Two Girls, a Clock, and a Crooked House

by Michael Poore

  I’m not calm. I’m catatonic. Inside I’m blubbering and peeing all over myself.

  “There was a witch,” said Amy. “How could there really be an actual witch? Was I seeing things?”

  Why was she surprised? Her parents had told her there was a witch. She had more or less believed the story, but a story and an event that’s really happening are two very different things.

  You weren’t hallucinating, said Moo. I saw it, too. All of it. Now let’s go.

  “Go?”

  Yes, please. Since there really is a witch, apparently, I would like to not be here, in the woods. Obviously, we’re somewhere else in time, but it might be five minutes or five hours away, and since we don’t know, I think we should leave.

  The idea of doing something, going somewhere, helped Amy calm down. She stopped shaking. She linked arms with Moo and led her away through the wreckage of the clock chair.

  “If the chair is all cracked up,” she wondered aloud, “then how come my head isn’t bloody, and…what does it mean? What did we see? What happ—”

  We don’t know, said Moo, interrupting. Until we do know, can we not panic about it?

  This either made a great deal of sense, Amy thought, or no sense at all. She decided to go with it.

  And they walked and walked, and sniffled every now and then, and mostly didn’t panic. Mostly.

  * * *

  —

  WE STILL DON’T KNOW the way out of the woods, said Moo.

  “Yeah. But we know which way it’s not.”

  Amy guided Moo, as gently as possible, past the mossy rock and the fallen tree, until the woods thinned out and opened up, and there was the pasture. Cow-free, at the moment. The cows often wandered.

  The girls crossed the field and climbed the fence, looked both ways before crossing the road, and reached the porch, where they had started the night before.

  Amy waited for the door to fly open and for Moo’s mom to come exploding at them, all crying and mad and happy and sad and relieved and going to kill them both. But this didn’t happen. Not yet.

  Will you take me into the house? asked Moo.

  I was kinda planning on leaving you here on the porch, Amy thought, but didn’t say. Moo heard her anyway.

  Coward, she said.

  “No way.”

  To prove it, she kept hold of Moo’s hand and knocked on the screen door.

  NOW it would happen. The screaming and exploding.

  Crickets.

  Just go in, instructed Moo.

  So Amy pulled the door open, and in they went. Moo stiffened a little as they stepped over the threshold, but said nothing.

  The inside of the house was pretty much what Amy had imagined. Sort of bare, sort of wooden and plain. A couple of pictures hanging on the wall. Stairs going upstairs. Off to one side, a room with a threadbare couch and a television.

  Upstairs a toilet flushed. A door opened.

  Footsteps.

  Moo’s mom appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Amy squinted. Something wasn’t right. Was her hair different? Had she gained weight?

  Then she was distracted by Moo, who had begun tugging at her hand, gripping hard.

  “What?” whispered Amy, facing her. “You’re hurting my…”

  She shut up when she got a look at Moo’s eyes, which were dark and wild.

  “What?”

  That’s not my mom! said Moo.

  “ARE YOU GIRLS LOST?” asked the woman.

  That’s not our couch, said Moo, sounding breathless, or our TV, and the walls are the wrong color, and…

  They ran.

  “Girls?” called the strange woman, behind them.

  They ran around behind the house, over a tiny creek, past a high-voltage electrical station thingy—

  “Over there!” gasped Amy, pointing.

  To their right, up a shallow hill, stood a scraggly bunch of trees. Not really a woods, just one of those places where trees grow simply because no one has thought to build anything there. The girls ran up the hill and hid themselves the best they could between a birch tree and a tree that looked like the letter W.

  They grasped each other by the wrists, breathing hard.

  It WORKED! said Moo finally. The time travel thing!

  “It did!” wheezed Amy.

  It worked a LOT! added Moo.

  “I agree!”

  Well, NOW what do we do? Who is that in my house? If we went through time—a LOT of time!—where are we? I mean, when?

  Moo was in a tizzy. She flapped her arms like a bird, as if trying to figure out the unbelievable thing that might or might not have happened. Her eyes were wild, but also focused and bright. Before, her eyes had been so vague, so far away, and Amy realized—

  “Moo,” she said.

  Moo froze. What?

  “You’re moving.”

  Huh?

  “Moving. Your arms and legs and whole body! You ran all the way here from the house without me helping one tiny bit!”

  Moo’s eyes bugged. She gaped down in wonder at her own legs, and her mouth cracked into a bright, wobbly smile.

  “Just like you said would happen,” said Amy. “Once you had more and more practice. Or once something scared the mrrzzl out of you bad enough….”

  Moo wasn’t paying attention. She was busy waggling her fingers in front of her face.

  Amy’s mind whizzed like a blender. Things that weren’t possible were happening, and a list of questions that she didn’t have answers for had started burning in her brain. They went like this:

  When are we?

  What has happened to our parents, if they aren’t where they’re supposed to be?

  Who’s going to feed us and give us a place to sleep, et cetera?

  Who was the witchy woman in the woods who tried to grab us?

  It wasn’t a long list, but it was important, and it was scary.

  Amy said a word that was generally considered unsuitable for young people.

  What? asked Moo, stopping in midtwirl.

  Amy repeated the word.

  I’ve never heard you say one of those words. My mom says them, but—

  “It’s an experiment. I’m scared almost to the point of losing consciousness, and I thought it might make me feel better.”

  Did it?

  “A little.”

  Moo, too, said an unsuitable word.

  “Well?” said Amy. “Better?”

  Somewhat. How interesting. How useful. It’s like a magic spell almost.

  Amy thought of how her dad always said “mrrzzl” when she was around, instead of actually swearing. She wondered if this had the same effect.

  “Mrrzzl,” she said.

  No. It did not seem to have the same—

  What are you doing? asked Moo.

  “Another experiment. See—”

  Tell you what. While you’re doing that, I will try to work on some of the actual problem-solving problems we are faced with at the moment. I have a list. Would you like to hear it?

  “Of course.”

  Here’s my list:

  One: I have to go to the bathroom like you wouldn’t believe.

  Two: We are both covered in dirt and guck from being in the woods, and sleeping on the ground, and messing with all that moldy, cobwebby old stuff.

  Three: We should put our hoods down and look less like two kids with horns and antennae, and maybe draw less attention.

  They put their hoods down.

  Now the bathroom problem, said Moo.

  “Easy enough,” said Amy. They were surrounded by trees, after all. All they had to do was find, maybe, a tree with some bushes around it, and—

  A sudden fluttering o
f wings interrupted her, and a large black bird landed on a fallen branch before them.

  Both girls squeaked and then looked the bird over. A curious sort of bird, with a long, considerable beak and a feathery poof atop its head. It returned their gaze, seemingly unafraid, with sharp, orange-rimmed eyes.

  “Okay,” said Amy. “Weird!”

  The bird cocked its head, as if listening.

  “Okay, weird!” it said loudly and clearly. “Let’s solve the bathroom problem first.”

  HOLY COW! CRIED MOO.

  Both girls hopped back a step, mouths hanging open.

  “It’s like a parrot,” said Amy.

  Or a cockatiel or something! added Moo.

  Astonishment quickly turned to amusement. Amy said an unsuitable word, hoping the bird would repeat it.

  Before the bird had a chance, however, another voice spoke up.

  “He’s been taught to mind his manners,” said the voice, directly behind them. “And he’s neither a parrot nor a cockatiel. He’s a Mutitjulu hearsay bird. Quite rare!”

  The girls whipped around and discovered a tall figure in a long, dark coat (or was it a cape?). She wore a hood, and a hat with a wide brim, casting her face in shadow. A wicker basket hung from one arm. She carried a walking stick in the opposite hand.

  Witch! thought Amy, thought Moo. They both struggled not to pee their pants.

  The hearsay bird flapped over the girls’ heads and perched atop the stranger’s walking stick.

  Possibly a witch, anyhow, thought Amy. Was it the same witch from before, from the big woods?

  It can’t be! thought Moo.

  Indeed, this person looked much younger. Unless they’d come back in time a lot further than—

  They should run. Both girls thought this but couldn’t quite get started.

  Is there more than one? said Amy to Moo. Is this place practically overrun with witches, and no one’s ever really noticed?

  “Where I come from,” said the Possible Witch, “one replies when spoken to. If one doesn’t wish to be considered rude.”

  “Rude!” repeated the hearsay bird. (A bright, winged face hovered like an emoji over the bird’s head. Its expression seemed to shift and change constantly.)

  Amy and Moo exchanged a look. “Hello,” said Amy in a voice that almost didn’t shake.

  The Possible Witch took a step toward them. A surprisingly long step, so that she began to loom over them somewhat. Amy looked for some sign, some floaty magical thing that would give them a clue about this person, but there was only something dim and ghostly over her head, like a cloud that hadn’t decided yet whether it was going to rain.

  “We’re not really supposed to talk to strangers,” she told the woman, taking a step back. “It’s nothing personal.”

  “It’s a fine rule,” said the Possible Witch. “A rule I endorse. But I couldn’t help noticing that both of you seem somewhat lost. My own mother raised me to be helpful, you see, and…yes, indeed, there is a certain far-from-home quality about you. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  The woman reached out suddenly and lay a long, stick-thin finger alongside Amy’s cheek. Instinctively, Amy gave a small cry and stumbled back.

  A tendril of luminous green stretched between her face and the woman’s finger. It pulsed once. Then, as Amy retreated, it snapped in a shower of sparks that swam and faded like fireflies.

  The Possible Witch straightened up, examining her hand and saying “My!” in a tone of surprise and wonder.

  The hearsay bird, too, looked surprised and repeated Amy’s unsuitable word.

  Seeing that the stranger was distracted, Amy and Moo whirled and bolted.

  Out of the woods, into some weeds, around a mud puddle.

  Faster, faster, faster! they said to each other.

  Amy kept expecting to hear the Possible Witch right behind them, reaching for them, moving fast on long legs, stretching out with long arms.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  Instantly she wished she hadn’t, because the witch was there! OMG, she really was, with the hearsay bird rising into the air above her, and her long, bony fingers reaching toward them.

  “Oh, girls!” she was calling. “Girls, now, really!”

  “Don’t look!” Amy shrieked in Moo’s ear. “Go, go, gogogogogogogogogo!”

  MOO GRABBED AT AMY’S elbow.

  Police! she shouted.

  Amy shook her head, tugging at Moo’s wrist. “We can’t go to the police!” she said. “They’ll ask questions! Questions we don’t have answers to, and—”

  No! cried Moo, pulling at her, slowing down. Police! Look!

  She pointed insistently, and Amy calmed down enough to see where she was pointing.

  Ahead of them, visible between two brick houses, a cop cruiser sat at the end of a long suburban street, pausing at a stop sign.

  Without a thought, the girls ran between the houses and dove behind a shrub.

  One way or the other, thought Amy, we’ve had it. Either the police or the Possible Witch…

  The Possible Witch, she saw, was still behind them but had stopped. The hearsay bird landed at her feet.

  “French fries,” it said.

  The Possible Witch appeared to be watching the police car.

  The cruiser left the stop sign behind and turned down the street toward them. Slowly, watchfully, the way cop cars do. Sort of protective-looking, but also kind of scary, even when you weren’t wearing a stolen butterfly hoodie.

  The Possible Witch backed up, turned, and walked away swiftly, back into the scraggly little woods, her bird waddling behind, chattering something indistinct.

  “She’s gone,” said Amy.

  Shhh! said Moo.

  “What? The cops can’t hear us; they’re, like, a football field away.”

  They saw us. I know they did.

  “They’d be driving faster if they’d seen us. And they’d put on a siren or yell at us on the speaker not to move and stay where we are.”

  The cruiser advanced. Its headlights were like eyes, looking straight at them.

  “She had that green stuff on her hand,” Amy whispered. “Did you see it?”

  Of course I saw it. We just traveled through time; how would we not have green stuff? Now shut up.

  “But she saw it, too! Didn’t you see her see it?”

  I saw her see it! Please stop using your Loud Girl voice, please!

  The cruiser was HUGE now. It crawled down the street right in front of the house and slowed down.

  “Well, doesn’t that surprise and disturb you?”

  Not as much as the police disturb me at this particular time.

  Maybe Moo had a point. The cruiser had pretty much come to a stop, and—

  It sped up, turned down a side street, and was gone.

  “Oh. Oh my God,” said Amy. “Oh, good, good, good.”

  I agree, said Moo. And I still have to go to the bathroom.

  Amy had to go, too, she suddenly remembered, and had to press her knees together to keep from you-know-what.

  We need someplace to GO, said Moo in a strained voice, and it isn’t going to be in the woods. That leaves us with…

  It left them with the shrub they were hiding behind, they realized.

  “I won’t look at you if you don’t look at me,” said Amy.

  Whatever, said Moo, and—

  The scene where they pee behind the shrub does not need to be part of the story, don’t you agree?

  It is important to note that Amy finished first. Out she came, feeling much relieved, and walked—casually!—down to the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day, she noticed for the first time. Not only that, but she started to think the neighborhood had a familiar look and feel to it. This was pr
obably her own actual neighborhood, she realized, although she’d never been down this particular street. Where was Cornish Road from here? She was busy wondering this and looking at the clouds in the nice blue sky, and didn’t notice the police cruiser crawling back up the street until the officer inside rolled down his window and said, “Hi.”

  He might as well have said, “I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL!” Amy jumped a foot in the air and choked on an unsuitable word.

  The officer raised one eyebrow.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  The officer, Amy noted, had a symbol of a German shepherd floating in the air over his head.

  “Yes,” said Amy, very conscious that she was streaked with dirt, that her hair was a tangled mess, and that she had peed on her left leg just the slightest bit. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “What’s your name?” asked the officer.

  “Amy.”

  “Well, Amy, I have two questions. One: you don’t LOOK fine. You look like a mudslide that came to life. And two: shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “Technically,” Amy replied, “the first one isn’t a question. It’s a declarative sentence.”

  The officer raised his eyebrow again. “That’s true,” he said.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “A good, smart question,” he said. “I’m Officer Douglas Byrd of the Troy Municipal Police. I’m the resource officer for the schools, in fact.”

  “Wow,” said Amy, impressed.

  “That means I’m the truant officer. Which brings me back to my second point. Why aren’t you in school?”

  Inside Amy’s head, Moo’s voice said, Oh God! The cops! You’re talking to the cops!

  I know! I’m sorry! He wants to know why we’re not in school!

  Tell him a dog chased us!

  “A dog chased us,” Amy repeated.

  Officer Byrd looked up and down the sidewalk.

  “There’s no dog now,” he said.

  “I know. We escaped with our lives.”

  “Who’s ‘us’?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said, ‘A dog chased us.’ Is there a frog in your pocket?”