Free A Natural History of Hell: Stories by Jeffrey Ford Page A

some other trailing vine I didn’t recognize it as a house. Only when she pointed to where lamplight glowed through a small window, one mere corner of its glass not covered by leaves, did I see it. Then I noticed that there was smoke issuing from inside through the metal chimney of a stove. The house wasn’t huge but it had two floors and seemed out of place in the woods—more like a home you might find in a big town. It had a slate roof, and you could make out the fancy wood carvings they call gingerbread beneath the ivy.
    “Should we do some spying?” I asked Alice in a whisper.
    I know she was thinking about Pretty ’cause she hesitated for a second. “Twenty cents is twenty cents,” she said. “We’ll just peek in the window and see what we see. Then we gotta get. Whatever we see, we’ll tell the minister.”
    “What if it ain’t much?”
    “We’ll make something up like good deputy angels.”
    “Stay quiet,” I said to her and tried to take her hand. She pushed me away.
    “I can do this myself,” she said, and we proceeded side by side.
    As we approached the back of the house we heard noises coming out from inside. I realized the back door was slightly ajar. The closer we got, the smaller the steps we took until we were only inching along a little at a time. I felt cold in my gut, slightly dizzy, and my legs felt weighed down like in those dreams where you need to run but can’t. Alice was breathing quickly, her eyes focused on the light coming through the sliver of an entrance.
    Sitting on a tree stump, right outside the back door, there was a little painted box with a design like fancy wallpaper. Alice lifted it quickly, tipped the lid up, and peered inside. She slipped it into her pocket. “That ’ s thievery,” I whispered. She shhh ’ d me and showed me the back of her hand as if getting ready to smack me.
    No less than a breath later, the door suddenly flew open and there stood old lady Oftshaw without her tunnel scarf, her pale face and wild hair unhidden. She was lit from behind, and the glow made her seem some kind of spirit. I stopped dead in my tracks and froze. Alice grabbed my hand and spun us around. She started to yell “Run,” I think, but whatever the word was it vanished, ’cause standing right in our path was Jundle. Alice took a step, and the hog made a noise from deep inside his huge body that sounded like the earth grunting. He came at us, plodding slowly, and we turned and walked toward Mrs. Oftshaw. I couldn’t get any spit in my mouth, and my legs were like two dead fish.
    “Come in, children,” said the old lady, and she stepped back and held open the door for us. We stepped into her kitchen, first Alice and then me. We stood right next to each other and kept some distance between us and Mrs. Oftshaw. She let the door go, and it slammed shut, making us start. I don’t know how, but I was able to look up at her face. I’d never seen it clearly before. In that moment, I saw that she wasn’t a homely old woman but just an old woman.
    “You kids here to spy on me?” she asked and smiled in a way that made me scared.
    I was all set to spill the beans, but before I could open my mouth, Alice stepped forward and said, “We brought my brother out to the pond in the woods, but we lost him. Can you help us find him?”
    The old lady said, “He’s not lost.”
    “We really don’t know where he is, and I have to find him.” Alice said.
    “He’s not lost, child. He’s on an expedition.”
    “Where is he?” I asked.
    “He’s travelling far,” she said. “But I can help you. I’ll send Cynara, the world’s oldest heifer, after him. She’ll bring him home.” She went to the door, opened it, and whistled. With her hand, she motioned for us to come and join her by the entrance. In a few moments, Jundle slowly came waddling into sight. He stood in front of us, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, smoke issuing in pigtails.
    “Take Cynara and go and fetch the