Number 667

Chapter Six

Maple took a rusty Swiss Army Knife from her pocket, slicing a jagged X in the tall pine tree's bark. She put the knife back in her pocket, smoothing her hair. Then she placed both her hands, plams touching, on the large X. Then she changed,
"An X is an X,
A spell is a spell,
X marks the spot,
All is well."
As soon as she took her hands off of the rough, spiky bark, the X closed up immediately. She grabbed onto the nearest tree branch with ferocity as she started to lift from the dusty, fertile ground, hugging her arms around it with all her might. But no, she knew this would happen. It was all part of the spell.
She let herself rise up farther, wincing as her knee cracked a particularly thick branch. For a moment, her hair was tangled in the twigs of one branch, but it was mercilessly yanked from its roots as the spell tugged her upwards even further. She tried in vain, again, to grasp a branch, but it wasn't within reach, and she carried on floating upwards. Finally, the spell let her feet rest blissfully on the top branch, her green-snaekered foot brushing a spiky pinecone. She could see in all directions, the sparkling, magnificent form of the Boarding School north; the long, unending forest of Twistwood south; the small city of Twistville east; and the dark, spinechilling figure of Twills forest west. Unfortunately, Maple would have to travel there shortly.
The spell started to drift downwards, thankfully around the large pine this time, and softy deposited her on the soil. She gathered herself up, glancing briefly at the cardslock map. A star marked where she was, at the pine tree. A badly-draw ink path was where she needed to go - and that let dead west, through the Twills forest.
Maple sighed, brushed the knees of her jeans off, and started shoving through the interlocking tree branches. Eventually, the friendly pine trees gave way to jagged, black, unholy pine trees. She knew that she was in the Twills forest. She made her way through the dagger-like branches, careful not to trip over the twining, hard roots underfoot. She slithered silently into the clearing, mushy red clay now under her feet.
She padded to the middle of the clearing, placing her hands together on the damp ground. Then she said the spell for liquification,
"Massidii,
Norfeq,
Liquify!"
She backed away a few feet into the dense branches, the wet clay now thick and melted as hot tar. It seeped almost to her sneakers.
Maple sat, waiting for the liquid to harden. The malted clay started to quiver, and in the very center, a key spurted up from the center in a flash of light. As soon as it touched the liquid, it hardened, and the ground became flat again. Maple hurried to the center of the now dial-shaped clearing. She could see the grass already beginning to magically sprout back, the green tips tickling her ankles as the soft blades bent in the wind. She dug through the high grass, finding the rusty brass key. She held it tightly in her palm, reaching into her pocket to find a spool of pure white thread. She unwound it out for about a foot, and strung the key onto it. Then she wrapped it over her head, feeling the comfort of the heaviness pulling at the nape of her neck.
Now all that was left was the last step, to find that house. She knew that if that old bat was capable of setting such a powerful curse to kill herself the next day, Maple was too. All she had to do was find that house...
Maple put up the spool of string, taking out the map again. Only one last time, Maple thought. She unfolded the now-dirty and crinkled paper, tapping on the last place, the X marks the spot. Maple felt... Hungry at the thought of accomplishing her goal, finally, finally. She balled up the paper, feeling the tiny fibers snapping beneath her fingers, and flung it into the deep forest. She wouldn't need it anymore. She heard the tumbling of the thick ball of paper in the weeds as she sauntered away, grinning from ear to ear. Finally... Revenge. Then maybe she could sleep at night. Not stay awake, tossing and turning at the thought of her parents. She swore that the whole forest could hear her weeping sobs, and that they would turn their backs on her like everywhere else in the world seemed to. No one cared, not even the police. The case had been long forgotten. So, Maple decide, she would have to do it herself.
You see, when she was only five, Maple's parents were killed in a horrible fire that destroyed their house and some of the surrounding areas. The police dismissed it as an accident; a misplaced cigarette butt, a kitchen fire, a plugin heater on for too long when someone fell asleep. But Maple knew. She knew that it wasn't an accident. She had seen something. She wasn't sure what, but she knew that her parents had been killed intentionally. She was me at to be killed too, she assumed. But she had always been an odd child. But, the police said, if someone was able to kill her parents and were aiming to kill her, what were the chances that a minuscule five-year-old girl would escape? None.
But from that day on, Maple had vowed to kill her parents' murderer. She had been gathering information, seeing where they could be hiding, everything. She had plotted every possible way to kill them, but all of them would have failed. Then, in a fit of rage, she had found the girl.
A homeless girl coming from Twistville, the "Land of Legends", as townspeople called it. She had all sorts of legends and yarns to tell Maple. But she finally found the one that mattered. A witch, setting a curse on herself. She had researched far and wide, and had figured out that the spell she had cast was one of the most powerful in all history. She could easily kill the murderer with that.
Maple shoved through the bushes and black branches of the trees, determined. Her feet pounded on the wet ground, and she ws through the Twills forest in a flash. She didn't even mind when her hair caught in a twig and three strands of aqua silk were yanked out. She kept running. Even when she entered Twistwood forest, she didn't notice. Her lungs and throught burned as she panted, her head feeling like tiny fist were pummeling her skull. Tears fell from her eyes, sinking into the thick green grass. She finally emerged into the sunlight, her vision blurred as she blinked away tears. She collapsed on the grass, turning her face so that it was even with the asphalt of the road. Her breath came out in short, frantic puffs, but as her pulse sloweddown, so did her breathing.
She finally struggled up, walking at a leisurely pace down the road to Marigold Street. She knew that was where the house was. She knew. She pivoted, turning on her heel, into the street. She tapped the bright green sign that said MARIGOLD st., swinging her hand around the metal pole that held it up. She started to inch down the street, glancing at the houses.
Six-six-one.
Six-six-two.
Six-six-three.
She stopped in front of the cream-colored house, glancing momentarily at the attic window that was directly above the walkway, the blue curtains still as a statue. She slinked up to the metal door, leaning into it and pressing her ear on the cool steel.
Nothing.
She darted across the side of the house to the huge back yard that ran into an old brown fence. She walked up onto the porch, climbing on top of the steel table and hopping up about a foot to hook her fingers onto the pale white window sill. She smiled. Years of parkore training in the woods have payed off.
She took one hand from the sill, gritting her teeth to hold herself up. Then she easily slid open the window. She flipped herself in, leaving reddish-brown streak marks on the clean white carpet. She eyed the rest of the room. A bathroom to one side, a neatly made bed with blue sheets on the other. The walls were spotless white, except for a perfect report card on the wall above a vanity.
Wait a minute...
Report card?
She quietly walked to the report card, careful not to let the floor creak. She lifted it up to her eye with trembling fingers.
Oh no.
Long, Vivian. Those were the bold-typed words at the top of the paper. Long, Vivian.
Vivian Long.
She was staying in the house of a murderer.
Maple ran across the bedroom, careless of the footprints she was leaving, and plummeted out the window, dashing through the lawns, back into the forest.