Authors: Various

Ask the Bones (7 page)

BOOK: Ask the Bones

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Will's entire room vanishedâhe could see nothing.

When his father returned home and found that the drum was not in the office, he raced to Will's bedroom. But he could not find the door.

He ran outside to get a ladder so he could climb through Will's window. But all he could see was a blank wall.

“This is the drummer's doing,” cried Will's father. And he ran across the town square to the jail.

The drummer looked at the magistrate coldly. “You want me to help you?” he asked. “How can I? Your boy has my drum.”

“I'll give back your drum when we find it. I'll give back your freedom. I'll sign your pass, provide you with a horse, and give you fine new clothes.”

A bitter smile flickered across the drummer's face, but he followed the magistrate to his home. They climbed the stairs and hurried down the hall to the spot where the magistrate had last seen Will's door.

The moment they arrived, the drummer bared his chest. He began to drum upon it with a primitive, powerful beat.

From somewhere in the void, the magic drum began to reverberate faintly. The drummer beat his chest harder, his fists tightly clenched, his eyes flashing. The echoing drumbeats grew louder.

Finally the magistrate saw the room materializeâand Will, too, still holding the drum. The father rushed in and knocked the drum from his son's grasp, releasing him from its spell.

He knew he'd promised to give it back, but when the drummer picked it up, the magistrate turned on him. “I refuse to help you,” he shouted. “You're a wizard. You should be burned at the stake.”

The drummer's only reply came in a few swift drumbeats. When the brass rings landed on drawings of monsters, the drummer struck the drumhead fiercely, one more time. Father and son watched in horror as the drawings rose up through the rings and grew, turning into flesh and blood, fur and fangs, snarling about the room.

The last that anyone saw of the magistrate, he was racing down the road as if monsters were pursuing him.

The drummer turned his icy eyes on Will. “Your fate,” he said, “is with me.” He pulled a chain and a monkey collar from under his cloak and reached out for the boy.

A Night of Terror

â¢ A Tale from Eastern Europe â¢

O
ne evening two rabbinical students were hurrying down a forest path. They had planned to spend the night in the next village, but now dark clouds were rolling in, and lightning split the sky.

Thunder blasted them from every side. They cupped their hands over their ears, but they couldn't protect themselves from the rain. It poured off their hats and drenched their clothing. They ran through the dark forest, splashing and stumbling, hoping to find shelter.

Finally they spotted a dim light ahead, and they raced along the path to a small cottage. Its door was ajar, and when the students knocked, two monstrous dogs burst out. They growled and snarled and barked so ferociously that the students backed away.

All at once two sisters appeared in the cottage doorway. “Don't worry,” they said. “The dogs are just defending us.” The women snapped their fingers, and the dogs crept back into the cottage.

The students were amazed. But they thought the sisters looked kindly and pious, so they asked if they could spend the night.

“And won't you have a bite to eat with us?” the sisters asked.

Now the students were very hungry, but before they sat down at the table, they noticed one sister stirring the kettle of boiling broth with her bare fingers and saw the other taking hot bread from the oven with her bare hands. The young men trembled, because they knew they were watching witches prepare enchanted food.

The two students stared at each other. The storm was still raging. Lightning struck a tree outside with a thunderous blast. But what could be more dangerous than staying
inside
with a pair of
witches?

“We are not hungry after all,” said one student, trying to keep his voice steady.

“And we really should be on our way,” said the other, edging toward the door.

“Nonsense,” said one witch.

The other witch snapped her fingers, and the dogs trotted over to the door and blocked it. “We really want you to stay,” she said. “Besides, the storm is worse.”

She slashed her hand through the air and lightning bolts encircled the cottage. She clapped, and thunder exploded throughout the forest, shaking the very floor on which they stood.

The students were horrified by the witches' power. They thought silently for a moment. Then one glanced toward the window, and the other noddedâthe moment the witches and dogs fell asleep, they would unlatch the window and jump to freedom.

The students said good night and climbed up the ladder to the loft. Their clothes were cold and damp, so they burrowed into the straw bedding. But they didn't sleep.

Every few minutes, they looked over the edge of the loft to see what the witches were doing below. And every time they looked, the witches were wide awake. The women sat in front of the fire, cackling over ancient books filled with ghastly magic spells and potions.

The students burrowed deeper into the straw and waited. At last all was silent. They were getting ready to take one last look, then slip down the ladder, when all of a sudden they heard its bottom rung creak.

One of the witches was on her way up.

Both students pretended to be sleeping. They closed their eyes, but when long, moldy hair brushed their cheeks, they knew a witch was leaning over them.

The students lay absolutely still, but they clenched their fists under the straw. They were ready to lunge at the witch if she tried to put a spell on them. Luckily she just backed down, rung by rung, and whispered to the other witch, “They're asleep.” Then the witches rushed to the door and opened it.

“Fetch,” they said, and they sent their monstrous dogs down to the barn. Moments later the students heard the sound of hooves, then the lowing of oxen
inside
the cottage. They peered down from the loft.

The witches were slipping halters off four oxen, and the students were shocked to see the oxen turn into four men.

With the hideous dogs snarling at their heels, the four men did everything the witches asked of them. They carried in pails of water from the witches' well. They milked the cows and split wood for the witches' fire.

Then the four men were fed broth and bread, and with the very first bite, they began to turn back into oxen. By the time they had finished eating, they were swishing their tails, walking on all fours, and meekly letting the witches put halters on them once again. Then the dogs herded them back to the barn.

The students were aghast. They thanked God that they hadn't eaten the witches' food themselves, and they slipped back under the straw.

By now the students were desperate, but those witches never did sleep that night. And when the students arose the next morning, the witches already had hot bread and broth on the table.

“You must eat before you go,” said one witch.

Both students felt their skin crawl.

“We can't,” said one. “We are meeting someone in the next village.”

“We are already late,” said the other, swallowing hard.

Those witches wanted another pair of oxen, so they tore off chunks of bread and stalked across the room. They faced the students, eye to eye, ready to force the bread into their mouths.

“Perhaps we could take the bread with us,” said one student, backing away, “and eat as we walk along.”

The witches exchanged glances. “Very well,” they said, and they snapped their fingers. The dogs got up and followed the students, just inches from their heels.

“Thank you for the bread,” the students called back, running for their lives, with those ferocious dogs racing along behind them.

At first the dogs were just panting, but soon they were growling, then snarling, then snapping their teeth.

And no matter how fast the students went, the dogs kept up with them.

“What about the witches' bread?” cried one student.

“Of course!” cried the other.

They threw the bread to the dogs, expecting them to wolf it down and turn into gentle oxen, but they didn't. The dogs just caught the bread in their great jaws and raced back to the cottage.

The students heard hysterical barking echo through the forest, then hideous screams, then silence, broken only by the lowing of oxen.

Did the witches whip the dogs for letting the students escape? Did the dogs kill the witches? And what about the oxen? The students shuddered. They could hardly stand the thought of returning to the cottage. But if the witches were dead, the poor oxenâpoor men, reallyâmight starve.

No sooner had the students turned back, than what did they see? The four oxen were lumbering down the path. Somehow they had escaped!

The students rejoiced. They patted the oxen's heads.

“What if
we
took off their halters?” one student asked. “Could we turn them back into men?”

“It's worth a try,” said the other. So each grabbed two halters and tugged.

The shaggy fur of the oxen melted away, their horns disappeared and their soft brown eyes turned ... hard and cold.

For there, in front of the students, stood two monstrous dogs and two grim witches.

The dogs circled the students, snarling.

And the witches advanced on the young men, one with boiling broth, the other with steaming bread.

Nowhere to Hide

â¢ A Tale from Russia â¢

W
henever Ivan scooped turnips from an iron pot, he wished for elegant food on a silver platter, food fit for a prince. That's what Ivan wanted to be, a prince, even if it meant marrying the most evil princess in the world.

This princess lived high on a mountaintop, in a castle surrounded by forests that sloped down to the sea. Her father had promised half his kingdom to any suitor who could win her hand.

But the princess didn't wish to marry. So she gave her suitors three chances to hide from her, knowing they could never hide from her magic spyglass.

And when they failed her testâwhat did she do? She chopped off their heads.

But Ivan wasn't discouraged. He didn't think she would chop off
his
head.

So he packed his knapsack and set forth. On his way to the castle he strode along the beach, dreaming of riches. But soon he was hungry.

He threw a hook into the sea and caught a shiny fish. Just as he was about to toss it in his frying pan, the fish spoke to him. “Spare me!” it gasped, “and someday I will help you. Take one of my silver scales. Burn it when you need me and I will swim to shore.”

How could a fish help him? Ivan couldn't imagine. But he took pity on it, plucked one of its scales and tossed the fish back into the sea.

The moment he touched that shimmering scale, he felt a strange tingling at the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him.

He spun around. No one was there. But just as he turned back to the sea, he glimpsed an eye in an incoming wave. A cold, cruel eye that disappeared when the wave broke in a cascade of foam.

Ivan was not easily frightened, but what was that eye? He raced along the sand, his heart pounding. And he didn't stop to rest until the castle path veered from the beach and plunged into the forest.

Ivan leaned against a tree, catching his breath. And while he stood there, he saw an eagle land at the edge of a stream.

He quietly pulled a net from his knapsack, for he was still hungry, and threw it over the eagle.

BOOK: Ask the Bones

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