The backpack—with Eddie’s journal—was gone.
I spun around and aimed the flashlight at the floor. Gum Baby had disappeared. I looked under the bed—nothing.
Then I heard sticky footsteps sneaking to the wall behind me.
I twisted around just in time to see Gum Baby leap out the window, fleeing into the night with my pack, green light escaping from the slightly open zipper.
“Get back here!” I whisper-shouted as I ran to the window.
Gum Baby sprinted on her stubby little legs along the dirt path outside, around the Cadillac, and up the hill leading to the cornfield. Seconds later, I couldn’t spot her anymore.
I slowly sank to the floor, hugged my knees to my chest, and closed my eyes.
What had just happened? This was a nightmare. That was it—my dream in the car must’ve never ended. This couldn’t be real. I couldn’t have lost the only thing I had to remind me of Eddie. And to a sticky toy at that!
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
My hands shook, and I pressed my palms against the floor to keep them still—right into a puddle of something soft and sticky.
What was that stuff? Honey?
Strands of whatever it was stretched and folded like taffy as I rubbed it between my fingers. It smelled sweet, but not exactly like honey. Something familiar, though. More of it dotted the floor, and I looked at the wall behind me. Sure enough, little dark splotches went all the way to the windowsill.
A trail!
I clenched my fists, then looked at the corner of the dresser where the backpack had been. That journal held Eddie’s humor, his silly jokes, his stories, his dreams. It was everything.
Maybe there was a chance I could get it back.
I grabbed the flashlight, tugged on my hoodie and cargo shorts, and stepped into my sneakers. The window creaked as I eased it up, and the smell of horses and other farm odors hit me, right before the wind issued a warning.
Stay in bed.
I ignored it.
I squeezed through the window and dropped to the porch. For a moment I hesitated. The darkness, the whispering wind, the rustling cornstalks—they all tried to change my mind.
Go back inside.
This ain’t for you.
No telling what might happen to a city boy around here this time of night.
I was about to cave in to the fear and go hide in my bed, when the flashlight beam landed on a small patch of sticky residue on the edge of the wraparound porch. And then one on the grass a few feet away. And another. And another.
I gripped the flashlight so hard it hurt. The wind whistled louder, rattling the corn, but I gritted my teeth and shook my head. “You don’t scare me. I’m getting that journal back. Strongs keep punching, you get me?”
I felt silly saying it, but Dad’s mantra gave me courage. Before I could think twice, I plunged off the porch and into the night.
MY SNEAKERS PADDED ON THE dirt path as I ran up the trail. Stars twinkled above, but with no moon, I could barely see where I was going. And the sounds…It seemed like the night was alive…and angry. Animals and birds and more dang crickets all wanted a piece of this Chicago boy who was invading their turf. The only thing keeping me going was the sound of something scurrying through the cornfield on my right. If I moved fast enough, I could cut off the tiny thief. From the sound of Gum Baby’s complaining, she was facing more obstacles than I was.
“Who plants corn in the middle of a field? Ooh, child, if Gum Baby had the time, she would show this world a thing or two. Who’s that? Move along, bird! This ain’t a party. Gum Baby said move! Hey, let go of that…. Let go! So you want some of this? Sap attack!”
A flurry of feathers erupted out of the cornfield, and a crow squawked and flapped awkwardly away.
Sap…So that’s what the sticky stuff was. In the stories, Anansi covered the doll in the sap of gum trees. This little thief seemed to produce it like Granddad did sweat. And, yes, neither image is pretty. Sticky, sweaty sap missiles. Lovely.
I put on a burst of speed and rounded the bend just in time to see Gum Baby scurry across the road, leaves and feathers stuck to her back, and plunge into the trees on the opposite side.
“Hey!” I called.
Gum Baby gave me a glance, then took off sprinting. “You again? Well, you’re too late—Gum Baby’s like the wind!”
I lunged forward, but she and my backpack disappeared into the darkness. I skidded to a stop at the edge of the road and swallowed. The creepy old Bottle Tree forest stood in front of me, its canopy creating the illusion of a tunnel. In the beam of my flashlight, the gnarled trunks looked like faces. Sentinels on watch, they eyed me suspiciously.
I gulped.
The wind blew, cackling through the leaves.
Told ya, boy. You don’t want this.
I backed up a step, then stopped. A soft green light bobbed deep in the woods.
Eddie’s journal. I clenched my fists. I had to get it back.
The wind gusted stronger, but I made a rude hand gesture at it. “You don’t scare me,” I whispered. One deep breath, then another, and I ran headlong into the forest.
The wind howled, and branches scratched and clawed my face, but I pressed on. Trees creaked and groaned, and roots tangled my feet, but still I moved forward. It grew harder and harder to run, with the branches and knots of the trees forcing me to scoot and sidestep, but eventually I forced my way through and stumbled into a clearing.
I thought I was ready for anything.
Wrong. WRONG.
Gum Baby stood in front of the weirdest tree I’d ever seen. It was only a few feet tall, maybe coming up to my chin, but its arms sprawled out straight as a ruler in all directions. Bottles of every shape and size—but all a glimmering shade of blue—were stuck on the ends of the branches.
When the wind gusted, the bottles moaned. Sweat beaded on my forehead as that pressure from earlier in the day smothered me like a wet blanket. My arms and legs felt like the heavy bags from Dad’s gym, and moving them took more effort than I ever imagined possible. I was so distracted by the dread curling around me I didn’t notice that the Bottle Tree was now leaning in my direction. A flash of blue alerted me.
Deep inside the largest bottle on the tree, up near the tippy-top, something moved. It shifted like dirty oil moving through water, and the only thing I wanted to do at that moment was run screaming back to the house.
“You don’t know when you’re beat, do you?”
Gum Baby’s squeaky voice grabbed my attention. She leaned against the Bottle Tree, one hand clutching the backpack, the other pushed inside the trunk.
“Hey!” I shouted.
“Who you shouting at, boy? If Gum Baby had more time, she’d wear out that hide of yours, up one end and down the other. But you ain’t worth the crusty sap on the bottom of Gum Baby’s foot, so you get off with a warning.”
“Give me back my stuff!” I said, forcing myself to move closer to her and the tree. The branch holding the creepy large bottle at the top of the tree seemed to lean over more and more.
She laughed. “Just go home, fool! Enjoy life’s little pleasures, like breathing and eating solid food.” She turned and stepped farther into the trunk. One strap of the backpack was now gone, heading to wherever that freaky little tree led. Cold anger made me clench my teeth, ignore the sense of evil growing in the forest, and focus on getting back Eddie’s journal.