Marsh Island (2 page)

But something had been there. Halfway up the bank, he spotted a dark shape under a bush. He stepped off the rock and headed toward it, his shoes sinking into the soft muddy bank.

“Jake? Come back,” said Tommy. His voice was wobbling again.

“In a minute,” called Jake. “I found something.”

Jake shoved the bush out of the way and knelt to have a closer look. Two sticks were stuck in the ground and crossed at the middle to make an
X
.

“What is it? What did you find?” asked Tommy, splashing across the stream. He clambered up the bank and dropped to his knees next to Jake.

“I'm not sure,” said Jake. “But someone put these sticks here on purpose. You know, so they could find the spot again.”

“Like pirate treasure?
X
marks the spot?”

“Yeah.” Jake grinned. “Come on, help me dig.”

Jake pulled out the two sticks. He gave one to Tommy.

I am a pirate
, Jake thought,
returning for my buried treasure. Gold, coins, jewels, all mine.
He scraped away at the dirt, punching the stick into the mud.
Could a pirate really have buried something here?
he wondered. Then he remembered something his dad had told him the night before they'd left home. A tale about the island, about some madman who'd lived there, years and years ago. He'd thought it was just a story, but maybe it was true.

“I wonder if crazy old Marsh put these here,” he said.

“Who?”

“Didn't Dad tell you the Marsh Island story?”

“No.” Tommy sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Well, the island was named after this man, Alfred Marsh,” said Jake. He kept digging and didn't look up. “Marsh was rich—I think he owned a bank or something—and lived in this huge mansion in the city. He had heaps of servants waiting on him all day,
bringing him whatever he wanted, answering the phone, driving him around. All he had to do was snap his fingers, and someone came running.”

Jake held his hand up and clicked his fingers sharply at Tommy. Tommy giggled.

Jake picked a couple of rocks out of the hole and tossed them aside. “But one day the bank went bust, and he went nuts.”

“What do you mean?”

“He turned into a zombie. Just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Didn't talk, didn't eat, didn't get up.”

Tommy stopped digging. “Not even to go to the bathroom?”

“Nah,” said Jake, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “They didn't have any servants anymore, so
Mrs.
Marsh had to put diapers on him like a baby.”

“Ewww!” Tommy wrinkled his nose.

Jake stabbed his stick in the hole. “Then one day, he got out of bed and walked out the door.
Didn't say anything to anyone, just walked out. He headed straight to the shore, stole a rowboat and rowed out to this island.”

“You mean
this
island?”

“Yup, the same one we're standing on. That's why it's called Marsh Island. He disappeared out here, and no one ever saw him again.”

“You—you mean he died out here?” asked Tommy, looking over his shoulder.

Suddenly it felt very cold squatting under the bush. Jake glanced into the trees behind them, just like Tommy had. He had a strange feeling, as if he was being watched.

Don't be stupid
, Jake thought.
You're imagining things
. He jammed his stick deeper into the dirt.

“Story goes that his wife rowed out and left food for him once in a while. The food always disappeared, but she never saw him again.”

Jake's stick hit something hard. His stomach did a flip.

“I found something!” he cried. He threw the stick away and dug with his hands. He clawed at the hole like a dog searching for a lost bone. Dirt ground under his fingernails and hard bits of mud scraped at his skin. Whatever was buried there, it had been there a long, long time. The mud was stuck to it like cement.

“Maybe you should leave it,” said Tommy.

Jake scowled at him. “What are you talking about? We've found some treasure, Tommy. Treasure!”

Tommy looked fearfully into the bushes. “Maybe we shouldn't dig it up,” he said. “Someone might come back for it.”

“Don't be stupid,” Jake scoffed. He followed Tommy's gaze into the trees. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. He shook himself and kept digging. “No one's lived on this island for years.”

The object in the ground was solid. Jake thought it might be made of wood. “It feels like a box,” he said. He scrabbled away a bit more dirt, dug his fingers in
under the bottom and pried it loose. The box came out with a
schloop
.

“Cool,” Jake said, running his hands across the top. The wood was cold and clammy.

“Do—do you think that crazy guy Marsh buried it here?” asked Tommy.

Jake felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. “Could be. It sure looks old enough.” A weird feeling was creeping over him. It felt like hundreds of ants were crawling up his back. “Bet he took his wife's jewelry or something and hid it out here.” He turned the box over, looking for the latch.
Could it really have belonged to Alfred Marsh?
he wondered.

Tommy moved closer to Jake and peered into the woods. “Does—does he still live here?” Tommy whispered.

“Alfred Marsh?” Jake laughed. “Get real. That was, like, two hundred years ago. He's long gone. But...” Jake stared into Tommy's eyes and continued in a low voice, “Some people say he's still wandering the island, looking for his lost fortune.”

Tommy's eyes grew big and round.

Suddenly there was a loud
CRACK
in the bushes. Jake's head snapped up. Those branches had definitely moved!

Tommy screamed. “It's him!” he shrieked.

“Run for it!” Jake yelled.

Jake leaped to his feet, grabbed the box and dashed into the woods without looking back. He pushed his legs hard and fast, his heart banging against his ribs. Twigs whipped at Jake's face. Roots leaped up to trip him. He couldn't breathe. He glanced back, and a huge shadow lunged out from behind a tree.

“Faster, Tommy!” he yelled.

A boulder appeared in front of him. Jake leaped over it. He dodged around a couple of spruce trees and then plowed through some bushes. The blood
pounded in his ears. He didn't care which way he went. He had to get away!

He raced up a hill, lungs screaming for air, and across a gravelly patch at the top. Was Tommy still behind him? He didn't dare look. A cold draft fanned the back of his neck, speeding him on. His legs were killing him, but he made them go faster, around a large moss-covered rock and down a slope, ducking around a tree at the bottom.

He raced up another hill, crossed over an animal trail and plunged back into the woods. He thought he would get away. He thought he'd be fast enough, but he didn't see the log until it was too late. He took a giant leap, tripped, and tumbled headfirst into a pile of leaves.

He lay where he fell, unable to move. His brain screamed at him to get up, keep going, get away. All he could do was lie there and gasp for air. He cowered behind the log, waiting, listening. What had been following him? Was it still there?

Could it see him or hear him...or even smell him? Had he escaped? And what had happened to Tommy?

The woods were quiet. Even the birds were silent. All Jake could hear was himself, panting like an old dog. But as his breathing quieted and his heart slowed, a weird moaning drifted down the trail. He couldn't tell what was making the sound, but it was moving toward him.

He made himself as small as he could, closed his eyes tight and held his breath. Closer and closer came the sound. It was a rasping, groaning sort of noise, low and throaty. Jake bit his lip.

Then a small voice called out. “Jake?”

It was Tommy!

Jake jumped up and put a finger to his lips. “
Ssshhhh!
” he hissed. He'd never been so glad to see his brother. He dragged Tommy over the log, pushed him to the ground and peered back over the top. He scanned the path. Nothing stirred. Everything was quiet.

Jake sank into the leaves and wiped the sweat off his face.
That was close
, he thought.

Tommy moaned again. Jake saw that he was shaking. Jake was feeling a bit shaky himself, but he'd never let Tommy know it.

“What was that, Jake?” Tommy asked. “Was it Alf—?”

“No.” Jake laughed nervously. “Of course not. It was probably just a bird.”

“That wasn't a bird!” said Tommy.

“Well, a—a skunk then, or a raccoon,” said Jake. He glanced back at the trail. Nothing moved.

“If that was a skunk, how come you were so scared?”

“You were the one who was screaming like a werewolf was after you,” said Jake. “I wasn't scared.”

“You were so!” said Tommy.

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Wuss!” Jake shouted.

“Double wuss!”

Jake glared at Tommy's bright red face. Little brothers could be such a pain.