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“On the Other Side of the Pond — part two” by Ana Carrow
Poppy tries to remember the route her and Hugo took to arrive here, at the pond. They’d ran so far, playing that stupid game of tag, that she wasn’t exactly sure which direction was home anymore. And once the darkness fell, it’d be even harder for them to find their way back. So, she allows Hugo to pull her away, sparing one last glimpse back for the pirate. He smiles, one of his canines glinting gold, and then launches into another song.
“Do you know how to get back?” Poppy asks, as Hugo leads her out past the pond. She scales the slope after him. The mud that cakes her socked feet is now beginning to dry, cementing her soles. A shiver runs up her arms, and she watches for the slight tremble in Hugo’s shoulders. The air has cooled, but their clothes still cling to their limbs, heavy with water.
“I think so,” Hugo says, stomping ahead, swatting away branches and spiderwebs. Just as Poppy’s breath starts to run ragged from trying to keep up his pace, he spins on his heel, orienting himself differently for a few moments before doubling back again. “Oh, no. Oh, my God, Poppy. We’re lost.”
“Let’s just pick a direction and see where it takes us,” she says.
“What happens when it gets dark and we’re still lost?” Hugo says, panicking as he checks his watch. “I don’t feel like being eaten by wolves tonight.”
“No one’s getting eaten by wolves,” she says, taking in their surroundings. She can’t help but wonder if a filter’s been placed over the forest, turning everything hazy. The trees that have always been so familiar are now foreboding, each one the same — long and black and reaching for her. And the stillness has returned. A disturbing silence, only discernible upon closer inspection. Never in her life has she heard the woods sound so soundless. “We just have to — oh, look!”
Hugo turns, his face suddenly lit up by an approaching firefly, glowing brighter than any firefly Poppy’s ever seen. More float out of the spaces between the trees, descending from the branches and hovering around them in a flickering, luminescent horde.
Poppy extends a finger, inviting one of the insects to land on it. Instead, the firefly lands on her nose, and she finds herself staring into a tiny pair of yellow eyes, framed by bristling, spiky hair. “Hugo!” she whispers, staggering backwards. The winged creature leaps off her nose, alighting on top of her head. She can feel its feet dancing in her hair, breath-like in its steps. “These aren’t fireflies!”
“I know,” Hugo exhales, face-to-face with his own creature. It zips around to his ear, tugging on the lobe. “What are they?”
Poppy squints at the one perched on her wrist. Its body is slim and green, like the stem of a plant, with dandelion hair and a pinched expression: glowing eyes, a pursed mouth, and pointed ears. Its wings are paper thin, fluttering fast and radiating yellow. “I think — I think they’re pixies.”
“No way,” Hugo says, wincing as one of the pixies begin to yank his hair. “Impossible.”
A high-pitched chattering breaks out, cutting through Poppy and Hugo’s awed silence, and all the pixies freeze, communicating in a language neither of the two understand. The pixies dart together in a simultaneous instant, forming a giant, levitating ball of light. The chattering increases, a furious outbreak of debate.
“What are they talking about?” Hugo asks.
Poppy’s sure of the answer. “Us.”
The pixies disperse as quickly as they gathered together, retreating to the shadows beneath branches and peering out from behind wide trunks. Only one pixie remains, whizzing back and forth between Poppy and Hugo.
“You can’t be here!” she says, her voice airy and light. “You need to leave, immediately! Go home, before it gets dark!”
Hugo throws his hands up in the air. “We’re trying! We don’t know how!”
“You don’t understand,” the pixie continues, flying down towards Poppy’s face in a swooping arc. Again, Poppy holds out a finger to land on. “Humans can’t exist here. Much less human children.”
“Here?” Poppy asks, her suspicions nearly confirmed. Since she and Hugo fell into the pond, something about these woods has felt different. “Where is here?”
“The outlands!” the pixie says, hopping from foot to foot. “The underlands! The flipside, topsy-turvy lands!”
“What are you talking about?” Hugo asks, cheeks aflame with nerves.
Poppy keeps questioning the little creature on her finger. “What’s there to be afraid of?”
“Wolves,” Hugo mutters, but both the pixie and Poppy ignore him.
“The queen,” the pixie says, and the rest of her hidden clan let out a collective squeak, making Hugo jump. “Humans sometimes stumble across the divide, and then they end up trapped. I’ve seen it happen too many times. She lures them to stay with her.” The pixie pauses, sending a grave look Hugo’s way. “And she especially favors human children to do her bidding.”
He swallows, hard. “What happens to them?”
The pixie just shakes her head, and Hugo almost faints.
“How do we get home?” Poppy asks.
“Oh, this is no good!” the pixie wails, her lithe body quivering. “We barely have any time to spare! Come with me!” With a beckoning wave, she takes flight, a beam of light streaking through the air.
Hugo runs after the pixie and Poppy follows, internally lamenting over her lost shoes as stones and twigs grind into her feet.
“How do we know we can trust her?” Hugo asks, making sure to keep his voice low as they race to catch up with the pixie’s glow.
“Well, do you want to be enslaved to a scary queen forever?” Poppy counters.
“Obviously not,” he huffs. “But — what if she’s the queen? Can’t pixies do magic? What if she puts us under some kind of spell?”
Poppy shrugs and focuses on pumping her legs, but the suspicion has successfully been planted. She trains a wary gaze on the pixie’s speeding light, reminding herself of the tricks pixies are known to pull that, until now, she’s only read about.
As they run, certain noises turn soothing to Poppy: the crunch of leaves under their feet, the whoosh of air in her ears, the faint beating of the pixie’s wings. But before long, something disrupts the rhythm. There’s a rustling above, a loud crack, and then a branch snaps out of the sky, landing on the forest floor with a thud.
The pixie freezes in midair, and Poppy has to reel herself back to keep from smashing into Hugo as they both skid to a stop. The three of them stare at the fallen tree limb for a moment, but are quickly distracted by the commotion over their heads. A loud squawk rings out, followed by creaking and shifting in the branches.
“What is it?” Hugo asks, his tone cautious. He watches the pixie, on guard.
“Polluck?” the pixie calls up. “Is that you?”
“Yes!” a voice croaks back. “I’m stuck! Let me just — oh, there we go.”
A mass of black tumbles down, ping-ponging through the clusters of branches before finally landing on one, gripping it with a long tail. At first, Poppy thinks the thing is a monkey — its body reminds her of a sloth, with a looping tail and human-like hands — but protruding from the face is a sharp beak, red flesh dangling underneath. Its eyes are slits; Poppy can’t find the pupils, so she can’t tell if the bird-monkey is looking at her or not.
“I see you’ve attached yourself to the humans already, Ris,” Polluck says, cocking his head. Poppy notices the bend of folded wings resting along Polluck’s spine as he adjusts their position. “And where did you two come from?”
“This is urgent,” the pixie — Ris — says, zipping around in an impatient circle. “I need to get the humans back to their world.”
“Trying to make up for last time?” Polluck says, and then cackles. His laugh sounds like a hall of squeaking floorboards.
“That’s irrelevant!” Ris says. “Quick — do you know if the queen has heard yet?”
Polluck clucks. “Well, the trees have been talking.”
Poppy and Hugo both flinch as a deep, ancient voice — seemingly coming from nowhere — speaks up. “I didn’t say anything. I kept quiet.”
“Hush, Alfred,” Polluck snaps, twisting his long neck behind him to face the skinny trunk of a nearby tree. “You’re still a sapling. The queen hasn’t completely brainwashed you yet.”
“Oh, God,” Hugo moans, and everyone looks to him. His cheeks are bright red, fingers tangled in his hair. “Trees? Humans get turned into trees, don’t they?”
Ris flies closer, the light of her wings dwindling to a pale yellow. “Yes. I’m sorry,” she says, sending goosebumps prickling down Poppy’s arms. “The queen uses them as her messengers. This forest belongs to her, you see — the Whispering Woods.”
“And when the trees learn too much,” a snide Polluck adds, “she cuts them down.”
Hugo seems about to vomit, and Poppy senses a coldness travel through her bones. The evening had started out as an exciting adventure, but now she just wants to go home. She’d be satisfied never seeing another fantastical creature again, if it meant that she’d be able to sleep in her own bed tonight, in dry clothes and safe under the covers.
Hugo grabs Poppy’s arm, giving her a little shake. “Unless you want to be turned into a hulking pile of timber, I suggest we get out of here. Now!” He turns to Ris, confronting the pixie. “No more delays. How do we get home?”
“The pond,” Poppy says, a spark lighting in her mind. “We need to leave the way we came, right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Ris says, her wings glowing brighter now. “Not too much farther —”
She’s cut off by another surge of whistling wind, or whispers, blowing through the forest. The trees sway, in one united gust, and for a second, Poppy thinks she can even feel their roots stretching beneath her socked feet.
“She knows you’re here!” Polluck squawks, delighted. “The queen, she’s near!”
“That way!” Ris says, pushing Poppy forward with tiny hands. “Hurry!”
Before taking off, Poppy just barely catches the end of a murmured conversation between the pixie and the skinny tree named Alfred. “I’m sorry for failing you. I tried,” Ris says, full of sorrow. But Poppy doesn’t get the chance to hear Alfred’s response, because then her and Hugo are running again, this time with a new sense of urgency. Ris darts ahead of them, and the two friends follow her glow as the woods whisper their names.
Stars are twinkling in the sky by the time they reach the slope, crashing through the brush. They’ve returned to the pond from a different direction, and Poppy cries out as she knocks her shin into something hard and hollow. Feeling around in the darkness, she realizes that she’s run into the pirate’s wooden dinghy — which means the pond is only a few steps away.
Hugo helps her up from the ground, practically dragging her after him, when a tall figure blocks their path, swinging a lantern at arm’s length.
“Back so soon?” the pirate says, his scruff face screwed up in confusion. “You know, if you’re traversing across my pond again, I need you all to pay another fare.”
Ris streaks through the shadows, tugging at the pirate’s beard. “Let them through, you dull dunce! The queen is coming!”
He swats her away and rubs at his jaw. “Aw, no. I don’t want nothing to do with that lass,” he says, shivering. The duck at his feet quacks nervously. “Henny, you better come with me, and we’ll go hunker down somewhere safe. Good luck to you folks, then.”
The flame of his lantern fades away as he ambles out of view, boots crunching through the leaves, webbed feet waddling after him.
“Hurry, hurry!” Ris urges, lighting the way to the pond.
The moon has only just risen, and its refracted image bounces off the still surface. Never has any body of water seemed so inviting to Poppy as the pond does to her now. She stumbles toward it, socks catching and tearing on various bristles and thorns, but reaching the pond is the only thing that matters to her.
Until she hears her mother’s voice, calling her home.
She whips around, the world falling out of focus. Hugo, the pirate, Ris — all are forgotten as her mother steps near, her familiar face radiating warmth and comfort.
“Poppy,” her mother says, her voice echoing throughout the forest. “You’ve been out far too long. It’s time to come inside, to come back home.”
“Mom? But — I have to —” Poppy starts. She knows there was something she desperately needed to do a moment ago, but now she can’t remember. Mind filling with hazy, unformed thoughts, she instinctively takes a step closer to her mother — a step away from the pond.
Her mother smiles, slow and sweet, black eyes glistening in the moonlight. “There you are, my dear,” she says. “It’s getting dark. You can play more tomorrow.”
Poppy tries to take another step, but something pulls at the back of her head, sending a shock of pain down her neck. A high-pitched buzzing needles its way into her ear, almost as if a mosquito has flown too close.
“That’s it, Poppy,” her mother says. “You’ve got it. Come.”
Again, Poppy tries to move her feet, and again, she feels a tug at the base of her skull. The whining in her ear grows louder, more insistent. Slowly, it starts to even sound like words.
“Now, Poppy,” her mother insists, a growl hiding under a layer of music. She extends a ghostly white hand. “You don’t want to keep me waiting, do you?”
The whining morphs into a recognizable voice, one Poppy can’t quite place. “Don’t listen!” it says, shrieking. “Whatever she’s making you see, it’s not real!”
Poppy closes her eyes, shaking her head as she struggles to remember. She was with someone, and they got lost, in a strange place. Pirates, pixies, and pet ducks. Hugo, she thinks, and blinks her eyes open.
In that instant of recollection, the illusion is broken. What once appeared to be her mother now looks distorted, wobbly around the edges, and for a flash, Poppy glimpses the queen’s true form. A haggard old woman stands before her — older than old, as gnarled as the knots in a tree — with bulging black eyes and a hooked nose, her clawed fingers grasping for Poppy’s throat.
Poppy leaps back, and water splashes across the backs of her knees. The pond, she finally remembers. That’s our way home. Her gaze travels, trying to find Hugo, and then she spots him, a few feet away from the bank. His jaw hangs slack, his eyes trained on the queen as he shuffles toward her. Ris is tugging at his hair, her wings flickering as she tries to break Hugo’s trance as she did Poppy’s.
Poppy shouts her friend’s name. His lips twitch briefly, but he continues forward. Poppy doesn’t know what enticing vision the queen is offering Hugo, but she now understands that it’s not the truth. And so, trudging her way through the squelching mud, she runs at him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. With as much strength as she can muster, she pulls, and both of them topple to the wet ground.
Hugo blinks at her, his face speckled with mud, as they roll down the bank. “What —?”
“No time!” Poppy says, pulling him to his feet.
His expression still seems vacant, but his eyes — widening by the second — have unclouded. “Oh, my God, Poppy! Are we dead?”
She sighs, and then shoves him into the pond.
Behind her, the queen lets out a desperate screech. Poppy clamps her hands over her ears, blocking out the noise — she doesn’t want to take any more chances with the queen’s tricks. But, as she wades into the water, she allows herself one final look at Ris. The pixie is hovering beside her, beaming.
“Thank you,” Poppy mouths, the waters lapping over her shoulders.
The pixie’s smile grows.
Poppy dunks her head under, and the world flips upside down. Again.
*
The cold freshwater stings Poppy’s eyes as she kicks her feet, pushing against the draw of the pond’s bottom. As she comes up for air, she realizes she’s breathing deep, like she’s been holding her breath for minutes, not seconds.
“Poppy!” Hugo calls, kneeling near the edge of the pond. She takes his hand as he pulls her out, and they both flop on their backs, exhausted.
The woods are alive again, she realizes, with a thrill. Somewhere to her left, a frog croaks, while the crickets string a symphony. No more sea shanties or eerie whispers — simply the sounds of a normal world, one that humans belong in.
“We should go,” Poppy says, picking at the fraying end of a ribbon on her dress. “We’ve missed the whole party. What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” he says, staring up at the stars “My watch stopped working a while ago.”
“But I can hear it ticking.”
He sits up, tapping at the bit of glass on his wrist, and grins. “I guess it started up again.”
“I think that means we’re in the right place,” she says, closing her eyes and relishing the cool autumn breeze as it dances across her cheeks.
“I think so, too.”
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