The Magic Tree House - An Hour for Oblivion

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The Frog Creek Woods shifted, blurred, then reformed into a grey forest. The trees around them were tall, skeletal things. The sky was the brown roiling potion of a cauldron, only inverted.

“It’s like a fairy tale,” Jack whispered.

“A twisted one,” Annie added, reaching for the medallion. The moment she touched it, however, the pendant fell apart in a puff of dust. Not a good sign, she decided.

They had to move carefully through an obstacle course of downed trees and deadfalls to exit the woods. When they finally emerged, things were no better.

Where their house had once stood were a row of worn bungalows topped with rusted tin roofs. Many windows had been boarded over and the final structure on their left had burned to a charred, black frame. How anyone could possibly live in one of them was hard to conceive.

Jack and Annie moved dreamily toward the main road.

“What’s that smell?” Annie asked, her nose crinkling.

Jack had noticed it, too. It started out good and sweet, like cotton candy, then ended with a twist of rotting food.

“I know,” was all Jack said.

The moment they reached the road at the end of where their driveway should have been, a loud, booming sound erupted from their left. Turning, they faced the direction of downtown and shivered. The sound, growing in volume, was like a parade, many voices cheering (or screaming) as one.

“What is—?” Jack asked.

From a distance, something black and purple moved toward them, an ocean wave, rich with foam, rushing up a dark beach. They stood there, transfixed, until the foam took shape. The reality of what rushed toward them were hundreds of bizarre creatures, snapping at the night air with tiny, sharp teeth.

“I think they’re running from something,” Annie said.

“Something worse.”

Together, they turned and ran toward what (in their world) would have been the direction of the Frog Creek Library. In their world, it was a place of peace and tranquility, a haven where they had spent much of their childhood.

Who knew what it would be here in Dark Creek.

The road turned slightly right, then straightened. Jack noticed the absence of lines on the road, dotted white or yellow. It was just a dull black, scarred here and there with long, sharp gashes.

The sound behind them lessened, but their pace away from it did not. It wasn’t until they reached an intersection that they chanced to stop and listen. The sound was still there, but only a muffled thing.

“Look!” Annie said, pointing to their right. Where the Frog Creek Library should have been was a small, white house. The same grey woods loomed menacingly behind it, frozen in a shadowy near-embrace.

“Why can’t we remember what happened on that last mission?” Jack asked, staring uneasily at the house.

Annie sidled up beside him and took his hand.

“Whatever did happen must have been a big deal,” she said.

They stood there for nearly a minute, not wanting to move toward the house, yet knowing they must. The sound of the dark parade growing louder again forced their decision.

Each step a burden, they managed to move off the street and onto the weeded cover of the hill. Annie noticed that the dominant weed below happened to be clover. Not typical clover, however, but a variety with five, six or more leaves each.