Always October (22 page)

And what about Octavia's “prophecy” that one of us must die before the others could return home? Could we really survive all that?

Sleep would not come.

I glanced to where Jake was snoring (which was kind of cute). LD was cuddled against him.

How much time did we have to get the baby back to Humana, and to safety?

I
was woken by Little Dumpling patting me on the cheek.

“Eat?” he asked woefully. “Eat?”

I looked around. Sploot Fah's torches were still burning. How long had I been asleep?

Looking to my side, I saw Lily and Gnarly yawning and stretching, as if they were also just waking.

Mrs. McSweeney, on the other hand, was already up and around.

“Eat!” said LD again, sounding more desperate now.

I felt awful, because there was nothing to feed him. At least, that was what I thought. Then Mrs. McSweeney, who was standing next to the pool, called, “Bring the baby here, Jacob. Let's see if he'll eat any of this.”

At her feet sat a clay pot and two piles of stuff I couldn't identify.

I stood, stretched, then hauled LD into my arms. As I did, both parts of Sploot Fah bounced into the cave, all four arms loaded.

“More food, food, food!” he cried happily. He skittered over to Mrs. McSweeney and dropped what he was carrying in front of her.

“EAT!” cried LD, more eagerly than ever.

“Mushrooms!” said half of Sploot Fah, pointing at the first pile.

“Fruits and roots!” said the other half, pointing at the second.

“Bugs and worms!” he cried together, pointing at the pot.

“I think we'll stick to the fruits and roots, dear,” said Mrs. McSweeney gently. “And maybe a few mushrooms. I do thank you for gathering all this. It was very kind of you.”

“Sploot Fah
is
kind!” cried half of him, wrapping his arms around himself in a hug of self-delight.

“Sploot Fah is
wonderful
!” cried the other half, flinging his arms wide with joy.

Using the pool to wash things off, we had our first meal in Always October. Other than being shorter, thicker, and blue, the roots were similar to carrots. They actually tasted pretty good.

The fruit was even better—several kinds of berries as well as some apple-like things.

I skipped the bugs and worms.

I tried to keep LD from eating them too, but when I wasn't looking, he crawled over to the pot and dipped his fingers in. When I turned back, he was popping a squirming handful into his mouth.

“LD!” I cried. “Don't!”

“No, no! That is the mash,” said half of Sploot Fah.

“It's the monster mash,” said the other half proudly.

“Very good for baby monsters!” he said in unison.

“Let it be, Jacob,” said Mrs. McSweeney. “I'm sure Sploot Fah knows better than we what's good for a baby monster. Besides,” she added, smiling wickedly, “you should have seen some of the things
you
picked up and ate when you were a baby.”

“I'd rather you didn't tell me.”

Despite Mrs. McSweeney's words, I was glad my mother wasn't there to see what LD was putting in his mouth.

Once we finished eating, we explained to Sploot Fah the route the Poets had laid out for us.

“Yike!” cried the half to my right. He grabbed his head.

“Double yike!” cried the other half, making the same gesture.

“Will you still lead us?” asked Lily.

“Don't know,” muttered one.

“Not sure,” said the other.

“Black Bridge of Doom isn't too bad,” said the half on the right.

“But Forest of Lost is nasty.”

“Tunnel of Tears is even worse.”

“And after that … Flenzbort!”

The two halves of the creature looked at each other and shuddered. I noticed that they didn't even mention Cliff House.

“Well, at least get us out of here and point us in the right direction,” I said.

“After that I have maps,” said Lily.

We all looked at her. “Maps?” asked her grandfather.

Lily nodded. “Jacob and I found them in Arthur Doolittle's office. Jake let me make copies.”

She reached into the pocket of her flannel shirt and took out some carefully folded papers. “If these are accurate, they should help us get where we need to go.” She looked at Sploot Fah. “Do you know how to read maps?”

Both parts of the little monster looked highly offended.

“Sploot Fah is not stupid!” said one.

“Sploot Fah has two heads,” added the other.

“So twice as many brains as most monsters!” they cried together.

“Let Sploot Fah see maps.”

“Sploot Fah will tell you if they are good or not.”

Lily handed one of the maps to the half on the right. I noticed she kept the others and figured she was being careful in case Sploot Fah turned out to be less friendly than he was acting so far.

Both parts of the monster flopped to the floor. Lying on his bellies, he spread the map in front of him and studied it. After a while he leaped to all four of his feet and said, “Yep, this shows true! Sploot Fah will guide you!”

“I thought you didn't want to go all the way,” said Lily. “What changed your mind?”

“Sploot Fah likes maps,” said one of them.

“Besides, got to help Jake protect the baby,” said the other.

“What I want to know,” I said, “is why my grandfather had these to begin with.”

“I can explain something about that,” said Mrs. McSweeney.

“Now, Eloise,” said Gnarly. “Ain't no need to go into all that.”

“I believe there is, Abraham. Jacob and Lily have a right to know what happened in the past, since it affects where they are right now. But we need to get a move on if we're to get back to our world before Mazrak and his gang try to use that Silver Slicer thing they've cooked up. We've got a long way to go, and some dangerous obstacles ahead. So let's get started. As we walk, I'll tell you the history of a mystery.”

I picked up Little Dumpling and plopped him over my shoulder. Once he had offered up a good burp we set out.

We had been walking for about ten minutes, Sploot Fah in the lead, when Mrs. McSweeney began her story:

“The Doolittle family came to Needham's Elbow around the time of the Civil War. By 1888 Edgar Doolittle, the oldest son, had made a fortune in munitions and built the big house you still live in, Jacob.

“For a long time the family was what they call ‘a pillar of the community.' But, as so often happens, things went downhill after a generation or two. By the time Arthur Doolittle was born, the house—and the family—had seen better days.”

She paused to glance at Gnarly. He grunted and nodded, as if she might as well continue—which she did.

“I knew Arthur Doolittle from the time I was a little girl. He was five years older than me, and, truth to tell, I had a bit of a crush on him. I saw him at both school and church, and he was very handsome. Even better, he was kind. And he had a … well, a
spark
about him that most fellows lack. You may not get that, Jacob, but Lily will understand what I mean. Arthur paid no attention to me, of course; when you're fifteen, a mere ten-year-old isn't of much interest. Even so, I watched him pretty carefully.” She sighed. “Well, be that as it may. The one thing everyone knew about Arthur was that he was bound and determined to become a writer. Oh, that man could spin a tale.”

“How could you know he wanted to be a writer?” I asked, fascinated at this inside look at my grandfather's life. “Writing's awful private, isn't it?”

Mrs. McSweeney laughed. “That's small-town life, Jacob. The post office was inside the general store, so it was no secret that Arthur was mailin' out manuscripts. We knew when he sold his first story—couldn't help but know from the way he whooped and carried on. He was only eighteen at the time, and we were all happy for him. He didn't break through big until he was thirty-five. When he did become a huge bestseller, people were kind of willing to forget what had happened before that.”

“Before?” I asked. “What happened before?”

Mrs. McSweeney hesitated, then said, “Tia LaMontagne.”

Gnarly let out a little groan.

M
y grandfather looked as unhappy as the Wolfman with a case of dandruff.

Just to be sure, I said, “When you say Tia LaMontagne, you mean that lady monster Teelamun, right?”

“Precisely,” said Mrs. McSweeney, “though I didn't know that back then. At least, not at first.”

“I didn't know until today,” said Grampa bitterly.

Mrs. McSweeney nodded and actually looked sympathetic. “It wasn't something I could tell you, Abraham.”

Grampa glared at her.

“I don't understand!” I said. “How can Teelamun be a monster? She's beautiful!”

Mrs. McSweeney smiled. “Well, dear, if you'll remember, the Poets believe Always October is the place created to hold human fears so they don't overwhelm us. There is little humankind finds more frightening than a beautiful woman.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Jake. “People
love
beautiful women!”

“Indeed they do. But love can be dangerous, as almost everyone discovers sooner or later. Men know that a beautiful woman has power over them. And women fear that someone beautiful can steal their man. The French have a phrase,
femme fatale
. It means ‘deadly woman.' Stories about the woman whose beauty leads a man to his doom stretch back as far as ancient Greece.” She paused, then said, “Thing is, that kind of woman doesn't even have to
intend
harm. Some women just hit a man's heart so hard, it's never the same afterward.”

She glanced toward my grandfather. His face was set and grim.

Turning back to Jake and me, she said, “Tia showed up when Jacob's granddaddy was about thirty. He hadn't married yet, though he certainly had plenty of chances.”

“He was a stuck-up snob,” muttered my own grandfather.

Mrs. McSweeney sighed. “Perhaps you had better tell this part, Abraham.”

Grampa's nostrils flared and his lip twitched, but after a moment he nodded. “I was workin' in the cemetery when it all started. My own grandfather—that would be your great-great-grandfather, Lily—had been runnin' the place, but he was getting kinda old, so he hired me to help out. I had just graduated from high school and was trying to save some money so I could go to the community college.”

“Which you should have done,” said Mrs. McSweeney. “You certainly had the brains for it.”

“Well, that's all past now, ain't it, Eloise? And it's not part of this story, so just hush up.” Turning back to Jacob and me, he said, “One afternoon I'm diggin' a grave when I hear this little cry from behind me. Turning around, I see …”