The Power of Un (3 page)

“Yeah, how does it work?” I asked.

There was a sudden movement in the shadows not far off. The old man turned sharply toward it and said, “Not yet, I need more time! Can’t you get me just another minute or two?”

I stared in the same direction but couldn’t see anything, though I heard a faint hiss that rose and fell like voices on a bad phone. A chill scurried up my spine. “What’s going on?”

The old man stood up slowly, as if he didn’t really want to, and began to back away from me, shaking his head. “Ironic. I’ve run out of time! I’m sorry, Gib. Believe me, I’d stay longer if I could. We’re just not very good at this yet. I’ll be gone in a few seconds, whether I want to go or not. You’re going to have to finish learning about the unner on your own. It won’t be easy, but I know you can do it.”

The shadows were so deep and he had moved so far from me that I could barely see him. “Wait! I have no clue how to work this thing,” I called.

He was all but invisible, but his disembodied voice, fuzzy and echoing, floated through the evening woods. “Sorry about the zero. I was in a hurry. No time. Take it with you tonight. But Gib, watch out …”

“Watch out for what?” I ran toward his voice, but he disappeared into the gloom.

The pumpkin-orange light of a rising hunter’s moon peeked between tree trunks. A chilly breeze rattled the dead leaves that hadn’t yet fallen. Somewhere nearby an animal I couldn’t identify made a chittering sound, and I shivered, my hand sweating on the greatest power any human being, living or dead, had ever held.

I
went back to the big rock and sat down. Fix any mistake. Get a second chance at anything. Ideas poured into my head, one on top of another: flunk a test, take it over again; swing at the ball as many times as I wanted till I finally hit the winning home run; make bets with people, and if I lost, go back and bet the other way. This was better than winning the lottery!

My hands shook as I studied the unner in the twilight, turning it over and over, brushing the keypad with my fingers, touching the screen. It took me a minute to get up the courage to press one of the keys—the 9, because I’ve always liked that number.

Nothing happened.

No numbers appeared on the screen. No lights lit up. The little box made no sounds, ominous or otherwise.

I pressed a bunch of different keys. Nothing. I pressed the colored buttons. Nothing. After a while I got so desperate I even squeezed my eyes shut and dared to punch the
ORDER
key. Still nothing. Maybe the old man was just a crazy vagrant after all, and the amazing machine was no more than what it seemed: a cobbled-up pile of junk that had never worked in the first place.

Deep twilight had crept into the woods, and I could no longer see things clearly, not even my own hands on the unner. Luckily, my watch has a tiny, built-in light. A quick look confirmed what I already feared. I was late for dinner. My parents are fairly reasonable about a lot of things, but
late for dinner
isn’t one of them. If I didn’t get home soon, there was a major possibility they would ground me. In which case, abandon all hope—the carnival might as well be on Mars.

I jumped up from the rock and started to run back along the path toward the house. There was no daylight left anymore, just the faint glow of moonlight wherever it could find its way between the branches. Confusing checkerboards of shadow dappled the ground. I thought I knew every inch of that path and could have run it blindfolded, but I was wrong. The toe of my shoe caught on something—I couldn’t tell what it was—and I sprawled facedown.

I turned over and sat up, spitting leaves, and rubbed the tip of my nose, which burned. I’d scraped it on something. I forgot about that completely,
though, when I realized the unner was no longer in my hands. I peered around but couldn’t see it anywhere in the chaos of leaf shadows.

Stay cool
, I told myself.
You’ll find it
. But my stomach didn’t believe me. It felt suspended in midair, as if I were falling out of a tree. Still on hands and knees, I crawled all over the forest floor, scattering leaves and dirt like a maniac.

I spent five precious minutes searching, knowing that every lost second moved me closer to being grounded. Finally I had to admit it was useless. I needed light. So I headed reluctantly for the house again, mumbling the worst words I could think of.

    By the time I ran up the walk, Mom was standing at the front door with her hands on her hips. A ruffly square-dance skirt mushroomed around her waist. I never would have told her so, but it looked all wrong on her. I’m used to seeing her in the clothes she wears at the hardware store: canvas carpenter pants and a green shirt with her name on it. The best plumbers in town listen with respect when she talks about the difference between copper and galvanized steel. Whenever she wears those frou-frou square-dance ruffles, it’s like looking at a kid’s puzzle: What’s Wrong with this Picture?

“Gibson Finney, where have you been?” she said. She never calls me
Gibson
except when she’s mad. And
she never calls me
Gibson Finney
unless she’s really,
really
mad.

“Over in the woods, kicking rocks and, I dunno … dunking,” I said. Realizing how lame that must sound, I added, “I would have been home sooner, but there was this weird old guy in there and he … wanted to talk. Sorry.” I knew a second later that admitting I’d been talking to a stranger might not be the best way to convince her I shouldn’t be grounded. I stared at my shoes and tried to get myself ready for whatever would come next.

“I ought to ground you! You were talking to a stranger? A man? In the woods at night?” She made it sound as if I’d decided to shake hands with a crocodile.

“Well … I only said a couple of things. He did most of the talking.”

Then I felt her hands on my cheeks, which surprised me more than a little. Her eyes still had sparklers
of
anger in them, but when she spoke, her voice was softer than before. “You had me so worried, honey. Are you all right?”

I smiled a little. We’d moved from
Gibson Finney
to
honey
. Maybe there was hope after all.

Then she noticed the scrape. “Oh, your poor nose! Did he hurt you? If he hurt you I’ll … I’ll make him wish he’d never been born, that … that …” She patted my arms and shoulders semihysterically, maybe checking for broken bones. Her cheeks were bright red.

I felt strangely happy. She would actually make somebody sorry they were ever born if they hurt me? She sounded like she meant it.

“Mom, Mom, it’s O.K. I was in a hurry to get home and I tripped in the woods. That’s all.” I stopped her hand just as she started patting my hips. “He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even
try
to touch me. He was just a crazy old homeless guy or something. All he did was talk awhile. Then he disappeared.” I didn’t mention the unner, though I felt a little guilty about it. Something inside me wanted to keep it a secret, at least for now.

She frowned and touched my face beside my nose, almost on the scrape but not quite. The wound was probably dirty, and I suppose she was battling to keep herself from brushing at it. She may be unusual in some ways, but when it comes to obsessively cleaning open wounds, she’s the same as every other mom in the known universe.

“You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?” she asked.

“Positive.”

She looked doubtful for a second, then pulled me firmly toward the house. “Well, let’s get that scrape cleaned up. Your dinner’s ready. Roxy’s already eating, and Dad and I are leaving in a minute.”

Before long, I had a Band-Aid on my nose and was seated beside Roxy at the table, shoveling down a big helping of Dad’s beef stew.

“Do you think we should call the police?” Mom asked Dad as he helped her don a mind-numbing jacket with fringe and sequins.

“
Mo-o-o-m
!” I said. “He didn’t
do
anything. He just talked to me.”

“There’s nothing so bad about that,” said Dad.

“Yeah, but anybody who hangs out in the woods at night is creepy,” said Roxy. “I’m scared!” She held her butter knife with both hands, as if she might have to use it for self-defense.

“He wasn’t creepy. And he’s not hanging out! He’s gone. I already told you,” I said.

Mom frowned as she picked up her purse—which had fringe like her jacket, plus red, white, and blue stars and stripes. I squirmed when I realized I was glad I wouldn’t have to be seen with her.

“What if you only
think
he’s gone?” she asked. “He could still be out there, hiding. What if he watched you walk home and he knows where you live …”

Dad said, “Sh!” and gave Mom a fierce look. “Gib, are you scared?”

“No!” I didn’t want to get the old guy in trouble. I was beginning to feel sorry I’d ever mentioned him.

Dad shrugged and held his hands out, palms up. “There’s your answer. Gib’s not scared. I trust his judgment. Rox, you don’t need to be scared, either. Gib’s got the situation under control.”

Roxy frowned and huffed.

“Oh, all right,” said Mom, sounding annoyed. She kissed me on the cheek. “But you be careful, Gib. You and Ash and Roxy stick together at the carnival. Don’t dawdle. And,” she gave Roxy a kiss, too, “have a wonderful time.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes a little. Dad grinned at me as soon as Mom wasn’t looking, and they waved as they closed the door behind them.

I peeled the Band-Aid off my nose and looked at the clock on the wall. I was supposed to meet Ash at 7:00. It was already 6:45, and Ash didn’t know about the Roxy debacle yet. I needed to make another change in the plan, too. I wanted to get a flashlight and look for the unner before we started for the carnival. I figured I’d better phone him as soon as I finished dinner. I grabbed a hunk of bread and used it to soak up the last of my stew.

“Roxy, hurry up and finish. It’s almost time to go,” I said with my mouth full.

Roxy crossed her arms and slouched in her chair. She’d hardly eaten anything. “I don’t wanna go,” she said.

“
Wha-a-t
?” I stopped with a piece of bread halfway between the table and my face. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. I was beginning to think this might be the worst day of my life. “What’s the matter now? You love the carnival. It’s going to be lots of fun!”

“No it won’t. You and Ash’ll make me go on the scary rides.”

I sighed. That settled one question. We were going to spend the night on the baby rides. “No we won’t,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a needle in your eye?”

“All right, already! I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She smiled, picked up her spoon, and started eating.

While she finished dinner, I phoned Ash and broke the news to him. He wasn’t happy, but what could he do? It was either put up with Roxy or go to the carnival by himself. He agreed to meet us at the edge of the woods.

I got my baseball jacket and a sweater for Roxy. Then I grabbed a flashlight and a house key from the kitchen drawer, took Roxy by the hand, and locked up behind us.

    The farther we got from the friendly glow of the porch light, the tighter Roxy held on to me. “How come we’re meeting Ash by the woods instead of at his house?” she said in a small, shaky voice.

“I just want to spend a few minutes looking for something I dropped there this afternoon,” I said. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Nuh-uh! What about that creepy guy? What if he gets us?”

I gave her hand a little tug. My patience was getting threadbare. “Will you stop being such a worrywart? First of all, that guy wasn’t creepy. He was actually kind of nice. And second, he’s not there anymore!”

As the woods came into sight, she said, “I wish we had a dog. A big dog, like Old Yeller or Lassie. With big, fat teeth. A dog that’d scare that creepy guy so bad he’d have to wear diapers.”

I almost laughed. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m bigger than Lassie.” I did my imitation of a growling, barking dog, and Roxy giggled, which I took as a good sign.

When we got to the woods, Ash wasn’t there yet. I told Roxy she could either wait for him out by the street or come with me into the woods. Instead of answering, she started to cry and latched on to my jacket with both hands.

“Will you please stop being such a scaredy-cat? There’s nothing here now that isn’t here in the daytime.”

“How do
you
know?” she said.

I rolled my eyes again and gave up trying to reason with her. I took a step toward the dark trees—or, to be more accurate, I
tried
to take a step. Roxy clung to my jacket like a forty-pound monkey and screamed as loudly as she could.

“Gripes!” I said. “Be quiet! Everybody in town can hear you.”

“I don’t like this place,” she wailed. “I wanna get out of here.”

“Roxy, how am I supposed to do anything? You’re
such a little dork!” I probably should have been more patient with her, but so many things had gone wrong since that morning, I felt crabby at the whole world.

Roxy switched from screams to pitiful moans. “How come you’re being so mean to me? You … you dumb meanball!” She scrubbed at her eyes. Her hands had stew on them, because I’d forgotten to clean her up after dinner. “Ow!
Owowow
, I got something in my eye, it hurts, it hurts …” she howled. “I hate it here! I wanna go home!”

I felt like kicking trees again. First Rainy Frogner, now Roxy. How come girls always thought I was mean?

“Look, I’m sorry I called you a dork, O.K.? Don’t cry.” I tugged some of my T-shirt out from under my jacket and used it to brush her face off. “Is that better?”

Before she could answer, we heard the crackle of leaves under something’s footsteps. Roxy’s spine-freezing scream sliced the darkness like a knife.

I
grabbed Roxy and covered her mouth as the nearby woods came alive with the scuttlings and flutterings of unseen creatures. My own heart banged against my ribs. There’s nothing like the sound of pure terror to get your blood fizzing with adrenaline.