Morgan and Twanatwain

 I heard my dad snoring in the next room. That’s how I knew it was time. I quietly opened the window and cringed at the loud creak. I leapt down onto the soft, moist grass. I slung my knapsack over my shoulder and pulled my black hood over my face.

Time to rescue my stepbrother. I was careful to make sure none of my neighbors saw me at this hour. They would instantly call Dad or Patricia, and I’d never find Patrick. I knew it was risky, visiting Twanatwain again, but Patrick couldn’t wait.

 When I approached the woods, I stopped and contemplated whether I should take this quest, or escape home, into my warm bed……. nope. This was for my best friend. No way was I leaving him stranded. I took a long, deep breath. Then I stepped into the wood.

 The portal was in the very heart of the wood, so I had to walk for a little while. That was fine by me, though. I needed to think about a lot of stressful things. Twanatwain wasn’t the friendliest of parallel universes. The people were positively despicable. And there were witches. Trolls. Any petrifying creature you can imagine. Magic existed.

While magic was amazing, it could be dangerous.

I started thinking about all of the things that could be happening to Patrick right now.

Which is why I broke into a run and ran headfirst into the portal. Accidently. “NOOOOO!!” I would wind up somewhere completely random in Twanatwain. Twanatwain was HUGE! I’d never find Patrick in time.

I closed my eyes tightly and prayed.

I don’t pray a lot.

Unless I have a really good reason to.

I suddenly landed on some soft grass. I opened my eyes gingerly. The pink sky seemed to be getting farther away. I was… sinking. I looked around and saw billions of fingers pulling me down into the abyss. They pulled my hair and poked my ribs. I fought them off with effort, and when I stood up, I was exhausted.  It took everything I had not to scream. If I did, I would definitely attract unwanted attention.

 I ran through the fingers and didn’t stop until my asthma kicked in and I fell to the ground, wheezing. I looked around and found myself in a foul-smelling wasteland. Everywhere for miles I saw fingers. Popping up out of the ground as if they were flowers.

I grabbed my map out of my knapsack. I was currently in the Barren Finger Kingdom, Twanatwain. The map told me, “Ooooh, honey, you are in big trouble! The king will kill you if he finds out that-” I folded the map and shoved it into my knapsack.

For a second, I forgot I was standing on grabby fingers. I jumped up and trudged in the way of what I thought was the direction of the Twanatwain town square.

It wasn’t.

WHEN I arrived in the next kingdom, I knew it wasn’t the town square. It was a kingdom called Witchy Pass. I walked quietly on the cobblestone road. It was oddly unsettling in the town. The pink sky was fading to black, which meant I had about five hours to find Patrick before he was turned into a troll. The rule goes, if human beings spend over a week in Twanatwain, they were transformed into either a troll or a witch based on their gender.

      I’ll get there in time, I told myself.

      I suddenly came to a tall wall.

      “What are you doing here, Morgan?” I whipped around.

      There she was.

      My old best friend.

      “What do you want, Chelsea?”

      “I know what you want.”

      “What?”

      “Patrick.”

      “Where is he?”

      Chelsea’s decaying yellow teeth stretched into a wide, sickening smile.

      “I said, where is he?” I growled.

      Her hideous smile grew.

      “WHERE IS HE??!!”

      I ran towards her, anger seething through my veins.

      She poofed into a cloud of smoke and disappeared.

      I fell onto my knees.

      “PATRICK!!!!!”

Your only chance to rescue him, I thought. And now she could’ve taken him anywhere in Twanatwain. I kicked old rocks on my way out of Witchy Pass. “Kid,” a scratchy voice whispered. I turned to find an old hag staring at me.

      I put up my fists.

      “I don’t want any trouble.” I warned.

      She cackled.

      “I can help you find the thing you desire most, if you’ll help me find a ghost.” Rhyming. Lovely. “Follow me.” I had a bad feeling about the old hag, but I was desperate. “Alright.” “Yippee!” The old woman did a jig. “Yippee!! Now, follow me.” After walking for what seemed like hours, I finally got the courage to ask her, “Um, so, are we almost there?” “My, dear, I cannot hear. Unless you rhyme. Now’s the time!!” I rolled my eyes. “Are we almost there? I’m having quite the scare.” Which was true; I was scared. For Patrick.

      “You lie. You worry your stepbrother might die.” I nodded. It wasn’t exact, but it was close enough. “I cannot see,” she continued, “but you are easy.” I still never figured out what she meant by that. “To answer your question, though, dearie, we’re hearie!”

      What a poet, I thought.

      “Sarcasm is not nice, for sarcastic girls get lice.”

      Whoa. “Can you read my mind?” No reply. “I promise I won’t grind.” What does that even mean? “I can. For I am… I am…” “Not a milkman?” I suggested. Rhyming was kind of fun. “Yes. That’s it. Now, wait here a bit.”

      She pulled a lever and disappeared.

      Disappearance seemed to be common with people. Especially back home.

      Chelsea had received a dare to spend a night in the heart of the woods.

      She never came back.

      I went to find her.

      When I arrived, I found her stealing priceless jewelry. I loved Twanatwain, and I couldn’t take seeing her ruin the beautiful utopia.

      I ruefully told the High Council, who made all of the decisions of Twanatwain.

She didn’t plea. Afterwards, I tried to talk some sense into her, but she wasn’t the Chelsea I knew.

      Her punishment was being turned into an ugly witch and banished to Witchy Pass.

      Then Mom disappeared, and now Patrick.

      I was losing loved ones faster than the cars on Fast and Furious.

      When the old hag appeared again, she told me to follow her again. So I hopped into the deep hole and popped out onto a soft beanbag.

      The woman across from me was NOT the old hag I saw in front of me a minute ago. I saw a costume on the ground. “Do you wear a costume so you can be a resident of Witchy Pass?”

      The woman nodded. “That doesn’t make sense.” “My family’s here.” “That’s a lie.” The woman, visibly uncomfortable, gestured to me to follow her. We went into another room. The room was dark and smelled strongly of rats and mold. In the center of the room was a caldron that provided the only light in the room. The substance inside of it glowed an eerie green color.

      It made me feel sick.

      She threw some powdery things into it, then three… EW!!! Eyeballs!! She mixed it up and mumbled an incantation under her breath. A picture of Patrick appeared.

      “Patrick!” I cried. I felt tears of joy in my eyes.

      “Relax, child.” The woman said in a thick Russian accent. “He is far away. I teleport you, but you on your own. You no need help from me. Good luck.” And with that, she handed me a broomstick and sent me on my way. The second I was on it, it zipped out of the hole and into the air.

      It took thirty minutes to get to my destination. I checked the time on my phone. Forty minutes to midnight. I took a deep breath. And then I was falling. Down, down, down.  

I didn’t scream, because screaming didn’t help; it only gave you a sore throat. So I felt internal terror. Looking back, the broom must’ve malfunctioned, or just been programmed to do that.

      I fell hard and looked up.

      In front of me was a towering house. Patrick was somewhere in there. I could feel it. I approached the rickety estate and knock rhythmically on the door with the brass knocker. Holding it sent chills down my spine.

      It was in the shape of a small child screaming.

      After the knock, I heard thousands of voices. “Help!” “We’re trapped!” “Our savior!” “It’s an angel!” The door creaked open. Two eyes peeked out. “What do ya want?” It asked in an annoyed voice. “Patrick. Let me in.”

      The door opened.

      Behind it stood an ogre.

      “After ya.” “Thank you.”

      I stepped in. The voices resumed.

      “Shut up or no dinna tonight.”

      The voices stopped.

      In the room, it was pitch-black. I could hear the troll breathing and smell his foul breath. “This is gonna haunt cha foreva. Ready?” I gulped. “Yes.”

      The lights flipped on.

      I gasped.

      Thousands of dangling cages lined the walls. Each held a weary-eyed prisoner. “Our angel!!!” “Help us!!!” “We’ve been here for decades!” My eyes filled with tears. These poor people. I studied everybody but didn’t see an eleven-year-old redhead with freckles.

      Patrick wasn’t amongst them.

      “Let them go.” I whispered. The anger was coming. “Eh?” “Let. Them. Go.” The troll smiled. “Aww. You gonna hurt me with your little bra?” I attacked him.

      I was pulled off seconds later by strong hands.

      “Morgan?” It hissed. “PATRICK!!” I flung my arms around him  and squeezed. “Get off!!!!” He yelled. He shoved me back. Rude. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention my little minion. Patrick.”

      “What?”

      “Git her a cell o’ her own.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      So Patrick tightly grabbed my right arm. With the other, I punched him in the face. “Dude! Ow!” “You deserve that. What the heck, man? I’m here to save you!” “I know! BUT THIS IS MY LIFE NOW.” “Why so-” “Shh.” Patrick lowered his voice. “I have a plan. I have all of the keys to the cells. But I need you to distract the ogre.” “How?” Patrick smirked. “You flirt.” “With is that ugly thing?? No way!!!” “Do you want to be a girl or a hero?” “A girl.” “Shut up. Go twirl your hair and be sweet.”

      “Fine.”

      I approached the ogre slowly.

      “Hey! How’d ya git out?”

      “I… wanted to see you.” I twirled my hair on my finger and smiled.

      “So… where’d you get those clothes. They fit you reeaal good.” Now the troll blushed. “Well,” He said. Patrick was right in front of him. I grabbed the troll and kissed him while Patrick worked quickly and quietly.

      When he’d gotten them all, he motioned for me to follow him and all the other people out. I flung the ogre over my head and into the largest cage. I locked him there and left.

      All of the people happily went their separate ways, except for one little girl. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very kind. I’ve been there since I was a newborn baby. My mommy was once here, too, but one day, she disappeared.” The little girl began to weep.

      “Caroline?” a motherly voice called. “My sweet Caroline, where are you?” The girl whipped around. “MOMMY!!!!!!!!” The mother and daughter joyously reunited.

      Patrick and I returned safely home.