Sydney and the Wisconsin Whispering Woods Page 4

  “It was just an idea,” said Alexis.

  Biscuit stopped and sniffed the air. His ears perked up. He let out a little Ar-roof, and then off he ran into the forest.

  “Oh no,” said Sydney, “Not again! Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” said Alexis. “Remember what that thing said. Are you sure you want to go back in there?”

  “Think about it, Alex—it’s Biscuit. We have to go. If we lost him, Kate would never forgive us.”

  “She would, too,” said Alexis, stalling for time. “She has to. The Bible says to.”

  Sydney took off after Biscuit. Reluctantly, Alexis followed. “We have to be quiet,” she said. “If we start calling for him, whatever it is might hear us.”

  “You’re right,” Sydney agreed.

  The buzzing noise grew louder as they approached the spot where they’d heard the whoosh—where the voice whispered, “Go back. Go back. Go back.”

  The forest seemed darker now, and they heard that noise, the persistent buzz, a low sound, almost a growl.

  Then, as Sydney and Alexis walked deeper into the forest, they saw the eerie purple glow.

  “What’s that?” Sydney whispered.

  “It’s the purple light. We saw it before,” said Alexis.

  “No,” said Sydney. “Something is out there walking in the woods.”

  The words had no sooner left her lips than they saw the mountain man. He stood in a small clearing in the distance.

  “Drop!” Sydney gasped. The girls fell to the ground and hid behind a huge log.

  Alexis peeked around one side of it.

  “Oh my goodness!” she whispered. “He’s got Biscuit!”

  The mountain man walked toward them with Biscuit held firmly in the crook of his left arm. In his right hand, he carried the walking stick. The backpack was gone, but he still wore the floppy cap and ragged clothes. As he came nearer, the girls heard his deep, gruff voice.

  “I need to get you back,” he said. “If they come looking for you, they might find out what I’m doing. It’ll be in all the newspapers and even on television. And I’m not ready for that yet.”

  As he got closer, Alexis and Sydney prayed that Biscuit wouldn’t bark or wiggle out of the man’s arms and run to them. Even a whisper could be heard, so they just huddled together behind the log and looked at one another with desperation.

  Baw-waw-waw!

  Suddenly, a hollow, loud barking sound came out of the eerie purple glow. It echoed through the forest and made Sydney shiver. She felt Alexis grip her forearm.

  “I never tied Fang up before,” said the man’s rough voice. “He’s not at all happy about it. Now, once I get you back home, don’t you come after us again, you hear? This is no place for a friendly little dog like you. You tell that gal to keep you on your leash.”

  The girls heard the mountain man’s boots crunch pinecones against the forest floor. He was almost to the log now, and they plastered their bodies tightly against the ground.

  Please, dear God, don’t let him see us, Sydney prayed silently.

  Biscuit began to whine, sensing that they were nearby.

  “Whoa, slow down there, boy,” said the mountain man, tightening his grip. “Nothing’s going to get you.”

  Sydney could imagine Biscuit squirming to get out of the man’s arms.

  “Whew!” she heard the man exclaim. “Your owner’s going to be mad when she gets a whiff of you. You shouldn’t have rolled in my manure pile.”

  Certain that the man was far enough away, Sydney let out a sigh of relief.

  “He saw you!” Alexis whispered.

  “No, he didn’t,” Sydney replied. “He walked right on by.” “I don’t mean now,” said Alexis. “I mean when you were out with Biscuit last night. He said, ‘Tell that gal to keep you on your leash.’ “

  “You’re right,” whispered Sydney. “So now what do we do?”

  “We follow them,” said Alexis.

  The thing called Fang started barking again. Soon its deep Baw-waw-waws mixed with long, mournful ARROOoooooos.

  “I think he has a wolf tied up out there,” said Sydney.

  “Oh, do you think so?” Alexis shuddered.

  “Whatever it is sounds big,” Sydney replied.

  They got up from the ground and followed the mountain man, making sure that they stayed well behind him and hidden in the trees.

  “Do you know what?” Sydney whispered as she ducked under a low branch. “I just thought of something.”

  “What?” said Alexis, avoiding the same branch.

  “We need to get ahead of them.”

  “Why?” Alexis wondered nearly tripping over a rock half buried in the soil.

  “Because Biscuit is smart,” Sydney said. “If we’re behind them, he’ll run right to us when the mountain man puts him down. Then we’ll be caught for sure. And who knows what he’d do to us. Probably take us back to that purple glow where he has the wolf tied up.” She squeezed around a Cockspur Hawthorne tree and caught her arm on one of its long, sharp thorns. “Ouch!” she squealed.

  “Ssshhhh! “ Alexis scolded.

  It was too late. Biscuit heard Sydney’s cry.

  Ruff-ruff-aroof! Ruff-ruff-aroof!

  “Oh no,” said Alexis. “Dear God, please, please, let the mountain man hang on to Biscuit.”

  “Lord, hear our prayer,” Sydney agreed, quickly wiping a dribble of blood from her arm.

  They waited, expecting Biscuit to bound through the woods right to them. But nothing happened.

  “Oh thank you, Lord,” Sydney said.

  “You’re right,” said Alexis as they slipped in and out among the trees. “We should get to the resort before Biscuit does. I sure wish we knew a shortcut.”

  “Goof!” She tripped over something and fell flat on her face.

  “Are you okay?” asked Sydney.

  “I’m fine,” said Alexis, pushing herself up onto her knees. “I just tripped over this … shovel.”

  A garden shovel with a long wooden handle lay in the dirt under Alexis. “This is a strange place for a shovel,” she said, standing up. “Someone must have been digging here. Maybe looking for something.”

  “Or, maybe burying something,” Sydney suggested.

  The girls looked at one another. Without saying a word, each knew what the other was thinking. The shovel belonged to the mountain man.

  “Hey,” said Alexis, brushing dirt and pine needles off of her knees. “Look!” She pointed to the base of a nearby tree trunk. “Isn’t that moss?”

  Sydney checked it out. “It sure is,” she confirmed. “That way is north.”

  She pointed in the direction that the mountain man went. “Let’s hurry.”

  The girls squirmed around gangly bushes and past the branches of evergreen trees, and before long they saw bright sunlight not far ahead of them. The green grass surrounding the resort office came into view, and Sydney and Alexis hurried into the clearing.

  “We got here before he did,” said Sydney.

  “I think it would be best if we were in the cabin,” Alexis suggested. “That way, if he’s watching, he won’t know we were in the woods.”

  “Good idea,” Sydney agreed.

  They took off running, darting behind the resort office, staying away from the woods. They ran down a little hill to the back of their cabin. Sydney pulled the key out of her pocket and unlocked the door.

  “Quick! Let’s go to the front porch,” said Alexis, rushing through the little kitchen and living room. She pushed open the front door and stepped onto the porch just in time to see Biscuit race out of the woods.

  Ruff-ruff! Ruff-ruff! Ruff-ruff-aroof!

  Alex opened the porch door and stepped outside to meet her furry friend.

  “Biscuit, where have you been?” she said in a voice much louder than normal. “We’ve been worried sick about you!”

  Sydney was close behind. “Why are you yelling?” she asked.

  “I want that guy t
o hear me,” said Alexis softly. “I want him to think that we were here all along.” Biscuit licked her hands.

  Sydney looked toward the woods. The mountain man was nowhere in sight. “I think he’s gone,” she said.

  Alexis held Biscuit at arm’s length. “Oh, you smell so bad. We have to give you a bath. Why did you roll in that man’s manure pile?”

  “Manure pile!” Sydney shrieked.

  “Didn’t you hear him?” said Alexis. “He told Biscuit that he smelled bad, and then he said that Biscuit shouldn’t have rolled in the manure pile.”

  “I must have missed that part,” said Sydney, keeping her distance from Biscuit. “Manure is made up of animal droppings, like from cows and horses and sheep. Why in the world would he have a manure pile in the middle of a forest?”

  Alexis picked Biscuit up and carried him onto the porch.

  “Oh Alex, don’t bring him in here,” said Sydney. “He stinks.”

  “I know,” her friend replied, “but if we don’t keep him in the cabin, he might run away again. I’m not going back there. I’ll get his leash and collar, and then we’ll take him into the lake for a bath.”

  “I’ll get them,” said Sydney, walking toward the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, Alexis buckled Biscuit’s collar around his neck and hooked the leash onto the collar.

  “Maybe the mountain man is keeping farm animals out there in the woods. Go get my shampoo from the bathroom, please,” she told Sydney. “I’ll meet you over by the dock.”

  Alexis opened the screen door and led Biscuit outside. He turned and pulled toward the woods. “No way, Biscuit!” she said. “You are not going back by that man. I wish you could talk, because I’d love to know what he’s up to.”

  Sydney arrived with the shampoo. “Why would he have farm animals in the woods?” she asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Neither does the purple glow or the whispering woods,” Alexis responded, kicking off her tennis shoes and wading into the water. “Come on, Biscuit.” She held tight to his leash as the dog bounded into the lake splashing water all over her shorts.

  “Okay, let’s think about what we know,” Sydney said as she opened the cap on the shampoo bottle. “We have a mountain man living in the forest. There’s a spooky, purple glow in the woods, and something goes whoosh and talks. And a wolf, or whatever, belongs to the guy, and he has it tied up.”

  “Toss me the shampoo,” said Alex. “And he has a manure pile. So that shovel probably belongs to him.” She squeezed a generous amount of shampoo onto Biscuit’s back. Then she tossed the bottle back to Sydney.

  “And did you hear what he said about people finding out about him?” said Sydney. “He said if anyone found out what he was doing, it would be in the newspapers and on television. He’s up to no good, Alex. I just know it.”

  “But he’s kind to animals,” her friend said. She was busy scrubbing Biscuit and had him so covered with lather that he looked like a little lamb. “Don’t look now, but here comes that Duncan kid.”

  Duncan Lumley was heading for the dock carrying a fishing rod and tackle box. When he saw the girls washing the dog, he scowled. “What are you doing that for?” he said, walking right up to Sydney, almost getting in her face.

  She took a step backward. “We’re giving our dog a bath.”

  “Well, get him out of there,” said Duncan. “You’ll scare the fish away.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Sydney said. “You act like you own the place.”

  “I do,” he said. “We come here every year.”

  Alexis rinsed Biscuit off and led him out of the water. He shivered, sending a shower of water all over Duncan.

  “Hey!” Duncan cried, jumping backward. “Knock it off!”

  “So what do you know about the guy who lives in the woods?” Sydney asked indifferently.

  Alexis shot her a look. She couldn’t believe that Sydney had asked Duncan such a thing.

  The boy grinned. “I know all about him,” he said. “He’s the ghost of Jacques Chouteau.”

  Jacques Chouteau

  “Who’s Jock Show Toe?” Sydney asked.

  Duncan smirked and shook his head. “Don’t you know anything? It’s a French name.” Then, with a phony French accent, he said, “Jacques Chouteau.”

  Duncan’s attitude irritated Sydney, but she tried to hold her temper. “Yeah, well, who is he?”

  The redheaded boy walked onto the dock and opened his tackle box.

  “I’m not telling,” he said. He took a stubby, white Styrofoam container out of the box and opened the lid. He reached inside and pulled out a night crawler. “Catch.” He flung it toward Sydney.

  Sydney didn’t flinch. The worm fell at her feet and quickly dug into the muddy soil.

  “That’s one less worm that you’ll have for bait,” Sydney announced. “Come on, Alexis, let’s go.”

  “Yeah, you should go,” Duncan told them. “I need to do some serious fishing.”

  Alexis walked ahead of Sydney, tightly holding Biscuit’s leash. He trotted a few steps forward and then stopped to shake the water off his soggy fur coat. When they were almost to the front porch, Biscuit decided to lie down and roll in the dirt.

  “No, Biscuit!” Alexis said. She swept him into her arms and hurried through the door. “There,” she said, setting him on a chair. “You behave yourself. You’ve gotten into enough trouble today.”

  Sydney stepped inside and closed the door. “We need to talk to Mrs. Miller in the office.”

  “What about?” Alexis asked.

  “We need fishing poles. That brochure on the kitchen table says that the resort has some we can use. I also want to find out where to get bait.”

  “But we have dough balls,” said Alexis, pointing toward the pizza dough thawing on the kitchen counter.

  “I know,” said Sydney. “But I think we each should fish with a different kind of bait. It’ll give us a better chance at catching fish.”

  The girls shut Biscuit on the porch and headed up the driveway toward the office.

  “Do you think Duncan told the truth about a ghost in the woods?” Alexis asked.

  “I don’t believe anything he says,” said Sydney. “He was just trying to scare us. You didn’t believe him, did you?”

  Alexis kicked a stone to the side of the driveway. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said. “That guy in the woods is probably a very nice man—but I wish I knew that for sure.”

  Sydney opened the front door to the office, and the girls went inside.

  Mrs. Miller wasn’t at the desk. From somewhere inside the house came the sound of a soap opera on the television. Sydney rang the little metal bell next to a sign that read RING FOR SERVICE.

  “Hey, look at this,” said Alexis. She pointed to a painting on the wall. It showed a man dressed in a heavy fur coat with a big fur collar and a warm fur cap. In his left hand, he proudly held an animal skin. A caption at the bottom of the picture said JACQUES CHOUTEAU, FUR TRAPPER.

  “Wow,” said Sydney. “He really did exist.”

  Mrs. Miller pulled aside a curtain that hung in the doorway dividing the office from the living quarters. “Did you ring the bell?” she asked. She turned on the television behind the desk to her soap opera.

  “I’m just wondering if we could get some fishing poles,” said Sydney. “Alexis and I entered the contest.”

  A commercial interrupted the program, and Mrs. Miller turned her attention toward the girls. “Good for you!” she said. “Mr. Miller can certainly fix you up with some poles. Do you each have a fishing license?”

  “No, ma’am,” Sydney answered. “I didn’t know that we needed one.”

  “You might,” said Mrs. Miller. “My husband owns the bait shop. Go up to the road and turn right. In a little while you’ll come to a restaurant called The Wave. The bait shop is next door. Charlie, that’s my husband, will get you all fixed up.” The commercial ended, and she turned back to the TV.r />
  Sydney wanted to ask about the picture of Jacques Chouteau, but she could tell Mrs. Miller was too preoccupied with her program. “Thanks,” she said as she and Alexis walked out the door. “See you later.”

  Charlie’s Bait and Tackle was in a small, rundown building. It looked like an old garage set behind the parking lot of the restaurant, not far from the lakeshore. When the girls opened the front door, a strong, fishy smell filled their nostrils. They stood near a tank where hundreds of tiny gray fish darted to and fro. Fish trophies hung on the paneled walls. Around the trophies, the walls were lined with fishing poles and hundreds of fishing lures, spoons, and flies. An old paddle was propped in the corner behind the service counter. The words FISH TALES TOLD HERE were carved into it. A revolving rack on the counter held different kinds of fishing lines, and the front of the counter was a glass display case filled with various sizes of hooks.

  “May I help you?” said a bald-headed man sitting behind the counter.

  “The lady at the resort sent us,” said Sydney.

  “That would be my wife, Betty,” the man said. “I’m Charlie.”

  Sydney walked over to the counter. “Mr. Miller, we need a fishing license and some poles,” she said. “And we’d like some bait, too, please.”

  The man smiled. “How old are you girls?”

  “Twelve,” said Sydney. “Almost thirteen.”

  “Kids under sixteen don’t need a license,” he said. “What kind of poles do you need?”

  Alexis joined Sydney by the counter. “We’re not sure. The brochure at the resort said that you have some poles that we can use,” she said. “We’re competing in the fishing contest.”

  “You are, are you?” said Mr. Miller. “Well, good for you. Usually, girls don’t fish.”

  His comment irritated Sydney. Why does everyone around here think that girls don’t fish? she thought.

  “We’re entering the dockside contest,” she told him. “We’re planning to catch the biggest fish.”

  “Well good. I hope you do,” Mr. Miller said as he disappeared into a room next to the counter. He quickly returned with two fishing rods. “These are rods with reels,” he said. “They’re for the big fish.”