Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series)

by C. Deanna Verhoff

  “B-b-but the bums were here, dressed in fancy suits.”

  Patrice kept her eyes on Glory as if gawking at a train wreck. “Dad, I think she’s serious.”

  “This funny business all started after she fell out of the loft,” Dad said, rubbing his chin stubble. “I wonder if she cracked her noggin’ harder than I thought.”

  “She’s cracked,” Patrice was quick to agree. “Anybody can see that. If you want, I can drive her to the doctor tomorrow.”

  “You’ll do no such thing, young lady. You’re not to leave this house for the next three months except by school bus or with me as chaperone. I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”

  Patrice looked to the ground.

  “My noggin’s fine,” Glory said, but nobody was listening.

  Chapter 9

  Morning broke. In silent vigil, Glory watched the rise and fall of Brandon’s chest. Isn’t he ever gonna wake up? Glory wondered. Unable to wait a minute longer, she grabbed his shoulder and shook vigorously.

  “Brandon, Brandon, do ya believe me now?”

  Brandon pulled the blanket over his ears and flipped his back toward Glory.

  “Leave me alone.”

  Leaning over the bed, she pleaded, “Please, tell me ya remember.”

  “Remember what?” Brandon yawned.

  “You know, the wrinkly guys in the fancy suits, they were here last night, in this very room.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “C’mon, don’t do this to me. You opened your eyes and looked right at them. Then ya hollered. Then they hollered. It was a big ol’ holler-fest.”

  “Get away from me, you lunatic.”

  “But ya gotta remember something.”

  “Scram or I’ll pound ya.”

  Glory gave a frustrated grunt. “Can’t count on you for nothing.” She kicked the bedpost. “Yowch, stupid foot.”

  She went downstairs.

  Dad was at the table sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Am I going to the doctor or what?” she snapped.

  Dad set down his coffee cup. “Depends. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. But not sick or anything.”

  “And your head?”

  Glory knocked on her temple. “Solid as a rock.”

  “Let me have a look,” Dad ordered. “Turn around.”

  Instead of checking out Glory’s head, he raised the back of her shirt.

  She pulled it back down. “Don’t do that.”

  “I only want to see your back.”

  Reluctantly, she let him look. His calloused fingers lingered near her shoulder blades, where the belt had left two wicked welts.

  “Ow,” Glory flinched when Dad applied pressure.

  He sucked in a deep breath and pulled away. “If I take you to the doctor they’ll probably want to check more than your head.”

  Glory knew what that meant. The doctor would see the whip marks.

  “No headaches?” Dad asked. “No spots in your eyes? No nausea?”

  “Nope.”

  Quiet followed. After a minute, Dad said, “We’ll hold off on the doctor. Get ready for school. And don’t go flapping your jaw about bums coming through the walls. Have I made myself clear?”

  Glory nodded, but was chafed at Dad’s selfishness. What if she truly needed medical attention—would Dad just let her suffer in order to avoid uncomfortable questions?

  Glory’s stomach rumbled.

  “Is Nana up yet?” she asked optimistically.

  “Still sleeping.” Dad buried his head in the newspaper.

  Dang it. Glory loved it when Nana made big breakfasts, but no such luck this morning. She found a leftover dinner roll. The fridge was full of condiments, but not much else. At least there was plenty of butter, which was difficult to spread without annihilating the roll. She cut four pats of butter and placed them on her roll like ceramic tiles.

  “Save some for the rest of the family,” Dad complained. “You really need to lay off the rolls and butter, Glory.”

  She let her father’s comment hang in the air, listening to Randy upstairs banging on the bathroom door, yelling at Patrice to hurry up.

  “Rush hour has begun,” Dad said from behind the paper.

  Glory looked toward the ceiling, glad not to be a part of the chaos. Her older siblings thought they were too cool for the bus, so they managed to find rides with schoolmates. This allowed her to stay ahead of the morning bathroom fights by a nose.

  “Later, Dad,” she said.

  “Behave yourself,” Dad replied.

  Glory slung her schoolbag over a shoulder and took an extra roll for the road. The morning air smelled of snow. As she waited at the end of the lane, the last bum’s words rang through her mind; We’ll be back, thief. Glory felt ill thinking about it. She must prepare, but how?

  Mrs. Spud was prompt as usual. She opened the bus doors and said good morning. Glory mumbled hello, avoiding eye contact with other passengers. She squeezed down the aisle as the bus began to accelerate, ignoring the whispers and rude snickers. She plopped down in the seat next to Clash who was sucking on candy. The scent of hot cinnamon wafted on his breath.

  “Got your Sliver?” Glory inquired.

  “Yep.” He took it out of his bag and flipped it opened. “Wanna play Space Raiders?”

  “Nah. Can you spare a couple of data center minutes?”

  “Well…”

  “This is really important. Please.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Great. Look up something for me.”

  Clash pressed on the display. A picture of a row of reference books appeared on the screen. A pair of cartoonish lips appeared on the top half of the screen, moving in time with a computerized female voice:

  Greetings from your neighborhood data center, Mr. Vandish. Our sponsor of the day is Low’s Supermarket. If you’re not shopping Low, then your bill is too high.

  Please, use your keyboard or speak into the microphone, then press or say, SEARCH NOW.

  Even on full volume, the Sliver was difficult to hear over the din of dozens of simultaneous conversations. Clash handed it over so she could do the rest, but he leaned in closer to observe.

  She over-annunciated for the sake of the Sliver.

  “Elboni. Search Now.”

  The Sliver ticked like a clock as it searched. A few seconds later, an article about the Elboni appeared on the display. The Sliver gave the option of silent or voice rendition.

  “Voice Now,” Glory said.

  Words appeared on the screen. Glory and Clash read along on the display as the computerized voice narrated.

  The Elboni Stone is a mythical object of power and magic. The legend is believed to have originated in the northeast region of Liropa in the present day county of Cloverdale.

  “Hey, Cloverdale, that’s us.” Clash stated the obvious. She wanted to swish him away, but it was his Sliver.

  According to ancient lore, the Elboni Stone is guarded by magical creatures called Wybbils, humanoid creatures who roam through a secret network of tunnels under an unnamed mountain. The Elboni Stone is sacred to the Wybbils. They worship it as the source of all life, magic and happiness. The Elboni Stone is said to not be made of stone at all, but of shades of light spanning the colors of the rainbow.

  Glory looked away from the display and leaned back in her seat. The spherical thing from the cavern looked like stone, but was it? When she touched it the first time, something magical had happened. Maybe she’d been too quick to dismiss it to the Cold Crazies.

  “Picture of the Elboni. Search Now.”

  No Data Found.

  “Elboni And Queen’s Mesa.”

  No Data Found.

  There was one entry for Elboni and five hundred for Queen’s Mesa, but none contained both terms.

  “Wybbil AND Picture. Search now.”

  Spelling, please.

  Letter by letter, Glory made her request. After a few seconds, it
slowly loaded. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  An image of a painting came into focus on the display.

  “What the heck is this?”

  The artist’s version of a Wybbil bore little resemblance to the bums. The creature on the display had huge red eyes that reminded her very much of the devil-dog she’d encountered. The pink face looked very Wybbilish though. The body in the picture was round and covered with white feathers. A single silver horn, like a silver spike, stuck out the center of its forehead. The Wybbil’s nose was pierced with a bone.

  White feathers, a spike and a bone—hmmm. Those were the very tools the bums carried in their hatbands. Maybe the artist had mistakenly morphed the legendary Hoogula and Wybbils into one creature.

  “Why are you looking up Wybbils?” Clash asked.

  “You don’t wanna know. Voice Now.”

  According to legend, Wybbils are small hairy creatures who live deep underground in caves. Ancient people both feared and venerated them. It is said that Wybbils leave their tunnels at night to snatch Tullahn children from their beds and bring them to their lair. There, they eat the children alive. Yet, spotting a Wybbil is supposed to be a harbinger of good luck. Wybbils are thought to possess magical powers. They can walk through walls and pull assorted weaponry out of thin air. It is said Wybbils can grant wishes. If a person catches a Wybbil by the toe and forces it to swear an oath over the Elboni Stone, the Wybbil is obligated to perform a magic deed on that person’s behalf.

  Glory white-knuckled the Sliver and read it again, concentrating on the important part.

  “According to this,” Glory said in amazement. “If someone catches a Wybbil by the toe, he has to give her whatever she wants.”

  “Like a wish,” Clash replied. “Eanie meanie minie moe catch a Wybbil by the toe.”

  Glory’s heart beat a little faster. This was getting more and more interesting.

  “How to trap a Wybbil. Search Now,” Glory said.

  No Data Found.

  “Wybbil and catch. Search now.”

  No Data Found.

  “Hoogula.”

  In mythology, the Hoogula is doomed to roam below Tullah until the end of time. Half dog, half devil, a single silver horn protrudes from his head, and he carries a white feather, which he uses to tickle unwary travelers to death. The Hoogula’s duty is to keep Tullahns from finding the Elboni Stone.

  “Can’t they get anything right?” Glory complained. “Picture of the Hoogula.”

  No data found.

  “Devil-dog.”

  Please Narrow The Search Parameters.

  “Don’t do this to me!” She shook the Sliver in frustration. “Cancel. New Search.”

  Clash frowned. “Geez, Glory. Don’t have a hissy over a stupid fairytale. I thought you were over this Hoogula crap.”

  Glory sucked in a deep breath. The bums bore little resemblance to the Wybbil in the picture. What if they weren’t Wybbils at all, but something else?

  “Trolls.” Since her strange encounters as of late, she felt open to about anything. “Search Now.”

  “Glory,” Clash interrupted, sounding apologetic. “I need to save free minutes for homework.”

  “Oh.” Glory reluctantly returned the Sliver.

  “What’s the sudden interest in the Elboni and Wybbils? You don’t actually believe that bull, do ya?”

  “I did when I was little,” Glory said. “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Even though they’re fun to believe in, those things aren’t real. Everybody knows that.”

  Glory exhaled deeply. “You’re right.”

  Clash took a handful of fireballs out of his pocket. “Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  The school bus bumped along and the two friends played Space Raiders, sucking on burning hot fireballs until their eyes watered.

  During fifth period, Glory reclined in her seat during astronomy class, gazing up at the planetarium’s star-studded ceiling. The girl next to her had fallen asleep; drool ran down her chin, collecting in a pool on her shirt. Ew. A couple of boys were shooting paper balls through their fingers. The smell of nail polish filled the air. Despite all the distractions Mr. Taylor’s every word held extra meaning today. She imagined the universe itself was sending her a message through him.

  Mr. Taylor talked about black holes and dark matter, how science hadn’t proved they existed yet. Even so, there was reason to believe they did. He was optimistic that the proof was out there somewhere in the great beyond, just waiting to be discovered. That’s how Glory felt about the Elboni and everything that went with it. Lack of scientific proof didn’t mean magic wasn’t real, it just meant Tullah didn’t know how to find it.

  Mr. Taylor’s voice was smothered by the plan hatching in her head. As she leaned back in her chair, staring into fake outer space, Glory felt unexpectedly hopeful. If the midget bums were indeed Wybbils she had been overlooking a tremendous opportunity.

  Wybbils had the magic. Catching one by the toe meant they’d have to give her whatever she wanted. It seemed too fantastic to believe, but she’d seen the magic with her own eyes, felt it with her own body. One problem though—they wore heavy boots. Would catching a Wybbil by a boot instead of an actual toe count? She planned to find out.

  Chapter 10

  After school, Glory came home to more snoring. Grandpa was napping in his rocking chair as Nana folded laundry on the couch. George sat in a laundry basket making vroom-vroom noises. He leapt up when he saw Glory to hug her around her legs.

  “Love Gwowee,” he said.

  She picked him up and kissed both cheeks. “And Gwowee loves George.” Then he struggled to get down. As soon as his feet touched the floor, he climbed back into the laundry basket.

  “Me dwive,” George said with a toothy grin.

  “Don’t forget to signal,” Glory said. “Hey, Nana, where is everybody?”

  “Your father’s working on the well pump. Everybody else—who knows.”

  “Perfect.” Glory pressed her palms together like a cartoon villain with a dastardly plan. “Now I can begin preparations for the next bum...er, Wybbil invasion without having to answer a bunch of questions.”

  She went outside to the barn and gathered items needed to implement her plan. Next stop was the junk pile at the edge of the woods. She came back inside and headed upstairs with two fishing poles, an armload of nuts, bolts and gizmos galore. George followed her to the bedroom sucking his thumb the whole time.

  An hour later, she was finishing the job, standing on a chair, while tacking a blue tarp to the ceiling. Cords ran through the hollow metal rings at the tarp’s edges. Another cord ran across the floor between the two beds where she had tied them together.

  George took his thumb out of mouth. “What’s dat?”

  “It’s a trap. See that string running across the floor—that’s called a tripwire. If unwanted visitors come in the middle of the night, they’ll walk right into it. And when they do the tarp will fall right on top of them.”

  “Ohhh,” George said with interest.

  “And see that fishing reel over there—and the one over there?” She pointed to the reels nailed on opposite walls and George nodded. “If they fight the tarp, the line will unravel, and the more they struggle, the more entangled they’ll get. The plates, cans, bolts, and junk are my alert system. When the strings and wires are disturbed, the junk will clang together, making so much racket we’ll wake up before the intruders can sprinkle us with their dust. Then I’ll have proof Wybbils are real and I’m not crazy.”

  George pulled his thumb out of his mouth to say, “Ohhh,” and then he plugged it back in.

  Glory finished tying strings to the handles of the closet and the door. By the time the room was rigged, the rest of her siblings had come home. George followed her down the hall to the room he shared with their three brothers, where she planned to set-up another trap strictly for George’s safety. Just as she finished, a tremendous cl
ang, then a rattle, came from her bedroom, followed by more bangs, then a loud thud.

  Uh-oh, somebody had prematurely triggered a trap.

  Glory ran to her room and stood in the doorway. The tarp was on the floor with a body struggling inside it. Other than being triggered too early, her plan had worked like a charm. Awesome. Fishing line was still zipping out as her victim twisted and writhed inside the tarp.

  Thinking it was one of the twins, she was about to be thoroughly amused. Then she saw the pink house slippers and white legs bulging with purple veins sticking out the bottom. Her hands slapped both cheeks. She had caught Nana!

  Nana looked like a giant drumstick gift-wrapped in reinforced plastic. Fishing line zipped around her winding tighter and tighter as she struggled.

  “Hold still, Nana! I’ll get you out!”

  “Mercy,” Nana’s muffled voice came from underneath the plastic. “Oh dear, I think I’m suffocating.”

  Glory ran downstairs to get a knife, passing three brothers and her sister on the way up. When she returned with a steak knife, Patrice and Brandon were on the floor next to Nana. Brandon was cutting a big hole into the plastic with scissors. When the circle of material opened up Nana’s face appeared. She gasped for air. Her upper lip and brow covered with beads of sweat.

  “Good gracious,” she said weakly. “I was putting away clothes when everything turned blue. What on Tullah happened?”

  “Glory happened,” Danny said. “Nuff said.”

  “Are you hurt, Nana?” Brandon steadied her as she tried to sit up. “Should we call the paramedics?”

  “No need for that,” she said. “These old bones can still take a licking.”