Another Whole Nother Story Read online

  “Watch where you’re going!” Gateman said with a shake of his fist. His demeanor changed quickly when he inhaled the dust that the horse’s hooves had kicked up. “Ah, now that’s more like it.”

  Big watched the men ride off toward town. She didn’t know where they were off to in such a hurry, but there was something about it that troubled her greatly.

  Some thirty feet down the river, a beaver crawled out from his dam to see a white wig with a long ponytail float by. “Grandma?” he thought. “Is that you?”

  Mrs. Lumley smiled and placed a small pot of honey and some freshly baked biscuits in the center of the table. “Please help yourselves while I dish up the stew. It’s so nice to have a house full of children,” she said. “You’re a very lucky man, Ethan.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Mr. Cheeseman, his voice rich with fatherly pride.

  “Nelson and I were not so blessed, I’m afraid. Oh, well. There’s a reason for everything, I suppose.”

  As a man of science, Mr. Cheeseman was not so sure about this, but he was relatively certain that there was a very good reason why Pinky was standing near the door, growling steadily. And this growl had nothing to do with hunger. This was a growl of warning, the kind that had saved the lives of Mr. Cheeseman and his children many times over the years.

  Chip looked at his father. “I know,” said Mr. Cheeseman.

  The sound of Pinky’s growling was slowly taken over by the thunder of horses’ hooves, galloping toward the house until it seemed as if they might come right through the front door.

  “Sounds like we’ve got more company,” said Mrs. Lumley. “I hope I’ve made enough stew.”

  “Nelson Lumley!” came a booming voice from just outside. “It is I, Jacques Bon Mot. I know zat you have weetches in your house.”

  “There are witches in here?” gasped Teddy. He looked under the table but saw only feet.

  “I’m not sure,” said Penny, “but I think he might be referring to us.”

  “But we’re not witches,” said Teddy.

  “Of course we’re not,” said Chip.

  “I’ll take care of this,” said Mr. Lumley. He slid his chair back and walked to the door. He slipped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. Ethan and the others listened intently to the conversation outside.

  “There are no witches here, Mr. Bon Mot,” said Mr. Lumley. “So you can turn around and go home now.”

  “I will go nowhere until I have taken zee accused weetches into custody,” said Bon Mot. “If you do not send zem out, I will be forced to burn zee house down.”

  “Oh dear,” muttered Mrs. Lumley.

  “You have no right to do that,” said Mr. Lumley defiantly.

  “Haven’t I? I am here by order of zee governor himself.”

  “What shall we do, Dad?” asked Chip. “We can’t let them burn the house down.”

  “And we can’t let them arrest us,” said Penny. “We studied witch hunts in history class. If they catch us they’ll probably hang us all.”

  “Hang us?” said Teddy. “I always thought they burned witches, but I guess I was wrong. I know you have to shoot werewolves with a silver bullet. For vampires you need to hammer a wooden stake into their hearts. And mummies? Hmm. I’m not sure how to kill a mummy. Poison darts, maybe.”

  Mr. Cheeseman thought for a very brief moment. “Teddy,” he said. “That thing that Jibby gave you today? The one I told you not to use until tomorrow?”

  “The cell phone?”

  “Yes. I need you to use it now.”

  Mrs. Lumley watched with great curiosity as Teddy removed the cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open, lighting up the room with a cell-phoney glow.

  At the same time, the standoff outside the cottage was growing more and more heated. Mr. Lumley steadfastly refused to hand over his guests to the witch hunters, and the likelihood of the stubborn Bon Mot giving up and going home seemed virtually nonexistent.

  The argument attracted the attention of curious townspeople, who stepped out of their homes and wandered toward the commotion. Among them were Appalling and Outrageous. Bon Mot turned to Seth. “Burn it,” he said with a nod toward the cottage.

  Before Seth could hurl the torch onto the thatched roof of the lovely little house, the front door opened and out walked Mr. Cheeseman and his three smart, polite, attractive, and relatively odor-free witches. Children. Sorry, his three children. “No,” said Ethan in a booming and powerful voice. “If you harm this house or anyone in it, you will pay the price.”

  “It is you who will pay zee price for your evil ways,” said Bon Mot with a guttural laugh.

  Mr. Cheeseman raised the cell phone above his head and hit the memo button. It was Teddy’s voice that came forth. “Help! The witches have imprisoned me in this tiny box. Leave them alone or they will do the same to you. Heeeellllp!”

  The growing crowd of onlookers quickly backed away. Seth turned white. Caleb turned green. Their horses turned around and galloped from the house as fast as they could. “Come back here, you cowards!” shouted Bon Mot.

  Mr. Cheeseman hit the ring tone button and the tinny sounds of “The Girl from Ipanema” rang out. Luckily, Claude was not nearly as big a fan of the song as was Captain Jibby. The horse reared up on his hind legs and whinnied mightily, throwing Bon Mot to the ground, flat on his back, with spleen-rupturing force.

  “Quick,” said Mr. Cheeseman, pointing toward the cornfield. “Run!” Pinky and the children sprinted from the porch. “Sorry for the trouble,” said Mr. Cheeseman to Mr. Lumley with a quick handshake. He poked his head inside the door. “And thank you for the biscuits.” Mrs. Lumley joined her husband on the porch and watched in stunned silence as Mr. Cheeseman hurried off to catch up with the children.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” said Mrs. Lumley. “Nice folks.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Lumley agreed. “For witches.”

  With great effort and severe pain, Bon Mot pulled himself to his tiny feet. “You will not escape zee great Jacques Bon Mot,” he shouted in time with his shaking fist. He tried to climb into the saddle, but without Mortimer’s back to stand upon, his stubby leg would not reach the stirrup. He decided a running start might be the answer. He backed up ten feet, took a deep breath, and charged toward the horse. He sprang into the air, soaring gracefully like a flying squirrel, but without the bushy tail or the ability to fly. He slammed into the horse’s flank with the sound of ribs cracking (not the horse’s) and dropped quickly to the hard ground.

  “Ouch,” said Mr. Lumley, imagining how Bon Mot might feel right about now.

  Bon Mot turned his head slowly. “Don’t just stand zere, you weetch-loving peasants. Help me up at once.”

  The corn leaves tickled Teddy’s ears as he ran down the narrow path between the rows, trying hard to keep up with Chip, Penny, and Pinky but losing ground. Suddenly something grabbed him and lifted him into the air. He tried to scream but a hand clamped down on his open mouth.

  “Shh,” said Mr. Cheeseman. He slung Teddy over his shoulder, fireman style, and quickly caught up with his other two children. Beyond the sounds of their pounding feet and pounding hearts, there was also the sound of a mob forming in the streets. Teddy gave this sound his lowest possible rating.

  They ran and ran and, just as they were about to run out of breath, they ran out of corn. Chip was the first to reach the end of the line and the others soon joined him. He dropped to one knee and peered around that last stalk of corn. Back on the main drag, in the dim light, he could see two men walking by, one carrying a rifle, the other a pitchfork.

  “What do we do we now?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know,” said Mr. Cheeseman. He set Teddy down. “There’s only one road out of town, and it’s swarming with people who think we’re witches.”

  Pinky growled and Chip grabbed her gently around the snout. “Yes, Pinky. We know. Good girl.”

  “Listen,” said Mr. Cheeseman, looking back the wa
y they had come. There was a definite rustling of the corn stalks that was growing louder by the second. Bon Mot was searching the cornfield. About fifty feet from its edge, on a patch of grassy land, stood a weathered gray barn. “Quick! To the barn.”

  Chip prepared to make a run for the barn across fifty feet of naked ground. He inhaled deeply and took off with the others close behind, running bent at the waist to minimize their exposure.

  As his feet pounded the ground, the blood pounded in Teddy’s ears, a sound he rated at a surprising six-point-five because it meant that, for the time being, he was still alive. They dove behind the building, breathing as quietly as they could while the sounds of the angry mob seemed to grow angrier and mobbier by the second.

  Mr. Cheeseman nodded toward a small door at the back of the barn. Chip crawled over and gave it a push. It opened with a painfully loud squeak. He ducked into the barn and the rest of his family followed.

  Inside were many things you might expect to find in a barn. Two of those things caught Mr. Cheeseman’s eye right away. The first was a wagon, its bed full of fresh, damp hay. The other was an old, sleepy brown horse. “The wagon,” he said. “It may be our way out of here. Quick, let’s get the horse hitched up.”

  “Dad,” said Penny. “I don’t think that horse is capable of outrunning anybody. I mean, look at him.”

  Mr. Cheeseman looked at the old horse, who seemed to say with his sleepy eyes, “She’s right. I couldn’t outrun a turtle with an artificial hip.”

  “Maybe we don’t need to outrun anybody,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “Maybe we just sneak by them.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Chip.

  “If you kids were to hide under the hay, I could drive the cart all the way to the river. From there we could buy a boat and make our way to Boston, get some more rods for the LVR, and sneak back in a couple of days when the heat has died down.”

  “But they’ll recognize you,” said Penny.

  “Maybe if we wait till dark,” said Teddy.

  “We can’t afford to wait,” said Chip. “They’re bound to find us here. We’ve got to go now.”

  “You’re right,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “There must be a way. We just have to use our heads.”

  “Use our heads,” said Penny. She repeated the phrase several times, then slowly moved her hand to her head and ran it down the length of her hair. “That’s it.”

  She turned in a circle, her eyes scanning the barn, looking for something, anything sharp. They came to rest on an ax, its blade stuck into an old tree round. She ran to the ax and, with a couple of quick wiggles on the handle, pulled it from the stump. “Here,” she said to her father. “Take this.”

  Perplexed, Mr. Cheeseman took the ax in hand and watched as Penny gathered her long auburn hair into a ponytail. She knelt down next to the stump and stretched her hair across its surface. “Now,” she said, “chop it off.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “You want me to chop off your hair?”

  “We’re going to make you a disguise,” said Penny. “Now hurry up.”

  “Okay.” With shaky hands, Mr. Cheeseman raised the ax above his head, paused for a moment, then brought it down slowly.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Penny.

  “It’s just that … Chip is quite a baseball player. It might be better to have him do it.”

  “Sure,” said Chip. He took the ax from Mr. Cheeseman and positioned himself over the stump, digging his feet into the dirt for balance. Like a baseball hitter using his bat to measure the distance to the plate, he reached out with the ax and touched the area he meant to strike. Then, with a couple of quick breaths, he raised the ax above his head, brought it down, and severed Penny’s head.

  From her hair, that is. Sorry about that. He severed Penny’s head from her hair. Or is it her hair from her head? Anyway …

  Chip breathed a sigh of relief and Penny stood up, holding a twelve-inch length of freshly cut hair. “Nice job,” she said. “Fastest haircut I’ve ever had.” She looked around the barn once more. “We have your beard but we still need a way to stick it to your face.”

  “Maybe there’s some glue in here,” said Teddy, smacking his gum loudly.

  “I doubt it,” said Chip.

  Penny strode over to Teddy, her palm outstretched. “Your gum. Hand it over.”

  “But it’s my last piece,” said Teddy.

  “It might be the last piece you ever chew if you don’t hand it over right now.”

  Without further hesitation, Teddy reached into his mouth and pulled out the giant wad of flavorless pink goo. He placed it in Penny’s outstretched hand and watched with longing as she walked away. “Okay, Dad,” she said, leading her father to the tree round. “Have a seat.”

  Mr. Cheeseman sat on the stump as he was told. “And hold this, please.” Penny handed Ethan the beautiful hair of which she had been so proud because it looked so much like her mother’s. She began working the gum with her hands like modeling clay, softening, flattening, and stretching it into roughly the shape of a miniature pink hammock. She pressed it to Ethan’s face, laying the foundation for his future beard. Outside the barn, the sounds of the mob grew louder, closer. Pinky growled and Chip shushed her again. This was the first indication they’d had that having a psychic dog who growls at any sign of danger could be a drawback.

  “We’re aware of the danger, Pinky,” said Chip. “We need you to stop warning us now.” Pinky seemed to understand. She stifled her growling with a slight whimper and then lay down on the dirt floor. Chip gave her a reassuring pat on the head. After all, he didn’t want to discourage her in any way. “Teddy, stay with Pinky. Make sure she doesn’t growl. I’m going to get the horse hitched up.”

  “Do you know how to harness a horse?” Mr. Cheeseman asked.

  “No idea,” said Chip. “But I’ll do my best.” Chip approached the old horse slowly. “It’s okay. We’re gonna take you out for a little walk, that’s all.” Chip removed a set of reins from a hook on the wall and tried to make sense of what looked to him like a tangled mess of leather strips and metal hooks.

  “There,” said Penny when she had finished sticking the gum to Mr. Cheeseman’s chin and cheeks. “Now, let’s see that hair.” She took the severed locks and measured them against her father’s face. “Too long.” She found the ax and handed it to Ethan, instructing him to hold it with the blade facing up. She grasped the hair tightly in both hands and ran it back and forth over the blade, slicing it half. Bit by bit, Penny fastened the hair to Mr. Cheeseman’s face until he had his very own auburn-colored, hammock-shaped beard. Penny stepped back to size up the job she had done.

  “Well?” said Mr. Cheeseman, trying hard not to move his face when he talked. “How do I look?”

  “Hmm. Like the son of Abraham Lincoln and Wilma Flintstone.”

  “That bad?” said Mr. Cheeseman.

  “Your hair doesn’t match your beard.” She looked around the barn and spied a straw hat hanging from a nail. She grabbed it and tossed it to Mr. Cheeseman. “Try that.” Mr. Cheeseman donned the hat and Penny gave a nod of approval. “Perfect. Except for your clothes. Here.” Penny grabbed an old tattered coat from a hook on the wall and handed it to her father.

  “Okay,” said Chip. “I think I got it.” He gave the reins a good tug to make sure they were fastened correctly, then led the horse over to the cart. That was the easy part. The hard part was getting the animal to back up to the cart so he might be properly harnessed. Though his father had taught him to drive a car, both standard and automatic, Chip had no idea how to put a horse in reverse. “He won’t go backward.”

  “That’s okay,” said Mr. Cheeseman. “We’ll just wheel the cart around behind him.”

  The cart was heavier than it looked, and it took all four of them to move it into position behind the horse. They found they had to zigzag it several times to line it up properly. Mr. Cheeseman had never hitched a horse to a wagon before. In fact, he had never h
itched anything to a wagon before. But as a brilliant scientist, he was relatively sure he could figure out the mechanics of such a thing. At least he hoped that he could. For if he failed, it could be the end of them all.

  Advice To the Public on Privateers

  It’s sometimes easy to forget that pirates are criminals—people who take what is not rightfully theirs—like bank robbers, shoplifters, or your older brother. And while there are but a few famous shoplifters, there is no shortage of well-known pirates, including: Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, Blackbeard, Bluebeard, Yellow Beard, and Yellow Beard with Black Roots, who surmised that, if blondes have more fun, then blond pirates must have a heck of a lot more fun.

  But what is our fascination with pirates, and why do we treat them differently than we do other lawbreakers? For instance, pirates are the only type of criminal after which it is acceptable to name a sports franchise. While we have teams known as the Pirates and the Buccaneers, it is unlikely that you will ever find yourself watching a game between the Kansas City Thieves and the Arizona Arsonists. (If you do, I would strongly advise against putting your money on the Thieves.)

  Just as sports enthusiasts are tolerant of this type of behavior, the pirate is the only parent-approved, robbery-themed Halloween costume. While each year children by the thousands adorn their faces with eye patches and coffee-ground beards and venture out into the neighborhood in search of sugary loot, you will see very few kids dressed as pickpockets or Mafia kingpins.

  I believe the fascination with pirates has less to do with all the stealing and plundering and more to do with adventure on the open sea (now open twenty-four hours for your convenience). After all, is there anything more exciting than a hunt for buried treasure? To find out, I recently purchased a metal detector and brought it to a nearby beach in search of excitement and underground riches.