The Wish Stealers (5 page)

“I—I’m sorry, Mrs. Sato. I didn’t get much sleep last night,” said Griffin, gazing down at her paper. On it she had written her name, had numbered from one to eleven, and had drawn a large penny.

When Mrs. Sato walked away, Griffin wrote down Mariah Weatherby Schmidt’s age, ninety-two, and the sentence from Mariah’s letter—
hardly done being a girl
. What age would that be? Most people consider someone done being a girl or boy at eighteen, the official adult age. So if Mariah wrote that her first job was around this time, she was probably eighteen or a little younger. Griffin wrote 92 – 18 = 74.

Seventy-four years ago, give or take a few years, Mariah Weatherby Schmidt had started stealing wish pennies from the fountain. All sorts of people of all ages made wishes. Griffin clasped her hand over her mouth. Griffin guessed a lot of the people whose wishes Mariah had stolen were probably dead!

Mrs. Burns leaned over Griffin’s desk as she scribbled numbers fiercely on her notebook. “Much better, Griffin!”

Griffin smiled at her teacher, but her thoughts were flying. She was determined to make Mariah take back her box of stolen wishes after school.

Refuse to take on other people’s bad luck.

L
ate afternoon sunshine beat mercilessly down upon the asphalt.
It’s as if the storm and rain never happened,
thought Griffin. She moved closer to Mr. Schmidt’s house carrying Mariah’s black box. Every drop of water had evaporated. On the sidewalk worms writhed, frying in the sun. Griffin grabbed a broken branch and tried to gently move worm after worm to the safety of the grass, but there were too many.

I wish when it stops raining that no soggy worms will fry on the sidewalk the next sunny day,
ran through her head.

“This is awful,” said Griffin. Crows circled above. “I wish …,” she began, but she stopped herself. For the first
time in her life she had lost her confidence in wishing.

Up ahead of her was Mr. Schmidt’s house. All the shades were drawn, and it looked sealed like a tomb. Griffin walked up to the front door and knocked three times. “Mr. Schmidt!” Griffin shouted, and knocked even harder. “Mr. Schmidt!”

“Griffin?” called a neighbor from next door.

“Hi, Mrs. Jasper,” she answered.

“I heard all the commotion out here. I thought someone was knocking on my door,” she said.

“I’m looking for Mr. Schmidt and his great-aunt. Do you know when they’ll be back?” asked Griffin.

“Your family hasn’t heard?”

Griffin shook her head.

“It happened around ten this morning,” said Mrs. Jasper. “I’m sure it was pneumonia. The evening the tornado passed by I saw Mariah out on the front porch in the rain! Imagine sitting in a rocking chair in weather like that! I was about to call Mr. Schmidt to get his aunt out from that awful weather, I thought maybe she wasn’t quite right in the head. She was very old, you know. Anyway, when I looked out again, she was gone. Mr. Schmidt said she lay down to take a nap this morning and died in her sleep. He said there was the strangest smile on her face. He’s gone back to Topeka to arrange the funeral.”

Griffin gasped.

“I know, dear,” said Mrs. Jasper, coming closer to her. “These things can be very sad, but what a long life! Did you know his aunt?”

“Not really,” she whispered.

“Nice lady, very old. Only been here a week. Imagine that,” said Mrs. Jasper. “Mr. Schmidt asked me to get the mail. Was it something important you needed?”

“No, I … did his great-aunt have any children?”

“As far as I know she never married, and Mr. Schmidt was her only relative. But she wanted to be buried back in Topeka.”

Griffin trudged home, now feeling the horrible heaviness of the box of stolen wishes in her hands.

The best way out is always through.

—Robert Frost

S
amantha’s long hair swayed like a sheet of perfectly smooth silk. In English class the next day not one strand dared disobey her. She wore a designer dress with horseshoe logos all over it, bead bangle bracelets all up her right arm, leather riding boots, and a scarf knotted into a headband. Instead of a backpack she carried an Italian handbag her mom had handed down to her when she’d gotten bored with it. Some of the boys feared her, others had crushes on her, and the rest had a little bit of both. Girls chimed throughout the hall, “Hi, Samantha. You look amazing!” or “Oh, my gosh, Samantha. I
love
your dress!”

“What a wonderful start we had with
Macbeth
! A storm
to set our stage!” said Mrs. Gideon. “Now we will dive into the play, which opens with three witches telling Macbeth his fortune. Not what
will
happen, but what
could
happen as painted in the stars.”

Griffin sat in the back row, stuck in that lonesome seat from the first day of class. Scanning the heads in front of her, she saw Samantha surrounded by new girls who wanted to be friends with her.

Her grandma always said,
To have a friend you must be a friend
. Griffin thought Samantha didn’t seem like she’d be a kind friend, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everything felt upside down, and Griffin hated not telling her parents, Libby, or any of her old friends at her lunch table about the way Mariah had tricked her. But what if something bad did happen, and everybody’s wishes started unraveling if she told? She would never trick someone like Mariah had tricked her into accepting the box of wishes. If only there were a way to return the wishes. She sunk her head onto her folded hands and looked out the window at the shifting clouds.

“Macbeth and Banquo ask the witches to tell them their fortune,” said Mrs. Gideon. She read from the play, “‘If you can look into the seeds of time, / And say which grain will grow and which will not, Speak then to me …’

“It is only the second day of school, but I already have a surprise for you. The Shakespeare Is Not Dead Traveling Globe Theatre Company. They just arrived in town! Please welcome the three witches from
Macbeth
!” Mrs. Gideon clapped ecstatically.

From outside the hallway a wretched cackling echoed. Three stooped hags with straggly hair, dressed in black shredded rags, moth-bitten shawls, and pointy hats shuffled into the room.

Every student sat straight in his or her seat. Although everyone knew the witches were just actors, the women’s faces looked wildly aged, bumpy with warts, and lined with a million creases. One of the witches carried a spell book under her arm, with the title
The Future, Fate & Mortal Wishes.

“They look real!” whispered a student in front of Griffin. Chills ran up and down her spine. They did look real. Impossibly real. Horribly real.

“Double, double toil and trouble; / Fire burn, and cauldron bubble … Eye of newt and toe of frog, / Wool of bat and tongue of dog …” they crowed, hovering in a coven in front of the room. Griffin couldn’t take her eyes off the spell book.
It’s just a prop,
she reminded herself.

The three witches finished their lines and stood like
vultures, with their beady eyes scanning the classroom.

“Beyond lifelike!” said Mrs. Gideon. “Students, do you have any questions?”

Griffin’s hand shot up. “What’s in your spell book?”

The first witch answered, “Would you like to take a look, my dear?”

Griffin nodded, mesmerized by the witch’s yellow eyes. Just like Mariah’s.

The witch hobbled over to Griffin and dropped the spell book onto her desk. “Be quick, my dear. Time is almost up,” she whispered.

Her face, so close to Griffin’s own, looked familiar. Those pinched lips, sunken hollow cheeks, rotted skin, and dried desert of wrinkles …

“Next question for these otherworldly actors!” said Mrs. Gideon.

Griffin bent her head over the book and opened to the table of contents. Ancient mildew wafted up at her. She traced her finger down the page, feeling a covering of sticky cobwebs.
Chapter 4: Stealing and Returning Mortal Wishes
. Griffin turned to Chapter 4. Her heart raced as she read:

If one possesses a stolen wish, the best way to break its curse is to return the wish to
its rightful owner. That is the most powerful magic. Be advised it takes some time for the magic to work.

If that is impossible, one can return the wish to a person who is on the same journey as the original wisher. The magic is not as strong, but if the intention is sincere, it may work.

Griffin memorized each and every word. Then she read the final sentence on the page.

If a stolen wish or wishes are not returned, they corrupt the new owner, and all that is good and full of light inside that person will be destroyed. Evil will infest its host, and tendrils of darkness soon will overtake him or her.

Griffin’s face lost all color.

“I’ll be needing that back now, my dear. Did you find it …
lucky
?” asked the witch, suddenly hovering over Griffin.

“Uh, yes,” said Griffin, looking deep into the witch’s swirling eyes.

“Enchanted!” said Mrs. Gideon. “Let’s give the three actors a huge round of applause.”

Evil smiles set on the three crones’ faces, their black teeth bared to all the students.

Bringgg
rang the bell.

Libby waited for Griffin outside class. “Mrs. Gideon is really into this play!” said Libby, and she mimicked the teacher, “‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair!’ Those witches were freaky!”

“Yeah,” said Griffin. Her head pounded.

Together they walked toward their bright orange lockers. Earlier that morning they had decorated them. Griffin had brought photos of her family, her grandma and her, Libby and Griffin river rafting on a giant inner tube, Charlemagne, a shooting star, Griffin jamming on her bass guitar, and Janis Joplin singing.

“Griff, look, is there something on your locker?” said Libby as they came closer.

Toilet paper streamed out from the locker vents, trailing all the way down to the floor.

“Samantha!” said Libby.

Griffin opened her locker. Toilet paper twisted inside like paper snakes. Just then Garrett Forester walked by. His dirty blond hair flopped over his bright blue eyes, and his jeans hung loose and baggy. “Whoa,” he said, smiling at Griffin, who was now standing in a pool of toilet paper. “Cool photos,” he added. “Is that you playing bass?”