Strangewood Read Free Page B

to him. He chided himself,
and the failings of the human mind, and ordered his jambalaya.
    "Another Voodoo?" the waitress asked.
    "Just Coke this time," he requested. "With a
lime."
    As Francesca ordered, Thomas slid down a bit in his chair. It
was as rickety as the table. He wore fresh blue jeans and new sneakers, a
well-made short-sleeve shirt with three buttons at the neck. He was
comfortable. Anytime he began to have misgivings about the things he felt he'd
given up creatively, the spark, the heart of his work, Thomas reminded himself
how fortunate he was.
    It was a hell of a way to make a living. And besides, he had
created Strangewood, beloved by children the world over. How bad could that be?
     
     
    The question was bittersweet for him, actually. He made a
lot of money, had a limited amount of notoriety, and a property that would most
certainly outlive him, and possibly his children as well. But the more popular
Strangewood became, the more languages it was translated into, the more
merchandise produced, the less it belonged to Thomas. The less it was his
vision.
    Like this thing with Grumbler and Feathertop. When he'd
written them out of the series in Leaving Strangewood , he'd meant for
them to be gone forever. He'd wanted to spend time developing some of the other
characters in more detail. But the backlash from kids and their parents —
not to mention film and television executives with an interest in the series
— was so severe that he was practically forced to bring them back.
    The books had changed in other ways, too. The central figure
of the entire Strangewood series, The Boy, had always been a cypher, a
six- or seven-year-old boy exploring a small wood behind his home which, to
him, contained fantastic otherworlds and extraordinary creatures, both friendly
and not-so-friendly. But more than anything else, The Boy was merely the
reader's window into Strangewood.
    Once upon a time, The Boy had been Thomas. But several years
earlier, while Thomas was writing At the Heart of Strangewood , that had
changed. The Boy had walked out his back door, his mother, as always, calling
for him not to stray too far. He had followed the Scratchy Path, lined with
pricker bushes, deep into Strangewood's heart, where Grumbler's little cottage
always had a fire burning in the hearth.
    As usual, trouble was already brewing. Brownie the Grizzly
had promised to help the scarecrow, Gourdon Squashhead, implement the latest in
his never-ending series of schemes to keep the Crow Brothers out of the
cornfield. But Brownie was lazy, always yawning, and had nodded off midmorning.
Gourdon's corn had gone undefended, and the Crow Brothers had made off with
dozens of ears.
    When The Boy arrived, everyone was out behind Grumbler's
cottage, not far from the cornfield, arguing about Brownie's responsibility, or
lack thereof. Well, everyone but Fiddlestick — who was still in his cave
— and some of the nastier residents of Strangewood.
    Feathertop and Grumbler were firmly on Gourdon's side. The
hyena, whom everybody called Laughing Boy and who always spoke of himself in
the third person, thought it was all very funny. But he felt bad for Brownie,
who, he said, "couldn't help his sleepiness any more than Laughing Boy can
help laughing." Mr. Tinklebum wasn't the smartest bell-bottom in
Strangewood, but he also thought it was an honest mistake.
    They all looked to The Boy for judgment, of course.
    While he was making up his mind, Bob Longtooth and
Cragskull, a nasty pair who were thieves and scoundrels and just generally made
life in Strangewood unpleasant whenever possible, moved into Grumbler's home
and claimed it as their own.
    After The Boy had decided that Brownie should try to be more
conscientious and should help Gourdon out in the field for the next few days by
way of apology, they were all to retire to Grumbler's for tea. Grumbler, made
excellent tea, despite his grumpy disposition.
    But Grumbler's cottage was "gone." In its