Chapter 10 Not What It Seems
Not What It Seems
Whispers like wind chimes echo through my head. The voices are so quiet I can’t make out the words.
Then something—
Tickles my face?
I open my eyes, only to see a miniature woman sitting atop my nose. I scream, but she only tilts her head at me, making my eyes cross as I try to look at her, but, no—as I peer closer, I realize she’s a grasshopper, with wings.
I blink, again, and—she becomes a bow?
That’s it. I’ve officially lost my mind. Must have left it back in Summerland. Or maybe I hit my head?
The last thing I remember is shooting forward on a stream of light. I must have landed here, hard.
I shut my eyes tightly, then open them again.
The bow is still on my nose.
Okay. You know what? A bow isn’t… so unusual, is it?
I reach up to take it in my hand, sitting up, my mind aching with the movement. Yes, I definitely hit my head. The ribbon is smooth between my fingers and red as cherries. It looks like something that belongs on a gift.
But I’m in a forest. Not necessarily a natural habitat for bows…
I squint at it—and the bow takes off, its ribbons becoming wings as it floats up into the sky.
Okay. Never mind. I’ve officially lost it.
Where am I?
I get to my feet. The trees are flush with color, thousands of flowers smothering the branches instead of leaves. Lilac, wisteria, magnolia, cherry blossoms…
I lean my hand against one of the trunks, taking it all in. The second my fingers brush the thick wood—
All the flowers fall, unleashing a torrent of petals.
I turn, and then they’re moving on an invisible breeze, fluttering in circles, swirling around and around my body, the colors bleeding together in ringed streaks.
They float for far longer than should be possible, as if they’ve opted out of gravity.
Like that’s… a choice that can be made. Finally, they fall, settling onto me and the soft mossy ground.
The moment they touch my skin, they transform—becoming thousands of butterflies, a whirl of wings.
I gasp. In this land… things change. They’re not what they seem. I think back to the question mark on the Archivist’s scroll symbolizing this strange place.
Now I know what it means.
The keys. My hands are empty. I scrabble around on the ground, looking for the shell, but it’s gone.
No. When I look down at my necklaces, I see that the shell has shrunken to become another charm, nestled right beside the “B” I’ve always worn.
All at once, the butterflies disperse, flying in every direction, and the trees transform. Giant glittering bows adorn the branches. Thick velvet fabric curls in the wind. Golden glitter rains toward the ground. This world isn’t so bad. It’s magical. I reach for one of the ribbons—
Only for it to turn into a snake, lashing out at my face.
I gasp and stumble, tripping on a rock. I start to fall backward…
Then somehow I go through the ground, all the way around, and land upright, somewhere else entirely.
No.
Not somewhere else. The same woods… now completely transformed.
Now it’s a dark forest, the inverse of all the beauty and bounty I just saw. The trees are skeletal. The ground is cinder. Instead of butterflies, there are bats, screeching, rushing toward me in a wave of ink.
I try to take cover against the hard ground, arms over my head, panic flaming through my veins. They surround me just like the flowers did, their cries echoing through my skull.
I scream, but the sound is swallowed by their shrieks. Scratch what I said. This world is not magical; it is horrible. More bats join, until they’re all I can hear, all I can sense, and it’s all I can do to not just run.
Finally, they stop.
It takes a few moments for me to peek my head up. But when I do, I’m in another forest again, entirely different from the last: This one is an enchanted, ancient wood, brimming with mushrooms, and moss, and footprints from creatures I can’t begin to name.
I’m not fooled by its peaceful facade. Any moment now, it will turn into a nightmare.
The key. I just have to find it and get to the world with the leaf symbol, and then to Dreamland. But how, when nothing here is what it seems?
I breathe through the panic.
The key will glow. I know that now. I just have to keep moving, and maybe it will reveal itself to me, like the shell in the sand.
So I do. I begin to run through these ancient woods before they can transform again beneath my feet.
A babbling river is just ahead, with a stone path across it. I run down the way, only to hear a chorus of “Ow!” “Ow!” “Ow!” “Ow!” “Ow!”
I whirl around, and one by one the rocks begin to rise—revealing heads beneath them.
The rocks are top hats. Attached to a group of disgruntled forest trolls, who look exactly like the ones in a picture book Robin used to read me as a child.
“Watch where you’re going!” the trolls say in singsong unison before they bury themselves back down into the riverbed.
Right.
“Sorry.”
I look everywhere, searching wildly.
I part the limp branches of a light green willow like a curtain, only for it to become the long hair of a giant, who bares her teeth at me.
I look through a hole in a tree, only to suddenly find myself peeking up from underwater, faced with a giant goldfish. I gasp, then fall back, spitting water everywhere.
Then—music.
I follow it to a towering oak, with a giant bell hanging from one of its branches.
Maybe… the key is there? I peer inside the giant bell, hoping for that pink glow.
There are dozens of tiny bells inside instead, all moving in sync. At once, they go still.
And those bells become bees.
Shoot. I take off. If one stings me, I’ll die here alone.
I hear them zipping behind me as I run as fast as I can, channeling Callie in PE, jumping over logs that turn into giant centipedes, under branches that become massive bracelets, until at last, the buzzing stops.
My legs finally give out. I’m panting, my lungs burning in my chest, my pulse racing.
Nothing is glowing pink.
I got lucky with the shell; I know that now.
And, unlike Summerland, this place feels wicked. Like it’s a moment away from sinking its teeth into me.
I sit up quickly, feeling myself being watched. I turn my head, sure that I saw several sets of eyes, but—
They’re just marks along the bark.
I slowly stand, and a breeze whispers through the grove, and—it feels like the trees are all leaning toward me. Are those branches… getting longer?
Like arms? About to grab me?
Fear slides through me like ice… and this world seems to sense it. As my thoughts turn darker, so does the forest. Shadows lengthen. The sun is all but blocked out as the trees curve, reaching out, their sharp branches like claws.
I have a feeling they could smother me, shred me into pieces, keep me here forever. Make me into whatever they want.
A harmless rain puddle turns crimson. It slowly drips toward me, and it looks like—
“It’s not blood,” I tell myself, fighting the reaction I have every time I see blood.
But it only runs thicker. Darker. Right toward my feet.
I swallow, stars scattering across my vision. If I pass out now, who knows what this land will do to me? I might never get up.
“It’s not blood… it’s… it’s…” I close my eyes, imagining something good. Something that doesn’t make my vision sputter. “It’s cherry sauce from the ice-cream room,” I tell myself, imagining the dessert section of the elaborate Swancrest cafeteria. The deep red color, sweet on my sundae.
I open my eyes.
And as my thoughts brighten… so does the forest. The trees shrink back. The sun appears once more.
That’s when I realize I can affect this place. This world has shown me its rules.
Which means I can use them to my advantage.
I spot a mushroom so big it’s like a small tree.
Or… like an umbrella?
The moment I have the thought, it transforms into exactly what I imagined.
“Ha!” I say to this world, before sticking my tongue out at it.
Good. I’ve tested my theory. Now I need to be able to cover as much ground as possible to find the key. I look around for something that could transport me, help me see this land from a higher vantage point so I can—
A current sweeps me off my feet, and then I’m gliding up and through a storm that came from nowhere, clinging to the mushroom-turned-umbrella for dear life.
Okay. Clearly, this land is offended.
The wind takes me higher and higher, until I’m cresting the trees, my feet kicking above them, my heart in my throat.
Rain pelts my face, and this umbrella is absolutely useless against it, careening in wild movements. The metal is screeching. The fabric is tearing. My fingers are slick against its handle. It feels like this world is laughing at me.
You thought you had it figured out? Yeah, right.
I can’t hold on for much longer. I look down at the growing distance between me and the ground and swallow. The word sky-splatter comes to mind. I imagine myself making a sparkling pink puddle. Pretty?
No. I don’t want to be sky-splatter. I just want to find the key. I just want to find my Fate.
“Is wanting a future so wrong?” I yell into the storm, and sky-rattling thunder responds.
“Is that a yes?!” I demand.
The sky just keeps on raging.
I will not be as angry as the sky. I will calm myself down. I will change it, just as I did the forest.
I close my eyes.
And I think of one of my first—and best—memories. A voice, singing a song. My mother’s voice.
It’s a wonder I even remember it. I was so young when she died. But I know it was her. And that lullaby… I think about it sometimes when I’m trying not to get stressed, or anxious, or afraid.
Because her voice… it was bright. And smooth. And kind. And it might seem silly to infer anything about a person by their singing, but I just feel like even with that tiny memory, I know her. And the thought calms me, just like talking to her statue.
I hum along, singing it for myself, allowing peace to root in my heart like a seed that grows with every line, blooming hope and life and love.
Love.
I feel it. She might be gone, but the whisper of her love is still here, like a handprint on my soul, like an echo in my heart.