Shout Out for the Fitzgerald-Trouts Read online

  Pippa was filling the cooler with dirty dishes, already thinking about how after she washed them she would search the area farther downstream from the waterfall for more of Captain Baker’s scrimshaw. Kim was opening her backpack and getting out her textbooks. She was worried about how she’d get all her homework done before dark.

  “You want help?” Kimo asked.

  “No,” said Pippa. “I got it.”

  Kimo looked happy to be absolved of doing dishes and immediately began to climb one of the branches that reached into the house. “I’m going to do chin-ups,” he said. “I wish we had a real chin-up bar.” It was hard to practice while hanging from a tree branch, because the branches that were thin enough to hold swayed and bent as he did the exercises. Maybe he wouldn’t do them after all; maybe he would just close his eyes and spend some time imagining his pole-vaulting sprint. Ms. Bonicle had told him that most record breakers used visualization to improve their performance.

  Toby sat holding his mostly full bowl of chili and watching the others head off. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d spent an evening completely apart. Something strange is happening, he thought, but he wasn’t the kind of boy to spend time wondering what it was.

  * * *

  —

  Pippa was the sort to wonder about strange things, and as she sat with her feet in the pool at the base of the waterfall, scrubbing the dishes with mud and grit, she pondered the change that was happening within her little family. It occurred to her that for the first time ever, she and her siblings had a place to call their own, a place that was really theirs, a place they didn’t have to worry about losing. No one was going to say the Castle wasn’t theirs (like Johnny Trout’s cabin) and no one was going to take it away with a crane (like the boat) and they weren’t going to outgrow it like the car. That they were free from these worries gave them the opportunity to think about other things, things like finding scrimshaw.

  She found herself shouting, “Yeehaw! Yeehaw! Yeehaw!” as if she were some miniature, bespectacled version of Bronco Bragg. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, suddenly fearful that her siblings would hear her and ask her what she was shouting about and why the heck she sounded like a rodeo star. It would be hard to explain how Bronco Bragg had inspired her without explaining about the piece of scrimshaw—and that wasn’t a secret she was willing to give away yet. Then she realized that her fear of being heard was absurd. Any noise she had made had surely been drowned out by the loud roar of the waterfall. “Yeehaw,” she shouted again, giving the last couple of plates a vigorous scrub.

  When the dishes were done, she set them in the cooler and got to her feet. She would leave the cooler where it was while she went off on her scrimshaw hunt. “Yeehaw,” she whooped one last time for good measure. Her piece of scrimshaw sat on a nearby rock beside her flashlight. “What a beaut,” she said, turning the bone over in her hands and then sliding it into her pocket. She grabbed the flashlight; even though the moon was full and bright, she would need it for the hunt.

  But how to begin? She wished that she had a map of the mountain so that she could cross off the areas that she’d searched once she’d searched them. It would help her to keep track. I’ll just have to keep a map in my mind, she thought. It’ll be a challenge. She decided she would walk the edge of the stream that flowed from the waterfall. It made sense to her that if she’d found one piece of scrimshaw near the water, there might be others that had been washed farther downstream.

  She clicked on the flashlight and carefully began to pick her way along the pebbled shore. As she walked, she waved the flashlight’s beam back and forth across her path. She was scanning for any sign of whiteness that might signal another piece of bone. Almost immediately, she saw something that looked promising, but when she bent to pick it up, she discovered it was a milk-colored blossom from a booligah bush. Then, with an inward groan, she realized there were booligah blossoms everywhere. In fact, booligah bushes lined the shore of the stream for as far as she could see.

  Should I walk farther from the stream? she wondered, and then answered herself in the manner of Bronco Bragg: Is a booligah blossom white? So she headed into the canopy of trees. She didn’t need to find any particular path because the pebbles and rocks gave way to hard-packed soil stretching in an arc around her. It was a promising area to search because the ground was so clear; very little was growing, since the tall canopy of trees let in very little sunlight. Walking slowly, she fanned the flashlight in an arc in front of her, and her eyes followed it, searching in every direction.

  As she moved farther from the waterfall, she began to be able to hear the noises of the forest—the sound of branches moving as the birds settled into their nests for the night, the whirr of insect wings…those must be pretty big insects if I can hear their wings, she thought. It was a thought that made her stop walking for a moment because it led her to another, even more disturbing thought: what about the slurp and the rustle they had heard the other night? What if whatever monsters had made those sounds happened to be taking an after-dinner stroll through this part of the forest? Even worse, what if those monsters hadn’t yet had dinner? What if they decided that a brown-haired, brown-eyed, freckled girl was the perfect appetizer—or even main course?

  Pippa instinctively lowered herself closer to the ground. She knew that she should probably shout the way she had shouted the other night; that would scare the monsters away. But since she hadn’t yet heard the rustle or the slurp, it seemed to make more sense not to draw attention to herself. She would just stay small and keep quiet. She would listen and she would keep the flashlight turned on so she could shine the light into the eyes of any monsters that approached. This would blind them for long enough that she could run away. To that end, she began to trace the flashlight’s beam over the ground around her. And that is when she saw something that made a shiver of terror run down her spine.

  A few feet in front of her was a very large footprint. Only that was the wrong word. It wasn’t a print made by a foot; it was a print made by something else. Something stranger. It might have been a paw print or a hoof print except it was about three times as large as either of those. She crouched low to the ground and quickly shuffled toward it. Shining the flashlight directly on it, she traced its outline with her fingers. Now she could tell that it was composed of two moon-shaped halves that faced each other. Where had she seen that shape before? She remembered the Halloween costume parade at school when Kainoa P. had dressed as the Grim Reaper.

  The Grim Reaper carried a scythe just like the two shapes pressed into the ground.

  Pippa’s heart began to thud in her chest, a noise so loud that she was sure whatever had made the prints would be able to hear it. Take a deep breath, she thought. Be calm. Be logical. Just because you think of the Grim Reaper when you look at these prints doesn’t mean they were made by the Grim Reaper. Besides, Kainoa P.’s scythe was plastic. It was about as dangerous as a rubber chicken. Maybe this thing isn’t dangerous either.

  She moved the flashlight even closer and adjusted her glasses, squinting at the print again. She decided that it was about the size of a football. A print that size belonged to something way too big not to be dangerous.

  She stepped back and turned slowly in a circle, beaming the flashlight around her. Now she saw that there wasn’t just one print. There was a line of prints leading out of the dark forest across the packed dirt and toward the stream—which meant that the monster was walking in the direction of the Castle. She felt a clammy sweat break out on her hands and feet. Bang, bang, bang—her heart was pounding like a hammer against a concrete wall.

  Should I run and tell the others?

  In her mind, she heard Bronco Bragg drawling, Is there a monster with scythe-shaped prints the size of footballs moving in their direction?

  The answer was yes.

  With a jerk, she shot into motion and crossed the packed dirt c
learing in a matter of seconds. Her arms churning at her sides, she turned and almost immediately found herself facing a steep hill covered in low bushes. Waving the flashlight frantically in front of her, she began making her way up, dodging and leaping over the shrubs, gulping air so she could go faster. She was making quick progress up the treacherous incline. There’s nothing quite like the picture of a hungry, scythe-footed monster making a meal out of your siblings to get you moving, Pippa was thinking even as her left foot caught in a tangle of branches and she stumbled. The hill was so steep she didn’t have far to go before she smacked down on the ground and her glasses got knocked off as she did a face-plant between the bushes. She’d had one hand on the flashlight and one hand holding closed the pocket that held her piece of scrimshaw, so she’d been unable to get her hands out in front of her to block her own fall.

  Lying in the dirt, she made a mental checklist of all her body parts. She could feel some scratches on her face and there was the taste of blood in her mouth, so she must have bitten her tongue. She felt around on the ground beside her for her glasses and slid them back on, then she blinked to see if her vision was blurry (it wasn’t) and scrambled to her knees. And that was when she noticed moonlight glinting off something that was half-buried in the ground beside her. Just another booligah blossom, she thought, but she trained the flashlight on it to be sure. In the bright beam she could see that it was nothing like a flower; it was hard and smooth and had the appearance of a large tooth.

  She began to dig away the dirt that surrounded it, unearthing it in a matter of seconds. She pulled it out and studied it in the flashlight beam. It was a small bone—yes, most definitely a bone—but was it scrimshaw? The white part that had been sticking out of the ground had no carvings on it, and the end that had been buried was too covered in dirt and mud for her to know. She worked up a big ball of spit in her mouth and plopped it onto the bone, then she rubbed at the bone with her T-shirt. Now she could see just what she’d been hoping for—a carved picture of a whale thrashing in the ocean. So it was a piece of scrimshaw. She felt her heart hammering again, only this time it was with excitement.

  She studied the intricate carving which showed a whale with a huge square head. The whale’s large upper jaw and a thin lower jaw were open enough to reveal terrifying white teeth. Its body was hidden beneath the thin, carved lines that suggested water, but the animal’s wide powerful tail rose up out of the water and looked like it was about to splash down right on top of a rowboat filled with terrified sailors.

  Pippa ran her finger over the carving of the sailors. She could feel the tiny little scratches that formed their faces and it occurred to her how impressive it was that the artist had been able to make her feel the sailor’s terror with such a few thin strokes. The sailors looked as frightened as she had felt only a few moments ago. Now she didn’t feel frightened. What she felt was thrilled; she had found a second piece of scrimshaw even more impressive and detailed than the first.

  She pulled the first piece out of her pocket and looked at the two of them side by side. They almost told a story. She could imagine the sailors on the three-masted ship that was shown on the first piece of scrimshaw launching a small rowboat and going out to hunt the whale that was on the second piece. The whale must have been furious at their attack. And didn’t he fight back with his terrifying teeth, his powerful spout, and his massive, muscular tail?

  It was this thought—of an angry creature lashing out—that made Pippa remember herself. She was supposed to be running back to the Castle to save her brothers and sisters from the hungry, rustling scythe-monster. But she didn’t want to. She felt no urge to run. Why not?

  She began to reason through the impulse she’d had when she’d first seen those scythe prints. I don’t even know if those prints are recent or if they were made days or even weeks ago, she thought. There’s nothing about them to suggest that they’re fresh. In fact, if she really considered it, they’d looked a little blurred or washed out—like they had been there for a while. Now she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought that the rustling monster was on its way to the Castle now. And even if it was, why did she think it would hurt any of them? What if it was like the whale on the piece of scrimshaw? What if it only lashed out when it was being attacked? After all, the rustling monster hadn’t hurt them when they’d heard it near the Castle a few nights before. It had run away when they’d made noise. Really, Pippa thought, there’s no need to run and there’s no need to tell anyone what I’ve seen. They’ll just get worried, and isn’t it nice for all of us that for once we’re living somewhere without any worries? That was exactly what Pippa had been telling herself earlier in the evening while she scrubbed dishes by the waterfall.

  Of course, she would never let her brothers and sisters be hurt. She would keep on the lookout for the rustling monster, and she would make sure the alarms were in place, but she would not trouble anyone else by telling them about the scythe prints. There was no reason to make them unnecessarily upset.

  Even as Pippa was deciding not to run back to the Castle or tell anyone about the prints, she wondered about her own motives. Deep, deep, deep down—as deep down in the ocean as a whale goes when it is hiding from attacking sailors—Pippa feared that if she told her siblings about the prints they would decide it was best to leave the Castle for good. And that meant that she would not be able to continue her hunt for scrimshaw—which was absolutely unacceptable. Having one piece of scrimshaw had made Pippa want two. But having two pieces made her want not just three pieces but four pieces or five or a dozen. In fact, if she told herself the truth, she wanted all the pieces she could have; she wanted Captain Baker’s entire scrimshaw collection! So she would not give up the Castle. And why should she?

  * * *

  —

  While Pippa was debating whether a monster was headed toward the Castle, Kim was sitting on the ground beside the fireplace doing her homework. She had her textbook and her notebook propped up on a log and she was working on her last math problem: Jane puts an amoeba in a jar at 1:00. The amoeba quadruples in number every twenty minutes. How many amoebas will be in the jar at 5:00? She had drawn a column of different times—1:00, 1:20, 1:40, 2:00, all the way to 5:00—and had begun to draw pictures of all the amoebas for each of those times. But the more she worked, and the more amoebas she drew, the more Kim realized she was leaning closer and closer to the paper to see them clearly. The Castle was very dark at night; moonlight barely penetrated the canopy of branches. She hadn’t even begun to write her speech on table manners and already it was getting dark.

  She got up and fished around in her backpack for the flashlight, then remembered that Pippa had taken it when she went to do the dishes. Where was Pippa? What was taking her so long? Was it possible that Pippa had met with Captain Baker’s ghost? Kim banished this thought, reminding herself that she needed to stay focused on her work.

  That afternoon she’d written a new to-do list in the margins of her notebook and, for the first time ever, it wasn’t filled with things that her family needed her to do. It was filled with things that she needed to do for herself:

  Math problem set 7

  Write speech on table manners

  Read history chapters 7 and 8

  Science fair brainstorm

  But how would she complete her list if she couldn’t see her homework? She burrowed deeper into the backpack until she found a candle and a box of matches. She moved back to the fireplace and lit the candle. Using the flame from a couple of matches, she melted the bottom of the candle and let the wax drip into a puddle on the fireplace stones, then she pushed the candle into the melted wax. Once it had cooled down, and the wax had hardened, the candle was sealed into place so that it stood upright.

  The light wasn’t very good, but if she leaned in close, she could just barely see her pencil on the paper. She finished the last math problem quickly, arriving at a dizzying number of amoeb
as, and put it away. Then she got out the article that she had printed before leaving school, and she began to read. “It’s important to treat the table—and every meal you eat at it—with respect. When you sit in your chair, avoid slouching. Put your napkin in your lap.”

  Just then, Pippa appeared, carrying the cooler of clean dishes, and apologizing. “Sorry it took me so long.”

  It occurred to Kim that most of the students who would be writing speeches on table manners did not do their dishes in a waterfall. “What happened?” she asked. “About a million amoebas could’ve been born while you were gone.”

  Pippa set down the cooler. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  “I was just starting to wonder if you were okay.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, if that’s what you mean,” said Pippa. Then, trying to change the subject, she gestured to the article. “What’re you reading?”

  Kim ignored her. “Are you sure you were okay doing dishes alone? I mean, now that I think about it, with that weird noise the other night, we probably should be going to the waterfall in pairs.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Pippa gave a sinister laugh to make clear just how un-scared she’d been.

  “Laugh like that and you’ll scare anything away.”

  “Exactly,” said Pippa, heading off to the corner of the mansion where her hammock hung. “’Night.”

  “’Night,” said Kim, watching her little sister disappear into the darkness. If she’d been paying attention, Kim might have noticed that Pippa’s pockets were bulging, but she was busy with her own thoughts. Under the spell of the Castle, the children were forgetting to look after each other. It hadn’t hurt anyone yet, but the Family Monster Calamity would soon be upon them.