Flotsam

  “You’ve got your key. Now let Brier go.”

  “Boys,” Tristan said, smiling as he stared at the key, “let him go.”

  Amy glanced behind her, and gasped. Miss Rackbith was standing in the doorway, with a scowl the size of the Grand Canyon on her face.

  “What on EARTH are you all doing in my classroom?” she cried. “Amy, what are you doing with my clock? And my key. It’s GONE!”

  Tristan and his followers suddenly pushed past Miss Rackbith, and ran down the hallway.

  Amy and Brier just stood there, speechless. They had been caught, and no amount of explaining could get them anywhere with Miss Rackbith. Their future, in Miss Rackbith’s eyes, had a dark, lonely cell at the end of it, complete with rats, and prison mates who ate canned dog food and only saw the sun every five years. Their future at Crab Apple school was at an end.

  Chapter Six

  --Scavenger Hunt--

  Some small-town newspapers can be very interesting things. They are so powerful, you could set the Ten Commandments alongside them, and people would believe the newspaper over the Ten Commandments every time.

  Everyone in Crab Apple County received the newspaper at exactly 6:00 A.M. every day. The town folk would sometimes find the front-page news to be a story about the population of crickets in the neighboring town of Skyline-Creek. Or a story about the horrors of cell phones, or who grew the biggest pumpkin that year. The stories in the newspaper were usually tame, good stories that really should be the on the front pages of every newspaper in every town. If we lived in a perfect world that’s the kind of newspaper everybody would get.

  But, because we don’t live in a perfect world, when big bad news does hit a small town, because of its rarity, the news spreads faster than head lice in a kindergarten class.

  Right after Amy and Brier were found with the clock from Miss Rackbith’s wall, Miss Rackbith took it upon herself to: first, change the lock on all her doors, second, call up Mr. Postfly, the editor of the Crab Apple newspaper, and tell him her side of the story.

  The next day, Mr. Postfly wrote a thrilling front-page article, incriminating Amy and Brier as key-stealing vandals who would soon pay for their crimes. He even dug deeper into Amy’s past, and exposed her special finding abilities, going so far as to say that with such a girl in town, no one would be safe. It was a story that made the old towns people of Crab Apple rock faster in their rocking chairs. And more than a couple of false teeth popped out as old people rabidly talked on the phone spreading the false news.

  When Mr. Heckler saw the newspaper, he let out a loud snort and laughed, “Says here, Amy, zat you and Brier are on za “watch list,” of potential vandals. Vhat do you tink of zat? Zounds like za Gestapo.”

  “Yeah it does.” Amy murmured, frowning. She had brought Flotsam into the house, and was stroking its neck, lovingly. The fawn was so small, quiet, and helpless that she couldn’t help but love it. “Miss Rackbith tried cutting off my hair, the first day of school. What else should I suspect? This town hates me.”

  “No,” Mr. Heckler sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Zey don’t hate you. Zey’re chust afraid of new people. You know. I mean, zey are afraid of me. The Hitler-loving German is vhat zey call me.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Mr. Heckler held up a finger. “But I know zey don’t mean it. People are chust funny zat way. Zey tink zey know zomebody chust because zey know where zey’re from. Dang silly, if you ask me.”

  “So are you going to send me back?” Amy asked. “I mean, they say I’m a criminal, after all.”

  “No. I am not going do zend you back. I believe you. Remember? Zat nasty boy made you take za key. You don’t got it in you to go stealing tings on your own.”

  Amy looked thoughtful. “How can you tell? I might. Who knows. I might just walk off with all your stuff. You never can tell these days. I mean, if all the rumors are true, I can find anything I want, and steal it.”

  “Vell. You wouldn’t. I can see it in your eyes. Zey look too, too…zoughtful.”

  Amy smiled crookedly, and shook her head. “Thanks for believing in me. It seems like the whole town is afraid of me now. Thinks I’m going to rob everybody. Wish I never found that key for Tristan.”

  “But you did, because you vanted to save your friend from being tossed out za vindow. So let it go. You did the right ting.” Mr. Heckler smiled, bent down, and patted Flotsam. “Your gift for finding tings is a good ting. Don’t ever be ashamed of it.”

  “I’m not ashamed. Just afraid of what people think. You know.”

  Mr. Heckler looked at Amy with sincerity. “Thoughts are not tings. So zey cannot hurt you if you do not let zem.”

  Amy looked down, and sighed. “Still doesn’t make me feel any better. Everyone still thinks I’m some kind of curse.”

  Mr. Heckler rubbed the stubble on his chin, and chewed on his upper lip. “Mark my words, Amy. Your amazing spirit will take the "Crab" out of zis town in no time.”

  Amy looked at Mr. Heckler curiously. Nobody had ever called her a sweet spirit before. Kind of made her feel uncomfortable. It was something people only said at funerals---at least the ones she had been at.

  “Don’t look so pained,” Mr. Heckler told her. “Now zat za town knows your little zecret, more people will want to use you do find tings zay may not really need. Bad people too. Zo you need to be careful. Amy, very careful.” He opened a drawer, and handed her a bottle of pepper spray. “Here take dis. Use it if you have to. Don’t vant people misusing your gift.”

  Amy shoved the bottle of pepper spray in her pocket. It felt uncomfortable, and awkward.

  “Oh,” Mr. Heckler added, placing an envelope in her hand. “Zis is also for you. “

  Amy took the envelope, and attempted to open it.

  Mr. Heckler stopped her. “No. Don’t open it now. Open it later.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s nuzing, really.”

  “Nothing? Come on what is it?”

  “It’s a list, nothing very important.”

  “A list. Of what? “

  “Chust zome tings I tink you should find.”

  Amy looked at the envelope, feeling irritated. “First you tell me to watch out for people who want me to find stuff for them, then in the next breath, you hand me a list of things you want me to find?”

  Mr. Heckler wrung his hands in frustration. “No. It’s not like zat. It’s more of a test of your skill.”

  “Oh, great, now you’re testing me.”

  “You are a special girl with a great gift. But even so, I could tell vhen I first saw you, zat you have been lost for a long time, and have been looking for someting. Zis list is zomething zat I believe will help you to find vhat you are looking for.”

  “And what is that?”

  Mr. Heckler leaned back and stared off into the distance, looking wise and old, and wrinkly. Amy wondered if his wrinkles were like tree rings, or wisdom markers--a wrinkle for every lesson learned, one for every year of his life. “Zat is only zometing you can answer, Amy.”

  “Well thanks, but no thanks.” She handed Mr. Heckler back the envelope.

  “No,” Mr. Heckler said, pushing it back. “Take ze list. Only vhen you have found everyting on it, vill you have found vhat it is you are looking for. Zen, vhen your list is complete, we will both search together for zometing of great worth zat I lost many years ago. Okay?”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what this thing of great worth is, right now, and I’ll help you find it.”

  “Now is not za time. Chust put za envelope away. Only get it out vhen you are ready do begin your training, and are in need of zometing to do. Vhen you find an item on the list, check it off. Treat it like a scavenger hunt. Someting fun. Den when you find everyting on de list, I will tell you my zecret. Okay?”

  Amy nodded, and frowned. “Fine, whatever. Keep your secret. I could care less. I’m not going to look for your stuff anyway.”

  Mr. Heckler shrugg
ed. “Zat is what you tink. But finders don’t leave things lost. Vhen ze time comes, vhen you are ready, you vill find everyting on zat list. I have a good feeling about zis.

  “Good,” Amy said, storming off to her room. “Because I don’t!”

  Chapter Seven

  ---The List---

  Amy set Mr. Heckler’s envelope on the dresser and stared at it.

  I knew he only wanted me to be his hound dog, she thought. To sniff things out, to find his stuff. It made her mad. She picked the letter up, wanting to tear it into a million pieces. But she stopped. She guessed it wouldn’t hurt to read the letter, and then tear it up. After all, she was curious about what Mr. Heckler wanted her to find, anyway. She opened the envelope and took out a long piece of paper. On the top of the page it read:

  Mr. Heckler’s Lost Things List

  Dear Amy, one thing you may not know about Crab Apple County is that it is notoriously remembered in history as a place where many a traveler got lost. Not only that, it is a place where many people lost their lives, and their fortunes. Robbers and thieves, and savage Indians pillaged the country, taking treasure and other valuables, only to hide them deep in the mountains. There is a legend of one outlaw who was struck by lightning, just after he had secreted his treasure. He died of course, and no one knows where his lost treasure is, to this day.

  #1. Or whatever order you want to find it in. Find ole’ outlaw Leatherspur’s lost lightning treasure.

  #2. Find our neighbor, Mr. Burnham’s lost lunchbox. He saw me last week and asked me if I had seen it. According to rumor, he has been carrying that old lunchbox around for years and would greatly appreciate you finding it for him.

  #3. Find an arrowhead.

  #4. Find Indian Warsaw’s gold tooth. It’s hearsay that an arrow hit him in the jaw and knocked it out of his mouth.

  #5. Find an enemy and turn him/her into a friend.

  #6. Find someone who is lonely.

  #7. Find a church.

  #8. Find your family. Siblings? Parents?

  #9. Find my gold thimble, my silver spoon, my old marble, an eagle’s feather, my old pair of boots, my lost wallet my lost glove, my lost hammer, the lost piece to my favorite jigsaw puzzle, and the mate to my favorite pair of socks.

  #10. Find A Home.

  When you have found all the things on this list, come and show me what you have found. Then and only then, will I reveal my secret.

  Amy read the letter one more time, shook her head, then stuffed the letter back into her pocket. What a strange list. Find someone’s gold tooth? A church? What kind of Find-It list was this? It seemed more like a To Do list. Test her abilities? Who did Mr. Heckler think he was anyway? Didn’t he think she could find these things? She frowned. Sure, she might try to find the stuff on the list, but only to prove that she could find anything anyone wanted her to find.

  “I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” she murmured to herself as she went outside to feed Flotsam a bottle of milk. The fawn stood up to greet Amy, nuzzling her as she came up to him. Flotsam was getting bigger and stronger every day. He drank so fast, that little milk bubbles dribbled around his mouth and down his neck. He drained the bottle in minutes, only pausing a couple times for air.

  “It’s EMPTY,” Amy said, holding the bottle out of his reach. Flotsam wanted more milk, and he wanted it now. He couldn’t understand why Amy was making it so hard for him to reach his food.

  He tried standing on his two back legs, thinking that it would raise him to the desired height as Amy held the bottle

  higher. Flotsam strained to reach it, his pink tongue stretching out toward it. Flotsam slipped and landed on the ground, his legs tangled.

  “You‘re such a klutzy, when you’re greedy,” she said, patting him and rubbing his ears.

  He liked that a lot. Every time Amy rubbed behind his ears it made his eyes close.

  “Sweet nap,” Amy whispered, turning away from the sleeping fawn.

  “Hello, HELLO?” Brier’s voice sounded in the front yard. “Anyone home?”

  “Yeah,” Amy called from the back yard. “Over here.”

  “Hi, there. How come Mr. Heckler doesn’t answer the door?” Brier asked.

  “Because,” Amy said, “He’s out with his wolves.”

  “Out with his what?”

  “Wolves. He takes them hunting every day.”

  “Aren’t you worried about them eating…” he pointed to Flotsam, “that thing.”

  “It’s not a thing. It’s Flotsam. A fawn. I found him the first day I got here. He was stuck in a ditch. I looked for his mom, but I couldn’t find her. And you know, if I can’t find her, no one can.”

  “Wow. Wish I could find cool things. You’re really good at that. I mean…finding things.”

  “No,” Amy corrected, “I’m only good at finding things for other people. “I can’t find things I’ve lost myself.”

  “That’s a bummer.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Brier laughed, and gently patted Flotsam’s head. “Can’t believe you feel safe with wolves living next door to you. Poor fella.”

  “Mr. Heckler keeps them locked up,” Amy said. “So Flotsam will be okay.”

  Brier glanced at Amy, and shook his head. “Sure he’ll be okay, until one of them gets loose. Seriously, Amy, you should really keep Flotsam at my house. It would be safer.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but he’s staying here.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Gosh, I can’t believe you can even sleep at night, knowing wolves are living in a barn next to you. Those things freak me out.”

  “So, you’re afraid of them?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah, aren’t you?”

  “I was. But we’re friends now. Mr. Heckler lets me feed them sometimes. Even Flotsam has their respect. Mostly, I’m afraid of heights.”

  Brier laughed. “Well, if I was scared of heights I’d have to be afraid of myself. Everything's kind of small from up here.”

  “Thanks, Brier,” Amy laughed. “I already know I’m short without having you rub it in.”

  Brier smiled. “Ah, don’t be so touchy. Being short is cool. Hobbit-like. Besides, when you do fall, you’re close to the ground. You can even pat Flotsam without having to bend down very far.”

  “Hobbit-ish?” Amy looked at Brier and rolled her eyes. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Flotsam stood up sleepily, thinking that Amy was going to feed him again, even though his tummy was full.

  “Whoah,” Brier said, “he’s got spots! Oh, poor baby deer has the deery pocks. Is he sick?”

  “Brier,” Amy said, amused, “those spots are supposed to be there!”

  Brier patted Flotsam’s spots respectfully. “Sorry Flotsam. I like your spots. They look nice and equal, compared to my freckles.” He pointed to his own nose. “These spots are not even, even. But your spots are...”

  “Right where they should be,” Amy cut in.

  “Yeah.” Brier nodded in agreement.

  Flotsam looked pleased that he had found another potential person that would feed him. He nuzzled around Brier looking for a milk nipple. His mouth found Brier's thumb, and he glommed onto it, sucking furiously.

  “OUCH,” Brier cried, “he’s eating my finger!”

  When the deer refused to let go, Brier looked terrified. “Help! It’s a flesh-eating piranha deer.”

  Amy patted Brier on the back, “It’s really okay, Brier. He’s just looking for milk.”

  Brier didn’t look any happier. “But my finger.”

  Amy folded her arms, and smirked. “It’s just a gummy mouth. Really. All he could do to your finger is slobber it to death.”

  “Only?” Brier wailed, finally pulling his thumb out of Flotsam’s mouth. “Gosh. Look at it. My finger looks like a slobbered-on prune!”

  Amy laughed. “Looks as if Flotsam wants your finger back.”

  Brier held his hands high. “No way are you going
to get milk to come out of this thumb. Not in a million, trillion years. All this finger’s got, is a fingernail, I promise. And I don’t think you are looking to eat fingernails!”

  “Brier,” Amy said, “just stick your hands in your pocket. Don’t be such a baby. You’d think that you have never had a pet before.”

  Brier stuck his hands in his pockets, and sighed. “But I haven’t. The only pets I ever owned were ants, and cockroaches.”

  “Cockroaches?’ Amy asked. “Haven’t you even owned a pet fish before? At the last place I lived in, they had a pet fish, a turtle, and three dogs. At one place I lived, they even had a pet llama.”

  “Gosh, you’re lucky,” Brier said. “The closest I got to having a pet fish was when I found a slug in our backyard.”

  Amy shook her head. “Wow, Brier, you are more deprived than I thought. Want to come help me feed Mr. Heckler’s chickens? Mr. Heckler has a lot of goats too.”

  “Sure” Brier said. “That would be cool.”

  They walked through the backyard and up to the chicken coop. It looked like it was built in the dark ages. The door had fallen off, and parts of the roof had fallen in, so the chickens were given free reign of the farm.

  “I can’t believe you have all these animals,” Brier said, looking wistful. “What do you do with them all?”

  “They’re not mine,” Amy said, handing Brier a bucket full of grain. “I just help Mr. Heckler take care of them.”

  Brier ran his fingers through the bucket of grain. “So, how do you feed chickens, anyway?”

  “Really, Brier, you’ve lived in the country this long, and you don’t know how to feed chickens?”

  “Nope. I don’t. Is that a sin?”

  “No. It’s just really sad. All you do is take the bucket, and pour the grain out. Really hard.”

  Brier did as commanded, and dumped the grain onto the ground. The chickens suddenly scuttled over to him, materializing from under old rabbit pens, and jumping out beneath piles of weeds. There were chickens here, chickens there, and everywhere. The chickens surrounded Brier, eying him greedily.

  “Wooly chickens!” Brier exclaimed. “What are they doing? They look like they want to eat me!”