The Skeleton Flute, page 5
“No, that’s not it. It’s fine. Grandma and I will have a grand old time.”
“Don’t let Grandma hear you use the O word,” Dad chuckles.
I push open the door and grab my backpack.
“Have a good day!”
“Enjoy your massage,” I mutter, slamming the door.
I turn and jog up the walk toward the main doors of the school, hoping I’m not too late to catch Derek by the vending machines. Every morning we hang out there before first bell, then walk to homeroom together.
Pushing through the crowded entranceway, I dodge elbows and backpacks, eager to find Derek. He’s leaning against a vending machine, his arms crossed over his chest.
I smile and wave, then stop short. Something’s off about him. No, not just off. Something’s different about him. His hair. Derek’s had short locs as long as I’ve known him. They’re just about the coolest thing about him, if you forget that he always has the latest Nikes and they’re always spotless.
His locs are gone. His black hair is cut close to his head, faded on the sides, with a zigzagging pattern shaved into the hair above his temples.
I stop in front of him, my mouth dropping open. “Derek, dude, what happened to your locs?”
“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“Your hair, you cut it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
Oh no. No, no, no. We’ve been best friends since the beginning of time, but now he’s looking at me like a stranger. Has Derek been body-snatched too?
My words catch in my throat, clinging to it like a wad of chewed bubble gum. “I… your locs… I thought you said you’d never cut them.”
Derek glances around, then repeats in a low voice, “Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sammy!”
My name rings out across the entranceway. A short, thin kid with mousy brown hair is shouldering his way through the crowd, heading right for me. I think he’s in my homeroom, but I don’t remember his name. Amos? Aiden? School only started a couple weeks ago, and middle school is a mix of kids from a couple different elementary schools. He clearly knows my name, though.
“Sammy, I was waiting for you over there,” he says, jerking his thumb behind him. “Ready to go to homeroom?”
“Uh…” I glance at Derek, who turned away to talk to someone else. I hesitate, unable to move. My feet are cemented to the floor.
“C’mon, Sammy.”
I hesitate a moment longer, then fall in line beside this strange kid. Am I the only one in this town who hasn’t been kidnapped by aliens? Or brainwashed? Or whatever’s going on?
“What were you doing talking to Derek James?”
I shove my hands in the pocket of my shorts. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a stabbing pain in the center of my chest, that I’m not fighting back tears because my best friend in the whole world looked through me like I was invisible.
“Sammy?”
“Huh?”
“I said, what were you doing talking to Derek James?”
I shrug. “Um, I just needed to get into the vending machine, and he was in my way.”
“Ohhh. You had me worried for a minute. Thought you were going over to the dark side.”
I stop walking. “The dark side?”
“Yeah, you know… trying to get in with the cool kids.”
“No, uh, totally not going to the dark side, or whatever.”
The kid squints at me, his brown eyes magnified behind his glasses. “You okay?”
I wish everyone would stop asking me that. I’m not the one who isn’t okay. It’s everyone else. Who is this little dude who thinks he knows me, anyway? Things are gonna get real awkward real fast if I don’t figure out what to call him.
We step into homeroom as the room is filling up. The teacher, Mr. Briggs, mumbles our names as we pass his desk, throwing me a lifeline. “Sammy Windsor… Alex Morales…”
Score.
“Listen, Alex…”
“Yeah?”
“You ever wake up feeling like everything’s wrong? Like, changed somehow?”
Alex stares back at me, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. He pushes his glasses up on his slender nose. “What do you mean by changed?”
There’s no way I can even begin to explain all the weird things that’ve happened to me since I woke up this morning. Especially not to this kid I only met three minutes ago. I need to talk to someone who knows me, someone like Derek. Only that’s not possible.
I sigh. “Forget it.”
I slide into my desk by the window, and Alex takes the one next to it. He looks at me sideways, but I ignore him until the bell rings for the start of class. I tap a pencil against my open notebook, staring out through the window next to me.
The classroom overlooks a courtyard that’s surrounded on all sides by the three-story brick walls of the school. There’s a stone fountain and benches, picnic tables, and a grassy area where kids hang out. It’s where Derek and I usually eat lunch.
My eyes widen, and I lean forward in my seat. Just yesterday I was at this exact same desk, watching a pair of robins splash around in the fountain. It’s the same view I’ve been staring at for the last two weeks, ever since school started.
Only it isn’t.
There’s no fountain out there. Instead, there’s a huge metal sculpture of an eagle where the fountain should be, with the words STAPLETON EAGLES etched into it. The metal wings catch the sunlight, throwing a glare back at me through the window.
No way.
I’m willing to consider the idea that aliens came down from outer space in the middle of the night and replaced everyone I know with some weird alien version of themselves, but I’m not willing to believe they also replaced the fountain in the courtyard at my school with a sculpture of an eagle. That would be pointless.
My ears start to ring. I turn from the window and stare down at my desk, my eyes darting back and forth. What is going on? Why are Mom and Dad acting so strange? Just two days ago they made a big production of telling us that they were separating and Dad was moving out, and last night they refused to have a game night because Dad had to pack. But this morning they were talking about date nights and vacations to Hawaii like nothing’s changed. Or like everything’s changed.
And Derek. Why doesn’t he know who I am? The friend I share everything with looked at me like I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
The ringing in my ears gets louder. A vision of Grayson’s and Addie’s empty bedrooms swims in front of me. They’re gone. Like gone gone. No one remembers them. How is this possible?
A lump forms in my throat. All these things started happening after I met the stranger in the park. Bones. He told me that playing the skeleton flute would give me my greatest desire—for my parents to stay together. Maybe it worked after all.
Chapter 8
THERE’S NO OTHER EXPLANATION for it. Aliens wouldn’t come here, snatch everyone in town, and leave me behind. So it has to be the skeleton flute, right? It changed things. Was the stranger in the park an alien? Did I somehow summon his alien buddies to come down from outer space when I played the flute?
I shake my head. I have to get it together. I’m getting everything all mixed up.
Magic. It has to be magic, then. I took the skeleton flute because I wanted so badly to believe there was something that could stop my parents from separating, something that could keep my family together. And it worked. My parents are together. But my brother and sister are gone. At least with Dad moving out, we would’ve seen him on the weekends. It’s like Grayson and Addie don’t exist—like they never existed at all.
What have I done?
My stomach churns—all angry and acidy like when I eat too many salt-and-vinegar chips—just as the bell rings for first period. I grab my things and bolt across the room, nearly running into a girl making her way out of the classroom. She whips around and glares at me.
I shrug past her. “Sorry.”
Alex is calling my name, but I keep walking. In the bathroom, I stare into the mirror above the sink, pretty sure I’m gonna hurl. The white tile walls feel like they’re closing in, the room getting smaller and smaller every second. Chaotic fluttering fills my chest, and my head crackles and pops with static, reminding me of the moment I first held the skeleton flute. My stomach flip-flops. Definitely gonna hurl.
I turn the faucet on and thrust my hands under it, gasping at the coolness of the water. I splash it across my face, then use a paper towel to dry off. My stomach settles. The nausea passes. I take a deep breath and steady myself on the sink. What am I gonna do?
The warning bell rings out from the speaker above me, shrill and urgent. I’m gonna be late for my first class, but I don’t care. How can I go to class, knowing what I know… or don’t know? I have to figure out what’s happening. But how? There’s a hall monitor stationed by the school’s front doors, so there’s no way to leave without getting caught.
I let out a strangled cry.
Having my parents together and going on date nights is great, but trading that for Grayson and Addie? For Derek? It’s not worth it. If the skeleton flute is to blame, I need to find it and bring it back to the stranger. I have to get him to make things right, at least with my brother and sister and Derek. I wanted Mom and Dad together. I didn’t want everyone else gone.
The hinges on the bathroom door squeak.
“Sammy?” Alex pokes his head inside. “What’re you doing? You’re gonna be late for science.”
“I just needed a minute. I felt sick.”
He frowns. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
A grin replaces his frown. “Good, let’s go!”
I follow him through the door and down the hallway to science class, the whole way trying to figure out how to get back home to look for the flute. Between Alex babysitting me and the hall monitors watching the exits, it’ll be impossible. I could fake sick, but then Mom or Dad would have to come pick me up, and I’d be stuck in bed all day. That won’t do either.
By lunchtime I’ve given up hope. It’ll have to wait until after school. If I go right home, I should have some time to search for the flute before Mom and Dad get home from work… if they even have jobs. Dad’s massage appointment this morning makes me wonder, but how could he afford that fancy car without a job? Maybe I’ll even have time to go back to the park and look for the stranger.
“Hey, Sammy, you gonna eat that?” Alex asks from across the table.
I look down at my tray. I haven’t touched my burger. I push it across the table to Alex. I’m not hungry anyway. The lunchroom is loud, conversations rising and falling around me like buzzing insects. Two tables over, a group of kids breaks out in laughter. It’s the popular table, reserved for only the coolest kids at Stapleton Middle School.
Derek’s in the center of the group, telling a very animated story while the others look on and laugh. The Derek I know wouldn’t be caught dead sitting with those kids.
* * *
When the bus pulls onto our street after school, Derek jumps up from his spot at the back and pushes past me. I let out a breath as I climb down the steps behind him, thinking about all the times I’d go straight to his house after school so we could play video games. This strange version of Derek doesn’t even look in my direction. A stab of sadness pokes at me.
I step onto the sidewalk and glance at the driveway. It’s empty. Mom and Dad aren’t home. Perfect. I need to search my room for the skeleton flute and try to get to the park without them knowing about it.
I hurry up the front walk, then take the front steps in one leap. I slide my key into the lock and ease the door open a few inches before sticking my head inside. Silence—except for the ticktock of the clock in the kitchen.
I step through the door. “Mom? Dad? Are you home?”
No answer.
I race upstairs, pausing outside Grayson’s bedroom. I press my palm against the door and close my eyes. Pain pulses in my chest, like a hole’s been opened up and it’s getting bigger by the minute. He can be annoying, but that’s kinda his job. Next to Derek, Grayson’s the best friend I have. He doesn’t deserve to be erased like he never existed and replaced with craft supplies.
I have to make this right.
In my room, the first place I check is my hamper. Maybe it got swept in there along with the old T-shirt. But there’s nothing in there except for a pair of shorts and a hoodie. I move to my desk and shove papers and books around, searching frantically. The flute was right here on the corner, a T-shirt draped over it to block out the glow. How did it just disappear? With every second that goes by, I’m more and more convinced the flute really was magic, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t grow legs and walk away.
“Where is it?”
I turn over the garbage can beside my desk, scattering balled-up pieces of paper and pencil shavings across the floor. Frustration builds as I sift through piles of papers and open every single drawer in my desk. I drop down onto my hands and knees, pull my phone from my pocket, and tap the flashlight icon at the top. I direct the beam under the bed, then scramble across the room and search under my dresser.
It’s useless. It’s not here.
I sit up and shift to sit cross-legged with my back against my dresser. How can it be gone? How can my brother and sister be gone? Objects and people don’t just disappear. I drop my head into my hands. A warm tear escapes from one eye, sliding down my cheek.
My chest tightens. Everything is so messed up, and the thing that’s probably responsible for it all has vanished. I inhale and hold my breath, then let it out slowly. I need to calm down. Panicking won’t do me any good.
As I sit there on the floor, my mind spins ideas around so fast, it’s dizzying. Think, think, think. The stranger’s rumbling voice rushes into my head.
Old Bones here is a good listener if you need to talk. Sometimes it’s hard to know who to trust. I’m always here if you need me.
Always here if you need me. That’s it. I have to go back to the park and find Bones. It’s his flute. He’s the one who told me to play it and make a wish. This is all happening because of him.
I pull myself to my feet, slip my phone back into my pocket, and step out into the hall. The wall running down the right side of the staircase is lined with picture frames. I study them as I make my way out of the house.
There’s my kindergarten school picture. And me in my Halloween costume from when I was seven—I was a taco that year. At the bottom of the steps, a jolt of shock buzzes through me. The last picture on the wall is the one we took as a family four years ago when we were on vacation in Maine. The frozen images of Mom and Dad smile down at me, buried up to my neck in sand. I remember this picture well.
I remember the vacation well too. Grayson was five, and Mom was pregnant with Addie. Only… in this picture she isn’t. Her smooth stomach peeks out from beneath a beach cover-up, tanned from days of sunbathing. It should be big and round and covered in the stretch marks she hated so much, just like I remember.
Grayson worked for over an hour to bury me in the sand. When Dad snagged a guy walking by to snap the picture, he was right beside me, smiling proudly at his hard work. In the picture nailed to the wall, it’s just Mom, Dad, and me.
No Grayson, no Addie.
Tears gather in my eyes again and I press my palms into them, stopping them before they can fall. I need to keep it together. I take a shuddering breath and open the front door. This is fine; everything’s fine. I just need to find Bones and get him to make things right.
Outside, I discover that my bike—which I’m positive I left leaning up against the garage—is gone. Either someone took it, or this is one more twisted part of this whole twisted situation. I’ll just have to get to the park the old-fashioned way.
I start walking, and a block from home, a sign that reads STAPLETON TOWN PARK catches the light from the sun, shining like a beacon. I turn left, walking with purpose, my chest heaving in and out.
That little annoying voice in my head returns, telling me that finding the stranger again, alone, is a terrible idea. Finding him is what got me into this mess. But I don’t have a choice this time. I need to get him to fix everything he turned upside down.
The park is almost empty except for a couple of little kids on the playground. I step onto the narrow bike trail and my stomach tightens. If things go south once I find Bones—if I find him—there’s no one to hear me scream.
A light breeze blows, rustling the trees and bushes around me. Every little movement makes me jump. The granola bar I had on the bus gurgles around in my stomach, threatening to make a reappearance. Not today, granola bar. I’d like to talk to this guy with clean shoes.
Up ahead, the sharp curve in the trail comes into view. Of all the things that could’ve changed in my life, of course this awful section of the trail is still here. I guess I should be relieved because it’s where I first met Bones, and it’s where I’ll hopefully find him again. I come to a stop, my eyes searching the forest. Birds flit from tree to tree, but other than that, I’m completely alone.
I spin in a circle. “Hello?”
My voice echoes and fades. No one answers.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Nothing. I must look ridiculous standing here yelling at the trees. It was silly of me to think I’d be able to find him again so easily. I set my mouth in a line. I can’t give up. Not yet.
“Hello! Mr. Bones? Are you here? I need to talk to you!”
A twig snaps behind me. I spin around as a familiar smell drifts on the breeze. Cigar smoke. Earthy, with a hint of vanilla. Just like the day I met him. The trail is empty, but the smell creeps along, slow and strong, slithering into my nose. I flare my nostrils. Tendrils of fog inch across the ground, drifting out of the woods like reaching hands. They surge forward, swirling around my feet.
My stomach flutters. “H-hello?”
“Hello, son.”
