Bronze Pen (9781439156650) Read Free Page B

high-pitched, squawky voice went on. “And I am looking forward to conversing with you. I know we have much in common, or you wouldn’t be here. I imagine we will have some important things to say to each other. Don’t you agree?”
    â€œWell, I—I guess so,” Audrey was stammering when the creature—the woman, whatever it was—continued.
    â€œFor instance, you could begin by telling me about yourself. About what you have become.”
    â€œAbout myself? You mean my name and—”
    â€œNo, no. Never mind that,” the voice said impatiently. “Names aren’t important. What is much more important. That is something I would very much like to know. What you are doing, for instance, and what is important to you.”
    Audrey was at a loss. She didn’t understand what was being asked of her any more than she understood what—or who—it was that was asking. She still seemed unable to see more than the faintest shadow of whatever it was at the back of the cave. The deep shadow was part of the problem, but there was more to it than that. The dim figure seemed to be constantly changing, in size and shape.
    â€œWhat do I do?” she asked. Was that a nod? It seemed to be, so she blundered on. “I just go to school. I’m only twelve years old.”
    â€œAh. I see. But what do you plan to do, forever and always? With all your days and years?”
    What did she plan to do with all her days and years? Audrey suppressed a critical smirk. It was such a weird way to put the question. A question that she knew the answer to, of course, not that she would share it with anyone. Particularly not with a creepy old creature who seemed to be something out of a strangely vivid dream.
    She was assuring herself that she would never think of telling this woman what her plan for the future was when suddenly she heard a voice speaking—her own voice. With her eyes cast down toward the cave’s muddy floor, she suddenly heard herself say, “I want to be an author. I want to write stories.”
    She stopped abruptly then, not only amazed and shocked by what she had already said, but frightened, too. Afraid of the strange creature who seemed to be able not only to read her mind, but also to force her to say things she definitely hadn’t meant to say.
    â€œAh, yes.” The creature’s head seemed to be bobbing up and down in a strangely birdlike way. “Ah, yes, I see.”
    Along with shaken surprise, there was now anger as well. What right did this person—did anyone—have to force her to talk about her private plans? And she had beenforced. She had no idea how it had been done, but she knew it had. Otherwise, she would never have mentioned a secret she’d never told anyone—not even her closest friends.
    Shoulders squared against a surge of fear mixed with anger, Audrey backed away. She would just turn around now and leave. Yes. That’s what she would do. She was at the mouth of the cave, reaching up to push aside the curtain of vine, when the creaky voice called after her. “Come back, child. You must come back.”
    Audrey paused long enough to say, “No. I’m going. I have to go now and I’m not going to—that is, I don’t think I can—come back.” She meant it when she said it, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew that they might not be true. And she somehow felt certain that the woman knew they weren’t.
    As she made her way back down the Mayberry pirates’ hidden path, what she had said about never coming back was only part of a larger uncertainty about everything that had just happened and what might only have seemed to be happening. Of what might be only a particularly vivid product of her “overactive imagination.”
    The duck had been real, she was sure of that. There was no way she could have imagined that solid, sturdy whiteness and the confidence of that