind of cheery (and still slightly creepy) hubbub of murmuring and whispers.
“Hello?”
“I’m in a house!” said Ms. Orange.
“Yes, you said that.”
“Yes, I did.”
“But you’re actually here in the forest, in the snow.”
“Yes!” cried Ms. Orange happily. She reeled around in a circle, looking like a top about to tip over, a glass spinning on its rim. A few others joined in behind her, a creepy girl dance.
Natalie counted them: Ms. Green, Ms. Orange, Ms. Purple. And there was Ms. Lavender and Ms. White, along with Ms. Black, Ms. Beige, Ms. Red and Ms. Magenta. What if I’d just named them anything, she wondered, instead of their colors? What if I’d called them Susan and Clara and Jessica? Would those be their names?
“Well, you all certainly seem happy.”
“We’re toys!” cried Ms. Gray.
Toys, thought Natalie. Because I donated them. They’re all in new places now. Somehow they know. And they like it.
“Where’s Ms. Pink?” asked Natalie, but there was no answer. Natalie was sure, if they all had shoulders, they would have shrugged.
“So what happens now?”
“Whatever you want, Nightfall,” said Ms. Black.
“I just want to go home,” said Natalie. “No more doors.”
“Oh, we can help with that,” said Ms. Lavender. “We know the way home.”
And just like that all the creepy girls glided off the path into the trees, with startling quickness. Natalie watched them for a moment, then ran to catch up.
“Where’s Shrug?” she called after them.
“Waiting by the doors,” said Ms. Lavender.
“Oh,” said Natalie. “Good.”
The creepy girls moved through the trees like darting birds, not in a pack but in a loose group, weaving this way and t
hat among the trunks, nobody really going in a straight line but all of them going in the same general direction. Natalie could hear the happy hum, getting louder and then quieter as they either pulled ahead or as she managed to catch up. She couldn’t help but wonder if they really knew where they were going; the forest seemed exactly the same in all directions, nearly flat, trees everywhere, no landmarks at all.
No, wait. Something was changing. They passed through a small sort of clearing, a wide spot among the otherwise constant trees, and the ground dipped slightly. There was another dip, then another, and a long open stretch, what might have been a meadow without the snow. They crossed it, went into the trees on the other side. The ground dipped sharply, they all passed through a ravine of sorts, and then the girls came to a stop.
They had come to a cliff of some kind, steep and sudden. Looking off the edge, Natalie could see only the same gray sky above and below. The cliff itself felt more like an overhang; Natalie couldn’t see anything below, though she wasn’t willing to lean over the edge to look. Maybe it’s the end of the world, she thought. “Where are we?”
“The end of the world,” said Ms. Lavender.
“The beginning of the world,” said Ms. Green.
“Your bedroom,” said Ms. Black.
Natalie looked past Ms. Black. There, set into the side of a steep little hill close to where they’d exited the ravine, was a door. Her door, or one just like it. A few months before she’d stuck a bunch of stickers on it, and they were all there, along with the little door knob sign that said either ‘welcome’ or ‘do not enter’. At the moment it was turned to ‘welcome’, which seemed like a good omen.
“This is my room?” said Natalie.
“It’s the end of the world,” said Ms. Green.
“The beginning,” said Ms. Lavender.
“It was here all along,” said Natalie, approaching the door. “I can’t believe it.” She grabbed the knob and turned; the door opened and there was her bedroom. She half-expected to see herself there, asleep on the bed, but it was unmade and empty.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” came a chorus behind her, and the happy hum rose to an amiable chatter of voices. Natalie smiled and closed the door behind her.
And woke up, glanced at the clock: she was late. She rolled out of bed and went out into the hall, jogged into the kitchen. Her mom was there, leaning on the counter, eating Fruit Loops straight from the box.
“Fruit Loops!” said Natalie. “Since when do you eat that? My alarm didn’t go off!”
“Sorry,” said her mom. Natalie grabbed at the cereal, her mom dodged, stuffed another handful into her mouth. Natalie laughed and grabbed again, missed, then got hold of the box at last, poured herself a bowl.
“You ate a lot,” she said, getting the milk. She was rushing to get ready, which was annoying, but she felt...great. She felt wonderful. She’d got away. The creepy girls had showed her a way out, and she didn’t have to open another door. No more scary gifts, no more having to do this weird job. Spring could find its own way to come.
Her dad appeared, rubbing his head, his eyes red. “I guess everybody slept in,” said Natalie.
“I guess so,” he said. “Ugh. You better hurry, Nat.”
She rushed through her shower and threw on clothes, got her stuff and headed for school. Outside it was actually quite pleasant, as if spring was already getting started. A lot of the snow had melted, lingering only in shady places beside houses and behind trees. Jessie was there, as always, wearing normal clothes for once: jeans and a sweater, with boots and a hat.
“Hey Jeff,” she said.
Jeff? For goodness sakes, thought Natalie. Jessie was standing in her yard, not really looking at anything, or so it seemed to Natalie. “We’re almost late. For school.”
“Yeah,” said Jessie. “I’ll be there.”
Natalie hurried on, pulled open the hallway doors just as the bell rang. She jogged to homeroom and went in. She was almost late, but barely half the class was there, which was weird. Someone straggled in behind her, then a few more a little later. They went through the usual homeroom business: attendance, announcements, some positive advice from Ms. Kyle, then it was off to English. Mr. Leonard wasn’t there. Natalie sat in her desk and waited. There were a few more late kids, and Heidi was absent. Natalie looked around the room, at everyone waiting. Something felt wrong. They were all just...waiting. Sitting at their desks, staring. Nobody was making jokes or fooling around, nobody was going up to Mr. Leonard’s desk to look in his drawers or mess things up.
Finally he came, and class started, but now Natalie was worried. That wasn’t right, she thought. Something is going on. My mom was eating Fruit Loops. Jessie looked normal. Things are not the way they are supposed to be.
But the rest of class went perfectly fine. They reviewed some chapters of Ender’s Game, worked on a little grammar and vocabulary, had a bit of time to get started on their homework. Heidi never appeared, but everyone else was there. Maybe it was a little quieter than usual, but that sometimes happened, right? Mr. Leonard was probably thinking what a nice day it was. I’m being paranoid, thought Natalie. Nothing is wrong.
But in the hall between classes she watched the others, and it didn’t seem right. Nobody was pushing or yelling. Barely anyone was even talking. It was actually quite easy to get to her next class, which was certainly not normal. Things were strange, and Natalie was sure it was her fault. I didn’t open the door, she thought, and now I’ve messed things up here. Everyone is half-asleep, or broken or something. Mom was eating Fruit Loops, for goodness sake, and what about Heidi? Where is she?
She was thoroughly panicked by the time she got to science class, and what she saw there didn’t help. Ms. Parker was there on time, but there were only three kids in the classroom, sitting in their seats like mannequins, blank and dull.
Oh no, she thought. What have I done?
“Natalie?” said Ms. Parker. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
“You’ve been crying,” said Ms. Parker. “Is something wrong?”
I was supposed to bring the spring, and I didn’t, and now the whole world is messed up, thought Natalie. She didn’t imagine Ms. Parker was going to very understanding.
“Why don’t you go see Ms. Debbie?” said Ms. Parker. “I’ll write you a note.”
Natalie took the note, turned, walked out of the room. She doubted Ms. Debbie would be much help, either, but the counselor’s office was always a good place to hide out if you needed a break from things. The hallway was totally empty now, silent and gloomy. But it is supposed to be, thought Natalie. The bell already rang, classes have begun. It’s okay to have an empty hallway right now. But she had a sinking feeling that if she peeked into any of the classrooms they would all be a little bit too empty.
Ms. Debbie was in her office, which was not always the case; she was a busy woman. Natalie knocked twice and opened the door. Ms. Debbie looked up, smiled.
“Come on in,” she said. “Natalie, right? Have a seat. What can I do for you?”
Natalie wasn’t sure what to say. The truth probably would not do. Ms. Debbie was a trained psychologist, after all. She’d know crazy when she heard it.
“Everything just feels weird, I guess,” said Natalie. “Like nobody is doing the right thing. Nobody is doing what they are supposed to do. Everything just seems wrong.”
Ms. Debbie smiled. “I think we all have days like that, Natalie,” said Ms. Debbie. “I certainly know how you feel.”
I doubt it, thought Natalie. “But do you feel that way today?”
“Me? No, not today. But everyone feels that way sometimes. Here’s something for you to think about, Natalie. Once a girl was walking down the hall here at school and she came to a spot where it split into two halls, one going left, one going right, and she didn�
��t know which one to take. But there were two teachers there, one who always tells the truth, and one who always tells lies. She can only ask one question. What should she ask?”
Natalie stared at Ms. Debbie for a moment. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a riddle.”
“I know,” said Natalie. “This is supposed to help?”
“Just answer it.”
“I don’t need any riddles,” said Natalie, and she got up and went to the door.
But it was locked.
“The door won’t open unless you answer the riddle, Natalie,” said Ms. Debbie.
Oh no, thought Natalie. She turned back to Ms. Debbie, who was smiling. “Just one guess, Natalie.”
Natalie took a deep breath. “I’d like to go now, Ms. Debbie.”
“Answer the riddle.”
Natalie knew there was no alternative. Okay, she thought, so I’ve messed everything up, somehow, but that has happened and I can’t go back and change it. Now I have to deal with this riddle. It’s the only way out. Think: two teachers, one who lies, one who tells the truth. Which way to go? The liar will tell me the wrong one, the truth teller will tell me the right one, but I don’t know who is who. I can’t just ask which is the wrong way: it will just make everything backwards. What if I ask them which one of them is the liar? Except I get to ask only one question, so that wouldn’t...oh, wait. She thought for a while longer, working it all out.
“She should ask one of them which way the other one would tell her to go. Then go the other way.”
“Very good, Natalie,” said Ms. Debbie- or whoever it was. “You’ll be just fine.” Natalie opened the door and fled.
The bell rang, much sooner than it should; Natalie went to PE out of habit, though she wasn’t sure there was no point. There were no students there; Mr. Martin was sitting on the gym floor, his face blank, staring straight ahead. Natalie didn’t bother trying to talk to him. The next bell rang, then another, but it sounded weak. There was no point in staying; Natalie walked through the halls and headed out the door.
Her town was gone; outside the school there was just trees and snow. Even the parking lot had disappeared. She examined her arms, pulled up her sleeves. She was Nightfall again, covered in stars. So, I never really got away, she thought. I was never home. Now I have to find the doors.
But there wasn’t even a trail; just forest and trees, and new snow was falling. But the ground by the school was rough, irregular. So, she thought, try to find flatter ground. The rough stuff was where the edge of the world was. She headed off into the trees.
Crunch crunch went the snow, but softly; it was deep enough that she had to lift her feet high. The ground did get flatter, but nothing else changed, just one tree after another. What I really need, she thought, is to find some footprints or something.
And she did, just a moment later, little booted prints that headed off to her left.
Ha ha, she thought, following the prints. Magic. But what I really need is to find a path or trail.
And just like that, she found it: a path. It looked like the path, heading off through the trees, disappearing around gentle turns in both directions. How convenient, she thought. But what I really need-
“That’s daytime thinking,” said Shrug, behind her.
“I
