Terras Teaser

Figured I’d give y’all the Prologue, map, and first few chapters to whet your appetites.
Hope you like it and want to read more!

Prologue

Spring rain poured down outside the tavern, as it had for the last week, a not-so-subtle reminder to the farmers of the area that the Beltane festival was less than a moon cycle away. Drinks flowed and the rowdy patrons were letting off steam, much to the dismay of the actors on the small stage tucked in a cramped corner of the room.

Rudimentary footlights fashioned from shuttered lanterns bathed the players in harsh light and the close atmosphere of the rustic inn kept the temperature sweltering. The actors’ costumes wilted and their makeup streaked in the heat. As uncomfortable as it was, they persevered, but the illusion of civility between player and audience was wearing thin.

The play they performed was pedestrian fare – bawdy songs and jokes thrown together with double entendres under the guise of theatre. Even this audience, unschooled as they were in the arts, could sense the fraud of it all. They jeered and razzed, some going so far as to toss bits of food at the stage.

A stranger to the small town had entered at the beginning of the performance, shaking the rain from his cloak and asking for a quiet corner to enjoy the show. He sat nursing a tankard of local ale with his hood hiding his face and shadows collecting around him like physical matter. His table was given a wide berth by all but the proprietor, Greta, a sentient weasel. She served him courteously and efficiently, then made herself scarce just as quickly.

The smallest player on stage fared worse than the other two members of the trio. His diminutive stature and matted fur gave him away as another of the Dreamers’ folly, making him easy prey for the hostile crowd. The stranger eyed him closely from beneath his hood.

Less than an hour later, the torment was through. The actors left the stage to catcalls and hoots of ridicule. They were bullied further as they passed through the crowd, desperate to find some peace and forget about this performance.

From her stool behind the bar, Greta watched them exit to the larder that doubled as a dressing room. At a nod from the stranger, she hopped down on all fours and scurried after them, weaving effortlessly through the crowd.

In under a minute, she reemerged with the short player in tow, a towel clutched in his claws, still trying to rub makeup from his muzzle. He followed cautiously, holding his thin tail in trembling claws for fear of being stepped upon. When they reached the stranger’s table, Greta beat a hasty retreat, leaving the actor to fend for himself.

A bony hand emerged from the dark stranger’s cloak, making a minute gesture for his guest to be seated in the opposite chair. He sat, looking around self-consciously, and trying to avoid the hidden eyes he could feel boring into his soul.

“You know who I am,” the stranger stated without preamble, his dry voice like sandpaper dragged over fine wood.

Nodding, the actor looked down as he wrung his tiny paws together.

“Aye. Thank you for coming, I wasn’t sure if you would,” he said nervously. His voice shook as he added, “It’s done?”

“You know what I require, then,” the stranger replied, ignoring the pleasantries and the question.

Again, the actor nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Reaching into the folds of his cloak, the stranger placed a twisted piece of metal wrapped in parchment on the table, pushing it slowly across to the actor.

“This key and incantation will bind her to you,” he said. “Use them wisely.”

Draining the remains of his ale, he stood from the table, gathering his cloak around him, along with the shadows.

Before departing, he bent low to whisper a simple rhyme to the actor.

“Do not cross me,

do not even try.

I will have my payment,

ere your death is nigh.”

With his parting words, he drifted from the inn. Those in his wake shuddered as an icy breeze followed him out the door.

The actor let out the breath he had been holding. He pocketed the key and paper, tucking them in a secret fold of his shirt. Looking around the dank interior of the inn, a smile creased his muzzle.

“Time to exit stage left,” he mumbled to himself. “Forever.”

Morning Haze

Abby did not feel right.

The school day had been pretty average – classes went as expected, hanging out with friends, the general excitement of a Friday – but since lunch, her stomach felt strange. Not exactly queasy, more like something was pulling her from inside.

Maybe I have food poisoning, she thought.

She had been hitting the books pretty hard lately, so maybe that was messing with her system. At least the weekend was here in a couple of hours, and the load of homework was less than usual. Rest was what was needed; to slough off the stress of being a teenager.

Near the end of final period, things took a turn for the bizarre, making her think she may be losing her mind as well as being physically ill. The teacher droned about hypotenuses and Abby was only paying half attention, when she caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye. A small animal, of a sort she didn’t recognize, scurried along the wall. This, in itself, wouldn’t have had her questioning her sanity. She probably could have written it off as a mouse – but for the fact that it ran upright on two legs and wore baggy brown trousers with a loose-fitting white woolen shirt.

The high-pitched squeak she let out at the sight earned her more than a few odd looks from her classmates, and a rebuke from the teacher.

Begging off plans with her friends after school, she went straight home. Mumma was a nurse and might be able to help figure out what was going on, but she wouldn’t be home until after her shift at the hospital later that evening. She felt fine, though, aside from the slight roiling in her stomach and possible hallucination.

I just need to sleep, she thought, hanging up her backpack and hiking upstairs.

Kicking off her shoes, she lay down on the bed, thinking a nap would set her right. She took off her glasses and lay them by the clock, noting it was four-fifteen. By the time Daddy was home sometime after five, she should be fine. Her last coherent thought before drifting off to sleep was to wonder why the dogs hadn’t come to greet her as usual.

Hours later, she awakened with images and sounds of a dream lingering in her brain like phantoms. Human-like figures and odd creatures of all shapes and sizes had been dancing to peculiar music, played on instruments she had never seen or heard before. Lilting one minute, they swayed like windblown reeds, then crazed jigs had them stamping the packed dirt of a forest glade to a frenzy of sweat and dust. A pall of anxiety hung throughout the jubilant atmosphere.

Questions of who the creatures were, and why they were celebrating, now began to compete with the sunlight stabbing through her window. A dog began barking hysterically outside. She yawned and mightily stretched her limbs while trying to hold onto the images that were quickly dissolving.

That sounds like Georgia, she thought, followed quickly by alarm. Oh no! I forgot to feed them!

Judging by the light streaming in the window, it was morning and she had slept far longer than expected. A quick check of the clock confirmed her suspicion. Seven thirty-eight a.m.

I guess I really needed the sleep, she thought. Mumma or daddy must have fed the dogs, she added, letting the anxiety drift away.

Rubbing her eyes, she considered getting out of bed. It was early spring, but there was still a chill in the mornings. She curled into a tight ball and snuggled her head back into the pillow. The fuzziness of sleep began to creep in again when a second dog added to the din outside.

Daddy must have let Jack and Georgia out to chase the squirrels, she thought, squirming, and trying to ignore the ruckus.

A subtle difference in the barking wormed its way into her consciousness. It seemed to be more insistent, if that was possible, and felt different in a way she couldn’t define. There was a voice mingled with the yaps as well. It was familiar, but she wasn’t quite able to attach it to a face.

Irritated at being disturbed from her hibernation, and feeling completely put upon, she groaned and flung her legs off the side of the bed. Slipping on her glasses, she padded across the rug to the bathroom.

From the window by the vanity she could see much of the backyard, but there was no sign of the dogs or the mystery person. The barking and the lone voice seemed to come from beyond the tree line outside the fence. She wondered how she could hear them so easily from this distance. Curiosity now aroused, she made her way back to her bedroom where she quickly changed from the clothes she slept in and slipped on comfortable shoes. Grabbing her phone from the nightstand, she headed downstairs.

Descending to the living room, the house was eerily quiet. The odd, beckoning echoes of the barking and voice was much louder than should be possible from the backyard. Abby stopped to listen by the front door at the bottom of the stairs, peeking out the bay window to see if anyone was out and about. No cars whizzed past and none of the usual foot traffic of dogwalkers and exercisers were out yet. Walking quickly to the sliding glass door at the back of the house, unease began gnawing a pit in her stomach. Or was it the same feeling from yesterday? She couldn’t be sure, but it certainly didn’t bode well.

Outside on the porch, the bird feeders attached to the deck railing swayed languidly in the slight breeze. They were filled with seed and suet, but none of the usual tiny guests flitted in to sample the goodies. The bare branches of the trees beyond the fenced backyard stood at crazed angles with new leaf buds just beginning to sprout. Abby could see no other signs of life, no insects buzzing or squirrels playfully bounding. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The soft rumble of the sliding door felt like an intrusion in the stillness as it slid open. Tepid spring air seeped in and the barking amplified. It seemed as though she should be able to see the dogs and the person speaking, and was almost able to make out some of the words. The certainty that she knew the speaker grew with every second.

Where are mumma and daddy? she wondered. A curious thought, made more so by the fact it only just occurred to her.

Leaving the door open, she rounded the kitchen table and peeked out the window in the side door. Both cars were parked in front of the garage. There was no movement around any of the neighbor’s houses and still no traffic on the road. The barking grabbed her attention more forcefully making it hard to understand why anything else should demand her attention. The voice had a luring quality all its own, fluid and persuasive, even while being unintelligible.

A sudden squeak from her guinea pig, Penny, startled her, and brought her back to reality. She shook her head to clear her mind as her pet gave another short, authoritative squeak.

I had better feed her before I go, she thought.

“But where am I going?” she asked aloud, her voice breaking the stillness of the morning. Looking down at her pet nestled in the cage, Penny squeaked lightly a couple of times, but otherwise offered no answer.

An odd resolve came over Abby. She took her denim jacket from the closet and school backpack off its hook, emptying the books and leaving them on the table. Scrambling to the kitchen, she grabbed random items of snack foods plus a couple of bottles of water, and jammed them into her pack. She rummaged in the veggie drawer, snatching some celery and carrots for Penny.

Stopping to listen once more, she felt as though she stood on a precipice, with the barking and voice echoing up from a dark canyon below, tempting her to leap off, to soar out into the unknown to join them.

Shaking off the reverie, she took the veggies to Penny’s cage, placing it in easy reach. The guinea pig trundled over and started munching contentedly. With a last quick glance around, Abby stepped out onto the deck and slid the door closed.

Slipping into her jacket and shouldering her pack, she looked up over the tops of the pine trees to see a large shape wheeling in the sky. She squinted, but could only make out the rough form of a bird before it flew out of view. With barely a glimpse, it was puzzling that it seemed to have a long tail trailing behind. Shrugging, she made her way down the stairs and across the yard to the gate.

A Step in the Wrong Direction

Once through the gate, Abby started to feel a little foolish. Why did she pack food to go to the backyard? The dogs were probably with mumma and daddy and one of their friends. That would explain the voice she kept hearing, though it didn’t explain why she was only hearing one voice. And the dogs were going crazy with their happy barking, like they were seeing someone they hadn’t seen in a long time. She picked up her pace to a light jog, doubts swirling through her head.

Reaching the tree line, she glanced back to the house. An odd haze surrounded everything and the hair rose on her arms beneath her jacket. The sliding door was clearly visible, but there was a fog surrounding the edges of her view, like a billowy picture frame. The dogs and the voice had become an otherworldly white noise in the background.

Am I still sleeping and this is all just a very vivid dream? she wondered.

Scanning from side to side, one neighbor’s house to the other, the fog framed her field of view. Experimentally, she stepped back toward the house. Did her peripheral vision become clearer? She stepped forward two more steps. It was clearer! Thrilled with this discovery she took several awkward steps backward, the haze returning and becoming far more pronounced, telescoping in further on the edges of her vision.

If this is a dream, and I know I’m dreaming, why don’t I have any control? she thought, the unease in her stomach twisting into a knot.

Turning back to the trees, the slight haze grew fainter within a couple of steps, disappearing completely after several more. There was a change in the atmosphere, like the feeling of stepping through the door to find you entered the wrong classroom.

A sudden dread gripped her. Whirling around, she found herself completely surrounded by trees. She had only walked a dozen steps into the woods, but now the house, yard, neighbors – everything familiar – was gone.

A few hesitant steps in the direction she had come turned into a run, frantically searching for any sign of…what? A border, a portal, a fog with no weight or substance to see or feel? Some sort of boundary between, once again…what? Two worlds that shouldn’t – couldn’t – have been separated in the first place?

Out of breath, she stopped and crouched on her haunches, a wave of vertigo making her head light, and nausea threatening to empty her stomach. She drew in several shaky breaths trying through sheer will to calm herself.

Rustling from the bushes and dried leaves behind her excited a dim part of her flight instinct, but she found she could only concentrate on the white spots that floated in front of her eyes.

The fog was returning – this time it wanted to envelope and caress. It promised peace, and she smiled as she slid into its embrace.

Groaning upon waking, Abby couldn’t be sure how much time had passed. There was something wet on her face, and a weight pressed on her chest. Reaching a hand to shoo away whatever was disturbing her slumber, her fingers were slathered by a tongue. Peeking one eye open, she found Georgia standing on her chest, the little black and white Havanese furiously licking her hand. Her tiny brown and white Jack Russell mix, Jack, drooled on her face, with his long tongue dangling from his mouth. He barked once and joined in the licking until Abby had no choice but to fend them off.

Knowing they had saved her from certain doom, the dogs renewed their rescue by making sure every bit of skin was coated with saliva. Giggling and still fending off the dogs, she sat up, trying to remember what happened. When she lifted her gaze, a vague form eclipsed the sunlight peering through the trees. The figure took a step forward and, as the face became clear, Abby gasped.

“Gramma!” she shouted, jumping to her feet and running to her embrace.

Reunited

Abby hugged fiercely for long moments before abruptly pulling away and staring at the woman’s face. She looked like Gramma only…different, somehow – like an updated version. Her short, wispy white hair and small stocky frame were unmistakable, but she seemed larger, more vibrant. Abby backed away a step, suspicion beginning to burn in her chest.

“My Gramma died, who are you?” she asked flatly.

The woman smiled, the simple gesture lighting her features. Abby would have sworn she saw an actual twinkle in her eye.

“Good point,” she said. “And yet, here I am,” Her brows knitted slightly in puzzlement, “It is a little odd, though.”

And the ‘Understatement of the Year Award’ goes to Gramma, Abby thought wryly.

“Let’s see if the dogs have any ideas on the matter,” Gramma said, her confusion quickly disappearing as she crouched down with the grace of a much younger woman.

Both dogs had been completely ignoring the exchange, sniffing every leaf, tree, and bush in the immediate area. They bounded over to lick and be petted, each taking turns bouncing to lick her face. Gramma cooed and chuckled.

Abby watched them warily. She had heard that dogs were good judges of character, and they obviously found no threat in this woman, but it couldn’t be Gramma…could it? She still felt a bit lightheaded from her fainting spell, and this new development wasn’t helping matters. Peeling off her backpack, she plopped down beside it on the forest floor.

Watching the little dogs cavorting and vying for the attention of this mystery woman with Gramma’s face, she wondered at the difference between the woman she saw and the one she had known. The woman in front of her wore a simple white dress that seemed to flow with her movements, unlike the slacks and T-shirt or sweatshirt that Gramma typically wore. A delicate, intricately woven shawl draped loosely over her shoulders – not something Abby had ever seen her wear. Light brown sandals completed the ensemble. Otherwise, there was nothing overtly different; she looked like Gramma playing with the dogs.

“This day is too weird,” Abby muttered with a sigh.

A bird chirping a few random notes from a branch overhead broke the stillness, the normalcy of the sound seeming out of place. Looking up to find the source, a bright red cardinal bobbed on a branch several feet above her head. It tilted its head to scrutinize her for a moment, gave a quick chirrup, and flapped away.

Looking around, Abby noticed that the trees appeared to be the normal varieties, though she could only name a few. Towering pines, beech, and oak, with scattered birch, and a lot of short, stubby saplings and bushes crowding the forest floor. Sunlight angled through the canopy in sharp rays that seemed to mark buried treasure where they touched the ground.

The more she looked, the more alive the surroundings appeared. The insects that were absent before leaving the house were buzzing and flitting; some crawling beetles scrambled over and under leaves and twigs, living their insect lives. There was a change in the energy of the air that she hadn’t recognized until now.

Georgia left Gramma and bounded over for some affection, her eagerness bringing a smile to Abby’s lips. Gramma approached slowly, sensing Abby’s unease. She stood silently a few paces away, waiting for Abby to acknowledge her presence with a tiny smile resting on her face. Abby glanced up a couple of times between Georgia’s licking attacks, unsure what to do or say. Finally, she sighed and looked up at Gramma.

“Well, I don’t know who you are,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “but you look like my Gramma, and you sound like her too. The dogs obviously like you, so I guess you may not be bad. But I really don’t know that, and I don’t understand how you can be here.” She could feel tears starting to well at the corners of her eyes, and fought back the urge to cry in frustration.

Gramma’s smile widened and she crouched once again. Abby was amazed at how fluidly she moved for a woman of her age.

“I can certainly understand your dilemma,” she said, “and I believe I would have the same misgivings if I were in your shoes. I wish I could explain this situation so maybe we could both understand what’s happening. Unfortunately, I am as confused as you.”

Abby felt the sincerity of the words, and saw it on Gramma’s earnest face. She knew she was telling the truth, though that knowledge didn’t make trusting her any easier. As far as she knew, when you died you didn’t come back, unless you were a zombie. The thought alarmed her and she studied the woman with renewed interest.

“Are you a zombie?” she blurted, her voice coming out shriller than she would have liked.

The surprise on Gramma’s face was almost comical. Then, she laughed, high and musical, that shook her whole body. Georgia and Jack cocked their heads, unsure what to make of this development. The joy in the laughter was infectious, and Abby couldn’t help but smile. Many seconds passed, and the laughter faded by degrees. Gramma dabbed tears from her eyes with the end of her shawl. Abby felt a little foolish for having asked the question. She was pretty sure that zombies didn’t laugh and made a mental note to look that up when she got home.

A sudden thought had her rummaging in her backpack. She found her phone and immediately turned it on. The momentary thrill she had when the screen lit up, quickly disappeared when she saw ‘No Service’ at the top of the display. Undaunted, she brought up her contacts and tried calling mumma, then daddy. ‘No Service’ stayed steady with both attempts.

It was a good try, she thought, but couldn’t convince herself that she wasn’t disappointed.

While she was distracted, Jack had poked his nose into the pack and nonchalantly pulled out one of the dogs treats she had packed. He lay down and gnawed contentedly.

Gramma had stopped laughing, but a bemused expression remained on her face as if she could start again at a moment’s notice.

“Perhaps it goes without saying now, but I am fairly certain I am not a zombie,” she said with a distinct twinkle in her eye.

We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

They sat for a while, chatting and reminiscing. It quickly became apparent that Gramma had little memory of her own demise, or the several years prior. They agreed that it may have been due to the dementia; after all, she couldn’t remember much during that period when she was alive.

Gramma asked many questions about where she had been living – where the facilities had been located, the kind of care provided. Abby answered as best she could, but aside from the names and locations, didn’t know a lot of other particulars. The whole family had been to visit many times, and Abby told her what she could remember about some of the visits. Gramma alternately smiled and tsked at stories of her own antics.

The dogs napped, each curled up in a lap, while Abby and Gramma passed the time with questions and stories. They soon noticed that the sun had risen to almost overhead while they talked. Abby checked her phone, showing it was just before noon. She wondered if time worked the same in this strange place.

Until now, hunger had been the least of her concerns, but she suspected it was just the time of day that cued her body. The unsettled feeling in her stomach had become a steady nuisance, and it was difficult to separate from the need for food. Digging into her pack, she pulled out a couple of granola bars, offering one to Gramma. She politely declined, saying her stomach felt weird, as if something pulled at her from the inside out. Abby paused in opening her bar.

“You feel it, too?” she asked.

Gently moving Georgia from her lap, she stood up and gasped while making a slow clockwise turn. The odd feeling continued, but its direction stayed the same. As she turned, it now pulled from her side. Gramma stood and turned as well, facing the direction of the pull.

“It would seem we have become compasses, eh? And North is that way,” she said, pointing to what appeared to be a thicker expanse of woods looming in the distance.

Abby didn’t like the look of where the tug was pulling. She really wanted to go home where things were normal. Catching up with Gramma and not thinking much about her predicament for the last hour had been nice, but now the reality (or unreality, she thought ruefully) of the situation was catching up.

Pausing, she replayed the events that had led to her current situation. The dream came back to her in disjointed fragments; odd creatures gathered for a purpose she couldn’t know. The dogs barking, and Gramma’s voice beckoning to her from the moment she awoke, leading her wherever ‘here’ was. The hazy fog that had seduced and then trapped her.

To what end? she thought. Why am I here in the middle of a forest with a woman who’s pretty spry for having died a couple of years ago?

Frustration was beginning to well up again; helplessness at the fate presented to her, over which she seemed to have no control. She turned farther around and the tug, now pulling through her spine, seemed stronger and more insistent.

Is there any way to go back? she wondered.

Abby took a deep breath to steady herself. It was beginning to feel like sighing was going to be a regular occurrence. She had no idea what was going on, or what to do about any of this, but decided that getting upset would not answer the questions or help the situation. Turning back, she watched Gramma calmly petting the dogs. Sighing heavily, she figured there was nothing to do but go with this bizarre flow, come what may.

Zipping her backpack closed, Abby checked the area to make sure they weren’t leaving anything behind. She slipped her phone into her jacket pocket, unsure if it may be useful but unwilling to have it out of reach. It would need to be used sparingly because she didn’t have a charger, and there were no electrical outlets carved into the trees anyway. Taking one last look around, she shouldered her pack and walked to where Gramma stood gazing off into the forest.

“I guess it’s time to go,” she said reluctantly.

“It looks that way,” Gramma agreed, reaching over to give Abby a quick one-armed hug.

There was no clear path but the forest wasn’t very thick, so they were able to make easy progress. The dogs ran ahead or took short jaunts into the bushes to chase tiny, bizarre looking animals Abby had never seen before. She still had lots of questions about Gramma’s reincarnation, but after several attempts realized there was not a lot of new information to be gleaned and contented herself with having her Gramma back in her life.

Gradually, they found themselves on a more defined path. Rather than a haphazard trail made by forest creatures, it appeared to have been cleared for travel. As the going became easier still, they wondered about who cut the path, where it may lead, and the strange wildlife that seemed to be increasing in peculiarity.

After an hour or so, they passed by a thicket growing close to the path where brightly colored gnats and flies were congregating. The insects made a noise that sounded much like purring, and were quite curious about the interlopers. They fearlessly hovered before them with delicate, iridescent wings whirling like helicopter blades, before abruptly veering and rotating around their heads like insect-sized drones.

The farther they progressed, the thicker the forest became. The trees grew taller, with the canopy blocking much of the direct sunlight. New species of bushes and trees, some with multi-colored bark and draping, fingerlike leaves were becoming more frequent.

It’s like someone’s animating this place, Abby thought.

Several miles into the trek they came to a fork in the path. Flimsy cardboard boxes and napkins were strewn about the area with the Dunkin’ Donuts logo emblazoned on them. The dogs investigated the trash, finding – and snacking on – a couple of stale, half-eaten Munchkin doughnuts. The path veering to the left, away from the direction of their tugging guide, had random yellow cobblestones set in the ground that grew in number and regularity the farther they progressed until they formed a wide road.

Jack was the first to hear distant singing coming from beyond a slight rise in the road. He perked up his ears and ran along the cobbles as fast as his tiny legs would take him. Abby called to him, and was about to give chase, when Gramma halted her with a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s not our path, Abby. Jack knows what he’s doing and he’ll be back when he’s done.” she said.

Looking sharply at Gramma, Abby was taken aback. There was a faraway look in her grandmother’s eyes.

“But, shouldn’t we at least try to catch up with whoever is over there? It’s the first sign that anyone besides us is here!” she shouted, both frustrated and amazed at how nonchalant Gramma was being, given their situation.

Gramma just smiled and shook her head, then began picking up the boxes littering the area. There was no garbage can handy so she piled them neatly in the wedge between the diverging paths. Abby stood with her mouth hanging open, alternately clenching, and unclenching her hands, while she watched Gramma tidy up the forest.

Jack had disappeared over the rise, and the singing abruptly stopped when he began barking. A second dog began yapping furiously shortly after. Abby could just make out the sound of a girl’s voice shouting, but couldn’t make out the words.

Once her duty was complete, Gramma brushed her hands together to signify a job well done. Abby looked around and marveled at how much cleaner the area appeared, but a sudden yank from the tug in her stomach made her grit her teeth. The urging had been constant and eerie, but a benign presence, until now. Gramma must have felt it too because she grimaced and rubbed her belly. Georgia seemed unphased, nonchalantly sniffing around the area, so Abby figured the dogs were probably not affected by the prompt.

Jack’s barking became even more distant. Abby couldn’t be sure, but she would have sworn she heard a lion’s roar.

What is a lion doing in the forest? she wondered. Well, I’m with my reanimated Gramma, being drawn through the forest by an unseen force, so why not have a lion here? Though, she couldn’t be sure it was a lion at all. The noise sounded weirdly hesitant, as if whatever roared had been frightened of Jack.

It doesn’t sound like the ‘King of the Jungle’ at all, she thought.

They waited a while to see if Jack would come back, Gramma insisting that he would when he was ready.

“Whatever that means,” Abby grumbled to herself.

All sound from over the hill had faded completely after several minutes. Abby was worried about him, and even Gramma’s reassurances couldn’t alleviate the unease she felt. Adding to her disquiet, though there was plenty of daylight left, the part of the forest they were approaching looked much darker than the surrounding area.

Abby didn’t relish the idea of spending the night in that gloomy place. They hadn’t seen many animals thus far on their journey, but the ones they had seen were unfamiliar. There was no way of knowing what may be dangerous, or what else may be lurking. Knowing there may be a lion in the area, even a timid one, didn’t give her a warm and fuzzy feeling, either.

While she was thinking of how they might defend themselves from any creatures that may attack them in the night, something momentarily blotted the weak sunlight coming through breaks in the canopy, casting a large shadow on the forest floor as it passed.

Gasping, Abby quickly looked up through the trees to see the shape of a large bird with immense, bat-like wings soaring high over the treetops. It let out a raucous, vaguely human sounding screech as it passed, then disappeared from view as quickly as it had appeared. The sudden appearance of the creature left Abby paralyzed for several moments but quickly became enough to propel her to action.

“We need to get going, now!” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low.

Georgia whimpered for a few moments, agitated by the unfamiliar sound. They took a quick look around to see if they were forgetting anything, took a longer look and listen for Jack, then started down the path on the right.

Trying to look on the bright side of their predicament, Abby figured there would be no place for such a large bird to land where they were headed. Still, she glanced up every few moments, expecting to see the bird or it’s shadow again. After several minutes she decided it must have left the area, but kept vigilant watch as they continued. She wondered if it was the same bird from earlier that morning before embarking on this journey.

They kept a quick pace for a couple of miles, fear fueling the need for the dubious cover of thicker forest. Abby scanned overhead and the surrounding woods, scaring herself by noting areas she thought a creature that size could find to safely land. The path they walked didn’t seem wide enough, but they passed several glades she thought looked sufficiently open to offer landing opportunity.

The ever-present tug led them further into the dense forest. They were mostly silent, with Abby lost in her own thoughts and fears, and Gramma and Georgia seemingly taking a pleasant walk in the woods. After several miles, she felt the need to voice her concerns.

“Aren’t you afraid?” she asked.

Gramma stopped walking and smiled wistfully, “Why would I be afraid, dear? Whatever is going to happen, is going to happen, whether I fear it, or worry about it.” She looked Abby in the eyes, “So, there’s really no need.”

Abby thought about this as they resumed walking. It made sense, in a weird way, but something about it didn’t sit right.

“But isn’t fear for your life a healthy thing? You know, to keep you from being hurt or dying?” she asked.

Gramma chuckled, “It doesn’t seem to have done me much good, eh?” She reached over and lightly patted Abby’s shoulder to soften the words. “I understand your concern, but the problem with worry and fear is they do nothing positive for you, they only do negative things to you. They simply give your mind something to chew, while twisting your guts into knots.” She stopped again and turned to Abby. Georgia sat and cocked her curly head to listen to the conversation.

“Are you worried about what’s going to happen next. Or later, when the sun goes down? How about next week, or next month?” Gramma asked, gesturing vaguely with her hand.

“Well, yeah!” Abby answered. “And that huge freaking bird…and Jack still isn’t back like you said.” The words started to flow like a torrent, tears beginning to sting her eyes, “I don’t understand any of what’s happening, and you just seem to be taking all this in stride. I should be at a sleep-over, or watching Tik Tok videos, or eating supper at home with mumma and daddy, but instead I’m being pulled through the wilderness with my resurrected Grandmother, going God-only-knows-where for God-only-knows-why! There are weird creatures scurrying around and trees that look straight out of a Disney movie and – oh yeah – there might be a lion on the loose, so we might get eaten by that, too!”

Tears streamed down her face now, leaving Gramma and the surrounding trees blurred into distorted shapes. Abby was more miserable than she could ever remember feeling. Gramma hugged her close and shushed her as she sniffled.

After a couple of minutes, they became aware of a sound far off in the bushes. Within moments it became louder, and was obviously headed in their direction. She peeled away from Gramma and wiped her eyes while looking around for possible escape routes. Gramma stood facing this new challenge calmly, with a casual smile on her face. Leaves and twigs crunched, and Abby could see saplings and tall shoots of grass swaying rapidly aside, but the bushes and grass were too high and thick to see what approached.

Whatever it is, it’s moving really fast, she thought uneasily.

Abby was not prepared to fight a lion, or anything else for that matter. The closer it came, the harder her heart beat in her chest. Beside her, Gramma remained poised and serene. Georgia was on her hind legs bouncing playfully against Abby’s knee.

“Am I the only one concerned for our lives?” she gasped in a voice shaky with tension.

Within seconds the creature would come crashing through the brush, and panic was welling up in her to overflowing. She slid her backpack off her shoulder and held it by the straps, ready to swing it with as much force as she could muster.

A brown and white blur leaped out from the bushes and landed a few feet from where they stood, making Abby shriek. She started to swing her bag, a second shriek ready to tear from her throat, when she recognized Jack. The momentum of the swing was too great for her to stop, however, and she watched in horrified slow motion as the bag made its arc toward the little dog.

I’m so sorry Jack, she thought, with more bitter tears starting to well. She closed her eyes as the bag made its descent, still holding the straps, but with no power added to the crushing blow.

Which never came.

The backpack felt light in her hands. She peeked open one eye, and saw it hanging in midair. Opening the other eye, she saw Gramma grasping the bag in one outstretched hand.

“I guess Grammas are magic too,” she said, gently lowering the bag to the ground.

Looking from Abby to Gramma, Jack unceremoniously spit out what he held in his mouth. Abby was too rattled from the excitement to investigate, so Gramma stepped over and picked it from the ground. It was a leather dog collar with a small brass tag.

“Toto,” Gramma read, and burst into laughter.

Jack panted and looked rather pleased with himself, with his long tongue lolling from his mouth. Bits of straw or hay poked from his collar. Georgia strolled over and sniffed, as if interrogating the smaller dog. Once satisfied with the results, she trotted back to lend Abby some emotional support.

Sitting heavily on the ground, she let Georgia climb onto her lap and absently stroked her dog’s soft fur. The adrenaline that had fueled her system now left her feeling empty and shaken. She was happy Jack had returned and their little troupe was back together, but she felt drained, needing a few minutes to gather her wits.

Gramma walked over and sat by her side. She looked as if she had something to say, and Abby assumed it was going to be ‘I told you so’ about Jack coming back. She wasn’t in the mood to be reminded of her lack of faith.

“It seems we can cross off ‘finding The Wizard’ from the list of possible reasons why we’re here,” Gramma chuckled.

It was the last thing Abby expected to hear, and it surprised a laugh from her, one that grew, and helped revitalize her spirit. The immediate concerns about their predicament melted away in a rush of relief, as warm and comforting as the hug she now shared with Gramma.

Death Takes a Bow

The tug that had been their guide now led them on a much narrower path into the ‘Deep Forest,’ as Abby had come to think of it. The trees grew taller and even more dense the farther they trekked. Their broad trunks competed for space, towering overhead, the canopy blocking the majority of the daylight now. Large branches and remains of long fallen trees crossed the path, slowing their progress.

Chatting as they walked, they wondered about the coming night in the woods. Abby had stashed some food and a couple of bottles of water in her bag before leaving the house, but it wouldn’t last indefinitely. They had come across some small trees with odd looking fruit, but neither had been brave enough to sample them, and they hadn’t found a source of fresh water since embarking on this adventure.

While the temperature was still mild this late in the afternoon, there was no way of knowing what would happen when the sun went down. Abby suggested starting a fire before the sun set, trying to use her glasses as a magnifying glass. Stopping that early would stall their progress, though Gramma was quick to point out that they didn’t know where they were going, so progress was a pretty relative term.

With the sun near setting, they happened upon a small stream burbling across the path. The water looked clear, but they were both hesitant – they had no idea what kinds of germs or diseases might be flowing in there. The dogs sampled it, though, lapping noisily off the small bank, paying no heed to possible ramifications. With no immediate evidence of ill effects, the ladies shrugged and scooped handfuls to their lips. The water was cool and refreshing. Abby dipped the bottles from her pack to top them off.

Their guiding tug subsided to a degree, so they decided to stay by the stream for the night. The sun’s rays were too scattered for starting a fire, so Abby gave up after several futile attempts. Using the last of the daylight, she gathered sturdy sticks to use as clubs, still concerned about defending themselves from anything that may attack. Gramma searched for fallen pine boughs to use as shelter or cushions, while the dogs amused themselves trying to catch tiny fish that darted in the stream. By the time the sun had fully set, they had a dark but cozy campsite.

Bringing out her phone while they ate a bit of food, the light from the screen drove away the immediate gloom. She tried calling mumma and daddy again, but there was still no service. Opening the flashlight app, she scanned the immediate area, piercing the encroaching shadows.

They chatted a while longer as Georgia and Jack curled up and went to sleep. Abby switched off the phone to conserve the battery. Looking up through a break in the canopy, she could make out the outline of a planet in the night sky, complete with rings.

I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore, she thought. Soon, fatigue from their travels took its toll, sending her drifting into an uneasy slumber.

In the cool darkness before dawn, Abby was awakened by strange scrabbling sounds outside the perimeter of their camp. Yawning, she rolled over and patted around her head for her pillow. After several missed attempts, she propped herself up on her elbow, blinking away sleep.

Awareness of the strange surroundings came slowly to her still-fuzzy mind. The rustling came again, immediately injecting adrenaline into her system and making her heart skip a beat. Panic was beginning to rise and she forced herself to remain still, trying to pinpoint where the noise came from and discern how big the creature may be making the noise. Images of lions stalking prey leapt to the forefront of her mind.

Carefully pushing herself to a sitting position, she listened intently. The sound of lapping water and coos of pleasure came from the stream bed. Gramma snored lightly beside her, and the dogs were blissfully unaware of the intruder, curled together and breathing peacefully.

Great guard dogs, she thought.

The lapping stopped, changing to soft lip-smacking sounds, and a barely perceptible, yet recognizable burp. She wished they had been able to start a fire; it may have frightened the creature away. Instead, it began shuffling toward their camp.

Feeling around her for one of the clubs, she grabbed the first one at hand. It felt light and completely inadequate for battling monsters in the dark, but she gripped it fiercely, determined to protect her little family. Slipping the phone from her pocket, she held it against her body to conceal the light of the screen as it turned on. A tiny murmur issued from the direction of the intruder.

It’s now or never, she thought nervously, as she opened the flashlight application.

Light blazed forth from the phone, illuminating the immediate area. The sudden change was momentarily blinding, causing bright spots to dance in her eyes. A thin squeal emanated from the direction of the interloper, followed by Gramma and the dogs abruptly waking in confusion. Jumping to her feet and brandishing the club in one hand, Abby held out her light source in the other like a cross to ward off vampires.

Now roused, Jack and Georgia picked up the scent of the enemy who disturbed their slumber. They leaped to their paws, sniffing the air and barking, teeth bared to show they meant business.

Blinking rapidly, Abby tried to clear her vision. In the process, she caught strobe-like glimpses of a small animal on the edge of the camp. Huge eyes glared up at her and sharp teeth glinted wickedly in the harsh light.

There was something odd, however, that brought the standoff to an abrupt end. Between blinks, the creature uttered a pitiful moan, stiffened, and dropped on its side.

The dogs quieted to a degree, leading the way to investigate this new development. They stepped tentatively toward the fallen creature, sniffing the air. Abby followed closely, holding her club in a death-grip, and shining the light unsteadily. She wondered if her eyes were deceiving her as they approached. It appeared to be a large, whitish rat, barely the size of the dogs, wearing a dark red top hat, spectacles, and a tiny red cape. Miniature suspenders held up tiny pants of similar shade that seemed to be made of the same material as the cape.

Georgia and Jack sniffed a safe perimeter, unwilling to make any grand gestures. Abby crept forward, holding her club out in front of her like a sword. Light from her phone picked out stark details of their quarry. Sharp teeth emerged from its upper lip. Whiskers fanned from its elongated white muzzle and the spectacles perched near its pink nose looped back over batlike ears. The top hat, attached with a strap around its neck, sat slightly skewed over one bent ear. Its eyes were closed, but Abby could see a slight rise of breath from its side.

“It’s not so terrifying in the light, is it?” Gramma said softly beside her, making Abby jump from fright. She almost slapped Gramma’s arm, barely restraining her immediate impulse.

“Don’t sneak up like that!” she hissed.

Taking a deep breath and steadying her aim of the light, she stepped closer to the prone animal. Willing herself to bravery, she poked its belly with the tip of her club. An almost inaudible ‘oof’ emerged from the creature’s mouth. The dogs perked their ears, looking from the beast to their master, as if to ask: ‘oof?.’ Abby looked from the dogs, to the tiny critter, and back again.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but ‘oof’ wasn’t even on the short list,” she said to the dogs with a shrug.

Gramma put a hand lightly on Abby’s shoulder, “It’s a possum, dear.”

Abby frowned. She had seen them from a distance, or dead on the side of the road, but had never been this close to one before.

“It looks like a big rat,” she said, crinkling her nose.

At that remark, the possum opened a beady, black eye. With no pupil to judge the direction of its stare, it could have been staring intently at Abby or at a tree to their right. But she could feel its glare as it curled its lip in a tiny sneer.

“A rat?!” it squeaked. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it! But do not add insult to injury … or death, as may be the case…,” it said in a high, nasally voice, trailing off dramatically.

Abby stared at the possum for a long moment, then turned to Gramma, hoping for an explanation for this magically talking creature. Gramma smiled her usual calm smile and gazed back. With a light nudge on the elbow, she motioning with her eyes and lifted her chin toward the possum. Realizing she would get no help, Abby sighed heavily, and turned back to address the situation.

The possum pushed itself from the ground, dusting off small bits of dirt and twigs, and straightening its cape. It adjusted its glasses, pushing them closer to its eyes, making the eyes alternately appear as huge black pearls and thin white disks, as the light caught them. Abby and the dogs watched warily as it went about a series of minute alterations to the angle of the top hat perched on its head. Finally, satisfied the hat was jaunty as could be, it fixed its gaze on Abby and her retinue, sitting back on its haunches and crossing tiny arms.

They sat in silence for several moments, each looking at the others. One could almost hear the haunting, warbling strains of the theme song from ‘The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly,’ as eyes focused on eyes, the possum squinting against the light. It broke the standoff by pointing a tiny clawed finger at Abby.

“How was my performance?” the possum asked.

Abby cocked her head to one side, unsure if she heard the words correctly.

“I’m sorry…your performance…?” she asked, hesitantly.

The possum puffed up its chest and hooked a thumb behind a suspender strap.

“Yes, my death scene!” It twirled a tiny hand in a flourish, “It is my specialty, after all.” It smiled, revealing wickedly sharp teeth that gleamed in the light. Seeing no recognition dawn in her eyes, it continued, “Alas, I see my reputation does not precede me. Allow me to introduce myself,” it tipped the top hat, bowing deeply. “O. P. Ossum, actor extraordinaire and all-around good chap, at your service.”