Oscar From Elsewhere by Jaclyn Moriarty

Author:Jaclyn Moriarty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Levine Querido

CHAPTER 50

STILL OSCAR

NEVER RAN SO fast.

Into the woods, arms pumping, right behind the girls. Slipped on wet leaves and mud patches.

Behind us came the footsteps of a bunch of Witches, pounding along, laughing and shouting.

The woods were crowded. Trees huddled up together like they were chilly. You had to turn side-on and squeeze your way between. You kept getting caught by shrubs and tripped by roots.

The sounds of the Witches kept closing in on us.

They were worse than the Radish Gnomes. Scarier. Those Gnomes had been mean and angry. This lot were mean and they loved it. They kept hooting, as if chasing a few kids was a blast for them. As if our fear was their wine and cheese night.

No clear track between trees. It was more like a maze. Esther was ahead, and she kept slamming into dead ends—walls of trees, or murky ponds—yelping, and having to circle back.

Those footsteps kept pounding right behind us. It was surreal. I had this out-of-body sensation for a moment and almost stopped, turned, and demanded: “Are you serious?”

Then one of them screamed: “QUIT RUNNING! YOU KNOW WE’RE GOING TO CATCH YOU AND SNAP ALL YOUR BONES!”

And the others shrieked with laughter.

Right behind us they were. Bashing into trees. Laughing again. Calling to each other in these breathless, excited voices.

“Go that way and we’ll trap them!”

“Helen, you go around here and cut them off!”

“Gary, climb that tree! See if you can spot them!”

I did glance back a couple of times and caught glimpses of them. They looked like ordinary, nerdy parents, in cardigans and baggy pants, except there were brooms clutched in their fists, sharpened ends like spears.

I was breathing so hard it was loud and raspy in my ears. Stitch in my side. Chest burning.

Then I slammed into Astrid.

She’d stopped.

Esther was ahead, also stopped. She was pointing at a tree. A big tree, reddish brown, with a gaping hole in its trunk. Hollow trunk.

Esther mouthed at us, “Get in there.”

Not safe at all. I shook my head.

The Witches were right behind. They’d catch up any second. Find us easily in there.

“GET INSIDE!” If you can shout with your face, that’s what Esther did.

Astrid and I obeyed. Squeezed into the tree, Esther right behind us.

It was wet and dank in there, just big enough for the three of us, pressed close together, trying to pant in silence.

Dark, but the sun through the opening lit up Esther’s hands—they were raised and trembling.

She started moving them fast, up and around, up and around—still trembling, yet kind of graceful too. It was how Bronte’s hands had moved at the Radish Gnome cave.

“She’s making a Spellbinding ring,” Astrid whispered, supersoftly. “But I don’t know if she can.” I looked at Astrid’s face. Her eyes were red, her cheeks crisscrossed with tears. She’d been crying as we ran. I gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Esther’s hands jolted to a stop. She started again. Her face was a wreck of frowns.

Crashing and thumping outside. A couple of the Witches

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