The office was old, but clean. It smelled of hot vacuum-cleaner belts and a pine air-freshener. A woman was bent over behind the counter, mostly obscured from my vision by a large potted aloe and a plaque saying Bumblebee Studio. She lifted her head as I came in.

“Hi, I’m Kevin,” I said.

She paused, her mouth hanging slightly open, for only a second. I was used to that. People have to take a moment to figure out whether I’m trying to be funny or not.

“Of course!” she said. She smiled broadly and stood up. She was middle aged and very short, wearing a large yellow sweater. Her graying hair was long and curly, the front pinned loosely on top of her head with a jeweled pin and hanging with cheerful abandon past her shoulders everywhere else. “Come right in,” she said. She shook my hand vigorously, her hair bobbing. “My name’s Ann Grover, of course. But just call me Ann. I’m the screenwriter-slash-creator. Thank you for your time.”

I followed her out of the office through tight hallways into a small, fluorescently lit recording studio. A young man of about my age was sitting behind a large window, in a dim room filled with sound equipment. He put down a burger as we came in.

“Alright then, Mr. Bartlett,” Ann said to me. She sat down with a happy sigh on a tall stool and motioned for me to do the same. She handed me a binder with the words Mugsy’s Neighborhood on the front and flipped through pages of cartoon drawings for me. “This is the character you’d be giving your voice to.”

I took the binder. The page had several pictures of what looked like a fat blue mole with a long nose and long fingers, wearing big glasses and a waistcoat. It was labeled Figsworth. I stared at it, and politely refrained from comment.

“Figsworth is an older gentleman,” Ann said. “He’s a widower, and he’s a little eccentric and crotchety, but deep down he likes kids.”

She told me all about the show as I flipped through more pages in the binder. The drawings of Mugsy looked like an anthropomorphized flying squirrel. The character named Flip, Mugsy’s best friend, was some sort of skinny, big-eyed turtle. There was a single bee and a group of talking mushrooms. The bad guy they were supposed to outwit was called Manticoot; a green, blobby, spidery thing, with eyes that oozed to different places around his body and long legs that seemed to be built out of toothpicks. The show was going to be targeted at six- to twelve- year olds. I thought six-year-olds would be terrified of Manticoot, but I said nothing. Honestly all the characters looked a little bit creepy to me.

She handed me a stapled sheaf of paper. “Want to give it a try?” she said. “Just go ahead and read some of these lines of his, to get a feel for him. Eddie, go ahead and record this. Just ignore Eddie, Kevin. You don’t mind if I call you Kevin? Would you prefer Mr. Bartlett?”

I laughed politely. “Kevin’s fine,” I said.

Great stomping flobbits, I said, feeling my face get hot. Mugsy, what are you and Flip doing with that piano? Don’t trample my dandelions! I think I’ll make it into a stew like Mrs. Figsworth used to like.

Ann laughed gleefully. “I like it,” she said. “That voice you’re doing is perfect. I mean-”

“Yeah, I’m not really doing it, that’s just how it is,” I said.

“Well, it’s just what we need,” Ann said immediately, cheerful and brisk as ever. “Would you like to try to an animation?”

I said alright. She dimmed the lights and I tried the lines a few more times, trying to match my words to the fairly simple mouth movements of a huge projected image of Figsworth. Ann had Eddie read the other characters’ lines in the gaps. She herself just sat there, smiling bigger and bigger. She even clapped when I finished. I’m doomed, I thought.

Well, she offered me the job that day, with such enthusiasm that I had to take it. I didn’t ask, but I got the impression that I was the only person who’d applied for it. They’d probably decided to hire me right after Ann hung up the phone the night before, maybe even right after she picked it up, right after Hi, I’m calling about the voice actor position. And I had nobody to blame. Honestly, in my mind, I’d taken the job when I dialed.

I didn’t feel a need to mention my application for Figsworth to my real boss. I preferred to keep my professional life as far away from that blue mole as possible, and besides, I doubted that the addition would cause a noticeable disturbance in my marketing work. Like me, my boss lived by no discernable schedule whatsoever. He would call me at any time of the day or night, and didn’t care how I spent my time as long as I produced professional-quality work when he asked for it. I’d had almost too much time on my hands. Now I figured I could take the bus to the recording studio in the mornings, whenever I needed to, and work on marketing lists in the evening over TV dinners without my boss noticing any change.

 

Bumblebee Studio in its entirety was comprised of only about thirty people, and almost all of them were packed into the small studio on the first day of recording. Three of Ann’s children sat in the corner silently poking each other and watching us, wide-eyed. Ann drank gallons of tea and paced all over the room, grinning and gesticulating at Eddie, as I and four others sat at microphones doing take after take after take of her bizarre lines.

Come on, Flip, said a big-boned, slightly pudgy young man of about twenty. Let’s go to the pond and pretend to be pirates!

I don’t think so, Mugsy, said a pierced and tattooed skinny blond fellow, affecting a stuffed nose. You go on.  I think I have the crawling niggies!

Oh, nuts. What if I bring you back a lily?

Where are you going, Mugsy? I asked the doughy young man. I see you’ve got a boat leaf, there. Off to the pond? It’s a bad idea to go to the pond by yourself. The Manticoot sometimes goes there, you know.

But I gotta bring back a water lily to Flip, Mr. Figsworth. He’s sick.

I took the bus to the little vacuum-cleaner-scented office every weekday morning after that. Within one week of my addition to the cast, we recorded the first three episodes, working at a breathless pace, like sliding down a hill. A huge amount of potential energy, the volume of Anne’s stories and her cousin’s college friend’s animations, had been released; all that was left for the first stretch was the quick, silly talking. The days rushed by without my noticing. It was fun and relaxing somehow.

But in the back of my mind it all felt embarrassingly lame. Nobody in the room looked professional. Ann’s three kids were always running around the place after three o’clock, spreading homework papers all over the hallway floors and using up the paper cone cups from the water cooler. The animator had no people skills at all, and kept pencils in her hair. Everyone was intent and enthusiastic; disproportionately so, I thought, like a teenage band making their first album on a tape recorder.

I couldn’t help expecting the show’s failure. The stories seemed too weird for a kids’ show; too gritty. Besides, the whole operation was so small. I couldn’t believe the show would last on the air for more than three weeks or so. It would be fine with me, I thought. I didn’t really want to spend several years of my life doing something that silly. Not really.

Nonetheless I turned the TV on in my apartment when the first episode aired, and despite feeling like an idiot I watched the whole thing by myself. It was different, coming from the television and not from me. The lines I’d said and heard dozens of times already sounded different; not any less strange, but less out of place. A refreshing kind of strange. I watched the next week’s episode too. I got to see the part Figsworth wasn’t in, the part where Mugsy and Flip found a wounded baby owl. I was actually a little sad when the baby owl died. I turned off the TV feeling slightly betrayed by my emotions.

 

I never mentioned Mugsy’s Neighborhood to my boss because I figured he would disapprove, and think I was an idiot who didn’t take my real job seriously. I kept quiet about it around my family too, because I assumed my parents and sister would get all excited, and that would almost be worse. They’d been at me for years to get over the stupid, loud, insuppressibly nasal voice that had haunted me since I turned fourteen. My father was intent on ignoring it – he’d spend all evening during our occasional family dinners turning purple with concentration trying to ignore it – and my mother, always talking a bit like a motivational poster, was intent on celebrating it and telling me it was a gift. All I really wanted was to sound like my brother-in-law Leo. He had a beautifully unnoticeable baritone voice.

So I didn’t mention it at all, for weeks. Nonetheless the show came up in conversation over a family dinner, as I should have assumed it would. My baby sister Beth and her husband Leo had brought their seven-year-old boy Sam. Sam was squirming and wiggling in his chair and refusing to eat his last six peas. “Tell Nana and Pop and Uncle Kevin about the show, Mom,” he said.

Beth laughed. “Sam’s excited because we’ve found a new show we like,” she told us, and fed Sam another pea. “It’s called Mugsy’s Neighborhood. You’d probably enjoy it, mother. It’s delightfully quirky, not cutesy, and not “educational” either. Leo and I love it – I don’t know, it’s just the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen on TV. It makes us laugh.” She leaned across the table. “Sam keeps quoting it, Mom, it’s hilarious. He runs around yelling ‘Great Stomping Flobbits!’”

She pointed at me. Here it comes, I thought. “And get this, Kevin,” she said, “this one character sounds exactly like you. I’m not kidding!”

“Really?” said my mother. “How exciting!”

“Huh. Did you watch the credits?” I asked.

“No,” Beth said. “Sammy turns the TV off too soon.” Beth looked at me. “Why?”

I shrugged. “No reason.”

“Have you watched the credits?”

“No,” I said. I worked on my porkchop.

Beth stared at me. “What? Should I watch the credits?”

“No. I mean – yes, alright, fine, it’s me. Yeah, yeah. I voice Figsworth.”

Leo laughed. “What?”

“Wait. You’re not kidding, are you?” Beth’s mouth fell open. My father stared at me. Then Beth started laughing with delight.

“Hold on,” my mother said, sounding stunned. “Kevin? You do a voice for a cartoon? Since when?”

I shrugged and grudged a small laugh. “Just a month or so ago,” I said.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You!” Beth reached across the table to slap me with her napkin.

“I just tried out on a lark,” I said. “I wasn’t completely serious.”

“What about after you got the job?”

“It just seemed kind of silly,” I said sheepishly, gesticulating with my fork. “It’s a really small outfit. I’m still not sure they’re going to last the season.” I stuffed more porkchop into my mouth.

Beth stared at me again. “Well, goodness, Kevin. It’s an excellent show,” she declared.

“It really is,” Leo said, still laughing. “Quality home-cooked weirdness.”

Mother dragged me over by the shirt collar and kissed my head. “Well, you’ll have to tell us all about it,” she said.

When he figured out what was going on, Sam was just thrilled. “Say ‘great stomping flobbits’, Uncle Kevin!” he shrieked continuously until dessert.

 

Work with Ann progressed without a hitch until my other boss started giving me more work. I took it without comment, even though it kept me up at night, but in fits of weakness I started to wonder whether I should bow out of the marketing job. Then my boss mentioned one day the possibility of starting to send me on business trips. My thoughts bent in the other direction. Surely Figsworth was expendable.

I came close to broaching the subject once. One of Ann’s studio-haunting children, the eleven-year-old whose name was Benjamin but whom I referred to mentally as Tornado McSlammy, ran after me one afternoon as I was leaving for the bus stop. He wore elastic-waistband denim shorts which disclosed two skinned knees, and was clutching a crumpled paper cone cup. He stumbled and almost fell on his face.

“Oops. Hey, Kevin,” he called out.

“Hey,” I said. I turned and put my hands in my pockets.

“Mom wants to me to tell you,” he panted. “She’s having that big cast party at our house next Saturday and to let you know – I mean, to find out if you’re able to come.”

I had a tele-conference tentatively scheduled for the next Saturday night. I sighed. “I’m not sure,” I said. The bus rounded the corner. “I might have a previous engagement.”

“What?”

“Just some work,” I said. “But I’ll see what I can do, ok?”

Ben grinned and nodded. “Ok, I’ll tell her,” he said, and then tore back along the sidewalk toward the studio, very nearly tripping again. I got on the bus.

Ann called me later as I was working in my apartment. “Can you make next Saturday?” she asked. “Ben seems to be saying you’re busy, but I thought I’d check. Kids tend to garble messages. Do you have other work to do? You do other work on the side, don’t you?”

“Uh … naw, I can make it after all,” I said.

“Alright,” Ann said airily. “We’re glad to have you. Just don’t overcommit yourself.”

At the cast party she served baklava her oldest daughter had made, and announced that the show was switching to a more well-known TV channel.

 

I voiced Figsworth for about six months, watching the show alone in my apartment every week. Then the show started to develop a cult following. It seemed that not only every six- to twelve- year old in the country, but all of their parents and siblings and babysitters as well, had begun to watch Mugsy’s Neighborhood since the channel switch. Everyone loved it, inexplicably. It began to haunt me.

I often took calls from my boss while on the bus, and I began to notice two teenage girls behind me that would start giggling incessantly. It made concentration difficult. I stuffed my finger in my ear to better hear the phone. “The client wants the same list of companies, but this time with the phone numbers of – sorry, this is weird,” my boss said, “but your voice is reminding me of something and it’s distracting. Maybe something from TV.”

“That’s odd,” I said. “Sorry.” The girls behind me giggled again, harder, and then viciously shushed each other. “He’ll hear you, you idiot,” one of them whispered. A little kid across the bus, sitting on his mom’s lap, was staring at me and poking his mother. “Mom,” he said, “That man sounds like –” She hushed him. I stuffed my finger further into my ear.

The same thing happened every time I got on the bus, for weeks on end. The same set of people rode that bus at that time of day, every day, and they got to expecting me. The little kid’s mother tried very hard not to look at me, but every time I said anything she had to suppress a smile. The joke never got old for the two teenage girls. “It’s the guy that sounds like Figsworth,” they’d whisper to each other when I sat down, and then break down laughing and saying “shhh!” Adults would try to glare at the girls, or would look nervously from the girls to me and back again, and then say something in an undertone to their neighbor. The awkward tension in the bus was almost tangible. I tried to act like I didn’t notice what my presence was doing to the whole bus, but I started turning my phone off when I boarded so that I wouldn’t have to talk. I feared that if I spoke again it would set something off.

When the show had been airing for fourteen months, Mugsy’s Neighborhood and its giant cult following started making headlines in newspapers and all over the internet. Ann was in radiant spirits and talked on the phone almost constantly, negotiating about commercials. Everyone in the studio got a raise, and Ann brought her daughter’s baked goods to the studio just about every week. It was almost frightening.

 

I returned a call from my boss in my apartment one evening. The TV was on with a rerun of Mugsy’s Neighborhood in the other room. I was lying on the couch in my boxers and a T-shirt, eating baklava.

“Kevin, are you free next weekend?” he asked.

“I believe so,” I said, sitting up. “What do you need?”

Oops! Sorry! said Flip in the other room.

Oh, nonsense, Figsworth said.

We better go! Bring us back something good, Mr. Figsworth, said Mugsy.

“I want you to go talk to the Rockport Insurance people on Thursday. There’s an issue with the contract they want to talk over. I’ll book the hotel for you for Thursday night. I’d go myself, but I have the aged parents staying with me this week. Can you do that?”

I sat up. “I think so. Yes. Of course. Excellent.” I tried to calm down and speak like a sensible person. “Why? Is Scott busy?”

“Scott is getting ready to move. Did you forget?”

“Oh, that’s right. I think I can do it,” I said. “Just let me make sure. I’ll call you back right away.”

I called Ann.

Good evening, Bee. You don’t mind if I keep packing? said Figsworth.

“I hate to do this to you, Ann,” I said. “But is it possible I can duck out of town for a couple of days this weekend?”

“That’s pretty short notice, Kevin. Why, may I ask?” she said.

“It’s my other job,” I said. “It’s marketing. I work at home on a loose schedule. But my boss needs me to go out of town for a couple of days this weekend. Thursday and Friday.”

Ann thought for a moment.

“I need to do it,” I said. “I’m sorry about the short notice.”

If you’re done with that, put it down. You’re distracting me, said Figsworth.

“I think it can be managed,” she said finally. “I’ll have to swap the episode for this coming week with the one after it, so we don’t need you right away. But it’ll be fine.”

“Unbelievable, Ann. Thanks.”

“Is this travel going to become a regular thing?”

“I’m not sure,” I said.

“Well, I can’t move stuff around so much. This is a one-time thing.”

“I know. And I really appreciate it, Ann, I really do. I’ll keep you posted,” I said.

I called my boss back and told him I was free. The ending song of the cartoon played in the other room.

 

The trip went smoothly. I was pleased to be in a car by myself and away from that bus. Corporate drones will still hang their mouths open for half a second realizing that you aren’t trying to be funny, but at least they don’t giggle at you like the idiots on the bus do because you sound like a stupid blue mole. I spoke well and managed to sort out the contract difficulty quickly, over a late lunch. I called the boss from my hotel room after the meeting.

“They accepted the changes,” I said. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the phone on my shoulder while I took off my shoes.

“Excellent,” he said. “You did good on short notice.”

“Thanks.” I loosened my tie.

“How do you feel about doing more traveling?”

I lay down and looked upside down at the tacky landscape painting above the bed. “Well, I’d love to help you out,” I said. My voice sounded stupider than ever.

“Excellent, Kevin. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Right.” I hung up.

I noticed it was three o’clock. I turned on the TV and listened to the Mugsy’s Neighborhood theme song while staring at the ceiling.

Good morning, Mama. Wait … Figsworth? What are you doing here?

Your mama is having her baby, Mugsy. I’m watching you today, and I’ve made breakfast.

Oh boy! I’m going to be a big brother! How is Mama?

It’s rough, but she’ll be okay. How do you like your beetles? Fried?

I don’t think you’re a very good cook, Mr. Figsworth.

Nonsense.

That was a crazy episode to do, I thought.

I turned off the TV and called Ann. There was talking in the background on her end.

“Ann, he wants me to travel more,” I said.

Ann waited for a few seconds.

“Are you going to resign as Figsworth?”

“I don’t know.”

Ann sighed. “All right. Let me know by Monday at the latest, please. I should get off the phone now.” She sounded much less bouncy than usual.

“Where are you?”

“My sister’s. I’m helping with her new baby.”

“Oh. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. She’s just a little weak from the C section. That’s why I took the day off. We’re very relieved over here.”

“I’m sure,” I said. I sat up and stared at the TV. Mugsy and Flip were putting a diaper on a doll under the incorrect tutelage of Figsworth. Flip had skinned knees. “Just out of curiosity, Ann...”

“Hah. Are you watching right now? That episode?”

“Yeah, I am. The baby one.”

“Yes,” she said, and laughed. “Yeah, it’s the same thing. It’s my method of catharsis. You’ve found me out, Kevin. I never actually invent anything for those plots, not really.”

“Wow.”

She laughed again. “It seems to be doing ok that way – for me and for the show.” Then she sighed. “Well, I’ll see you Saturday.”

I hung up.

 

I drove home on Friday morning and worked like a crazy man in my apartment. On Saturday I got on the bus to go to the studio and sat in front of the giggling teenage girls. It was raining. I leaned on the grimy bus window and called my sister.

“Beth, do you know anyone else who talks like me?” I asked.

“No,” she said, without even thinking about it. “Why?”

“Because there’s a conflict with my marketing job. He’s going to let me travel now. My schedule’s going to be way less predictable if I take the promotion.”

“So give up the promotion,” she said. “You don’t care about marketing. Nobody cares about marketing. You’re making enough with Figsworth now anyway. You don’t need to go on business trips.”

“Oh, come on, Beth,” I said. “Stop telling me what to do and think about it for a second.”

Sam was yelling in the background. The girls behind me were shaking in silent hysterics.

“Hush, Sam,” Beth said. “All right. I’m glad you’re being considered for a promotion.”

“And suppose he needs someone else to go on trips, now that Scott’s moved,” I said. “He can’t do it himself all the time, can he?”

“Lemme talk to him,” Sam was yelling.

“And I am just trying to do something serious with my life, frankly,” I said.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Kevin. Marketing is boring, not serious. It’s not that hard; just call him and tell him – Oh, hush up, Sam,” Beth said. “Jeez. Kevin, do you want to talk to the little monster for a minute?”

“Sure, ok,” I said.

“Uncle Kevin,” Sam bellowed into the phone. “Can you say something like Figsworth? Say “great stomping flobbits’.”

“Not right now, little man. I’m on the bus. I’ll say it when I see you at Nana and Pop’s.”

“Aww.”

“I’m –”

I almost dropped the phone as the bus lurched suddenly sideways and its brakes screamed. I barely saw the back end of another bus through the rain against the windshield. It whipped past us, very close. Then we stopped suddenly at the light. The brakes hissed and the bus driver slumped back. He sat still for a few seconds, and then rubbed his hand over his face. Nothing had happened. Inside the bus was completely silent except for the rain. Everyone was stunned and staring. A few people sighed. The little kid sitting on his mother’s lap across from me started to cry in shock.

I relaxed the hand that had tightened on the handrail and realized I still had the phone on my ear. “Come on, say it,” Sam begged.

“Oh, good grief,” I said. I looked at the crying kid. I sat in the silence for a few seconds. Then I leaned back, and said rather loudly in my stupid nasal voice, “Great stomping flobbits!”

I was the only person speaking on the entire bus. The words hung in the air for a few seconds. The girls behind me lost it first. Then the adults across the bus did. The scared little kid stopped crying and laughed. Even the driver turned around incredulously and laughed, looking right at me. The tension shattered. One of the girls actually leaned over the back of my seat and insisted on high-fiving me. “Dude, dude, awesome,” she cackled, before falling into her friend’s lap, incapacitated by laughter. I had to laugh too.

I got off the bus at the studio and went inside, shaking rain off my coat. I paused a moment in the office, then dialed my phone. My boss didn’t pick up. I prepared to leave a message.

“It’s Kevin,” I said. “I’m not sure about being able to travel. There’s a conflict with my second job. I’ll call you back later to talk over it. Actually – turn on channel fourteen at three this afternoon, there’s a Mugsy’s Neighborhood rerun.” I paused, a little shocked that I’d actually said that. He was a grown man. He did not watch cartoons. He’d think I was a moron.

Tornado McSlammy careened into the office from the hallway and ran into me. He fell over. I dropped the phone, but not before my boss’ answering machine recorded the sound of the wind being knocked out of me.

“Oops. Sorry,” Benjamin said.

“Oh, nonsense,” I said. I reached for the phone.

Then he looked up at me like a little imp and snatched my phone from under my hand. I grabbed him around the waist and held him off the floor, laughing. He laughed too. I started tickling him. He kicked his skinny legs and tried to tickle me back. I turned him upside down.

“Help! Help! Murder! Augh!” he cried, laughing so hard he could barely get breath.

“Alright, you,” I said, and put him down. He tossed me my phone and ran off down the hall again, laughing.

 “Hey,” I called after him. “Tell your mom I’m keeping Figsworth.”

Dr. Dixon said we could either write a research paper or write a fantasy story for Fantasy Lit class.
IT WAS A REALLY TOUGH DECISION ok I'm lying.

Here's what I wrote. (I hate the title by the way.)
(And by the way thank you Mom and Rachel and John for your immensely helpful revisions.)

The Door in the Tree

 

A young woman with red-gold hair once lived on the edge of a large and very old city. With her family she tended sheep and a small store, and only occasionally drove into the city itself. If she looked over its grey roofs on clear days she could see the shape of the old castle, rising faint and blue on a hill in the distance. It was beautiful, but seemed lonely; in it lived only the old king and his surviving daughter, watching the government march on without them and waiting for nothing but the princess’ approaching wedding with a foreign prince.

Beyond the girl’s home and fields lay a vast forest, into which the girl was sent one autumn afternoon to gather wild apples. She enjoyed the forest, but not the heavy apple basket.

 “Be back by dusk, Anna,” her mother warned her.

“Don’t worry,” Anna replied. “You know I’m afraid of the dark.”

Through the forest Anna went alone with her basket. The trees were tall and strange in the cold still air, bright in the sun, and silent. She found the wild apple trees and filled her basket; then, since there was much daylight still left, set down the basket under the tree and began to follow a familiar brook upstream.

She came soon to a familiar clearing in which stood an old tree; very squat, white and bleached, with no leaves. Lightning had burst its bark long ago. She suddenly stopped, seeing movement in one of the large scars on the old tree. Part of the bark swung outward, and a stooped figure emerged from behind it. Fear gripped Anna, and she hid, peering over the bank of the stream. The figure blinked in the sun, turned, pushed the door shut in the tree, and straightened. It was a man, very tall and handsome, in expensive but somewhat rumpled clothes. His face looked drawn and his eyes, after he stopped blinking, were wild. He strode quickly away from the tree towards the city and was soon lost to sight.

When he was quite gone, Anna stood and picked careful and silent steps towards the tree. She could see the door in its side, and a tiny piece of metal wedged into a crack like a key left in a keyhole. The topmost branches of the tall trees around shook, but Anna could feel no wind. She gripped the edge of the door, and with her heart beating very hard, pulled. The door swung open.

Inside the tree there was only blackness and the smell of wood and damp. Anna crouched and entered, and no sooner had she passed the door than it swung shut of its own accord. Startled, she fell; and upon righting herself, she turned in the close darkness and groped for the door. To her dismay she found not only one, but two doors beneath her hands, and then another and another. She put her ear to one of the doors and listened. Beyond it was a high, thin wailing. Through the next door she heard a rhythm, and voices; and she moved to the next door and heard silence. Believing it was her own door in the forest, she threw her weight against it, and it burst outward. She fell through and the door shut behind her.

She looked up and saw a grey and treeless place, dusty, with a pale sun near the dim horizon. There behind her was the tree, the same as ever, alone on the flat ground with its single shut door. There was no key in its keyhole crack. No matter how she strained against it and cried, it remained shut. There was nothing left to do but go on. She walked shivering across the grey dust, thinking of her basket of apples now so far away, and scanning the ground for the little metal key she knew she must find.

In the distance, she saw dark shadows on the ground. Realizing that they were pits, she drew near to one, but had no chance to look into it; for the ground gave way suddenly beneath her and she fell with a shriek amid sliding dust and flakes of dry rock into the darkness.

When the sounds of falling ceased, she stood painfully. Far above her head a jagged patch of pale light gleamed, fast fading in the dusk. Looking ahead she saw a passage, more darkness in the stone. She could not climb, so again she was forced forward. She walked until the light faded entirely, groping forward with her hands in the silence of the dead earth.

For hours she went on, forward and down. The air grew colder and began to smell stale. Drafts breathed on her from unseen tunnels as she passed them, sweeping her fingers over the gaps. Too late she realized she had counted neither steps taken, nor openings passed. Lost and weary, she stopped either to rest or to cry, when she heard a small sound behind her. She was suddenly terrified and went on again, faster. She ran in blind panic, on and on, and ever tiny sounds seemed to follow her.

She ran with her hands outstretched through close tunnels and echoing spaces, splashing through sudden icy water and over sand and rock and mud. “I am lost, I am lost,” she thought with tears on her face, and the tiny sounds followed her. Loose pebbles under her feet gave way and she fell and slid far, far down. She listened a moment, got up, and ran again. She saw a faint light ahead. Suddenly she saw through darkness distant specks of fire, heard the echoes of vast space, and felt emptiness under her feet. Panicking she fell, her hands flailing and grabbing at anything, anything at all.

They found a hand. Her fall stopped and she slammed against the wall of the pit, hanging from the cold bony hand which tightly gripped hers in the dimness.

Her other hand found the edge of the pit, and she crawled up. The thing that had followed her and saved her withdrew, crouched on the ledge, and watched her. In the faint light from the distant fires she saw it, hairless and skeletal and white. She could make no sense of its body; limbs seemed to sprout from strange places, and to be absent where they should have been, as though the creature had been taken apart and put back together wrong. Its loose garments hung in tatters and its mismatched large eyes gleamed. It looked starved beyond reckoning and like a thing about to die.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The thing neither moved nor spoke, but waited.

“You won’t hurt me?” she asked.

The thing shook its head. After a silence, the thing pointed at her, then upward.

“Yes,” she said. Then, “Do you know these tunnels?”

The thing nodded.

With only faint hope she asked, “Can you show me the way out?”

And the thing nodded again. She stood. The thing rose a little, moved past her silently, and disappeared into the shadow of the tunnel through which she had come.

“Wait!” she called after it. “I can’t see in the dark!”

The creature reappeared, paused, and held out a large and bony hand with too many fingers. Reluctantly she took it. The two left the pit behind, beginning their long ascent out of darkness.

Days passed. Though many tunnels the thing led her, always silent. She heard other sounds sometimes; sounds of other things moving in the dark, but the creature never brought her near them. It disappeared once, and when it reappeared it placed something wet like a fish or salamander in her hands for her to eat. She slept once or twice, and woke in the silence suddenly with the creature’s hand in her hair. She batted it away, and it shrank from her. Yet repulsive though it was, she could not help but pity it.

They moved slowly and steadily upward. Exhausted, Anna trudged hand in hand with the creature. Suddenly, as though she woke from a dream, she saw a light before her. The creature pulled her away and the light vanished, but she easily broke free of its hand, and going back saw the light again. There were four perpendicular lines of light, like firelight behind a closed door. She ran towards them, with the creature grabbing frantically at her hands and ankles, and as she drew near it the door opened. Warm firelight filled the cavern, and Anna saw the surprising shape of a woman in the doorway.

“Who is there?” said a sweet voice. It was the first voice Anna had heard since her mother’s warning.

“My name is Anna!” shouted the girl, nearly crying with relief. “Oh, can you help me?”

“Poor girl! However did you come here?” said the woman. Then she saw the thing tugging violently at Anna’s jeans. She shrieked.

“Ugh! Horrid thing! Get away from her!” The woman struck it, and it fled into the shadows. The woman pulled Anna inside and shut the door.

Within there was sudden warmth and a sweet smell. Anna saw a fire in a fireplace and felt carpet under her feet. She looked up at the woman. She was tall and dark-haired, and seemed clean, well-fed and well-rested. She smiled with her mouth but not her eyes.

“Anna,” she said kindly. “My dear, you look exhausted. You’re welcome to what I have here. I’ll get you a bath, and something to eat, and then you can tell me all about your misfortunes.”

The woman bathed Anna, fed her hot soup, and dressed her in some of her own clothes. Anna was too relieved to feel very surprised. She settled back in the chair the woman set before the fire, took the drink offered her, and told her short story to the woman.

“But how did you come here?” Anna asked, taking a sip from her glass. “How do you manage alone, in a cavern like this, with food and clothes and a fireplace?”

The woman smiled. “I too came through the door in the tree, long ago. I lost my way, and found it again, wandering in these caves until I found all their ways in and out. I often came back to the tree, but I could never open it, not even I, though I do know some tricks of magic.”

“What?”

“It’s all about knowing which pieces of the puzzle can be forced into different holes.” The woman smiled. “But I could do nothing with that door, for there is only one key that will fit in that lock. So I returned here, and with my art I made this home. Sometimes other unfortunates come through the tree, and if I find them I do what I can for them. But many lose themselves down pits or are deceived and killed by the creatures that crawl through the tunnels.” She patted Anna’s wrist. “But don’t worry, Anna. None of those creatures dare enter my doors.”

Anna finished the drink in her hand. She was beginning to feel sleepy. The thought of magic ought to have surprised her more than it did. She thought of a question, and slowly, with great effort, she asked it: “How long have you lived here? It must have been a very long time.”

“I manage. You are right – I am older than I look.”

Anna tried to sit up to look at the woman, but could not. She could no longer move or think. She lay still in her chair and the woman smiled at her.

“Now,” said the woman’s voice, speaking to herself, “the red-gold hair first, or the youth and beauty all at once? There is an art to it that must be considered.”

There was terrible silence, and then Anna heard a small sound, as though from far away.

The witch shrieked. The scream woke Anna, who struggled to sit up again. The witch was running into an adjoining room where an undefined shape cowered before her. She reached for it, but it ducked under her arm and loped away, stopping near Anna and blinking with the firelight bright on its asymmetrical face. Anna stood shakily as the witch advanced.

“How long have you been here? Get out!” shrieked the witch.

“Don’t hurt him,” she pleaded weakly, and stepped between them. “He saved my life.”

“Don’t be an idiot, honey,” said the witch. “I do what I want.” She stretched out her hand towards them. The room grew cold; the fire dwindled to embers, black shadows writhed in the corners of the walls, and the witch seemed to melt and to change shape. Anna stood stunned, stupid and hopeless, but the tireless creature seized her hand and ran, dragging her away.

He led her through doors and passages and strange rooms, as though he knew the house well, and the witch pursued them. They ran through a large door of iron that stood ajar and the witch came after them. It was dark, but suddenly light blazed from the witch’s hands. Anna stood still in terror, now quite awake.

They stood in a vast hall, round as though chewed out by an immense worm. Its walls and ceiling were covered in written names. The end of the hall was blocked by fallen stones.

“Do you see these names?” asked the witch. Her body hung like a puppet in midair, limp, with blank eyes but a terrible voice that seemed to come from everywhere. “They are the names of all those who have come to my house. They have been left behind. I took their names as I picked out their strength, their wits, their youth, their speech, or their beauty to keep myself together. They wander pointlessly now, unless under threats of pain I make them do my bidding in the outer world. I can make them seem as they once were, strong and beautiful, with spells, until they have finished my work and must crawl back to hide in the dark. They cannot escape, for I keep the key to the tree. And now you, Anna … there is no escape from this hall.”

Anna again felt herself tugged by the hand towards the rubble at the back of the hall. She stumbled, and the creature pushed her down between two stones. Behind her the hall echoed with unearthly shrieks of rage. Through a secret way she and the creature struggled, and burst out into a cool, dark cavern. Faint grey light shone above them, and they ran toward it.

Up it led them, steadily, and the light grew until they were suddenly out under a high sky. The thin creature fell, stunned by the light, but Anna lifted him and ran just as fast as before. The witch’s screams echoed in the cavern, and they knew she was close behind. Far off in the flat land they saw the tree, and Anna ran without hope towards it, not daring to look back. They reached the tree, and Anna collapsed. “We’re finished,” she cried.

But the creature fumbled in his rags and brought out a tiny, curiously shaped bit of metal.

“You stole …” Anna said breathlessly. Together they forced it into the lock. The door swung open, and they went in to the smell of wood and damp. The door shut. In the dark Anna felt for the doors, but was afraid to choose.

“Help!” she cried, hoping that someone on the outside of the right door would hear her. “Help us! Let us out!”

Sudden light blinded Anna. She thought that burning hands seized her and drew her through a door, and she swooned.

She woke slowly in silence. Trees waved their branches above her, and she sat up, nearly melting with joy as she recognized her own forest. She wept for a few minutes, and then remembered the poor creature. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you?” she called out.

“He is not here,” said several faint voices. Startled, Anna looked around, but saw no one.

“Hello?” she called. “Who are you?”

“We are the trees,” said the voices, and the trees swayed although there was no wind.

“You were taken from the tree by friends – by fire – by shining beings,” said a tree.

“But they seemed to burn you, so they left to preserve your life,” said another.

“They left your companion with us. We have done what we could,” said the trees, and waved their branches in the direction she should go. She followed and came to her basket of apples still standing beneath the apple tree. But the apple tree was withered and dry, its fruit and leaves all dropped on the ground. Beneath it lay a form which stirred as she approached, and rose, and looked at her.

He was a handsome young man, dressed in simple clothes. He said nothing. Anna felt she had seen him before, and the longer he stayed silent, the more certain she became. Everything was in its right place. He pointed at the apple tree, and then at himself.

“Yes,” she said through tears. “It’s you.” In the silence of the wood he took her hand.

At that moment they heard new voices through the trees. Into view came a girl not much older than Anna, stumbling in heels, with a man’s coat over her blouse and skirt. She was led by the man Anna had seen leave the door in the tree days ago. They did not see Anna or her friend.

“We are nearly there, princess,” said the man, pulling her along. “Aren’t you glad to finally get to see it? Or are you homesick for your lonely castle already?”

“Of course not, Fred,” puffed the princess, “but I wish you wouldn’t walk so fast.”

 “The key – it’s still in the keyhole,” Anna suddenly whispered. “He’s going to ruin her!”

Silently and quickly she and the young man ducked beneath the bank of the stream and ran to the tree again. The couple saw them as they reached it, and as the nameless young man wrenched the key from the keyhole Prince Frederick called out, “Hey! You! What are you doing?”

“You aren’t coming through this door,” Anna said. “We won’t give you the key.”

“How dare you!” said the Prince. “Do you know who you’re speaking to? You address Prince Frederick and Princess Julia. Get out of our way!” He lunged forward at the young man.

But the Princess gasped, and shouted, “Wait!” She ran forward and took the young man’s face in both her hands. For a moment she was silent.

“Andrew,” she whispered in awe, “Is it …? I thought you were dead!” Tears started in her eyes and she turned to Prince Frederick. “We’ve got to go back,” she said.

Poor Frederick’s eyes were wilder than before, and he let out a cry. “There’s no time! Give me the key!” Again he leapt for Andrew, but in the middle of his leap a shadow seemed to fall from him. His legs gave way under him and he crumpled, a thing quivering on the ground, hiding what must have been his head under a stump of arm. Julia screamed and clutched Andrew.

As they stood in the silence, a single fir tree nearby moved, stretching its branches towards them. Andrew carried Frederick’s limp body to the tree and laid it down. For a moment nothing happened. Then green needles began to turn brown and to fall until the tree was completely bare. Prince Frederick stirred, and stood slowly, shedding the brown needles. He was whole again.

That night the old king welcomed his son with tears at the castle. No one present knew quite what to make of the prince’s return from the dead, but when the king listened to the stories of Anna and Prince Frederick, he seemed to believe them. He declared that the tree must be cut down the next day. But the tree would not be cut; its weathered bark dulled or broke all the axes and saws that touched it. So the king ordered instead that a wall be built around the clearing, ten feet high, with no gate or door. As for the key to the tree, it was locked up in the castle’s deepest dungeon, where no one ever went, and guarded there for centuries by king after king of that line.

Several years after the old king died, Frederick and Julia visited the King Andrew and his wife Anna, and the four of them walked into the wood to inspect the wall as they did once a year. It stood tall and strong as ever. Everything was the same as always, except for two trees: a dead fir and a dead wild apple, from which, this year, small green shoots were growing.

The fire alarm went off at about 12:10 this morning, right after I got in bed. The whole dorm had to empty into Harbison, where we sat for nigh on an hour in our PJs and coats, staring vaguely into space or giggling or attempting to follow the sing-a-long the RAs had started at the front of the chapel. Apparently there was an electrical fire started by a water fountain (!?). The fire department showed up, but I didn't see them. I haven't heard anything further, so I guess I can assume it wasn't serious.

It was all rather annoying, but at the same time kind of funny. I'm starting to accumulate some decent fire-alarm stories. Like the time it went off when I was showering. Or the time it went off in a Holiday Inn and for a few seconds (because I was half-asleep) I believed I had set it off by turning on the bathroom light, because that totally makes sense.

So yeah, now I'm a little tired.