The Bigwoof Conspiracy Read online

  “Me too,” said Lucy. “I can’t believe your dad went to bat for you like this. That’s so … nice?”

  “Yeah. It took a lot of strategic sulking,” said Milo. “Last week, he was considering sending me to his old boarding school. In Kansas. Supposedly, he loved the place.” He stuck a finger down his throat. “I like your house, by the way.” He stepped on a floorboard. “Nice and creaky.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucy. She wondered what he would think of her untidy room.

  Up in the attic, the sun was setting. A soft pink glow filtered through the window. The room was already occupied when Milo and Lucy arrived.

  “Greetings, jailbird.” Tex was sitting in the rolling desk chair. He held up an opened jar of pickled herring Lucy somehow hadn’t gotten around to eating. “I hope you don’t mind. I missed lunch.”

  Willow sat on the floor arranging the plaster footprint casts in a circle in the middle of the room. She pointed at Tex. “Does it have an off switch?”

  “You let me in,” Tex retorted.

  All my worlds are colliding. Lucy slumped into the orange beanbag chair. “Is this some sort of intervention?”

  Tex spread his arms wide. “Think of it as an invitation,” he said, “to return to the real world.”

  “Says the Dungeon Master,” Milo laughed. He smoothed the comforter on Lucy’s dishevelled bed before sitting down.

  “I do not get my realities confused,” said Tex. “Besides, studies show that people who enjoy role-playing games do not get knocked unconscious, struck by lightning or nearly drown as often as kids who hang out with Lucy Sladan.”

  Lucy stuck out her tongue.

  “Cheer up,” said Milo. “I brought you something.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large plaster footprint, the one they had left behind when they found the Other Mrs Stricks’s shawl.

  Lucy sprang up from her seat and took the cast. “You went back?”

  “I brought Tex along for protection,” he joked. “And also to show me where to go.”

  Tex cracked open Lucy’s can of reindeer meat with a Swiss army knife. “Do you see the size of those claws?” he said. “You guys are lucky to be breathing.”

  “Claws?” asked Lucy, examining the new print with keen interest. “The print I saw before didn’t have any.”

  “Looks almost like a troll foot,” said Tex.

  Milo groaned and loosened his grey tie. “I thought you were the rational one.”

  “Trolls exist,” Tex pointed his meat-filled fork at Milo, “but they only live in Siberia. I saw one once when I was small.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t just see a mirror?” said Willow. She ducked as a glob of meat sailed over her head and splatted on the floor.

  Errol selflessly trotted over to clean up the mess.

  “What was it you guys wanted to tell me?” asked Lucy.

  Tex scraped up the last of the reindeer meat. “We think Bigwoof is a grolar bear.”

  “A what?” said Lucy.

  “It’s what you get when a grizzly bear falls in love with a polar bear,” said Willow.

  Lucy did not look impressed.

  “We googled some prints for comparison,” said Milo. “It’s our closest bet, and it could easily explain the bear fight you saw. It’s an animal that doesn’t belong here. It would have to be sick or desperate to come this far south.” He clapped his hands. “Boom. Bigwoof.”

  Lucy re-examined the footprint in her hands. The long, menacing claws did resemble those of a grizzly, or even a grolar bear for all she knew. As more time passed, she found it harder to remember the details of the creature – the precise colour of its fur, the length of its teeth, its height; everything blurred together. If only I had that stupid picture.

  “Can I see it?” asked Willow.

  Lucy sullenly handed over the cast. Willow added it to the circle of footprints on the floor.

  “What are you doing with those anyway?” Lucy asked.

  “Putting them in order,” Willow responded.

  In order? Lucy adjusted her glasses and walked around to get a better view. Wait a minute. A chill ran from her shoulders to her fingertips. “Whoa.”

  “What now?” said Tex. He squinted at the layout on the floor.

  “It’s changing,” said Lucy. She walked slowly around the circle, pointing at each print in turn. “Look. The creature’s foot and claws are growing longer over time.”

  Tex examined the nearest footprint. It was big and fat like a bear’s, but without any claws. As the prints moved around the circle, the foot grew longer, the toes further apart, a grisly set of raptor talons emerging at last.

  “No way,” said Tex. “What the heck is that thing?”

  “Come on, guys.” Milo pressed his palms against his eye sockets. “I thought we agreed it was a mangy bear.”

  “Well, frankly,” said Lucy, “if your dad hadn’t messed with that picture, we’d be able to answer this question once and for all.”

  “I told you,” snapped Milo. “My dad wouldn’t do that.”

  “OK,” said Lucy, hands on her hips, “let’s settle this. Do you have your camera?”

  Milo looked dubious but pulled it out of his coat pocket.

  “Give it to Tex,” said Lucy.

  “Why?” asked Milo.

  “He’s a Photoshop expert.”

  “He put my head on a T-rex’s body once,” said Willow. “It looked real.”

  “Come,” said Tex. “Trust me with your expensive machinery.” He took the camera from a reluctant Milo and searched through some of the photos. “Why are there pictures of Lucy and the Other Mrs Stricks on here?”

  “Never mind those,” said Milo, his cheeks pink.

  “It’s picture number two forty-nine,” said Lucy.

  Tex plugged the camera into Lucy’s computer.

  They all watched as the images loaded onscreen. Tex scrolled around carefully, zooming in and out, grunting now and then. After several tense minutes, he spoke. “Well. I hate to say this, but Lucy is right.”

  “What?” said Milo.

  “I knew it!” Lucy did a victory dance.

  “This picture,” Tex declared, “has been Shooped.”

  “Shooped?” asked Milo.

  “Altered. Modified. Messed with,” Lucy explained. She skipped over to the desk as she ran out of synonyms. Milo tentatively followed.

  “You see here?” said Tex. He pointed at the spot where Lucy had seen the creature. “If you look closely,” he scrolled down, “you can see that this dark, leafy area has been copied and pasted,” he scrolled back over, “on top of this area.” He demonstrated where the edges of the cut-and-paste job were faintly blurred. “It is quite sophisticated work,” he added, impressed.

  “Let me see.” Milo pushed Tex out of the chair and sat.

  “Knock, knock!” It was Miranda, calling up from the foot of the attic stairs.

  Jolted, Lucy grabbed the beanbag chair and threw it on top of the footprints she wasn’t supposed to have, then awkwardly sat on it.

  Miranda poked her head in the room. “I’m going to pretend it’s a good sign it’s so quiet up here.”

  Everyone but Milo looked up as the three parents entered the room.

  “Mr and Mrs Sladan, it is so good to see you.” Tex greeted them with his arms wide. “Your moustache is looking exceptionally full today, Mr S.”

  “Why, thank you, Alexei,” said Silas. “Did you let him in?” he asked his wife.

  “Have a seat, kids,” said Miranda.

  “We’ve got some news,” said Silas.

  Tex sat next to Willow.

  “Bad news?” asked Lucy.

  “Good news, actually,” her father replied. “Also better news, and even some fantastic news.

  “That’s a lot of good news,” said Lucy suspiciously.

  “First,” said Miranda, “we just learned that your father is up for a promotion at work.” She beamed at Silas, who looked like he couldn
’t quite believe his good fortune. “He’s going to be a supervisor at Nu Co., which means longer hours, but a raise in salary.”

  Mr Fisher offered Silas a happy handshake.

  “What’s the better news?” Willow asked.

  Milo looked away from the computer screen and stared at his father.

  “As a gift to the people of Sticky Pines in the wake of so much turmoil,” said Mr Fisher, “the Nu Corporation would like to donate a day of fun. We’re throwing a carnival. With games, rides and all the state-of-the-art Nu Co. food products the town can eat.”

  “A carnival?” said Lucy.

  “Food?” said Tex.

  “And the best part?” said Miranda, smiling at her eldest daughter. “You get to go too.”

  “That’s the fantastic news,” said Silas. “You are officially ungrounded.” He nodded at his boss. “You can thank Mr Fisher for that. He’s a very persuasive man.”

  Lucy looked from her cheerful mother to her sheepishly grinning father, to the sickeningly self-satisfied photoshopping Mr Fisher. Something’s very wrong here.

  “Wow,” she said, trying to look pleased. “Just, wow.”

  “That’s right, kiddo,” said Mr Fisher, a glint in his eye. “Come next weekend, Nu Co. is taking over Sticky Pines.”

  It was the day of Fisher’s festival, and for the first time in a week, there was no rain. Lucy took this to be a dark omen.

  “Come on, sport, get your shoes on,” said Silas. He had finished loading the last of his gear into the van and was now tapping his foot as he waited for his sluggish daughter to get ready. “I don’t like being up at seven on a Saturday any more than you do.”

  Lucy sat at the bottom of the stairs, staring at what looked like a wailing face in the grain of the hardwood floor. Normally, she was first in line when a carnival came to town. She loved the rides and the games and the ridiculous portions of fried food. But Fisher’s carnival was different. For one thing, it was called “The First Annual Nu Co. Par-T in Da Pines”.

  Ugh.

  “Your shoes are tied, well done,” said Silas, utilising every ounce of patience he could muster. “Now, stand up.”

  Lucy reached for her overstuffed backpack on the stair behind her.

  “Nuh-uh,” said Silas. “I told you. You’re not dragging that thing around all day.”

  Everything Lucy needed to collect and process evidence was in that bag. Everything.

  “Leave. The. Bag.”

  Outside, Miranda honked the car horn.

  “But, Father,” Lucy said in her most rational voice, “I have a really bad feeling about—”

  “Enough,” said Silas firmly. “Let’s go.” He guided Lucy by the shoulders out to the idling green minivan.

  Resigned to her fate, Lucy buckled up and rested her head against a battered guitar case. She turned towards her sister, half asleep on the other side of the food-stained back seat. “There’s something fishy about this carnival.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that.” Willow pulled her faux coonskin cap over her eyes. “About a zillion times.”

  “And we’re off!” said Miranda, shifting the minivan into gear.

  Silas turned up the radio as they ambled down the road out of their north-west neighbourhood, meandering along the Ungula River, past the schoolhouse, towards Wildberry Fairground on the other side of the valley.

  Lucy pensively watched the trees fly past the moon roof, their sun-dappled leaves turning red, yellow and orange as the autumn deepened.

  Things with Milo had been weird since the day he and his dad had visited. Tex had finally confirmed what Lucy already knew to be true: Mr Fisher had altered the picture of Bigwoof, for reasons that were still unclear. She should be feeling elated, or at least vindicated. Milo, however, was clearly miserable, and Lucy didn’t know how to fix it.

  She had only seen him once since then, on the way to the cafeteria, when he had abruptly excused himself to go “catch up on homework” in the library. Right. She wished he’d at least hang around long enough for her to tell him how dumb his polo shirt looked, or something.

  The trees parted and the van emerged at the top of a grassy hill dotted with crimson huckleberry bushes, overlooking a vast meadow that served as the local fairground. Dozens of events were held out there every year, like the “Cheese Rolling Races” and the “Big Crater Quilting Festival”, but Lucy had never seen such an elaborate set-up as there was today.

  Garish gaming stalls, colourful vendors and flashy rides sprawled out kaleidoscopically across the meadow, including a Ferris wheel so tall Lucy’s stomach churned just looking at it.

  All this, just for us?

  Her skin prickled as she spotted a large banner hanging above the front entrance. A smiling clown with black diamond tears beckoned the crowd with a white-gloved hand to “Join The Fun!” Lucy could practically hear its demented laughter.

  Adding to her sense of unease, she noticed about a dozen inflatable white structures with red crosses scattered across the grounds. Are those medical tents? Sticky Pines is taking safety very seriously these days…

  “This looks amazing,” Silas exclaimed. He turned to the kids in the back seat. “You guys are gonna have a blast.”

  “Us?” said Lucy. “You’re the excited ones.”

  Miranda raised a thin eyebrow in the rear-view mirror as she caught Lucy’s eye. “Excuse me, missy. We’re volunteers. I’ll be spending most of my day counting tickets. Your dad will be glued to the bandstand. I probably won’t even get to ride the Gravitator.” She sighed. “I love centrifugal force.”

  “I know you do, babe.” Silas placed his arm around Miranda’s shoulders.

  I can’t deal with this today.

  Willow took her raccoon hat by the tail and swung it around excitedly.

  “What are you so worked up about?” asked Lucy.

  “I’m on a mission,” said Willow. “I’m gonna win a prize at every game at this fair.”

  “Every single one?” said Silas. “That’s impossible. Those games are all rigged, Will.”

  “I looked up all the tricks.” Willow grinned slyly.

  “And they cost money to play,” said Miranda.

  “I have money,” said Willow.

  “Since when?” asked Silas.

  “She’s been dismantling owl pellets and selling rodent skulls on the Internet,” said Lucy. “She uses Tex’s brother Stan’s bank account.”

  “He charges a small fee, but it’s pretty reasonable,” said Willow.

  “Is that even legal?” asked Miranda.

  “Yup,” said Willow. “As long as the bones aren’t from an endangered species.”

  Miranda pulled into a parking space near the ticket booth. “All right, everybody out,” she said. “Whoever unloads the most stuff in two minutes wins their song of choice from The Sticky Six.”

  The Sticky Six was the name of Silas’s rock band. It had only four members.

  “Ready, set, go!” Miranda shouted.

  Willow flew out of the vehicle before Lucy could even unbuckle her seatbelt.

  Lucy hopped out of the van and let the sliding door rumble shut behind her. That’s when she saw them – two men dressed in kitschy clothing, with colourful wigs and doofy face make-up.

  “Clowns,” she muttered. “Of course Fisher hired clowns.”

  “You’re still afraid of clowns?” Silas grunted as he set a hefty amplifier on a dolly with a WHUMP. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

  Lucy shivered. Bigwoof, whatever it was, was one thing. Clowns were an entirely different kind of monstrosity. On the list of things that terrified her, clowns came just after spiders and kids who make “unboxing” videos.

  “Finished,” Willow cried triumphantly. She jumped on to her father’s back, throwing her arms around his neck like a rhesus monkey. “I call … ‘Eye of the Tiger’!”

  “All right, you little girl-illa,” said Silas, “‘Eye of the Tiger’ it is.”

  Willow
hopped to the ground and ran around the van in a fit of victory.

  This is going to be a very long day.

  POW!

  After throwing dart number twelve, Willow obliterated a third balloon into shards of flabby green rubber.

  Finally.

  A bald man with earrings and fully tattooed arms handed Willow a stuffed strawberry wearing shorts and sunglasses.

  She sceptically regarded her hard-won prize. “What’s this supposed to be?”

  “It’s a fruit,” said the dude.

  “It’s an anthropomorphic fruit,” said Lucy.

  The carnival worker blinked dully.

  “It’s wearing clothes like a person,” Lucy clarified.

  “You’re an animorphic fruit,” said Willow. She handed her sister her latest trophy.

  Lucy took the beach-ready berry in her arms, where it joined two tiny teddy bears, an inflatable shark and a wide-mouthed Muppet that shed fuchsia fur all over her black wolf moon T-shirt.

  “Don’t forget to try the new Nu Co. products served all over the fair,” the dude intoned, repeating the pitch Lucy and Willow had heard again and again from the other carnival workers. He shuffled over to another customer – a woman wearing a furry green hat adorned with the Nu Co. insignia. She held a fistful of cash and a bucket-sized serving of Nu Co. Cola.

  “Time for a Sticky treat!” chirped Willow, echoing the ubiquitous catchphrase plastered all over the festival.

  She led a sullen Lucy to the nearest vendor and bought a bag of blue fluff labelled “NuCotton Candy”.

  “Stretchy,” said Willow, pulling the wad apart like spider’s silk. She shoved a clump in her mouth.

  Lucy felt her stomach rumble. “Oof, I’m hungry.”

  “Have some,” Willow offered.

  “I want real food.”

  “Suit yourself.” Willow licked her fingers with a turquoise tongue. “There’s a frozen banana stand over by where Dad’s playing.”

  “Yeah, I saw,” said Lucy, “but it’s surrounded by a bunch of clowns.”

  “I hate clowns,” said a Russian-inflected voice from behind them.

  Lucy brightened up as Tex fist-bumped her shoulder.

  “You cannot avoid the clowns,” he said. “They are everywhere. I saw one on stilts, terrorising people by the Ferris wheel. I wanted to pour black salt in its footprints. You need a hand with that junk?” He gestured at the prizes overflowing in Lucy’s arms.