“Did you find something?” Max asked his mother for the fifth time in as many minutes.
For the fifth time she answered, “Not yet, sweetie.”
They had been inside the Gingerbread House for what felt like hours. Max’s mother was looking for a gift for his aunt Maxine’s birthday. They were having a party for her at their house that night, and they’d already been to the grocery store for food, the florist for flowers, the party store for balloons, and the bakery for a cake. The present was the last thing on the list.
“How about this?” Max asked, picking something at random from a shelf and holding it up.
His mother looked at it. “I don’t think Aunt Maxine would like a ceramic clown.”
Max groaned and put the clown back.
“Why don’t you go look around?” his mother suggested. “I won’t be much longer.”
“There’s nothing interesting to look at,” Max complained, indicating the shelves filled with candles, teacups, and bubble bath. Nothing a ten-year-old boy would want.
“Why don’t you go to that new store that opened next door, then?” his mother said. “There might be something fun there. I’ll be done here in a few minutes and will come meet you, okay?”
“Okay,” Max said unenthusiastically. It will probably be more boring old-lady stuff, he thought as he walked out of the Gingerbread House.
He peered into the window of the shop next door. The name was painted in red-and-black letters across the glass: FRIGHTVILLE. Looks like a lot of old junk, Max thought as he pushed the door open and went inside.
He was wrong. Frightville wasn’t filled with junk. Max stood just inside the doorway, marveling at a room overflowing with stuff that most definitely wasn’t for old ladies. At least not old ladies like his aunt Maxine.
“You look like a young man who enjoys interesting things,” said a voice.
Behind the counter of the shop, a man was standing and regarding Max with an appraising air. Tall and thin, he was wearing a black suit that looked like it was probably a hundred years old. The man himself also looked like he might be a hundred years old, with pale skin and silver hair.
“This is a lot better than teacups,” Max remarked.
“Oh, I have some extremely fascinating teacups,” the man said, coming out from behind the counter. “They tell your fortune. But I have a feeling you’re looking for something really special.”
Max grinned. “What have you got?” he asked.
The man waved his hands around. “See for yourself,” he said. “Adventure waits around every corner.” He paused, raising one eyebrow. “For those who aren’t afraid to look for it,” he concluded.
Max wandered around the store—checking out everything. The man was right—there were teacups. But there were so many other things. There was a doll that was sewn out of scraps of different-patterned fabrics, a jar filled with antique keys that looked like they might unlock treasure chests, and lots of boxes with peculiar symbols on their sides that made Max wonder what might be inside them. But then he saw something really weird. Tucked into the dusty corner of a cupboard was a set of teeth. Max tapped his fingernail against them. He’d thought they might be wood or plastic, but they actually felt like real teeth. Or maybe they were ivory or bone. Whatever they were made of, they were old and stained, and there was a small metal key sticking out of one side. Max picked the teeth up and discovered that there was a paper tag tied to the key. Written on the tag was a short poem:
The Wish Eater
Make a wish and write it down
Place it in the Eater’s mouth
Go away, come back and check
If it’s gone, the answer’s YES
Max turned the key that was attached to the teeth. The mouth swung open and a red wooden tongue emerged. He peered inside. How could a toy eat a piece of paper? It was a silly idea. But the Wish Eater was really cool. He’d never seen anything like it.
“Did you find something?”
Max turned and saw his mother. He held up the Wish Eater. “This,” he said.
His mother made a face. “It’s kind of ugly,” she said. “But you’ve been really patient, so if you want it, it can be your reward for helping me run all these errands.”
The two of them went to the counter, where Max set the Wish Eater down.
“An excellent choice,” the man said as he wrapped the Wish Eater in tissue paper and placed it inside a bag. He handed the bag to Max. “May all your wishes come true.”
When Max and his mother got back to the house, the place was in an uproar. Max’s older twin sisters, Elfie and Elsie, had just gotten home from softball practice and had made a mess of the kitchen, fixing themselves peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches. His next-youngest brother, eight-year-old Charlie, had decided to paint a portrait of Aunt Maxine for her birthday and had gotten as much paint on the living room carpet as he had on the painting. And Max’s youngest brother, Arthur, only three years old, was running through the house with no clothes on, laughing and banging on a pot with a wooden spoon.
“Sam!” Max’s mother shouted up the stairs.
Max’s father poked his head around the corner. “I’m on a call,” he said, holding up his phone.
“You were supposed to be watching Arthur.”
“I told Charlie to do it,” Max’s father said. “It’s only five minutes. What can happen in five minutes?”
He disappeared back into his office while Max’s mother groaned. “A lot,” she said. “Okay. Max, you take Arthur upstairs and get him dressed. I have a million things to do for the party.”
“But I was going to—”
“Max, please,” his mother said. “Just do it.”
Max groaned. “I hate being the middle child,” he said as he grabbed Arthur, who giggled and banged loudly on the pot.
It only got worse from there. At dinner, Charlie was telling a story and knocked his glass of milk over, right into Max’s lap. Aunt Maxine pinched his cheeks twice. And after they cut the cake, Max left his piece on the table for a second while he went to get a fork, but Aunt Maxine’s dog jumped up and ate it, so he got none.
Later, in his room, with Charlie snoring in the other bed, Max finally took the Wish Eater out of its bag. He held it in his hands. “I really wish I was an only child,” he said aloud.
He thought about it. Was that really his wish? Even if it was, how could it possibly come true?
“It’s all just for fun anyway,” he told himself as he scrounged in his bedside table drawer for a scrap of paper and a pencil. Then he wrote his wish down, folded the paper up, and stuck it inside the Wish Eater’s mouth. He placed the teeth on his bedside table and turned out the light.
When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was how quiet it was. Normally on Saturday mornings the house was filled with the sounds of his brothers and sisters. But there was nothing. He looked over at Charlie’s bed. It was empty. Not only that, but it looked as if it had never been slept in.
Then he noticed the Wish Eater. He’d forgotten about it during the night. Now he opened its mouth and peered inside. His wish was gone. He poked around with his finger, thinking it must have fallen inside somehow, but there was no hole at the back of the mouth. It had simply vanished. Or been eaten. But that was impossible.