Leafy Tom

By Robin Buckallew

Phoebe is just a nine-year-old girl, not extraordinary, even if she is a bit too smart for her own good. When she decides to ask the witch how to bring her cat home, the spell she casts has some unexpected consequences. The hole she opened in the sky will lead her on a remarkable journey, through the land where the living cannot go, through forests she has been forbidden to enter, and across a dangerous land where everyone and everything appears to want to destroy her. Her companions are among the most suspicious of the strange beings she encounters, as she is traveling with a talking tree and a group of witches and not-quite witches that have a mission she is expected to fulfill. The problem is, she does not know what they expect of her, and she's worried it may be evil. She has little choice but to trust them once they carry her past the point where she can find her own way home, but by the time she returns, she will not be the same child that began the journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387991761

Book preview

Leafy Tom

Leafy Tom

Robin Buckallew

Saffron Books

2018

Also by this author:

The Diary of Mrs. Noah

The Transformation

Yesterday and Tomorrow

Alpha & Omega: Book I of the Godmaker Triloty

Blood Ready

Everywhere & Nowhere: Book II of the Godmaker Trilogy

I Am: Book III of the Godmaker Trilogy

The Ocean Wore Red

It is What it Isn’t

Copyright © 2018 by Robin Buckallew

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2018

ISBN 978-1-387-99176-1

Saffron Books

Cover design by: Matt Jorde

I dedicate this work to every tree I have ever had the pleasure of knowing (except those honey locusts that treated me so mean when I tried to measure their circumference).

1

Seven. The perfect number, the number to bring Argus home. Phoebe counted the saucers one last time before she knelt in the middle of the circle. She clutched the grimy scrap of paper and spoke the magic words as she positioned a heap of salt in front of each saucer. Mima mamma moma koma. Over and over she repeated the phrase, her brow furrowed with concentration, determined not to miss a single syllable. Mima mamma moma koma. Mima mamma moma koma. Clouds collected overhead as the sky shifted from blue to gray but she didn’t notice. She bent her forehead to the boards of the porch. Mima mamma moma koma.

Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. Phoebe became aware of the weather. If Argus didn’t get home soon, he’d be out in a storm. She spoke faster, struggling to maintain the proper rhythm as she accelerated, her tongue stumbling over the nonsense syllables. Argus, she whispered. Argus, come home. You are loved. Mima mamma moma koma. You are loved.

Lightning streaked across the sky as she blew the salt piles one by one, scattering salt in the cardinal directions just like the old woman told her. The milk glistened in the bowls, enough milk to tempt seven cats. Phoebe didn’t want seven cats, she just wanted Argus.

Thunder crashed simultaneous with the lightning bolt. Phoebe leapt to her feet, tipping two bowls of milk as she flew to the edge of the porch. The bright yellow and red glow to the north alerted her that something was happening at the factory even before the noise of the sirens mingled with the menace of the thunder. The sky had a peculiar look, a peculiar sound, and a peculiar smell.

Nothing looked right. Night swallowed daytime, though the clock said it was only ten a.m. The clouds swirled in a circle around what appeared to be a giant hole in the sky. Phoebe stared at the milk bowls in their careful circle, salt scattered on the boards of the porch, some of it floating by her head like little salt bugs, and shuddered. Had she done that? Had she made a hole in the sky? The hole hovered directly over her circle.

The sirens wailed as her patent leather pumps pounded the pavement, her thin legs stretched to their maximum as she raced toward the factory. What if…oh, my god, what if…she struggled to catch her breath but didn’t slow even as she felt pain surge through her legs and a weight press on her chest. Daddy…

She didn’t notice the tree until she landed on her seat. Wet grass crept up her skirt, and she knew she would be in trouble when she got home with green streaks staining her pink dress. She protested as someone lifted her but she was too tired and weak to fight. She tried to see who held her but all she could see was red flannel, the unmistakable red of the workers. One of her father’s employees had her. He probably heard her scream and came looking for her. She settled into his arms and let him bear her away from the house until she realized they were headed in the wrong direction.

Stop! she commanded, but her…savior?...kidnapper?....trudged on as though he hadn’t heard. Stop! she yelled in her most commanding voice, trying to use the same tone she heard her father adopt when he wanted something done and he meant now. She might as well have been silent for all the notice her captor took. He trudged past the house, the bowls of milk tipped as the neighborhood cats drank their fill and left them in disarray. Argus will never come back, she thought. I failed.

2

Phoebe had no idea how far they traveled before they stopped in front of a small house in the forest. She fussed at her companion, reminding him children were not allowed to go into the forest, but he did not release his grip on her until they reached the cottage. He stood her in front of the door. She turned to confront him but he had disappeared into the forest so fast she began to suspect he might not be totally human. He might be one of the forest people Daddy warned me about, she thought. She shivered, and wrapped her arms around her against the cold rain.

The house was smaller than any house she’d ever seen. It was made of wood, unlike the brick houses in town. The boards were painted a shade of green that blended in with the trees, but the door was a soft yellow and dominated by a large knocker. Phoebe stared at the knocker, drawn by the pattern of moon and stars that decorated the tarnished brass. She reached toward the ring but the door opened before her fingers made contact. No one was on the other side and the interior of the house was dark. Phoebe bit her lip and hesitated. She shouldn’t go in…but she couldn’t stand out here all day, either. She had no idea where she was and it was still raining. She heard a voice hiss behind her, ordering her to go in, but she waved the sound away. Thunder crashed directly over her head and sent her scurrying over the sill.

The door closed as soon as she stepped into the small room. She grabbed the knob, anxious to escape, but it wouldn’t budge. She could find no obvious means of unlocking the door. She turned toward the room, her back pressed against the door, and tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness. A small light flickered across the room, then flashed again in another spot. Phoebe watched the light, trying to keep up with what appeared to be a firefly flitting from place to place, never lighting anywhere.

Lightning lit up the sky and Phoebe saw the neat room clearly. She could tell the owner of the house was a reader, as all the walls were lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling, and all filled with books. She strained to catch a glimpse of the firefly but the lightning flash disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and the room was once more dark.

She fumbled for a light switch. Working her way around the room wall by wall, she encountered only bookshelves. She stumbled over a piece of furniture and ran her hands over it, hoping it would be a desk with a lamp. It was a footstool, and she continued her quest for a light switch.

That won’t do any good, you know.

The voice was soft, low, and female, coming from the direction where she last saw the firefly. Phoebe headed toward it, and the voice spoke again, this time from the opposite side of the room.

Calm down, child, no one wants to hurt you.

Phoebe turned and headed in the new direction but she realized whoever was speaking…fireflies can’t talk, right?...could move a lot faster than she could, especially in this dark, unfamiliar room. She pressed close to the bookcase behind her, wishing it would open and send her into a secret corridor that would lead back home, back home to Daddy and Argus and…tears filled her eyes as she thought about Argus and she felt warm brine trickle down her cheeks.

Who are you? What do you want? Phoebe demanded of the unknown voice, moving her head in an arc as she spoke, not knowing exactly where to address her question.

You want to find your cat.

It was a statement of fact, not a question, and Phoebe realized someone knew a lot about her. She nodded before she realized she couldn’t be seen in the dark.

How do you know?

The voice was soft and low, so close Phoebe imagined she could feel breath on her cheek. You visited the witch.

Are you…the witch?

A laugh, warm and contagious. Phoebe felt laughter well up, but she struggled against it and maintained her serious demeanor.

Of course I’m not. You know the witch. Do I sound like her?

Phoebe shook her head. The witch was an old lady who lived three doors down from her house. She gave Phoebe the spell to bring Argus home, and only charged her twenty-five cents. If the spell worked…

I have to go home…if he’s come back, he’ll be scared when I’m not there.

He hasn’t come back.

Phoebe lashed out with her fists, compelled to strike at the woman she felt was taunting her. How do you know? She realized she was screaming, but she wasn’t going to apologize.

I know everything.

The voice was filled with…something…an emotion Phoebe didn’t recognize. It felt warm as it washed over her and weakened her resistance. She sank to the floor, too tired to confront her…no, tormenter wasn’t the right word, was it? Teaser, yes, but tormenter? No, this was a kind voice, a warm voice, and she sounded like she wanted to help.

"Where am I?’

You are in the forest, of course.

Of course. Phoebe had a long history of asking stupid questions, at least according to her father and all her teachers. But…if she wasn’t sure of the answer, how could the question be stupid? She pressed on.

But…where…who…is this your house?

It is.

The voice was nearer and Phoebe felt she could reach out and grab the woman, but the light was across the room. Who else is here?

No one. It’s just us.

But…where are you?

I am not important. Let’s talk about you.

The woman sounded like she was right next to Phoebe on the floor, but the light settled near the ceiling several feet away. Phoebe pointed. That?

Is not important now. You’ll understand everything eventually.

I don’t want to understand everything. I just want to know where Argus is.

A reasonable child. Understanding everything can lead to despair, and it’s much too soon for that. In good time, in good time. Now, about Argus…

Phoebe flinched as a hand rested on her shoulder. She tried to grab the hand, determined to catch the woman who was there but not there. Her hand glided through the air without connecting flesh. She shivered.

Where are you?

I am where I am.

Phoebe stomped her feet. She had only thrown three temper tantrums in her life and none of them got her what she wanted, but the temptation was too great for her to resist. She continued to stomp and started to shout, flailing the air with her small fists. The voice laughed, not a cruel laugh, but an amused one.

When you get it out of your system…I can wait.

It seemed like the entire house waited as Phoebe cried and stomped. She snorted and howled. She rolled on the floor and kicked at the furniture. For what seemed like an hour, but she realized from the sound of a ticking metronome somewhere out of sight was only three minutes, she threw all her energy into asserting her will, to no avail.

She shuddered and fell silent, too exhausted to continue. The metronome stopped ticking. The house was silent. This tantrum served her no better than her previous ones, but at least there was no sign of someone coming toward her with a belt. She lay on the floor, her skirt torn and wet, her stomach heaving with the exertion of breathing.

Are you done?

The voice was still amused, still kind, but without a single syllable that might be read as capitulation. Phoebe felt the woman…if it was a woman…kneel beside her. She felt the warmth of a hand on her back. She stiffened. No belt, maybe, but…there are other ways to hurt little girls. She knew that all too well.

Are you afraid, Phoebe?

It was the first time the voice used her name and her instinct was to recoil. The woman knew who she was. She knew about Argus…she knew about the witch…what else did she know? Did this woman know all her secrets?

Do you have a lot of secrets? It seems like nine years isn’t very long to amass many deep, dark secrets.

You can read my mind!

Let’s just say, I know you better than you know yourself. I know your past…I know your future.

Phoebe bit her lip. Knowing her past…okay, that was scary, but not impossible. But… How can you know my future? No one knows that.

The lightning bug flickered but didn’t move from the perch by the ceiling. The hand on her back flickered simultaneously, as though it dissolved and became solid again. Phoebe didn’t move. Better to play dead, she thought. I can’t escape.

Your future is…destined.

Do you know everyone’s future?

No. Only yours.

Are you…my guardian angel? Phoebe thought constantly about her guardian angel. She prayed to her for years but never heard anything. Maybe this was her answer. She started to relax but realized the woman hadn’t answered, and tensed again. Guardian angels were one thing…scary demons were another, and this woman could as easily be a demon as an angel.

Not exactly.

The woman spoke slowly, as though reluctant to divulge information. As the woman drew a deep breath and shivered, the entire house shivered. The lightning bug flickered. The thunder boomed. The house disappeared and Phoebe was lying on her stomach on the forest floor. She used her hands to push herself up and sat on her knees. The trees swayed in the breeze, but something… something strange. Yes, they were swaying in rhythm! They were synchronized.

Synchronized. S.Y. N. C. H. R. O.N. I. Z. E. D. Phoebe turned her thoughts into a spelling test. It was what she always did when she was nervous. It drove Rhonda mad but it helped Phoebe keep her sanity. Synchronized.  Two or more individuals performing an activity in unison."

The hole in the sky hovered directly overhead. Was it following her? The rain pounded and the ground turned to mud. Her dress was filthy. She was in for it when she got home. How could she explain this to Daddy? Or to Rhonda? This was a brand new dress, and she had been told to play indoors.

The sound of a cat mewing drew her attention. Argus! The sound headed toward town. She rose to her feet. She needed to get home…Argus was headed home, and would be waiting for her. She scampered toward what she believed was the edge of the forest but crashed into something solid.

She winced as pain shot through her spine when it hit the ground. What had she run into? She crawled toward the spot and ran her hand over the ground. Strange…it felt like floor boards but it looked like grass. She ran her hand over the object she crashed into. It was a door. It felt like the door to the house, but the house was gone…in fact, she must have imagined the house, must have dreamed it…but…here was a solid door, invisible but real.

She tried a different direction and walked into a bookcase. Books clattered to the floor but she couldn’t see anything. The trees continued to sway and whisper and the hole hovered over her head, but she was still trapped inside the house. She fell to her knees with a whimper that turned into a cry. She settled in for a good bawl.

That won’t help.

Someone else joined them. This was not the woman’s voice. This was a male voice, deep and resonant, sounding like…like…a bass drum. No, a cello. Phoebe imagined the new companion, narrow at the neck, broad at the bottom, and smiled. Then shivered. Who was he? How had he gotten inside the house? For that matter, where was the house? It was all around her, and yet it wasn’t. She didn’t like this. The world wasn’t supposed to work like this.

Is this because I talked to the witch? she whispered.

The witch? Oh, you mean Mowenna.

I don’t know her name. She’s old and she lives in town, on my street. Everyone says she’s a witch. She said she could help me find Argus…my cat, Phoebe added helpfully, just in case her new companion did not know her secrets.

She sent you here.

She didn’t. She told me to…she said, seven bowls of milk in a circle. Seven piles of salt. Kneel and say the words. Then blow the salt. So I did. But Argus didn’t come home.

And what were the words, little Phoebe? What words did Mowenna tell you to say?

I…don’t remember! They were strange words. I wrote them down. She searched her pockets. The paper…it’s gone.

Is this what you’re looking for?

A scrap of paper fluttered out of the sky, grimy and wet but still readable. It was her notes from the witch, but… I can’t read it. It’s too dark.

The firefly darted from an unseen perch and flashed in front of the paper. One flash. Two. Three. Then the light stayed on and she could read the words.

Say them, Phoebe. Tell me what Mowenna told you to say.

Phoebe stumbled over the words, fear tying her tongue in knots. "Mima mamma moma koma."

Again.

"Mima mamma moma koma."

Say them, Phoebe, one more time.

No. I won’t.

The firefly flashed. The thunder boomed. A hand on her shoulder told her the woman was nearby. The male voice persisted, kind but firm. Again.

Why?

One more time, Phoebe.

I won’t.

You must. The woman spoke from behind her and the grip on her shoulder tightened. Though not painful, it was the grip of someone who meant what she said.

I’m scared.

We’re with you. We won’t let anything happen.

Who are you?

I can’t tell you…not yet.

Phoebe pouted. Why not?

I…can’t. Just…say the words.

She has to say them three times again. She’s waited too long. The male voice rumbled in the forest. It was a hearty voice, a…woody…voice, Phoebe thought.

The forest grew silent. Everything waited but there was no attempt to force her to speak. There was no