THE FUNCTION AND USE OF EXTERNALIZED ANTHROPOMORPHIC PSYCHIC SYMBOLS IN CHILDREN’S LITERATURE by David G. Robb A project submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MASTER OF ARTS IN ENGLISH WEBER STATE UNIVERSITY Ogden, Utah December 2025 Approved ______________________________​ Signature of Committee Chair​ ​ ​ ​ Dr. Siân Griffiths Name of Committee Chair _____________________________​ ​ Signature of Committee Member​ ​ ​ ​ Dr. David Hartwig Name of Committee Member ________________________​ Signature of Committee Member​ ​ ​ Prof. Laura Stott Name of Committee Member ​ ​ Robb 1 My middle grade low fantasy novel, The Knackerman, begins with two children engaging in the age-old ritual of scaring each other by telling an urban legend. “The knackerman,” one child tells the other, “looks like a man with a meat hook wearing a long leather apron covered in blood… He is forever hungry, no matter how much he eats, and he lives in a cave full of bats, and he likes to munch on children for dinner and then a bat or two for dessert.” In reality, a knackerman is a person whose job it is to kill animals that are injured, old, or diseased, or to dispose of animals that are already dead. In short, a knackerman’s business is death. This grizzly occupation makes a knackerman a natural villain for an urban legend and a fitting symbol of death, loss, and transition for my novel. Like the yew tree monster in Patrick Ness’s A Monster Calls or the wild things in Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, the knackerman in my novel represents an emotional force that needs to be confronted. Symbols such as these are created by taking the inner emotional and psychological struggles of a character and embodying them in the form of people, monsters, and animals. I refer to them as externalized anthropomorphic psychic symbols (EAPS) to distinguish them from other forms of symbolism and personification. This paper examines the role of EAPSs in children’s literature with the goal of understanding how writers can utilize them to craft more effective stories. The results suggest that EAPSs provide access to the reader’s psyche, adapt to a broad range of reader experiences, and intrigue and attract middle grade readers. Access to the Psyche Robb 2 Fairy tales, with their long history of use in psychoanalysis, provide a precedent for EAPSs’ ability to access the human psyche. In her book, An Introduction to the Interpretation of Fairy Tales, Marie-Louise von Franz wrote that, “Fairy tales are the purest and simplest expression of collective unconscious psychic processes. Therefore, their value for the scientific investigation of the unconscious exceeds that of all other material. They represent the archetypes in their simplest, barest and most concise form” (1). Modern therapists continue to utilize the power of fairy tales in practice, and numerous studies have proven their effectiveness for children (Lubetsky, Masri et al.) and adolescents (Farkas). Carl Jung argued that “fairytales give expression to unconscious processes, and their retelling causes these processes to come alive again and be recollected, thereby re-establishing the connection between conscious and unconscious” (180). He saw fairy tales as a doorway that provides access to the unconscious, and fairy tales, with their manipulative wolves, blue beards, hungry witches, and transforming frogs trying to weasel their way into the princess’s bed, certainly seem to do this. They are bursting with anthropomorphic symbols that represent the full array of human emotions. In short, EAPSs are a key to the door leading into the dark cellar of our subconscious. ​ It stands to reason that if EAPSs are an effective way to tap the unconscious in fairy tales, they will likewise prove effective in other genres of literature. While virtually all fictional genres utilize EAPSs to some degree, they are most conspicuous in fantasy, a genre closely related to the fairy tale. Award-winning fantasy author Stephen Donaldson argues that, “The approach of modern fantasy is to externalize, to personify, to embody the void in order to confront it directly. The characters in fantasy novels actually meet Robb 3 their worst fears; they actually face the things that demean them; they actually walk into the dark. And they find answers” (Donaldson). EAPS are central to his definition of fantasy. Armin Stefanovic agrees with Donaldson. He argues that “emotional correlatives,” of which EAPSs are a subtype, allow readers to process emotions too difficult to name (Stefanovic 128). “Fantasy fiction,” he writes, “provides a safe environment in which children, young adults, and adults can interact with emotional states that are relevant to them, particularly those that are not easily expressed in our everyday emotional vocabulary” (Stefanovic 116). In other words, the writer can access buried and entangled emotions in the reader by externalizing and isolating them in the form of EAPSs, making fantasy exceptionally conducive to psychic connections. Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak is a well-known example of fantasy that utilizes EAPSs to access a child’s psyche. The wild things in Where the Wild Things Are embody the menacing emotions Max feels (Sendak, “Caldecott” 151). Even young children, not yet capable of abstract thought, resonate with the wild things on a subconscious level; they recognize in these frightening monsters something within themselves. John Cech applauded Sendak’s ability to “replace the authority of ‘daylight,’ an Apollonian morality, with the nocturnal, primitive, Dionysian logic of fantasy—the means of thinking that children actually make use of in order to represent their experience” (115). Fantasy gives writers the freedom to use Cech’s Dionysian logic directly by embodying emotion in the form of characters and creatures that the protagonist faces. Even adult readers cannot help but respond to this Dionysian logic on an unconscious level. It is built into the way we originally learned to understand the world as children. Robb 4 Adaptability Adaptability is one of EAPS’s greatest strengths. EAPSs are not stagnant or inflexible. They adapt to each individual reader and evolve as those individuals grow and change over time. Famed psychologist Bruno Bettelheim explained that “as with all great art, the fairy tale’s deepest meaning will be different for each person, and different for the same person at various moments in his life” (12). As mentioned above, EAPSs are one of the key ways fairy tales accomplish what Bettelheim describes. By avoiding a literal depiction of the problem—a direct one-to-one comparison—EAPSs allow the reader to focus on the primal emotional experience rather than the specific problem the character is facing. Stefanovic further explains, “Unlike in mimetic representation, these emotional correlatives do not have to define the emotion they represent. This allows readers to understand the supernatural creatures with respect to the emotional difficulties they are facing” (125). Will Storr, the author of The Science of Storytelling, concurs. In his research, he emphasizes the importance of leaving room for readers to “insert their own interpretations” into the story (Storr 173). EAPSs serve this purpose well. As symbols representing any number of unspecified but clearly implied emotions, they leave enough room for readers to interpret them as and when they are ready. This is why EAPSs such as Ness’s yew tree monster resonate with readers. Readers may or may not relate to a character whose mother is dying of cancer as in When a Monster Calls, but everyone can relate to a character experiencing the universal emotions of fear, guilt, and grief. The child is not just reading a story about a yew tree monster; they are reading about all the difficult and ungovernable feelings welling up from their own subconscious. The author of Tuck Everlasting, Natalie Babbitt, insists that “if you reach down deeply enough into Robb 5 your own psyche, you come to the place where the things you write about are no longer personal but universal” (157). This is the birthplace of EAPSs. This is where writers must go to create EAPSs that allow for connection on a deep, amorphous, emotional level rather than a shallow, specific, intellectual level. The flexible interpretation of EAPSs allows the writer to connect with the reader even if their specific circumstances differ. Appeal EAPSs intrigue and attract middle grade readers. Sam Subity, a middle grade author and data analyst, found that 38% of all middle grade books released from 2013 to 2024 were fantasy, making it the highest-selling middle grade genre for more than a decade, with contemporary fiction coming in second at 30%. Mary Kole, author of Writing Irresistible Kidlit, agrees, stating, “Fantasy and adventure rule the middle grade shelves” (10). Young readers are drawn to the action, magic, otherworldliness, and wonder that fantasy offers, and EAPSs play a vital role in this attraction. They come in the form of magical creatures, supernatural villains, evil stepmothers, talking animals, and more. A list of the most memorable characters and creatures from the most beloved fantasy stories will include countless EAPSs: Gollum from The Hobbit (Tolkein), the White Witch from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (Lewis), Captain Hook from Peter Pan and Wendy (Barrie), and the Dementors from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Rowling), just to name a few, all of which symbolically represent the inner emotional and psychological struggles of the protagonists. Writers can capitalize on well-conceived EAPSs to captivate the middle grade audience. Conclusion Robb 6 EAPSs are among the most effective tools in a middle grade writer’s toolbox. They provide a direct connection to the inner workings of young readers’ minds by embodying difficult and confusing emotions; they are extremely adaptable, allowing readers from all walks of life to resonate with them even if their specific circumstances differ from those portrayed in the story; and they appeal to middle-grade readers, as evidenced by the continuing popularity of the fantasy genre with its countless memorable EAPSs. As an anthropomorphized symbol of grief, loss, and change, the knackerman from my novel has the potential to leverage all of the qualities listed above. The reader may not have lost a loved one like the protagonist in my novel, but they have likely experienced the complex mix of emotions the knackerman represents. Because the knackerman’s symbolism is adaptable, the reader resonates with the protagonist as she confronts the knackerman. Furthermore, this deep, emotional connection makes the knackerman memorable and meaningful to the reader, and the story more engaging. The child in my novel continues her description of the knackerman, explaining that there is always a buzzing noise when he is nearby. “At first,” she says, “it’s hard to know if you’re really hearing anything at all, then it gets louder and louder, until it’s like a voice hissing right in your ear. Right inside your head, even … It’s the flies. Thousands of them. Millions even. He’s always surrounded by a dark cloud of black flies, and you’ll hear their hungry buzzing just before he grabs you with his meat hook!” If written well, my knackerman will grab the minds of readers with his meat hook, snare their primal emotions, and haunt their memories. Robb 7 Works Cited Babbitt, Natalie. Barking with the Big Dogs. Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers, 2018. Barrie, J. M. Peter Pan and Wendy. Sterling Publishing, 2010. Originally published by Hodder & Stoughton, 1911. Bettelheim, Bruno. The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. Alfred A. Knopf, Inc, 1976. Cech, John. Angels and Wild Things: The Archetypal Poetics of Maurice Sendek. The Pennsylvania State University Press. University Park, Pennsylvania, 1995. Donaldson, Stephen R. “Epic Fantasy in the Modern World.” https://www.stephenrdonaldson.com/EpicFantasy.pdf Farkas, Leechen, et al. "Effectiveness of MASTR EMDR Therapy for Traumatized Adolescents." Journal of Child & Adolescent Trauma, vol. 3, no. 2, 2010, pp. 125-142. Franz, Marie-Louise von. An Introduction to the Interpretation of Fairy Tales. Spring Publications. 1970. Jung, C. G. “Background to the Psychology of Christian Alchemical Symbolism,” The collected works of C. G. Jung (2nd ed., Vol. 9ii, pp. 173-183) Princeton University Press. Kole, Mary. Writing Irresistible Kidlit. Writer’s Digest Books. 2012. Lewis, C. S. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. HarperCollins, 1978. Robb 8 Lubetsky, M. J. "The Magic of Fairy Tales: Psychodynamic and Developmental Perspectives." Child Psychiatry and Human Development, vol. 19, no. 4, 1989, pp. 245. Masri, Andi S., et al. "Therapeutic Fairytales for Holistic Child Development: A Systematic Literature Review of Clinical, Educational, and Family-Based Practices." Journal of Mother and Child, vol. 28, no. 1, 2024, pp. 136-145. Ness, Patrick. A Monster Calls. Candlewick Press, 2011. Rowling, J. K. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Arthur A. Levine Books, 1999. Sendak, Maurice. "Caldecott Medal Acceptance." Caldecott & Co.: Notes on Books and Pictures. New York: di Capua-Farrar, 1988. 145-55. ---.Where the Wild Things Are. Harper Collins Publishers, 1963. Stefanovic, Armin. “‘Yer a Wizard’: How Fantasy Fiction Facilitates Playing with Emotions and Reinforces Magical Thinking,” Dzieciństwo. Literatura i Kultura, vol. 5, no. 2, 2023. https://doi.org/10.32798/dlk.1204 Storr, Will. The Science of Storytelling. Abrams Press, 2020. Subity, Sam. “Middle Grade Book Landscape 2024.” Sam Subity, 11 Nov. 2025, https://www.samsubity.com/mg-landscape-2024/ Tolkien, J. R. R. The Hobbit, Or, There and Back Again. Houghton Mifflin, 1966. Robb 9 The Knackerman Chapter One ​ We find the cave because of the bats. They stream from the black, gaping entrance in a tornado of flapping leathery wings with a sound like wind scattering dry leaves. There are thousands of them spinning upward, slowly gaining altitude, and then flying away in a smoky, writhing ribbon that snakes across the evening sky. My nine-year-old half-sister, Mia, and I stand on a low ridge overlooking the cave. We watch, mesmerized, until the bats start to thin out, the sky darkens, and the first stars begin to show. The skeletons of tall fir and pine trees become shadowy silhouettes that creak and knock. A cool breeze swirls around us, carrying the putrid scent of decay. Mia’s round face scrunches up. “Ew. It stinks. Is that the bats?” “No,” I say, remembering a dead cat I once found, boiling with maggots in the canal behind our old house. “Something must be dead nearby. Something big. Maybe a deer or an elk.” She gasps. “I bet it’s the knackerman.” “The what?” “The knackerman,” she says. “It’s a monster that Max told me about.” Max is our half-brother. He’s fifteen years old, three years older than me, and his primary goal in life is to make everyone around him as miserable as himself. “There’s no such thing as monsters,” I say. “Max was just trying to scare you.” “It’s not a monster exactly. Max said it’s like a man with a meat hook wearing a long leather apron covered in blood.” She delights in stories like this, always has. “None of that is true,” I say with a shiver. Robb 10 “He said the knackerman is forever hungry no matter how much he eats, and he lives in a cave full of bats, and he likes to munch on children for dinner and then a bat or two for dessert.” She shrugs, “And here we are in front of a cave full of bats.” I force a laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t believe anything Max says.” Mia makes her voice low and menacing. “The knackerman likes to pluck the bats right off the roof of the cave like apples from a tree, and bite into their squirming, furry little bodies with a crunch.” She imitates picking an apple and biting into it with a snap of her teeth. Even in the dark, I can see a mischievous twinkle light up her brown eyes. “You’re making this up to try and scare me.” “I’m being serious,” she says. “He comes out of his cave every night after the bats leave and goes in search of children who wander into the woods.” “Oh, really? Children like you?” I tickle her ribs. Mia giggles and hops out of my reach. “No, not like me. I’m too small to be worth his while. He only goes after big kids like you. Besides,” she says with a toss of her thick black hair, “He’d never catch me.” “And why is that?” “Because I know how to tell if he’s coming. I’d have plenty of time to get away.” I huff and put my hands on my hips. “Okay, so explain it to me. How can I tell if he’s coming? You know, just in case I ever run into this imaginary monster.” Mia gives me an impish grin. “First, you smell him.” “Smell him?” I chuckle. “Does he fart a lot like Max?” Mia giggles. “No, this is much worse.” Robb 11 “Worse than Max’s farts?” I say. “Not possible.” I mean this as a joke, but it’s kind of true. Max is famous in our family for having an endless supply of farts that burn your eyes and make rotten eggs smell like roses. One of his favorite pranks is to tackle us to the ground, sit on our heads, and let one rip. He’s a real role model. “It’s worse, I swear,” Mia continues. “The knackerman reeks of rotting dead things so bad you can smell him a mile away.” She sniffs and waves her hand in front of her face. With her round cheeks, big dark eyes, and heart-shaped lips, she looks like a Latina china doll, which only makes it more creepy when she talks like this. “It’s just like this smell. If he gets close, you’ll start choking and probably barf.” I chuckle. “Okay, so if I puke because of some horrible smell, I’ll know that either Max or the knackerman is close. Either way, I’ll run, so that’s good to know. Anything else?” “Yep. You can hear him, too.” “Oh, really? Does he sound like this?” I make a farting noise with my lips and then laugh. Mia’s smile dims, and she grows serious. “No, there’s always a buzzing noise when he’s nearby.” “A buzzing noise? That doesn’t sound very scary.” “It’s kind of faint, but trust me, if you heard it, you’d be scared. At first, it’s hard to know if you’re really hearing anything at all, then it gets louder and louder, until it’s like a voice hissing right in your ear. Right inside your head, even.” “I don’t get it. Why would he make a buzzing noise?” Robb 12 Mia starts creeping toward me with her hands held out in front of her like claws, “It’s the flies. Thousands of them. Millions even. He’s always surrounded by a dark cloud of black flies, and you’ll hear their hungry buzzing just before he grabs you with his meat hook!” She leaps forward and tries to tickle me, but I catch her by the wrists. She struggles for a moment and then gives up, and we laugh together. I pull her into a hug, and she hugs me back. “You are one spooky kid sometimes, you know that?” I say. “Yeah, I know,” Mia says, like I’ve given her a tremendous compliment. “What’s a meat hook anyway?” “I think it’s kind of like what Captain Hook has for his missing hand.” “Oh,” Mia frowns. “I thought it would be scarier than that.” “Did Max really tell you all this?” “Sort of. He told me there was a monster called the knackerman living in a cave around here somewhere, and that he smells like death and is covered in flies, but I made the rest up.” “Well, you don’t have to worry. There’s no way I’d ever let a stinky ol’ knackerman get you.” “I know,” Mia says and squeezes me tighter. “We'd better get back. Grandma will be home from the store by now, and she’s going to kill us for being so late.” “Do we have to?” Robb 13 “Yes, we have to,” I sigh, knowing what we’ll find when we get back to the cabin. If Grandma and Max aren’t fighting, then Max will be looking for new and creative ways to torture us. “What else are we going to do? Sleep out here with the knackerman?” “I’ll bet he loves to cuddle,” Mia laughs. She lets go of me and starts back down the mountainside. I start to follow, but something makes me hesitate. A low, faint hum. I tilt my head one way and then the other, straining my ears. It’s a distant buzzing sound. A swarm of flies. The breeze rises up and wraps its coils around me. The smell of death gets stronger. After a few steps, Mia notices I haven’t moved. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.” Mia grins up at me. “You’re not scared, are you, Wendy?” “Of course not,” I say, but I’m lying. Robb 14 Chapter Two ​ We work our way down the mountain through a grove of dead pine trees. Their bare wooden skeletons loom over us, glowing in the light of a rising full moon, their long shadows stretching across our path. When I asked Grandma why so many of the trees were dead, she said it was because of a plague of pine beetles. Then she frowned, and the deep creases of her face got even deeper before she added, “Now this whole area is a tinderbox just waiting to go up in flames.” Every few steps, I glance over my shoulder at the naked trees, convinced someone or something is following us. The shadows take the shape of a tall, lean man with a hook. I jump when a small animal darts away through the underbrush and catch my breath every time a gust of wind causes the bushes to shudder. When Mia stops, I almost stumble into her back, eyes darting ahead to see what’s wrong. There’s nothing there. Mia scans the horizon, takes a deep breath, and says, “It’s so beautiful.” “What is?” I ask in a whisper, head turning every which way. “The moon. The stars.” Mia gestures with both hands to the entire mountain valley surrounding us. “All of it.” She’s right. It is beautiful. Grandma’s cabin is only a few hundred yards away now, and the warm yellow light from the windows peeks between the trees. It’s the last cabin on a dead-end road, crouching alone on the shore of Taygete Lake. A long, white stripe of shimmering moonlight reflects off the water, and the lights of the town of Limen flicker on the far side. Robb 15 I breathe deep and try to relax. The only sounds are crickets and creaking trees, the only smells, dry pine needles and tangy grass pollen. I shake my head. Mia’s story really got to me. “You’re right but keep moving,” I say. “Grandma’s probably freaking out.” We emerge from the trees and duck through the old jackleg fence into Grandma’s overgrown pasture. Crossing the fence feels like stepping back into the real world. The forest is a place of fun and fantasy where I get to play pretend, have adventures, and be whoever or whatever I want. When I cross back through the fence, I have to be myself again. We pass the crumbling barn with its rusting corrugated metal roof and door like a black, yawning mouth. There’s a half-collapsed lean-to built onto one side, and a log rail corral on the other side. Mom told me the barn used to house a half-dozen horses when she was a kid. Now it’s home to a family of feral cats. Max’s big Bluetooth speaker is blasting heavy metal music inside the cabin. Grandma hates heavy metal, which only makes him play it louder and more often. It’s like he’s trying to punish her for our mom being gone. It’s like he’s trying to punish us all. I pull open the squeaky screen door and hesitate with my hand on the doorknob. Mia and I lock eyes. I try to be a good big sister. I reach out, squeeze her hand, and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be okay,” I say. “When is Mom going to be back?” I start to tell her soon, but then I sigh instead. “I don’t know.” “Is she ever coming back?” Robb 16 “Of course,” I say. “She just has to get better.” Mia looks up at me with her wide brown eyes. She’s trying to see if I’m telling the truth, so I do my best to hold her gaze and keep my smile steady. I think I’m telling the truth. I hope I am. “Well, when is she going to get better?” I don’t even know what our mom has to get better from. I only know that when we were back home living with her, she didn’t get out of bed for days at a time and didn’t leave the house for months. She barely talked, and often didn’t make any sense when she did. I took care of Mia, and Max tried to take care of everything else. It didn’t last. People noticed something was wrong. Eventually, the police showed up. They made Mom go to some kind of hospital, and we moved in with Grandma. I squeeze Mia’s hand again. “I wish I knew,” I say. Then I open the door, and we walk in. Robb 17 Chapter Three The back door leads into the kitchen. A wailing guitar solo explodes from the open doorway leading to the living room and rattles the ornamental plates hanging on the wall. Max is always pushing Grandma’s buttons, but this is a lot even for him. Grandma’s little rat terrier, Sissy, greets us, tail wagging. Her real name is Cecelia, but no one calls her that. She has short white fur with black and gray spots, pointy ears, and big eyes that are cloudy with cataracts. It’s weird that she meets us at the door. She rarely leaves Grandma’s side. Mia scoops Sissy up in her arms and carries her into the living room. The cabin is over one hundred years old, and it shows. Everything looks like it has a long story to tell. There’s a coat rack made from dinged and dented horseshoes next to the door. It’s hung with weathered jackets that make me lonely every time I see them. They belonged to Grandpa, and he died over twenty years ago. There are old china plates with images of chickens and farmhouses on them hung on the wall like artwork. Grandma won’t let us eat off them no matter how many times Mia asks. Cast iron pots and pans, blackened from decades of use, sit on sturdy wooden shelves. The kitchen table in the center of the room is made from deep brown wood as thick as my arm. Its surface is scarred and stained from generations of family eating and working at it. A stack of mismatched dirty dishes sits next to a sink. Today is Max’s day to do the dishes, which explains why they’re still dirty. There’s a box of cereal on the table next to a bowl that must also be his. It’s still half full of milk with a few colorful, soggy O’s floating in it. A gallon jug of milk sits on the counter, getting warm. That’s unusual. Grandma never lets a mess stay for long. Robb 18 I put the milk back in the fridge and rinse the bowl out in the sink. Just as I place the cereal box on its shelf, Mia yells over the music, “Give her back!” “Give who back?” Max taunts. “I’m telling Grandma.” “Oh, no. I’m so scared.” I charge into the living room. Mia stands in front of Max with her hands on her hips. Her face is red, and her eyes are brimming with tears. Max is sprawled on the couch wearing a pair of threadbare, cutoff gray sweats. He’s shirtless, exposing his acne-covered shoulders and his bony white chest with a tiny patch of hair in the middle. His thin lips, surrounded by a peach fuzz goatee, are turned up in a smirk. Max has Grandpa’s old acoustic guitar, strumming it as if he knows how to play. The smell of its rosewood tickles my nose even from across the room. Grandma would kill him if she saw him messing with it. She keeps the guitar in a special case in her room under her bed, and no one is allowed to touch it. I stalk over to Max’s Bluetooth speaker and turn the music down. I start to turn it off, but a slight narrowing of his eyes tells me I’ll regret it if I do. “You better put Grandpa’s guitar back,” I say. Max sneers, “Make me.” ​ We both know I can’t make him do anything. ​ “That’s what I thought,” Max says and goes back to strumming the guitar. That old guitar somehow manages to sound good even in Max’s clumsy hands. ​ “Grandma!” I yell, heading for her bedroom. “Max has Grandpa’s guitar.” She can’t usually get Max to behave any better than I can, but I don’t know what else to do. Robb 19 ​ “She’s not here, ya snitch,” Max says. “She took the boat over to Limen hours ago. Probably ran out of adult diapers or something.” My stomach twists. Grandma is always home before dark. I return to stand in front of Max. “What did you take from Mia?” “He took Ursula!” Mia says, referring to her stuffed bear. It’s filthy, ragged, and leaves a trail of stuffing everywhere she takes it, but she loves it more than anything. ​ “I did not,” Max says with a smirk. ​ “What did you do with it?” I demand. ​ “I didn’t do anything.” His smirk grows. “I can’t help it if Ursula finally grew tired of her pathetic life, living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with her pruney old grandma and decided to end it all.” ​ “What did you do with her?” I repeat. ​ Max laughs like a goat and looks up. There, hanging from the ceiling fan by a shoelace noose, is Ursula. Robb 20 Chapter Four Mia shrieks and begins to cry. The fan is high in the peaked roof of the cabin overhead, too high for me to reach, but there’s a stepladder in the car shed. “Don’t worry, Mia. I’ll get her down,” I say and run out the front door. I jump off the porch and dart across the gravel driveway, glancing down at the lake to see if there are any signs of Grandma. There’s only the empty dock and moonlight reflecting off black water. I switch on the single bare light bulb. Shelves line one wall, and a big workbench runs along the back. Every available surface is cluttered with old tools and car parts covered in a fuzzy layer of dust. I squeeze past Grandma’s rusty old pickup to get to the ladder. She almost never drives the dirt road around the long, narrow lake to get to town. It’s rough and rutted and often blocked by big RVs and campers. It’s just as fast and much more pleasant to paddle across the lake in the rowboat, so the truck collects dust. I push my way through shadows and cobwebs to get the ladder from the far corner. Then I start back to the house, dragging it behind me. A current of wind follows me across the drive, spinning up leaves and dirt, bringing with it the scent of death and decay. I scan the surrounding forest for the shadowy figure of the knackerman. Weak yellow light from the cabin windows crawls across the ground for only a few yards before dying in the thick shadows of the leaning trees. There’s nothing in the blackness. An owl hoots somewhere in the branches overhead. Coyotes yip in the distance. Small rippling waves lap against the lakeshore like windchimes. There’s a low buzz, barely audible. I stop breathing. Robb 21 The front door swings open, and I nearly leap out of my skin. Mia pokes her head out. Her round cheeks are streaked with tears, and her nose is running with snot. “Hurry! Ursula can’t breathe.” She holds the door for me as I haul the ladder in. I set it up beneath the fan and start climbing. The ladder is old and rickety and wobbles as I climb. I go as high as I dare and still can’t reach the shoelace. I swat at Mia’s bear a few times, but I only manage to send it swinging, and a ripping sound rises above the wailing music. Max bleats out a laugh. “It’s like a piñata,” he says. “We should all take turns smacking it.” He flips the guitar around and holds it by the neck like a bat and pretends to take a few practice swings. I scowl at him and climb higher. Now I’m on the second-to-last step with nothing to hang onto. The ladder wobbles even more. I look down and eye Max. ​ “Careful, Wendy,” he says with a wicked grin. He sets the guitar aside and stands up. ​ “What are you doing?” I ask. Max shrugs. “I’m just going to hold the ladder steady for you.” He reaches out and gives it a little shake. “Don’t!” I say. “You’ll make me fall.” ​ Max’s mouth falls open in fake shock. “I wouldn’t do that. We’ve already had one death here tonight. I wouldn’t want you to die, too.” ​ “Ursula’s not dead!” Mia shouts. Robb 22 ​ Max shakes his head and tsks. “I don’t know, baby sis. She’s been up there a while now. She’s probably long dead. The flies will be at her soon, and the knackerman won’t be far behind.” “She’s not dead.” Mia runs at him and tries to punch him in the stomach. He easily deflects her fist and laughs. “She’s not dead. She’s not dead,” he says in a high mocking tone, causing Mia to start windmilling her arms at him. This only makes him laugh more. “Someone needs to teach you to throw a proper punch.” I take advantage of his distraction to work on getting Ursula down. The shoelace is tied around one of the blades of the fan, and the knot is so tight I’m not sure I can loosen it. Below me, Mia cries and Max laughs. I ignore them and try to focus on the knot. I’m just starting to get it loose when their bickering stops. I look down. Mia is facedown on the couch, crying into a pillow. Sissy is cowering in the corner behind the big potbelly stove. I don’t see Max. “Yoo-hoo, Wendy? Over here.” Max leans against the wall next to the front door. His hand is on the switch for the fan. “Max, no!” He flips the switch. I duck as the fan starts spinning. Mia’s bear swings around and around at the end of the shoelace faster and faster. The already damaged stitching in the neck begins to tear. Stuffing flies out and snows down on us. Max is laughing, Mia is wailing, the speaker is spewing heavy metal music, and I’m trying not to get smacked in the head as I descend the wobbly ladder. When the fan hits full speed, the bear’s head tears off, and the body Robb 23 soars across the room into the wall. It hits a framed family portrait and knocks it from its nail. The portrait plummets to the ground, the frame cracks, and the glass shatters. “Ursula!” Mia yells. She scoops up her bear's head from beneath the fan and then scampers to where its body lies among the broken glass. Tears stream down her face. “Grandma is going to kill you when she gets back,” I say to Max. “Ohhhh, I’m so scared,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “What’s she going to do? Ground me? There’s nowhere to go anyway. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of freaking nowhere.” He flops back down on the couch and picks up the guitar. He acts like he doesn’t care, but his lips are pressed tight together the way they do when he’s nervous or stressed, so I know he’s worried. I glare at him as he strums the guitar. He’s always been a bully, but it’s getting worse. “Um, Wendy?” Mia says. She’s no longer crying. “What?” “I’m bleeding.” Robb 24 Chapter Five Mia holds her left hand up in front of her face, staring at it with wide, astonished eyes. I gasp. Blood is oozing from a cut on her palm, running down her arm in a bright red stream, and dripping onto the floor. “What happened?” “I don’t know,” she says, but it’s not hard to figure out. It had to be the glass from the picture frame. She cut herself when she picked up the body of her bear. “Come in the kitchen, quick.” I lead her into the kitchen, take the two now bloody halves of her bear out of her arms, and put them on the counter. Then I take her hand and hold it under the faucet, so I can run water over the cut. It’s pretty deep, but I don’t think it will need stitches. It’s more of a puncture than a slice. I wash all the blood off her arm and then wrap the cut in a clean dish towel. The entire time, she never cries, only stares at the cut with her mouth hanging open. Typical Mia. She bawls like crazy over a stuffed animal, but doesn’t shed a single tear when she’s gushing blood. I place her uninjured hand on the towel over her cut. “Hold that there while I find a bandage.” I head for the bathroom and nearly run into Max in the kitchen doorway. “What do you want?” I growl. He nods at Mia. “Is she okay?” His voice is soft like he’s concerned. “She’s fine,” I snap. “No thanks to you.” His face twists up with a series of emotions. First, he seems hurt, then sad, then angry. “I can’t help it if she’s stupid enough to grab a piece of broken glass.” Robb 25 “She’s not stupid.” I raise my voice, but I’m not quite yelling. There’s a line I know I can’t cross with Max. “She was trying to save her bear.” “It’s a stuffed animal. She’s too old to be carrying it around like a baby all the time.” I shoot Max the most withering look I can manage and then return to Mia. I put my arm around her shoulders and say, “Come on, let’s go to our room.” I shoulder past Max and guide Mia to the bathroom where Grandma keeps a small first aid kit. I finish bandaging up her hand, and then we head to the bedroom we share. It used to be my Mom’s room when she was a teenager, but there’s nothing really left of her in it except a place next to my bed where someone carved into the wood paneling N. T. + E. A. and later x-ed it out. N. T. Naomi Todd. My mom had loved someone, and it hadn’t worked out. That sounded about right. I tuck Mia into bed. She closes her eyes and then mumbles something into the blanket. “What was that?” I ask. “Ursula’s dead.” “What? No. She’ll be fine. We just have to, um, give her some stitches. I’m sure Grandma will fix her right up.” I have no idea if the bear can be fixed. It seems unlikely. Repairing all the damage that was done might make the bear look like Frankenstein’s monster. “No,” Mia says, sleepiness slurring her words. “She’s dead.” In only a few minutes, she’s snoring. I tiptoe over to the window. The empty dock stretches out into the Robb 26 dark water. No boat. No sign of Grandma. The red glow of the alarm clock reads 10:57 P.M. Where is she? There’s a scratch at the door. I walk over and open it. Sissy enters, little claws clicking on the hardwood floor, looking lost and worried. Normally, she’d be curled up in bed along with Grandma by this time of night. She follows me over to the window. Together, we stare out at the lake and wait. At 11:23, Max turns off his music. He shuffles around the house for a few minutes before his bedroom door clicks shut. Crickets chirp outside. The house creaks. A mouse skitters through the heater vent, its claws scraping along the sheet metal. A moment later, I hear a trap snap shut, a short high squeak, and then silence. Still no grandma. I once saw a show about a submarine that lost power and plummeted to the bottom of the ocean. It sank down to where even the sunlight can’t reach, into perpetual darkness, down to where the pressure got so high it collapsed in on itself. The submarine imploded. That was the word they used, and that’s how this feels. Like my heart is sinking deeper and deeper into dark, crushing depths. “I want Mom,” I whisper. Then my heart implodes, and I cry. I collapse onto my side, curl up, and sob, grateful that Mia’s asleep, so I don’t worry her. Sissy lies down next to me and makes soft whining noises. It’s after midnight by the time I stop crying and sit up. I’m exhausted, and I don’t feel any better. The dock looks like a long, bony finger pointing out into the lake. I pick up Sissy, stumble over to my bed, and crawl in with my clothes still on. Sissy burrows under the quilt and curls up next to my stomach. Mia’s soft, rhythmic snoring lulls me to sleep. Robb 27 Chapter Six ​ The front door slams shut. Grandma’s home! I toss aside my blanket, leap from the bed, and run to the living room. Mia stands by the front door, pulling off her jacket, and smiling to herself. Her long black hair is a tangled mess littered with leaves and twigs. Sissy is next to her, sniffing at her shoes as if not quite sure she likes what she’s smelling. Morning sun streams through the windows, painting long bright slashes of light across the hardwood floor. “Hey, sleepy head,” Mia says. “While you’ve been snoozing, I’ve been making new friends.” She scrunches up her nose. “Did you sleep in your clothes?” “Where’s Grandma?” “How come you get to sleep in your clothes, and I don’t?” “Where’s Grandma?” “Jeeze, calm down. I haven’t seen her. Maybe she’s still in bed.” Grandma has never once overslept. I step to the front window. Gashes of blue sky bleed between the deep green of the trees surrounding the house. Several crows perch in their boughs, grooming feathers the color of oily parking lot puddles. One of them cocks its head toward me and lets out a loud croak. Its black eye sparks in the light. Dew glitters in the tall grass next to the lake, and thin mist hovers low over the dark water. A fish jumps, sending ripples across the otherwise smooth surface. The boat is not at the dock. I run to Grandma’s bedroom. The bed is made, her faded patchwork quilt is folded at the foot, and her slippers rest next to the nightstand. It’s how she left it yesterday. She never came home. I choke back a sob. Robb 28 Mia pokes her head in and asks, “What’s going on?” I clear my throat and wipe my eyes. “Oh, nothing. I just wanted to talk to Grandma, but it looks like she’s, uh, gone to town again.” “Again? She was just there last night.” “She must’ve forgotten something.” I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to upset her. “How’s your cut?” Mia frowns down at her hand. The clean bandage I put on last night is smeared with dirt and stained with green and blue splotches. There’s a small, rusty-brown spot at the center where the blood soaked through and dried. She opens and closes her hand a few times. Then she shrugs and says, “It’s fine. Still hurts a little, but not bad.” “We'd better change that bandage,” I say. I lead her to the bathroom and remove the filthy tape and gauze. The little puncture in her palm isn’t red or swollen, so I think it’s healing okay. I wash off her hand and replace it with an oversized bandaid shaped like a butterfly. Once I’m finished, I pick the leaves out of her hair and ask, “Have you had breakfast?” “No. Well, yes. Sort of. Like I said, I made a new friend. He showed me all kinds of yummy plants that grow around here. We hiked around the forest eating stuff like berries and mushrooms.” I freeze. “You ate berries and mushrooms? Like, wild ones out in the woods?” “Yeah, it was really—” “You can’t do that!” I shout. “They could be poisonous.” I press the back of my hand to her forehead. It’s not like I have any idea of what eating poisonous plants would Robb 29 do to her. Probably not give her a fever, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction, and I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. Mia smacks my hand away. “They weren’t poisonous. My friend eats them all the time. I think he might actually live in the woods.” I clutch the sides of my head. If she were poisoned, how long would it take for something to happen? Do I need to get her to a hospital? If so, how? Grandma has the boat. Can Max drive? Do I call 911? I run to Max's room and throw open the door. I’m hit with a pungent cocktail of aromas: acrid dirty socks, morning breath, sour milk, and more. He’s sprawled facedown and spread-eagled, taking up the entire bed. His breaths are loud and slow. His blanket hangs half on the floor. “Max! Wake up!” He lifts his head just enough to look at me with one bleary eye. “Get out of my room or, so help me, I will kill you.” “I can’t. Mia ate something poisonous, and Grandma’s still not here, and I don’t know what to do.” Mia stomps her foot behind me. “I didn’t eat anything poisonous.” Max’s eye narrows, and then he sits up. “She did what?” “She ate a bunch of berries and mushrooms out in the woods.” He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his mop of curly brown hair. “How do you know they were poisonous?” “They weren’t,” Mia interrupts. Robb 30 “I don’t know for sure,” I say. “That’s the problem. What do we do? Should I call 911?” “What did Grandma say?” “I told you. Grandma’s still not here. She never came back last night.” His brow furrows. “Never came back?” Mia grabs me by the arm and yanks me around to face her. Her eyebrows are pinched, and her lower lip is pushed out. “You told me she left again, not that she never came back.” “I… I’m sorry. I just said she left again because I didn’t want to worry you. Maybe she did. She might’ve come home and left again, but it doesn’t look like it.” I turn back to Max. “It doesn’t matter if Grandma came back or not. She’s not here now, and Mia could be dying.” “I’m not dying,” Mia says with another stomp of her foot. “I’m fine. And you shouldn’t lie to me.” Max squints at Mia. “Are you dizzy or anything?” “No,” Mia says. “Do you feel like you might throw up?” “I’m fine. Wendy’s being a freak.” Max nods and then flops back onto his bed. He pulls the pillow over his head and says, “I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up if she starts puking.” “But… But… What if it’s too late?” “Quit being a drama queen. She’s fine. Now get out of my room.” “What about Grandma?” Robb 31 “What about her?” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Max, she didn’t come home last night.” “So.” I pick my way through a minefield of limp socks, stained underwear, and scruffy shoes strewn across the floor and kneel next to the bed. A glass with an inch of congealed yellowish milk at the bottom sits on the nightstand. I huff like a horse to clear the smell from my nose and then whisper to Max, “What if she got sick of us and left?” “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Max grumbles. “Now get out.” I stand up and wobble for a moment before I regain my balance. My chest is tight, and my breath comes in short, ragged gasps. Mia could be dying, Grandma is gone, and Max just goes back to sleep? I stumble out, make my way to the living room window, and stand before it with my eyes closed. If I never open them, there’s a chance Grandma might be pulling up to the dock in her stupid little boat. I open my eyes. No boat. No Grandma. I force myself to take long, slow breaths until my heart slows down. Mia’s swift, light footsteps cross the room and come up behind me. “Wendy?” “What?” “Are you okay?” I turn to face her. Besides her unbrushed hair and dirty face, she looks fine. “You really aren’t sick or dizzy or anything?” “No. I feel good. Honestly.” “You’re sure?” Robb 32 “Yes.” “Okay.” I pull her into a hug, and she hugs me back, so I know I’ve been forgiven for lying to her. We need to find Grandma. There’s no sign that she packed a suitcase. She didn’t take Sissy, Grandpa’s guitar, or the truck, so she wasn’t planning to be gone for long. Maybe she didn’t abandon us after all. Did something happen while she was in town? Like, did she get hit by a car or have a stroke? If that were the case, wouldn’t someone have notified us by now? The only explanation is that something happened during the boat ride. The boat could have sprung a leak or capsized. Or Grandma may have lost the oars or gotten turned around in the dark. Except, if any of that had happened, she would have found help or made it back on her own. Unless she was hurt. Unless she was… No. That wasn’t possible. I feel as if I’ve swallowed a snake. If Grandma ended up on the north end of the lake, someone would have found her. The road goes around that end, and the whole area is dotted with cabins and campgrounds. But hardly anyone ever goes to the southern half. It’s only accessible by a seldom-used hiking trail. I know we need to go look for Grandma in case she’s hurt and alone, but I don’t want to upset Mia. I force myself to smile. “Do you want to play a game?” I ask, already knowing what she will say. Mia’s eyes light up. “Animals!” Robb 33 Chapter Seven Ever since we moved in with Grandma, Animals has been Mia’s favorite game. It’s very simple. We each pick an animal we want to be and then run around in the woods pretending to be that animal. I’m too old to play pretend, and I always complain that it’s a game for little kids, but, in truth, I like it as much as she does. Maybe more. We play it so often that it’s begun to feel as if we take off our human skins each morning and hang them on the coat rack next to Grandpa’s old jackets. Then we dart out the back door and into the forest where we become animals. We only grudgingly put our human skin back on again when we return in the evening. I put on my shoes and follow Mia outside. “I’m going to be a bear,” I say and spread my arms out wide, hook my hands like claws, and growl. Mia squeals in delight and darts away from me. “I’m a chipmunk,” she says in a high-pitched voice. “At first, you want to eat me, but then we become friends.” I let out another growl. “I’m sooooo hungry!” I say in the deepest voice I can manage. “I’ve been hibernating all winter, and I really want a nice, juicy rabbit to eat.” I lumber toward Mia in the way I imagine bears to move. Mia squeaks like a mouse and scurries away. “But I’m just little. You don’t want to eat me.” “You’ll make the perfect appetizer until I can find a big, fat rabbit,” I say. Mia stops pretending to be a chipmunk and frowns. “What’s an abedizer?” “Appetizer,” I correct. “It’s like a little thing you eat before your real meal.” “Oh. Like eating french fries before your hamburger?” “Yeah, kind of. Only usually it’s something fancier like corn chips or shrimp.” Robb 34 “Ew. Shrimp are gross. They look like bugs.” I shrug. “I like shrimp.” Then I narrow my eyes and bare my teeth. “But I like chipmunks even more, and you’d better run because I’m getting hungry.” As we play, I lead Mia south along the shore of the lake, looking for Grandma all the while. We switch between different types of animals depending on Mia’s whims. We pretend to be birds, deer, mice, tigers, and everything in between. Sometimes I get so lost in our play that it’s like waking up from a dream when I realize I’m not a black wolf with yellow eyes following the scent of an elk, or a falcon diving like an arrow through the air at an unsuspecting sparrow. Around noon, we end up resting in the shade of a big pine tree near where the Taygete River empties out of the lake. I sit with my back to the trunk, and Mia rests her head on my lap. Her eyes are starting to look heavy. She stinks of little kid sweat, which isn’t as bad as Max’s teenager BO, but it’s still unpleasant. “I think I want to be a fox now,” she mumbles. “You’re too sleepy to be a fox.” “Am not,” she says with her eyes closed. I pick burrs off her shirt and let her fall asleep. As her breathing slows, a cloud passes in front of the sun. Trees begin to wave, gusts of wind weave through the thick grass growing along the shore, hissing like snakes, and shapes flit between the shadows of bushes and branches. It’s as if the whole forest is growing restless. Flies keep landing on Mia, and I swish them away with a shudder. A low, hollow knocking sound rises above the whispering of the trees. It’s coming from the direction of the river. I crane my neck to peer through a gap in the brush. There, Robb 35 stuck on the rocks in the middle of the river, is a small, white rowboat. Grandma’s rowboat. Robb 36 Chapter Eight I ease out from beneath Mia but end up waking her. She sits up bleary-eyed and asks, “Are we going back now?” “No, not yet. Stay here. I just want to check on something.” I jog to the edge of the river. The water is slow and shallow as it slides over smooth, mossy rocks. The boat is lodged in the middle, sitting high in the water, empty. The oars hang limp in the oarlocks. One of them knocks against the side of the boat like the steady beat of a drum. There’s no sign of Grandma anywhere. “Grandma!” I shout. “Grandma Bernauer!” Nothing. Just the babbling river, birds chirping, and a few chipmunks chattering in a nearby tree. Mia runs up behind me. “Is Grandma in the boat?” “I don’t think so.” “Then what’s going on? Why’s the boat out there?” Her voice turns high and tight. “Where’s Grandma?” I shake my head and start yelling again. Mia joins me. Still no answer. I wade out into the water, slipping and stumbling as I go until I reach the boat. It’s empty except for two white plastic bags full of groceries and a gallon of milk on the floor in an inch of dirty lake water. They are crawling with blowflies. “Is she in there?” Mia calls from the shore. “No,” I say and start hauling the boat back to where she’s waiting. The movement stirs up the flies, and they form a cloud over my head, some of them bouncing off my face and arms. “Where could she have gone?” Mia asks. Robb 37 “I don’t know,” I say. “There’s nothing out here.” Grandma would never leave the boat without pulling it up onto the shore or tying it off with a rope to prevent it from floating away, but it looks like she did just that. Or maybe she fell out and… I shake my head hard. I can’t go there. I finish wading the last few feet to the shore, tie the boat to a bush, and climb up out of the cold water. Growing desperate, I scream Grandma’s first name so loud it sears my throat. “Elain!” Nothing. “Do you think…” Mia’s voice trails off, and her chin trembles. “No! Of course not. The boat probably got away from her when she was at the dock in town. It… It must have drifted all this way.” “You're lying! I can tell!” “I'm not lying!” I snap. Mia flinches. I take a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. Look, I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do. Maybe that’s what happened, or maybe Grandma stopped to pick raspberries or talk to hikers on her way back to the house, or any number of things.” “That makes no sense.” “The point is,” I continue, trying hard to sound calm and confident. “We don’t know anything for sure. Let’s just get in the boat and row back. We’ll stay close to the shore and watch for her as we go. We’ll find her. You’ll see.” I untie the boat, hold it steady with one hand, and reach out with the other to help Mia get in. She folds her arms, plants her feet, and stares at me. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not a baby.” Robb 38 “I’m not lying,” I say, but my voice cracks again. Mia stares. “I’m not, I swear.” I swallow hard and steady my voice. “There’s no reason for us to assume the worst.” Mia remains still for several silent seconds. Then she makes a loud huff and climbs in without taking my hand. I keep the boat close to the shore and row. Every few seconds, we call out for Grandma, but we’re answered only by scolding squirrels. We float past an osprey perched in the branches of a dead pine with needles the color of rust, a badger lumbering along the shore with something limp and furry in its mouth, and the round, bloated body of a dead beaver bobbing in the water. But no Grandma. My arms begin to ache, and my voice turns hoarse. Mia gives up yelling and sits straight and stiff with both hands gripping the edge of the boat. Her knuckles are white. She no longer watches the shore. Her eyes scan the water instead. I row us into the shadow of a band of limestone cliffs that drop straight into the water. They are the color and texture of an elephant’s skin and split by long vertical cracks that give them the appearance of fifty-foot-tall books lined up on a shelf. There’s a dark alcove at the base where the water bubbles and swirls, hinting at an underwater spring. My mom once told me that she and her friends used to jump from these cliffs when they were teens. “It felt almost like I could fly,” she said with a nostalgic smile. “Like if I could just leap far enough and from high enough, I’d float off into the sky, into outer space even.” When I asked if I could do it, she turned serious and grabbed my arm so hard it hurt. “No!” she said. “Don’t go anywhere near them. They’re not safe.” Robb 39 Free from the shadow of the cliffs, I row the rest of the way home in silence. Robb 40 Chapter Nine Max’s heavy metal music claws its way out of the cabin and across the water to us before the house comes into view. When we bump up against the dock, Mia jumps out and ties up the boat. I hand her the grocery bags and then climb out after with the jug of milk. The milk is hot from sitting in the sun all day. The crows are still perched in the trees in front of the house. As I follow Mia along the dock and up to the cabin, one caws long and mocking. I flinch when Mia swings the front door open, and I get hit with the full force of Max’s music. He’s on the couch with Grandpa’s guitar again and still wearing his cut off sweats. He notices the bags of groceries and the milk jug, then cranes his neck to look past me out the front door. “Did Grandma finally come back?” “Grandma’s dead!” I blurt and slap my hand over my mouth. “What?” He turns his music off. “What are you talking about?” I start to cry and can’t manage to make any words. Mia takes over for me. “We found her boat at the end of the lake. It was floating there with nothing in it except these.” She gestures to the still dripping grocery bags and then sets them on the coffee table. “What do you mean? Did you see her—” Max swallows hard and then finishes “—her body?” Mia shakes her head. “No, just the empty boat.” “Then how do you know she’s dead?” Robb 41 I manage to stop crying enough to respond. “The boat was stuck in the rocks where the river comes out of the lake. There’s nothing out there. No houses or roads or anything.” “But that doesn’t mean she’s dead.” “The boat wasn’t tied to anything, and it had the groceries in it. Grandma would never leave it like that.” “Maybe she was trying to get into it and got distracted or something, and it drifted away.” He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than us. “Then why isn’t she here?” I ask, and I can hear the hysteria in my shrill voice. “If that really happened, it would have been yesterday afternoon. She would have borrowed another boat or gotten a ride from someone. She would be home by now.” Max sits in stunned silence for several long seconds. When he speaks, it is low and slow as if he can’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. “You… You think she fell out of the boat and… drowned?” I nod. “Whoa. Grandma’s dead,” he says, and the color drains from his face. I nod again and start crying harder. I guess on some level, I hoped that Max would have another explanation for why Grandma was gone. One that didn’t involve her being dead. But he doesn’t have one. The truth is undeniable. Mia starts crying, too, and I pull her into a hug. “What are we going to do?” she asks. I sniff and wipe my cheeks, trying hard to get control of myself. “We’ll need to call the police and then…” I don’t know how to finish. Robb 42 “And then what?” Mia asks through her tears. “And then I don’t know what,” I say. I let go of her and walk to the kitchen where the phone hangs on the wall. Since there’s no cell service, Grandma has an actual home phone with a cord and everything. It is the only one I’ve ever seen in real life. It feels weird to use it. Like I’m in an old TV show or movie. I pick it up and listen to the dial tone. I reach up my finger to dial and then stop. I poke my head through the door into the living room and ask Max, “Do I just dial nine-one-one, or is there some other number I should use?” He doesn’t answer. His mouth is hanging open, and he’s staring at the wall. “Max?” He still doesn’t answer. “I’ll just dial 911, I guess.” I hit the nine and the one and then Max shouts, “Wait!” I freeze with my finger floating over the one. “Hang up. Don’t call anyone yet. Let’s think about this.” “Think about what? There’s nothing else to think about.” “Just hang up.” “Max, we need—” “I said hang up!” he yells so loud I jump. “Okay,” I say and hang up the phone. I walk back into the living room. “What else can we do?” Max takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “What if… What if we don’t call the police?” Robb 43 “Of course we do,” I say. “Grandma’s dead.” “We don’t know that for sure.” “Yes, we do.” “Did you see a body?” “No, but—” “Then we don’t know for sure that she’s dead.” “But what else could it be?” “She could have just left us like we thought before or… I don’t know what, but either way, there’s no reason to call the police.”​ ​ “Why not?” “Because they’ll ruin everything like they always do!” he shouts, throwing his arms in the air. “They’ll haul us off to who knows where. They’ll put us in foster care and maybe separate us. That’s what would have happened if Grandma hadn’t taken us in. Is that what you want?” “What about one of our dads?” Max gives me a disgusted look. “Since when have our dads wanted to have anything to do with us?” He wasn’t wrong. I’d never met my dad, and Mom said that was for the best, although I’m not sure why. Max’s dad used to come around sometimes. He was loud and fun, but also kind of scary, and he always dressed in black. Then he got sent to jail, and we hadn’t heard from him since. As far as Mia’s dad went, no one seemed to even know who he was. So that just left foster care. Would they really separate us? There’s no way I’d ever let anyone separate me from Mia. “So who do we call?” Robb 44 Max stares at the wall where the family picture used to hang. Then he nods like he’s come to a decision and says, “No one.” “No one?” “No one. We stay here as long as we can.” He stands up, and a smile spreads across his face, but it’s not a happy one. “We enjoy it. We party.” He starts pacing in a way that reminds me of a caged wolf I once saw on a school field trip to the zoo. “It might take months before anyone figures out we’re here.” He shakes his head, and his eyes are shining. “Can you imagine? It’ll be great. No adults telling us what to do or when to do it. It’ll be like when Mom wouldn’t leave her room. We were able to take care of ourselves then, and we can do it now. Who knows? Maybe by the time anyone notices anything, Mom will be out of the hospital, and we can go back home with her.” “But… but Grandma’s dead.” “You don’t know that,” Max growls. He stops pacing, runs his hands over his face, and speaks with what sounds like forced control. “Wendy, think about it. If she’s dead, she’s dead. Calling the police won’t bring her back. All it will do is make it so we have to go live with some complete strangers. And if Grandma is alive and she abandoned us, the police will go after her. It’s illegal to just up and leave three kids on their own. They’ll probably arrest her. Either way, calling the police will only lead to bad things. So why call them?” “What about food?” There were a lot of hungry days back when Mom just stayed in bed. I didn’t want Mia to have to go through that again. I didn’t want to go through that again. Robb 45 Max shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. There’s probably some money stashed around here somewhere. We can go shopping for ourselves. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them Grandma’s sick, so she sent us. Or if we have to, there are other ways to get food.” “Like what?” “Half the cabins around here are vacation homes. No one lives in them most of the time. They’re probably stocked full of food. No one will notice if we borrow a little here and there.” “You’re going to steal it?” I’d stolen food before. Just a little candy from the corner market or a roll off another kid's tray in the school cafeteria, but this sounded more serious. “Only if it comes to that.” The more I consider it, the more I start to agree with Max. There really is nothing we can do to change whatever has happened to Grandma, so why call? “What do you think, Mia?” “I don’t want to go to foster care,” she says. I nod. I don’t want to take any chance of being separated from Mia. And there’s a part of me that likes the idea of being on our own with no adults around. I feel guilty for even thinking it, but it sounds kind of exciting. “Okay. But only for now. If we start to run out of food, or if Mia gets scared—” “I won’t get scared,” Mia says as if I’ve insulted her. “Fine, if I get scared, then we call the police, okay?” “Okay,” Max and Mia both agree. Robb 46 Chapter Ten ​ Mia and I have a can of beef ravioli for lunch. It hisses and pops as it cooks in the microwave, spattering the inside with a gory red mess. I remember too late that Grandma always covered the bowl with a paper towel. The sauce stains Mia’s face red all around her mouth. Between her tangled hair and dirty face, she’s starting to look like a creepy Halloween clown. I use this as leverage to convince her to take a bath. Mia complains that I make the water too cold and then too hot, but she finally climbs in after I use dish soap to make bubbles. I sit on the squeaky living room couch and stare out the window. Mia’s soft splashing comes from the bathroom, and the chirping of birds and chattering of squirrels from the open window. A soft breeze hisses through the trees outside, making the curtains roll and wave. It brings with it the scent of pine, and I breathe deep, enjoying the smell until I catch something dead mixed in. I get up, shut the window, and stare out at the lake. Is it a terrible choice not to tell anyone? Maybe I should call the police after all. I groan and flop back down onto the couch. Sissy walks up, her little claws clacking along the hardwood floor, and sniffs at my feet. I pick her up, put her in my lap, and start scratching under her chin like Grandma would have done if she were here. Her teeth are starting to rot, and her breath stinks, but I keep scratching anyway. I feel another bout of crying coming on and clench my jaw shut to fight it off. I need to think, not cry. No matter which way my tangled up thoughts go, I keep coming back to the same conclusion: No matter what happened to Grandma, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck here alone. Our fathers aren’t a realistic option. Even if one of them agreed to take us in, would I want them to? Foster care is a gamble. I’m not sure if they’d really split us Robb 47 up like Max says they will. Some kids I knew in my old school gave me the impression that they keep siblings together, but since we are all only half-siblings, would that still count? And there’s no telling how long it will take Mom to get out of the hospital. It might be weeks or months, or maybe she will never get out. I almost start to cry again, so I set Sissy down, get up from the couch, and go into the kitchen to take stock of our food situation. I rummage through the refrigerator and all the cupboards. A lot of it is stuff like flour, baking powder, and spices I’ve never heard of. It looks more like ingredients for things I have no idea how to make, but there are also things like mac and cheese, Top Ramen, and canned chili. My guess is that we only have enough food to last a week. If we’re careful, two. Depending on how much money we can find, we might last longer. If we take food from the neighboring cabins, we might last the rest of the summer. Do we just gamble that Mom will get better before someone comes looking for us? I know that one way or another, we’ll eventually get caught. What I’m not sure about is how much trouble we’ll be in when we do. Is it illegal not to tell someone our Grandma is missing? Will they send us to whatever version of jail it is they send kids to? Juvenile detention or something? Or will they simply send us home with Mom when she gets out?​ ​ Max comes into the kitchen fully dressed in ripped up black jeans and a too tight Iron Maiden t-shirt. He’s whistling and twirling the keys to Grandma’s truck around his finger. I can’t think of any good reason why he’d need the keys. He opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can of Coke. “What are you doing?” I ask. Robb 48 He kicks the refrigerator door shut and then opens the can. “Getting a Coke, what’s it look like?” I roll my eyes. “I mean, what are you doing with those keys?” He takes a long swig, burps, and then blows it in my face. I turn my head and hold my breath, but I still end up smelling a steamy mix of teriyaki beef jerky and unbrushed teeth. “Heading into town,” he says like it's no big deal as he walks into the living room. I follow him. “You’re going to drive?” “No, I’m going to fly,” he sneers. “Of course, I’m going to drive.” “You don’t know how.” “I do so. I’ve driven lots of times.” ​ “When?” ​ “None of your business.” I’m not sure if he is lying or not. “But you don’t have a license. What if the police see you?” Max huffs and opens the door. “It’ll be fine. I’m just heading over to Orson’s. His place is at the edge of town. No one will see me or even care if they do.” Orson is Max’s only so-called friend. He’s sixteen, a year older than Max, but he’s shorter and stockier. He also has the hairiest arms I’ve ever seen on a teenager. The first time he came over, we were outside sitting around the fire pit roasting marshmallows while Grandma was inside washing the dinner dishes. Orson started lighting his marshmallows on fire and then using his stick to fling the burning blobs of molten sugar at Mia and me. We managed to dodge them and run away, but, after that, Mia and I learned to make ourselves scarce when he came over. Robb 49 “Okay, but don’t bring Orson back here,” I say as Max heads out the door. “He’s mean.” I go to the window and watch him make his way to the car shed. Halfway there, he stops and stares at the dock and the empty rowboat. His lips go tight and thin, and the muscles in his jaw pulse beneath the skin. In one swift, violent movement, he scoops up a rock from the gravel drive and flings it at the boat with an animal-like growl. It pings off the side and plops into the dark water. A moment later, the truck’s engine roars and gravel crunches under its tires as Max pulls out of the car shed and onto the driveway. Then he disappears down the dirt road heading toward town.