Then, like a door slammed shut, the swirling funnel is gone.
“We gotta go.” Ezra hops to his feet and gives Bell a final look. The old man lies motionless under the wide oak tree, his dogs hovering at his sides. The three of us dash through the tall grass that borders the woods. My legs feel slow and heavy, as if dozens of dumbbells are tied to my sneakers.
Near the railroad tracks, Jack and Zion pace back and forth. When they spot us, they jog to Ezra. “Did Old Man Bell call the sheriff? Are we busted?” Jack asks, his fingers twitching at the top of his skateboard.
Ezra doesn’t answer and instead keeps marching past him.
There’s a droning siren, and then the flashing red and blue lights as the sheriff’s truck bumps along the dirt road. When it skids to a stop, Sheriff Huxley and Deputy Ronald leap out, both wearing cowboy hats as big as the truck’s wheels.
The sheriff grabs a first-aid kit from the pickup bed, and the deputy tucks a stretcher under his arm. “You kids did the right thing calling this in,” the sheriff says, dipping his head our way. “We’ll take it from here.”
As the pair hustle through the forest scrub, Ezra grabs his skateboard and reaches for my arm. Sparks of aquamarine flicker from his hands. “It’s time to go, Mags. There’s nothing else to see here.”
I wriggle my arm free. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Ezra grunts and starts walking. Jack and Zion trot along after him, leaving me and Nate alone in the moonlit clearing.
I glance back at the woods, searching for traces of the electric colors we just discovered. But everything’s gone dark now.
“That didn’t turn out like I was hoping,” Nate says.
As we trudge home, I want to say something encouraging, but I can’t find the words. I can’t explain what we just saw. I know old people can get sick. Have sudden heart attacks or strokes. But this was different. And somehow, talking about any of it feels like it will make it more real. So I stuff down my questions and keep walking along the dusty country road.
“Did you hear what Bell said about the woods?” Nate asks, stirring up a little puff of dirt with each step.
My stomach twists. “That they weren’t safe.”
“Then that blue cloud came out of him. It looked like the glowing stuff from the mushrooms. You think that might’ve been what made him sick?”
My best guess is that the glowing dust was spores. But if that’s what came out of Old Man Bell, something was seriously off. People shouldn’t just fill up with spores. “I don’t know.”
Nate nods and scrunches his face like he’s mulling over a question. “He was pretty close to your brother when all that went down.”
“Yeah. I saw that too.” I wish I could laugh it all off. But this time we’re not dealing with a crop circle conspiracy or would-be werewolves.
“Maybe mushrooms are freakier than I thought.” Nate stuffs his hands in his pockets and doesn’t say anything else.
When we turn in to Raccoon Creek, Gramma’s car is parked in front of our trailer. June bugs circle the flickering porch lights and tree frogs chirp in the distance.
“You gonna tell your gramma what happened?” Nate asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. You gonna tell your parents?”
“Nah. They already think The Conspiracy Squad is a bad influence.”
I wave good night, hoping Gramma won’t question me. She has a sixth sense for sniffing out what she calls “funny business.”
The TV flashes a rainbow of light over the dim living room. Gramma’s slumped in her recliner, snoring softly. I tiptoe past her, heading for my room. There’s a loud cough, and I spin around.
Ezra’s stretched out on the couch. “Hey, Mags.” He sits up and blinks innocently like he’s been loafing around the house all night.
I eye Gramma. “She say anything when you came in?”
“She’s out cold.” For an instant, Ezra’s lips look blue––like he’s been sucking on cotton candy–flavored Popsicles. Then the image on the TV changes and the color fades away.
I fiddle with the camera’s strap. Part of me wants to talk things over with Ezra. To figure out what just happened and untangle all the knots in the pit of my stomach. But before I can put any of my feelings into a question, a muffled grunt comes from Gramma’s chair.
Her eyes flutter open. “You just now coming in?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I try to sound casual but can’t quite meet her eye.
“It’s awful late, Magnolia. What were you doing?”
“Hanging out with Nate.”
“I suppose I could’ve guessed that.” She pats her hair. It’s a mix of flattened-down silver locks and wild fluffy tufts. “Did you eat yet? I can warm you up a plate.” Gramma starts to stand, but she’s not quite awake yet and wobbles back into the chair.
“I’m not hungry.” My tongue feels like a tangled-up Slinky. All of a sudden, I don’t want to keep this inside. As I open my mouth to spill everything, Ezra shakes his head and mouths, “No.” There’s a panicked look in his eyes that dries up my big confession.
I’ve kept secrets from Gramma before, but this is different. Trespassing, the whirling white cloud, Bell’s glowing skin. That’s a lot of stuff to keep in. “I’m gonna take a shower. Night, Gramma.”
“G’night. Don’t forget to scrub behind your ears and in between your toes.”
It’s the same reminder Gramma gives me every night. Normally I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes, but tonight the familiarity is kinda comforting, like sliding into a pair of well-worn slippers. “Yes, ma’am.”
The water’s steamy hot, but no matter how much soap I use, it still feels like the entire forest is clinging to my skin. I change into my PJs and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Fog clouds the glass so only a fuzzy version of me is visible. Like Bell in the whirlwind of white. I wipe my hand across the mirror. One minute he was full of spit and venom and the next he was sprawled out on the dirt. It wasn’t right.
When I get to my room, the door’s open and Ezra’s sitting on my bed, arms crossed. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I dig my toes into the carpet. I want to tell Ezra that what happened was a big deal and I can’t get it out of my head, but the words get all gunked up on their way to my mouth. Instead, I perch on the edge of my desk chair and stare at my feet.
“You okay? I kinda cleared out quick.”
“I guess,” I say. “Better than Bell anyway.”
Ezra pulls one of my pillows against his chest. “It was pretty crazy out there.”
Hearing him admit that tonight was messed up starts to loosen the tight knot inside me. “Ezra, can I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“Bell said the woods weren’t safe. Then later, he pulled you close and said something else. What was it?”
Ezra shrugs. “Just a bunch of gibberish.”
“Like?”
He lifts his eyes to the ceiling as though he’s trying hard to remember. “Oaf Yo… Core Dee Sups? Something like that.”
“Oaf Yo Core Dee Sups?” I ask, making a mental note of the strange words.
“He wasn’t making sense, Maggie. It could have been ‘Old Fido’s Corvette.’ ”
“Huh?”
“Like, if one of his dogs was named Fido and he wanted to leave it a fancy car in his will. Old people do weird stuff.”
That’s a dumb theory, but I don’t have a better one, so I let it go. “I saw something. When he was coughing. Glowing dust came out of his mouth. Like a neon cloud.”
“That whole forest was filled with glowing stuff,” Ezra says.
“I know… but it got all over you.”
Ezra gives me a sideways smile. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”
I pull my knees to my chest. “Maybe.”
“Being old isn’t contagious, Mags. I’m gonna be fine.” Ezra stands. “You should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, you too.”
When I’m a
lone again, I don’t feel sleepy. My muscles are tight and my stomach squeezes in on itself. If I close my eyes now, I don’t think I’ll like what I imagine in the darkness. Instead, I reach for a worn leather journal on my nightstand and flip to a familiar page. The entry’s dated January 4.
I hit the road bright and early tomorrow morning. I’ve always dreamed of a chance like this—exploring the wilds, making discoveries. But that park ranger’s cabin is going to be awfully lonely without Ezra and Maggie to fill it up.
I know Ezra’s having a rough time with me going. He would hardly look at me the last few days. But my little Magnolia, she’s still buzzing around like always. Coming up with all sorts of plans of her own. I think she’ll be okay until we’re back together again. At least I hope so.
I hold the journal close. Dad’s scratchy handwriting and a faded coffee ring make the pages feel alive, like a part of him is still living in Shady Pines. After he moved, I found it in a box with a few of his T-shirts. I asked him if he wanted us to mail it to Yellowstone, but he said I should keep it. So I have.
I breathe in the scent of leather and ink and finally flip to a blank page and grip my pen.
Field Observations
Bioluminescent fungi discovered in Old Man Bell’s woods
Unexplained phenomenon: swirling white cloud, hum in trees, howling wind, glowing sparks coming from Old Man Bell
I close the book. None of it makes much sense right now. But as Gramma says, “Things always look brighter in the morning.” I crawl into bed and pull the blankets over my head, forcing myself to squeeze my eyes shut.
Whispering branches, neon faces, and Old Man Bell’s warnings slip in and out of my dreams.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” Gramma stands in my doorway decked out in magenta Bermuda shorts and a matching polka-dot shirt. A purple fanny pack is slung across her hips. “I’m heading into town. If you want to come along, I’m leaving in five minutes.”
My eyes skitter to Dad’s camera propped up on my desk. Applications for the Merit Award have to be postmarked by today. A big part of me thinks turning in last night’s photos is a slimy thing to do. Old Man Bell is probably in the hospital right now, eating clear gelatin and grumbling about how rotten kids are these days.
I chew my thumbnail. Then again, what’s done is done. This award is my one chance and I can’t throw it away.
I hop out of bed and dig some mostly clean clothes out of my hamper. A spotted lizard the size of my hand skitters across the terrarium. I pause and give Lennox a pinch of dried crickets. “Bon appétit, buddy.”
I rewind the film before popping it out of the camera––I learned the hard way not to skip that step––then dig into the mason jar on my desk. It’s half-full of coins and bills from the nightcrawler worms I’ve sold down at the bait shop. I shove the cash and the film canister into my pocket and hustle to the living room.
Gramma gives me a once-over, then licks her thumb and swipes it across some stray hairs on my forehead.
I wriggle back. “Gramma! That’s gross!”
“A little spit bath never hurt a soul. Now load up in the car if you’re coming.”
We park and walk along the downtown strip, passing Lou’s Best Biscuits, First Gospel Church, and the Shady Pines Post Office. The sun beats down on the pavement, making heat waves in the air.
When we push through the glass doors at Goodman’s Pharmacy, a pair of bells jingles. Gramma looks at her watch. “You can drop off your film, but I can’t wait around until the pictures are ready. I’ve got yard work to tend to.”
I drop the film in the one-hour developing slot and give a display of big, bright lollipops a spin. I used to be obsessed with these things and spend every spare quarter on them. Raspberry, cotton candy, green apple.
Neon blue. Day-Glo green.
As the display whirls, the fluorescent colors blur and the carousel gives a low squeal. I can almost hear a moan rolling down the toothpaste aisle. I yank back my hands and hurry off to find Gramma.
She stands in front of the cosmetics section holding two tubes of lipstick. “What do you think, flamingo jamboree or carnation kisses?”
I picture the bright shades smudged across Gramma’s teeth or paired up with a matching fanny pack. “What about some nice ChapStick? It’s got SPF and everything. Now that’s what I call a quality lip product.”
“Carnation kisses it is.” Gramma drops the tube in the cart and wheels to the checkout. On the way, we pass a display of Vitaccino health drinks. A sign next to the cartons reads: VITACCINO’S PROPRIETY BLEND RELIEVES MUSCLE ACHES, FATIGUE, POOR SLEEP, AND SIGNS OF PREMATURE AGING. There’s a picture of Dr. Lydia Croft in the bottom corner. She’s got short, silvery hair like Gramma, but instead of polka dots and fuchsia lipstick, Dr. Croft wears pearl earrings and a gray blazer.
Gramma clucks her tongue. “That woman never gets tired of tooting her own horn. Thirty dollars for a six-pack of snake oil juice. Highway robbery is what I call it.”
Gramma still hasn’t forgiven the Crofts for firing Dad. I can’t exactly blame her. I was mad at first too. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized we needed to spend our energy getting on their good side. After all, the Crofts are the only people in town with the power to rehire Dad. That’s why this Merit Award is so important. Once I get in front of the board, I can explain that what happened in the lab was a one-time mix up. Dad might be a smidge scatterbrained, but he’s still a genius. He knows more about rocks and bugs and stars and birds than anybody. I know he could be a huge help at Vitaccino if they’d just give him another shot.
Gramma and I grab our bags and head for the car. When we pass Lou’s Best Biscuits, the door swings open. A mass of black and brown fur charges out. Three dobermans. I stumble into the hood of Gramma’s car. It’s Old Man Bell’s dogs. The fur around their necks bristles as they sniff my legs.
“Since when are you scared of dogs, Magnolia?” Gramma reaches down and pats one of the dobermans. It wags its nub of a tail.
Sheriff Huxley and Deputy Ronald dash out of the diner and scramble for the dangling leashes. “Sorry about that, ladies. These dogs have minds of their own.” The sheriff tilts his hat up. “Oh, it’s you again. They must’ve smelled something familiar and wanted to say hello.”
Gramma narrows her eyes. “Morning, sheriff.”
Sweat prickles along the back of my neck. I look up at the sky. Maybe a lightning bolt or a hailstorm will zing down and end this little chat before somebody starts talking about glowing fungus or trespassing.
“We never got a chance to thank you proper for the heads-up last night. Course, you kids shouldn’t have been around there in the first place, but under the circumstances, I’ll let it slide.” Sheriff Huxley gives a low whistle. “I hadn’t been that way in ages. That place sure is a sight.”
Gramma pivots toward the sheriff. “And what place would that be?”
The hailstorm is gonna be too late to save me. I slide off the hood of the Ford. “I sure am getting hungry, Gramma. I skipped breakfast and you know how growing kids––”
Gramma gives me a look that glues my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
“The woods outside town. Where the kids found Hiram Bell,” the sheriff says with a sad frown. “We tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late. I guess it was the old feller’s time to go.”
My throat feels tight and achy. Old Man Bell didn’t make it. He isn’t eating Jell-O or calling his doctor a know-it-all whippersnapper. He’s gone for good. I keep my eyes on my sneakers.
“Oh that,” Gramma says. “Of course. Awful sad business.”
I peek up at Gramma and finally understand why she brings in rolls of quarters every other week at the Raccoon Creek Poker Night. She can bluff like nobody’s business.
“Our guess is it was a heart attack. But at his age, coulda been anything.” The sheriff gives the leashes a shake. “The department’s adopting the pups. I think they’ll m
ake real fine officers, with a little training.”
Deputy Ronald bends down and scratches one of the dogs behind the ear. It gives a low growl and the deputy jerks his hand back.
“That’s right nice of you, boys. Well, we’d best be getting on now. What with Magnolia needing to catch up on her rest after such a trying night.”
My palms are sweaty, and I desperately wish I could melt down the street grate and disappear like a puddle of goo.
Gramma swings my car door open and nods to my seat. “In you go, Magnolia Jane Stone.”
I am the deadest girl in dead town.
CHAPTER EIGHT
We drive in silence, hitting reds at the only two stoplights in Shady Pines. When we pass the Thurston County Library, Gramma jerks the wheel, swerving into the parking lot. She spins toward me. “Spill your guts now, Magnolia. What in blue blazes were you doing out in those woods so late? And Hiram Bell died? When were you planning on telling me any of this?”
“I didn’t know he died. I thought he was gonna be okay.” I pick at the fraying edge of my cut-off shorts.
“What were you doing out there in the first place?”
“I needed a picture for the Merit Award and… the rest is kinda hard to explain.”
“You’d better start trying.” Gramma presses her fingers against her temples like she’s fighting off the mother of all headaches.
I think back to the weird stuff we bumped into last night and decide it’s best to go easy on the details. “I was snapping some pictures of the trees when Old Man Bell and his dogs showed up. He was yelling. Then he started coughing and then he just sorta fell down.”
Gramma’s eyes spark with curiosity, then spring back to rabid honey badger mode. “And you didn’t think that was something you oughta share with me?”
“I figured you’d be mad.”
“Course I’m mad. I don’t wanna go finding out my family happenings from Sheriff Huxley.”
I pull a loose thread from the fray of my shorts and twist it around my finger. I know Gramma probably wishes she could just garden or play bunco all day like other old ladies. Instead, she’s got me and Ezra to worry about. And Ezra makes enough trouble for both of us. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
The Mutant Mushroom Takeover Page 3
