Lost Places (4 page)

“M
OLLY? MISS?” CRIMPLE THE
narl called after the human girl who had arrived with the Opener. He was having trouble keeping up with her long-legged strides. Being only six inches tall, his legs were a good deal shorter. But he did have the advantage of scooting nicely under branches and through brambles without much effort. Molly had to crash her way through the brush like a great brute.

“Oh, Molly, do stop!” he shouted. “Why don't we go back to the tree and finish my wings?”

He realized he could no longer see her. She had gotten too far ahead of him. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.” He sat down and leaned against a root, catching his breath. He hadn't run that far that fast in quite some time. Why would he? What would he go chasing after around his tree?

Crimple sat bolt upright. “The tree!” he
gasped. “I left the
tree
!” He leaped back up to his small feet and paced. “Oh, my goodness gracious. Spittle spattle. Mercy me! I'm out of place!”

He walked in a circle so quickly that he felt quite dizzy and plunked back down to the grass. “I was so worried about Miss Molly that I left the hill. I didn't even think. I just went. I've never done anything brave and brainless before. I didn't know I had it in me.”

He tugged at the grass nervously.
What will happen first?
he wondered.
Will it be gradual? Will I wilt and wither or just keel over?
He stared at the fistful of grass he now held, perplexed as to how it got there. He opened his fingers and let the blades fall, then wiped his damp hands on his barklike torso.

Poor Tanger. He'll be all alone. How ever will he get along without me? Who will find his little specs when they're lost?
He blinked back tears. “I should have left a note reminding him that his eyeglasses can usually be found atop his pointy head.” Crimple's small shoulders sagged. “Oh, mercy, mercy me,” he whimpered.

 

A few yards up ahead, Molly O'Reilly stood in a clearing ringed by tall, leafy trees. The foliage was so dense it blocked the warm sunshine, and she shivered.

“You're right, Crimple,” she said. “It
is
kind of spooky in here.”

When she received no answer she scanned the area. “Crimple?” she called.
Maybe he freaked and went back to the others
, she reasoned.
I hope the little guy didn't get lost.
She shivered again.
I hope
I
didn't get lost.

Get over it, girl,
she scolded herself.
You've been in thicker woods before when visiting Granny.
Of course, she realized, those woods weren't magical.

Magic.
She shook her head. She couldn't get used to it. Tim Hunter, a boy she'd known most of her life, had turned out to be an incredibly powerful magician. It was hard to process.
Amazing. If the other kids knew, they'd certainly stop picking on him at recess.

I wonder what it will mean to have a magical boyfriend
, Molly mused as she started exploring the woods again. If it was like meeting the unicorn, she'd definitely like it. If it was more like meeting Titania, Tim's self-proclaimed mother, she might not.
Still, nobody's perfect
, she reminded herself.
Just look at my own family. The ones who aren't in jail are slightly mad. And the ones who are “normal,” well, they end up on the dole or living in places like Ravenknoll Estates, without hope, without dreams, without…

“Hey, what's that?” Molly's train of thought was interrupted by an extremely surprising sight.

“Are those Lacey dolls?” Sure enough, dozens of the popular ten-inch plastic dolls stood posed throughout the little clearing she'd come to. Molly knelt down and picked up a doll with long blond hair and a skimpy swimsuit. A miniature surfboard was glued under one arm.

“Surfer Lacey, I'd recognize you anywhere,” Molly said to the doll. “But you are pretty far from the ocean.”

She glanced around at the dozens of dolls in different outfits. “I'd say you're all out of place.” She stood back up and put her hands on her hips. “Weird. This is supposed to be Tim's sanctuary from when he was a kid. But I can't believe he ever played with Lacey dolls.”

She bent down and picked up another doll. This one wore a short gold-lamé halter dress. Molly dangled it from her hand as if it were dangerous. “Sheesh. Look at her. Who has a figure like that in the real world? Who'd want it? She's a totally out-of-proportion freak.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “They should call you Ghastly, not Lacey,” she added, dropping the doll.

She strolled around the clearing, gazing at the dolls, smirking. “Tim and I have got to have a talk about this. I bet he blushes red like I've never
seen.” As Molly came full circle around the clearing she spotted what looked like small chimneys poking up out of a bush. “That's odd.”

Curious, she followed a line of Lacey dolls around the bush and came upon a large dollhouse. She started laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Clutching her stomach, she gasped, “No, it would be terrible of me to tease Tim about this. This is serious blackmail material!”

She knelt down in front of the dollhouse and examined the beautiful miniature-mansion. She glanced back at the Laceys standing sentry along the path. “This house is too big for them,” she observed. “And it is waaay too classy. It's not like the plastic Lacey dollhouses I've seen at the store.”

She opened the polished front door—it was surprisingly heavy for its size. “Must be made out of real wood,” Molly surmised. She poked her head inside, and took in a sharp breath.

It was the most beautiful home she'd ever seen—real or toy. Far and away nicer than any real place she'd ever been. The house was definitely built on a much larger scale than the Lacey dolls. It was almost big enough to have been designed for a child. Someone slightly smaller than Molly but bigger than any ordinary doll.
“What else do they have in here?” She wriggled her head and shoulders deeper inside to get a better look at the interior.

“Wow,” she breathed. Elegant furnishings upholstered in rich materials decorated what was meant to be the living room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and cast sparkling light around the room. What surprised Molly the most was the real fire burning in the stone fireplace.

Molly couldn't help herself—she had to see more. Wiggling and squirming, she crawled forward on her stomach, fitting herself through the narrow doorway. She managed to get herself all the way inside and sat up. It was a tight fit, but by bringing her knees up to her chest and slumping, she managed to keep from banging her head on the ceiling.

“It's just like a real house!” she exclaimed.

Wham!
The dollhouse door slammed shut, and a shadow darkened the windows.

“It
is
a real house, crawly Molly!” the shadow said. “But, whoopsie, you did not safely lock the door!”

Molly heard the sound of locks being turned, and as the shadow moved back from the house she could now see that it was what appeared to be a large pink dinosaur!

“What the—” Molly sputtered. She flung
herself at the door, knocking over the furniture. “Hey! Let me out of here!” she shouted, pounding on the door, rattling the doorknob. “And I mean
now
!”

“Hushy, hushy,” the pink dinosaur said, pushing its nose up against one of the windowpanes. Molly recoiled.
Those are some serious teeth,
she thought.
And it may be pink, but it sure isn't pretty.

She wasn't going to let some dumb dinosaur get the best of her. “I am not a doll!” she screeched. “I want out.”

Another dinosaur peered in through a different window. “Shamey, shamey. Play nice, little girl. Nice girlies don't shout.”

“You will be someone's dolly very soon,” the first dinosaur said. “Won't that be fun?”

Now a third dinosaur appeared behind them and clapped its tiny front paws together. “Ohhhh. Play dress up in little sparkly things. You will smile and smile but never laugh.”

Molly had never imagined dinosaurs would talk baby talk. Or that creatures who looked like they were made of cotton candy and Silly Putty could be so frightening. She had a strong feeling Tim had never imagined them either.

How can I fight these bizzaro creatures?
She knew she was surrounded. “Help! Tim! Crimple!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. She kicked hard against the walls of the tiny house. “Somebody
help me! The retarded lizards have got me!”

“Ooooh, she is making very rude and loud noises,” one of the dinosaurs said.

“Tut-tut. This will never do,” another dinosaur fretted.

“We will have to take care of this. Very fast.”

 

Crimple's ears pricked up. That scream. Was that Molly? “Excuse me,” he called as he stood up. “Did you say ‘help,' Molly, miss?”

He headed toward the sound. “The Opener would never forgive me if I allowed her to lose herself entirely,” he muttered. “I wouldn't forgive
myself
. She did so nicely try to make me wings.” He tripped over some roots. “I wish I had a pair now,” he grumbled as he picked himself up and hurried along the uneven ground. “Oh, frick and fritters!”

He stopped when he came upon a group of ladies taller than him. He scratched his head, perplexed. “How odd. They don't belong here,” he murmured. He made his way through the snaking line of costumed ten-inch-tall ladies. He stopped in front of one in an elegant evening gown.

“Excuse me, have you seen Molly?” he asked. He waited but she didn't respond. In fact, her expression didn't change. She just stared down at the little bouquet of flowers she held in her dainty hands.

Perhaps she was too well-brought up to speak to someone she had not been introduced to. He bowed. “Good day. My name is Crimple,” he said. “Pardon me, but have you seen a flesh person shouting ‘help' and ‘lizards' or something of that sort?”

Why doesn't she answer?
Frustration made him bold. He grabbed her little bouquet and stared down at it. “Wh-what?” The flowers weren't real. He peered more closely at the woman. “You're not real either,” he declared.

The ground rumbled and a dark shadow loomed over Crimple. He squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to look.

“You should always
ask
first,” a deep voice rumbled.

One of Crimple's eyes popped open. He gazed up at a gigantic pink dinosaur. “Ask?” Crimple repeated.

“Before you play with other people's toys.” The dinosaur reached down and picked up the plastic woman Crimple had been speaking to. “Her dress is dirty now,” the dinosaur complained. “With nasty dust and germs.” The creature dropped the doll into a large sack.

“Oh, my, spittle spattle.” Crimple wrung his hands. He knew he was in trouble now.

The dinosaur glared at Crimple and brought his face down close to the little narl. “Did you say ‘spit'? Spit is a bad word. Naughty-naughty. Little people must not say it.”

“We mustn't?” Crimple said. “Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea. I do hope I haven't offended you. I didn't mean to play with your toy either. I only meant to ask directions. I'm trying to find my friend Molly, you see and—”

The dinosaur seized Crimple and lifted him off the ground. “Molly is a girl! I know where Molly is! Ask me to tell, with sugar and spice and everything nice.”

“You won't mind?” Crimple asked, wondering if it would actually be as simple as that.

“Ask, ‘pretty please with sugar and spice.'”

“Uh, pretty please, sir, with sugar and spice, where is Molly?”

“Funny little person. My teeth laugh at you. You should never talk to strangers. Didn't you learn that?”

The dinosaur dropped Crimple into the large sack, which Crimple discovered was filled with dolls.

A moment later, Crimple felt the dinosaur's grip again. He was pulled from the sack and flung through the door of a house. Multiple locks
clanged, clicked, and clacked behind him. In front of him, Molly sat cross-legged in the center of the room, filling much of the space.

“Crimple! They caught you, too!” she cried.

“I'm afraid so,” Crimple confessed. “For here I am.”

“Well done!” a voice outside the dollhouse cheered. Molly peered out the window and saw that a new creature had joined the dinosaurs. A small blue figure wearing an hourglass on a chain around his neck stood smiling at the dollhouse.

He looks like an oversized infant, with that chubby belly and bald head,
Molly thought. But his voice sounded ancient, and there was no innocence in those wide-set round eyes.

“Who's that?” Molly whispered. Crimple clambered to the window, but he was too small to see over the sill. Molly lifted him up, but the blue creature had moved out of sight.

“Now let's leave this miserable plane of existence,” the blue creature ordered.

“Yes, Barbatos,” a pink dinosaur replied.

Molly could see that the absurd pink dinosaurs stood on each side of the house. She and Crimple slid against the wall as the dinosaurs lifted the house from the ground.

“Ready?” the blue creature called Barbatos said.

“Oh, yessy-yessy,” replied the dinosaurs.

“Good.” Barbatos snapped his fingers, and the woods, the clearing, the lot, and the Laceys all vanished.

F
EAR HIT TIM LIKE
a cold slap of water as he heard Molly scream for help. “Molly's in trouble,” he said to Tanger. “She'd never call for help if she didn't mean it.”

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Molly! Molly!” he shouted. He paused, waiting to hear her reply. Nothing. “I wish she'd scream again.”

Tanger gasped. “You shouldn't say things like that, Opener. Not you, of all people. Not
here
. There's no telling who or what might hear you and oblige by granting your wish.”

“Oh, sure,” Tim scoffed, “like anyone ever listens to me.”

“Botheration!” Tanger snapped. “You're the
Opener
, lad. Everything here owes its shape to you. So don't go wishing for screams unless you really want to hear some—and you don't care how
or why they come about!”

“Hey—I'm sorry, all right?” Tim said. “It's just that I'm worried. Really,
really
worried. Molly shouting for help—that's just not the kind of thing she does. That means she's truly in trouble.”

“We will do our very best to find her, then,” Tanger declared.

Tim flung his hands up in exasperation. “In the movies a person can always tell where the ‘helps' are coming from.” He kicked a root. “But here it's hopeless.”

Tanger shook his head, removed his tiny spectacles, and rubbed his face. “Oh,
please
don't say that,” he said, letting out a weary sigh. “Say instead, ‘It
seems
hopeless' or ‘I
feel
hopeless,' but not ‘It
is
hopeless.' Don't make it a reality unless you are quite, quite certain and ready for the consequences.”

Tim's shoulders slumped.
This place also has its rules, he realized. Rules for me, just as there are rules for Tanger and Crimple
. What was most disconcerting was that the rules indicated that being the Opener in a place like this carried a lot of responsibility. Which meant that unless he learned those rules—and fast—everyone around him could be in danger.

Just when I was starting to feel as if I was finally belonging to magic—that the world of magic was
actually my world—I'm hit once again by its complications.
Not half an hour ago he had been feeling like he could share his magic life with Molly, that he knew the lay of the land a bit, and now he was as lost in confusion as ever. He had brought Molly here, and now she was in danger. It was because of him.
And I don't know how to fix it.

Then an idea occurred to him. “Wait!” he exclaimed. “We could…uhm…” He shook his head uncertainly. “No, that's silly.” Then he bit his lip, his brown eyes narrowing. “Still…so what if it
is
silly. It could still work.”

“Have you an idea, Opener?” Tanger asked.

“I do. It might—no,” Tim corrected himself, remembering that in this place his beliefs had potential to manifest. “It will work. It
will
. Tanger, could you find me a stone?”

“Most happy to oblige, Opener!”

Tanger searched for a stone as Tim rummaged in his pocket for his keys. Tim could see that his new resolve had galvanized the narl.

“You were right,” Tim told Tanger as he took a smooth, flat stone from the little fellow. “I
am
a stump head. I should have thought of this ages ago.”

Using his keys, Tim scratched an
M
and an arrow onto it. “I've been working on this handy little trick. It's a spell to find lost objects.”

“Sounds very handy, indeed,” Tanger commented.

“Yeah, especially since I'm always losing my keys,” Tim replied. He held out the stone for Tanger to see. “See? The
M
is for Molly, the arrow is for directions. It's going to tell us which way to go to find her.”

“Do you really think so?” Tanger asked.

“I
believe
so, and since you keep telling me that we're in a place where my beliefs become real…”

Tim straightened up. “Okay, rock, point us in the right direction!” Tim flipped the rock into the air. It vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Huh,” Tim said. “I don't know why that didn't work.”

“Plates and pie pans!” Tanger exclaimed. “Indeed it
did
work. That was your answer, Opener. She's not here anymore.”

“Then where is she?” Tim asked.

“Somewhere else?” Tanger offered.

That's a lot of help,
Tim thought, but he held his tongue. He knew Tanger was as concerned as he was, and as baffled. “That spell has always worked before,” Tim said. “Maybe with a slight adjustment we can get a clearer answer.”

Tim picked up another rock and this time he scratched Crimple's initial and an arrow. “I'm
hoping he's with Molly,” he explained. He held the stone out in front of him. “Okay, rock. Show me where Crimple is, even if it is outside the meadow. Any universe, world, neighborhood, dimension. We want to see him in his new place.”

He flipped the stone again. As the rock spun in front of them, it glowed pink and seemed to hesitate in the air. An image appeared inside the glowing sphere the rock had become.

“It's them!” Tim gasped.

Molly and Crimple were in what looked like a giant dollhouse in a bubblegum-pink world. They sat at a table set for tea, and the guests were dolls, stuffed animals—and several large pink dinosaurs.

The stone blinked out and dropped to the ground with a thud.

“Did you see that?” Tim whispered.

“Indeed I did,” Tanger replied.

The tone in Tanger's voice told Tim that the narl knew more about the situation than Tim did. “Do you know where they are?”

Tanger swallowed hard. “Yes, Opener,” he said. “They're in the Demon Playland.”