by Matt Fazio
Shortly after they passed through the skinny trees, a small gully about 50 feet to the left caught his eye. Just beyond the gully was a hillside where big, moss-covered rocks barricaded what looked like a secret cave. Drew was tempted to go investigate it, but he knew The Shack was today’s destination. He thought about asking Zobby to take a picture of the rocks with her phone but decided against it. It would be cooler to try and draw them anyway, he thought.
“Come on, man, what are you doing back there?” yelled Caleb.
“Oh, sorry,” said Drew. Without realizing, he had again come to a complete standstill, and everyone was several yards ahead of him on the other side of a row of thick bushes. He slipped through the bushes and caught up.
“Oh no!” Tommy wailed. “My phone died!”
“Now aren’t you glad I’m here, Caleb?” said Zobby. “Without my phone, we’d be lost.”
Caleb simply sneered and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, then I guess it’s not a big deal,” said Tommy. “We can just use Zobby’s phone. Besides, look!” He pointed to a ridge just above a thin stream in the distance.
“It’s …”
Zobby looked up from her phone and smiled. “It’s The Shack.”
****
Atop a small hill just beyond a clearing, three strong trees stood close together. In the grasp of their branches, as if it were being lifted to watch over the world, was the biggest treehouse the kids had ever seen. No longer were any of them staring at a cell phone. Instead all four were racing to The Shack.
Even in a full sprint, Drew tried to take in all the features of The Shack. The red paint was faded, weathered by frosty winters and baked dry by hot summers. The three trees holding the mighty structure each emerged from the earth in a slightly different direction, and their crooked but sturdy branches crawled from the trunks to form the perfect home for a treehouse.
Tommy reached the base of The Shack first, followed closely by the others, and climbed the wooden ladder. Within seconds they were all inside. Although it was immediately clear that some of the stories about The Shack were exaggerated – the treehouse was about 12 feet in the air, not 30, and there didn’t appear to be a pirate ship-style plank anywhere – the kids still were in awe as soon as they entered. Even Tommy, the tallest of the four, could stand without ducking. From the inside, it was clear that The Shack had been built using several different types of wood, and a window had been cut into one of the walls with a handsaw.
The floor was lined with scraps of blue outdoor carpet. In one corner sat two lawn chairs and a little square table. In the opposite corner there was a CD player and a stack of CDs on the floor. Zobby went to that corner, searched through the CDs until she found one she liked, and put it in the CD player.
“CDs?” Caleb scoffed. “What are they, like a hundred years old?”
“Yeah,” said Tommy, “I got all my music on my phone.”
Zobby shrugged. “Your phone can’t play it like this,” she said, cranking up the volume.
The back wall was covered with drawings. Drew gravitated toward the artwork. He ran his hand over the pictures on the wall, trying to sense the time and effort that had gone into them. The biggest drawing was of the Pittsburgh Penguins logo. It appeared to have been drawn with a black permanent marker. The picture wasn’t scaled well; the penguin’s beak was too long, and one leg was shorter than the other. But Drew knew that everyone had to start somewhere. Maybe his silhouette he painted on the swing set wasn’t perfect either, but he had still put a lot of work into it.
He turned around and saw that Tommy and Caleb were focused on something on the floor in the middle of The Shack. He had stepped right past it without noticing on his way to the decorated wall.
“We gotta get in there,” said Caleb, staring down with eager eyes at the locked treasure chest.
“I know, but how?” said Tommy, trying with all his might to pry open the lid. “It’s locked shut. Without the key, we can’t do nothin’.”
“At least we made it here,” said Drew. “This place is awesome.”
“But there’s no point in being here if we can’t see what’s in the treasure chest,” said Caleb, crossing his arms.
“I hate to say it, but maybe Caleb’s right,” said Zobby. “Besides, there’s probably a key around here somewhere. A bunch of different people come here, right? There’s probably a key hidden somewhere so everyone who comes here can get into the chest.”
All four kids searched every possible spot inside The Shack but didn’t find anything.
“This is pointless,” Caleb whined. “Zobby’s probably wrong anyways. Everybody probably has their own key. Or Huddy keeps it. We’re never gonna get it open.”
Drew wasn’t ready to give up, though. It made sense for the key to be hidden somewhere on site, the same way a key was hidden at his house.
“Wait!” Drew exclaimed. “I think I know where it is!”
He darted to the ladder and climbed down. He ran to the tree trunk in the back, dropped to his knees, and began tossing aside all the dirty leaves that were piled there. The others stuck their heads out the window and watched. Drew could hear Caleb whispering his doubts from above, but he kept digging until he felt something in his grasp. He snatched a little tin box from the earth and opened it. Smiling ear to ear, he raised his arm to reveal a brass key.
“No way!”
“How’d you know?”
“Get up here!”
Drew climbed back into the treehouse as the kids laughed and celebrated.
“Hurry up, open it,” Caleb urged.
“Wait, seriously, how’d you know where to look?” asked Zobby.
“My mom told me a story once about these burglars who went around house to house, knocking on doors. If someone answered, they’d pretend to be salesmen and then just leave. But if no one answered, they’d search the front porch for a spare key. My mom said a lot of people have a spare key right on their front porch, like under a rock or something.”
“Yeah, my family does,” laughed Tommy.
“Yeah, and my mom said everyone knows people do that. So what you should do is hide the key near the front porch, but not on it. That’s what these kids did. Instead of hiding the key in The Shack, they hid it near The Shack. I figured the tree in the back would be a good spot.”
“Not good enough,” said Caleb, rubbing his hands together. All his enthusiasm had returned as soon as Drew found the key. “Now stop wasting time and open it!”
Drew slid the key into the lock. It fit perfectly. The kids were so quiet that they could hear the inner clicking of the key going into its counterpart. As Drew turned the key, his stomach turned with it in anticipation. The treasure chest unlocked and Drew lifted the lid, revealing the contents: an assortment of fireworks, a box of matches, a stack of comic books, a pack of water balloons, a jug of water, a funnel, one container of green paintballs, one container of orange paintballs, a sling shot, two baseball mitts, a baseball signed by Cal Ripken Jr., a makeshift bow and arrow, four cans of root beer, an unopened bag of pretzel rods, a half-empty bag of Doritos, and a notepad with a list of names written on it.
“See, I told you this would be worth it,” said Caleb, rummaging through the chest.
Drew held the autographed baseball, felt the laces, and wished it was his.
“Cool, they have pop in here,” said Zobby. “My mom never lets us drink pop.” She pulled one of the chairs to the middle of the room, sat down, cracked open a can of root beer, and took a sip.
Drew carefully placed the baseball on the floor and picked up the notepad. Near the bottom of the list was the name Mike Hudock. He really does come here. The notepad was filled with drawings. None of them were quite like the one from his science book, but they were good nonetheless. They definitely seemed different from the hockey-playing penguin drawn on the wall.
“All right, guys, it’s fireworks time,” said Tommy, pulling his mom’s candle lighter from his pocket.
/> “Do you even know how to do it?” Zobby asked.
“Yeah, it’s easy. I’ve seen my uncle do it a hundred times. See, this is called a Blue Blaster …”
He took a small, blue firework from the treasure chest, placed it facing out on the ledge of the window, toward the clearing, and lit the fuse. Everyone took a step back as the firework began to hiss, and everyone but Tommy covered their ears. Seconds later, the firework blasted out of The Shack and exploded into what looked like millions of tiny blue specks.
“See! How sweet was that!”
“My turn, let me try,” said Caleb. “I wanna use a bigger one. What’s this one called?” He removed a larger, silver firework from the chest and presented it to Tommy.
“That’s a Silver Salvo. It’s way more stronger than a Blue Blaster.”
“Awesome,” said Caleb, grabbing the lighter from Tommy.
He set the firework on the window ledge just as Tommy had done. He lit the fuse and stepped back, but the firework began to wobble. The kids froze. It teetered on the window ledge a moment, and then, as if it had made up its mind, it fell backwards onto the floor inside The Shack.
“It’s gonna explode!”
“Bail!”
The kids scurried down the ladder and jumped to the ground. An intensified zing echoed from The Shack, followed by a loud pop pop pop. Then the firework exploded completely, and the treehouse emanated a bright red light.
The kids sat on the ground, speechless, for several moments before standing up. A pink ribbon of smoke floated from the window of The Shack and disappeared in the still air.
“We should probably get outta here,” suggested Tommy.
“Wait,” said Drew, “let’s check out the damage first.”
The kids climbed with slow, trembling steps. Hesitantly, they lifted themselves into the smoke-filled treehouse. The music Zobby had turned on earlier was still playing, though now it seemed unwelcome. Once the fog cleared and the kids were able to see, their guilt worsened. The firework must have ricocheted off each side of the treehouse before exploding, as there were now black marks on all four walls. Most of the drawings on the wall were destroyed. A sharp pain pierced Drew’s side as a physical reminder of the art the storm had destroyed just weeks ago. After the swing set, I couldn’t blame anyone. But these artists, they can blame us.
There was a hole burned through the carpet where the firework had exploded. And worst of all, that hole was right next to the opened treasure chest. Drew carefully examined each item, one by one. Some didn’t appear to have suffered any damage – the baseball gloves, paintballs, and sling shot looked fine. But some of the comic books were barely recognizable, and the autographed baseball had a burn mark that obscured Cal Ripken Jr.’s signature.
“Well,” said Tommy, “at least the Silver Salvo didn’t hit all the other fireworks and blow the whole place up.”
But that didn’t make Drew feel much better. He sifted through the remains to check for further damage. As he leafed through one of the comic books, a piece of paper fell out. It was slightly thicker than regular paper and had been folded twice. He unfolded it and found that it was a painting, perhaps completed in an art class, of a skeleton riding a big motorcycle. The only colors used were black and varying shades of gray, except for the skeleton’s jacket, which was a bright candy apple red. The painting didn’t impress Drew the way the drawing from his science book had, but he could still tell that this artist was talented. Like the drawing of the ocean scene, it was obvious that a lot of time and effort had gone into this picture. Could Huddy have painted it? And if so, did it mean that he had drawn the ocean scene, too? And why was Drew just now seeing so many works of art? Was it possible that they had always been around but he was just noticing them now?
“What are you looking at?” Tommy asked.
“Uh, nothing.” Drew folded the picture and slipped it into his pocket.
“Listen, we’ll throw everything back in the treasure chest and get outta here,” Caleb said nervously. “It’s getting late anyways.”
“But maybe we should try –” began Drew.
“Oh no, you got to be kidding me,” Tommy interrupted.
“What?”
But no explanation was needed. A murmur of voices was approaching. Drew peeked out the window and saw three older boys walking toward The Shack. Zobby turned off the music.
“I thought you said no one would be here, Caleb!” she said.
Caleb glanced at Zobby, and a sly smile formed on his face.
“Just follow my lead,” he said.
****
The four hurried down the ladder as the three older boys inched closer.
“Isn’t that Roey?” one of them said.
“Yeah, Kris, it is. Hey, Roey, I thought we made it clear The Shack ain’t for little babies like you,” taunted another.
“Uh, hey guys,” said Caleb.
“Why are they calling him Roey?” Zobby whispered.
“Caleb Monroe, so they call him Roey,” Tommy whispered back. “It’s just a dumb hockey nickname.”
Now all seven kids were standing near the base of The Shack. One of the three older boys, tall with intense blue eyes, stepped in front of his two friends.
“These kids are trespassing,” he said. “I guess we gotta teach ‘em a lesson.”
“Nah,” said Kris, “it’s not a big deal. Plus Roey’s been doin’ good work for us on defense. I’d hate to see him outta the lineup.”
Drew, Tommy, and Zobby smiled at each other and breathed a collective sigh of relief. Maybe Caleb could get them out of this mess after all.
“And look,” Kris continued, “The Shack’s still standing. It’s not like they did anything to it. They probably just wanted to see if it was real.”
The kids’ smiles instantly morphed into awkward glances, and the change did not go unnoticed by the tall, blue-eyed boy.
“What was that? Did you see that?” he said. “They all looked at each other funny when you said they didn’t do anything. They must’ve messed something up – or stole something. Empty your pockets …”
“Relax, Huddy, these kids seem harmless,” said Kris.
Drew straightened up when he heard the name. It’s Huddy. Drew studied him, as if a clue would present itself if he watched him closely enough. His dark hair was shaved on the sides and spiky on top. Beneath his icy eyes was a small, turned-up nose. He stood with his fists clenched and his elbows flared away from his body, as if he had someone in a headlock in each arm. And he was the only kid there without a jacket. In jeans and a red t-shirt, he looked unbothered by the cold.
“Well, why’s this kid looking at me like that?” Huddy said. His eyes seemed capable of burning a hole right through Drew. “You got a staring problem or something? Huh?”
“Uh, no, sorry.”
Huddy glared at Drew for another second before curiously lifting his head in the air. “What’s that smell? Smoke?” He quickly stepped toward The Shack and grabbed a rung of the ladder.
“It was Zobby!” Caleb blurted out.
Huddy spun around and charged toward him.
“What did you say?” he demanded, standing inches from Caleb. Every word he spoke stung the air like venom.
“Come on, cool it, man, we still don’t know what happened,” said Kris.
“Well, what did happen?” said Huddy, leaning down into Caleb with his arms still flared away from his body. “And who’s Zobby? What kind of name is that anyways?”
“She’s Zobby,” said Caleb, pointing.
Huddy’s head turned, and Caleb used the momentary distraction to take two quick steps backwards. Then he continued:
“It’s a dumb name, I know. And, uh, we wanted to come to The Shack ‘cause we heard about how the cool kids come here – like you guys, you guys are real cool. So, uh, one of us heard about how to get here and we just wanted to check it out. Then Zobby like, begged us to open the treasure chest, so she found the key and opened it. Then
she wanted to light the fireworks. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but she did. You know how girls are always messing stuff up. So she lit a firework and it blew up in The Shack. But it was an accident. We’re sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” said Huddy.
“Yeah,” Caleb nodded.
But Drew could tell that Huddy wasn’t buying Caleb’s apology. The situation was as combustible as the fireworks, and Huddy’s fuse had been lit.
“You’re sorry?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, what are you talking about, Caleb?” said Zobby. “I never even touched any fireworks.”
“Oh, come on, Zobby,” said Caleb. “We all know it was you. Stop lying about it.”
Zobby couldn’t contain her anger. She lunged at Caleb, but Tommy caught her before she got to him.
“You are such a snake, Caleb!” she screamed as Tommy held her back. “You dropped the firework in The Shack. You showed us this place to begin with! And you can’t handle that I struck you out in baseball last year and that I knocked you down today! You’re such a –”
“Stop!” said Kris. “Everyone needs to calm down. Let’s just check out The Shack and see what the damage is.”
“Yeah,” said the third older boy quietly. He was standing behind Huddy and Kris.
As Kris stepped toward the treehouse, all eyes followed him – except for two blue ones. Huddy’s gaze remained locked on Zobby. As Kris grabbed a rung of the ladder, Huddy charged at Zobby and tackled her to the ground. He wasn’t looking for the truth; he wanted vengeance. His treehouse was ruined, and somebody was going to pay. He tried to grab Zobby while she was on the ground, but she rolled, hopped to her feet, and took off running. Huddy chased after her, and the rest of the kids did their best to keep up.
Huddy appeared to be faster than his prey, but she continued to change directions, making sharp turns around trees and zigzagging through the woods. She had no clue where she was going, but she knew she had to get away from Huddy. He was getting closer and closer, and Zobby tripped over a branch and fell to the ground, tumbling down a small hill.
