Jack (2 page)

I
t was a mystery, and in a small village where mysteries are in short supply, word travels fast. By noon the whole village had gathered to inspect Miss Lettie's cabbage-less field. It was a mess, to say the least. There were great heaps of dirt in some areas, and giant holes in others. Some of the trees had fallen over, torn up by the roots. The Widow Francis's thirteen children turned it into a playground, sliding down the mounds of dirt and jumping into the newly formed ditches, unaware of any misfortune.

“My, my,” said Baker Baker. Yes, his name was Baker Baker, firstly because his name was Baker, and secondly because he was an actual baker of breads and rolls and pies. He said his father named him that so he'd be twice
the baker. It also had the effect of making him say a lot of words twice. “Who could have done such a terrible, terrible thing?”

A couple of suspicious glances drifted my way. They were probably remembering how I set fire to the blacksmith's shop a few weeks ago—but that wasn't on purpose. I was just trying to light a torch to go on a giant hunt.

“Jack didn't do it,” said Papa. “I can vouch for my son.”

“I heard some thunder last night,” said Horace. “Kept Cindy tossing and turning.” Cindy was Horace's pet pig. He carried her everywhere and talked to her like she was a real person. “Maybe it was lightning struck your field, fried all the cabbages.”

“Do you see any fried cabbages here?” asked Miss Lettie. “They're gone! Uprooted! Stolen!”

“Wild animals, then?” offered Horace.

“Maybe it was your fat pigs,” said Miss Lettie. “You're always letting those hogs get into my cabbages!”

“Cindy wouldn't eat your cabbages, would you, girl?”

Snort.

“See? Cindy's a good girl.”

Miss Lettie snorted, too.

“I doubt a herd of cattle could have done this, let alone pigs,” said Papa.

“I'm telling you, it was a storm,” said Horace. “Didn't you hear it?”

There were murmurs of agreement. The harvest season brought with it plenty of storms—rainstorms and
windstorms and lightning storms—any of which could destroy a whole village.

“But what kind of storm only tears up one field?” someone asked.

“It wasn't no storm,” said another voice. “I know who stole your cabbages.”

A hush fell as a man limped into the circle, pulling a creaky cart behind him. It was Jaber, the one-legged tinker. His other leg was a scratched-up chunk of wood from the knee down and it made a solid
thunk
with each step.

Thunk.
Creak.
Thunk.
Creak.
Thunk.

I'd only ever seen Jaber a few times before, but I remembered his wooden leg. He didn't live in the village, but traveled from place to place, fixing people's pots and bringing news from other villages. Some of his stories seemed a little too far-fetched—even for my imagination. Like the one about pigs living in houses, or the girl who arrived at the royal ball in a pumpkin pulled by mice and lizards.

Okay, so Jaber was probably a little nuts, but Miss Lettie Nettle, in her desperation, was willing to take answers from anyone, even a crazy, one-legged tinker.

“Who?” she asked. “Did you see who stole my cabbages?”

“Yes, ma'am, I did,” said Jaber.

“Well? Who was it? Point out the thief!”

“It was giants,” said Jaber. “Giants stole your cabbages.”

Everyone froze.

Giants.

The word caught my attention like a crumb of cheese calling to a hungry mouse.

“Giants?” asked Miss Lettie. “Did you just say giants stole my cabbages?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Jaber. “Came in the night and ripped 'em right out of your field.”

Mutters and whispers rose amongst the villagers.

“Could it be true?” someone asked.

“It isn't true.”

“Hogwash,” Mama murmured.

“Where are they?” Miss Lettie asked. “Which way did they go?” Giants or not, she looked ready to track them down and beat them with a hoe until they gave her back her precious cabbages.

Jaber pointed straight up. “In the sky. The giants live in the sky.”

Then the village erupted with laughter. Even I had to admit the idea of giants in the sky was absurd. Maybe Jaber was just confused. Maybe he saw them climb a really high cliff or mountain, which sometimes
looks
like it's disappearing into the sky. That wasn't so hard to believe.

“It's true! It's true!” shouted Jaber above the laughter. “I saw them rip open the sky with a bolt of lightning, and their footsteps went
boom, boom, BOOM!
”

“He's describing the storm last night,” said Horace. “Didn't I say it was a storm?”

“ 'Tweren't no storm!” shouted Jaber. “The giants,
they been stealing all over the country. I just came from a village that was ravaged by giants. They stole everything. The cows, the chickens, all the food from the fields—even the houses and the people in them! The whole ding-dong village, gone, like it was never there!”

“Maybe it
was
never there,” said Mama.

“You know what I think?” Miss Lettie said. “I think it was you who took my cabbages!” She pointed a bony finger at Jaber.

“Me?” Jaber said.

“Yes, you! You probably carted my cabbages away and sold them in another village, and now you're feeding us all some crackpot story about giants falling from the sky! You ain't nothing but a swindler, is what you are!”

Jaber's face turned beet red. His eyes rolled up and down and side to side. “You think it was me? You think I'm stealin' from you? I ain't stealin'. Those giants will be back, and if they don't crush you beneath their feet, they'll snatch you up and grind your bones!” Jaber was in a frenzy. Spit flew out of his mouth and he waved his arms so wildly he lost his balance and fell to the ground. No one helped him up. They just walked away, hee-hawing about Jaber and his mad tales.

“He's a nutter,” said Horace.

“Nuttier than my Nutty-Nutty Bread,” said Baker Baker.

“He's nothing but a common crackpot cabbage thief!” said Miss Lettie.

“Come on, Jack,” said Papa. “Back to work.”

“I'm coming,” I said, but as soon as Papa turned, I stepped toward Jaber. He was still sitting in the dirt, talking to himself.

“They'll take your cows, your pigs, your houses, and cabbages, and your chilluns. They'll take your legs, too. Eat them down to the bone, like chicken.”

“Is that what happened to your leg?” I asked. “Did a giant eat it?”

Jaber looked up at me. I held out my hand. He regarded me, wondering if I was trying to trick him, but for all the tricks I'd played on people, I thought it'd be right low to trick a one-legged man on the ground. Jaber took my hand and I helped him up. He hopped a little until he caught his balance on his leg. “Thank you, boy,” he said, brushing the dirt off his ragged clothing.

“What are they like?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The giants.”

“Big,” he said.

“And? What else?”

“Loud.”

I folded my arms. “Have you
really
seen a giant? Or are you just pulling everybody's leg?” I bit my tongue. I probably shouldn't have used that expression. Jaber just stared at me, then he looked to the sky.

“Looks like dirt. Going to rain dirt soon.”

“Dirt? Why would it rain dirt?”

Jaber looked at me now, his eyes all dark and mysterious. “There's another land up there above all that blue. And land's made of dirt. So when the giants open up
their world to get to ours, what do you think is going to happen? Mark me, if it starts raining dirt, you run for your life.”

Without another word, he picked up his cart and hobbled down the road, singing a song about some boy named Tommy.

Tommy boy, Tommy boy,

Full of lies and mischief.

Tommy boy, Tommy boy,

Angerin' the mistress…

The excitement was over, so I walked home, back to the fields and the boring work. Every now and then I looked up. The sky was clear blue, not a cloud—or a giant—in sight.

“Stop staring at the sky,” Papa scolded.

But I couldn't help it. I looked once more, and something fell into my eyes.

Just a sprinkling of dirt.

“A
re the giants going to come for us now?” Annabella asked that night at supper. “Are they going to take our food and our house and steal us away?”

Mama and Papa looked at each other across the table. I'd heard them fighting earlier. Papa had mentioned the giants and Mama could be heard shouting something that included the words
foolish, nonsense,
and
hogwash
.

Mama smiled weakly at Annabella. “No giants are coming, sweet. It was lightning that took the bakery. Unlucky, but unlikely to happen to us.

“It wasn't lightning,” I said. “What about what Jaber
said? How the giants took houses and buildings and entire villages.”

“You mustn't listen to Jaber,” said Mama. “He's not right in the head.”

“Why?” I asked. “Just because he has a wooden leg? Just because he likes to tell stories? That doesn't mean the giants aren't real. What about Grandpa Jack? What about all the giants he killed?”

Mama looked at Papa. He sighed. “Jack, we have no way of knowing if those stories are true, and the truth is, I've never seen a giant. No one has. Not anyone living, that is.”

“But we've got to do something,” I said. “If the giants are real, we could be next!”

“I'll hide,” said Annabella with determination. “I'm good at hiding.”

“There's no hiding from giants,” I warned her. “They can smell you from a mile away.”

“That's enough, Jack,” said Mama.

“They'll hunt you down, snatch you right out of your bed.”

Annabella squeaked and ducked under the table.

“Jack, I said stop!” said Mama.

“First they'll eat your flesh and then grind your bones to make bread. A
niiiice
golden loaf of Annabella Bone Bre—”

“Enough!” Papa pounded on the table. Everything went still. Papa was pale and trembling, his hands in tight fists. “That's enough talk.”

“But if giants—”

“Eat your beans,” Papa said between clenched teeth.

I may not be a good boy, but I'm not stupid. I took a bite of beans. I took a few more bites, slipping some beans into my pockets so I wouldn't have to eat them all.

Annabella came back from under the table. We ate in a cold silence for several minutes, until Papa broke it with the news that he'd be spending the night in the barn.

“Milky White's going to birth her calf tonight.”

Mama nodded. “Good. At least we'll have milk through the winter.”

“And the calf should bring a good price come spring,” said Papa. “Might even give us a little extra.”

“Sure would be nice to have extra,” said Mama.

I tried to squish a bean between my fingers, but it slipped and hit Annabella on the forehead. She started screaming like it had been a boulder and not a bean.

“Jack!” shrieked Mama.

“It was an accident!”

“He threw it at my
head
!” cried Annabella.

“It didn't hurt, you big baby!”

“Jack, go to bed now.” Papa stood and pointed at the ladder to my loft.

One thing I don't understand is why I get in the same amount of trouble for making mistakes as for being bad. I even get in trouble for things I can't control, like giants. Makes being bad all the more reasonable, if you ask me. I kicked my chair out from under me and yanked on
Annabella's braid. She howled, but at least now she had a reason.

“Henry, do something!” said Mama.

Papa tried to grab me, but I slipped by him and ran out the door.

“Such a naughty boy,” I heard Mama say. I ran past the barn and climbed the great oak tree at the edge of our fields. There was a pond below, and from up in the tree it looked like a giant footprint, with a rounded heel on one side and the narrow tip of a boot on the other. We called it Giant Foot Pond. Papa used to tell me it was made by the first giant who came to our land. It was said that he devoured a whole herd of cattle, so Grandpa Jack tricked the giant by luring him into a ditch and hit him on the head with a hammer. That story was one of my favorites, and I believed it was true. I believed all the stories.

I always thought Papa believed them, too.

Once, Papa had taken me to the seaside where there were cliffs a hundred feet high and filled with caves.

“A giant's lair if I ever saw one,” Papa had said. The whole journey felt like we were on a quest for giants, just Papa and me. It made me feel special. Great, even.

So when he said the giants were just stories, it felt like he was ripping a big chunk out of me. I was Jack, named after my seven-greats-grandpa Jack, who had conquered nine giants. If giants weren't real, then what was so great about being Jack?

Papa went to the barn to take care of Milky White,
and Mama came to the door and called for me, but I ignored her. Finally she gave up and went inside. I pulled out my sling to do some target practice. I flung the beans from dinner high up into the sky, each one a little higher than the last. Once or twice I thought they'd gotten stuck up there in the clouds, but they all came down eventually. They landed in the dirt, where they'd probably grow into more beans that Mama would make me eat. I stopped throwing and just leaned against the trunk, swinging my legs until my eyes grew heavy.

Boom.

I woke with a start and nearly fell out of my tree. What just happened? I guess I fell asleep in the tree. Probably not the safest bed.

It was full dark now. A misty moon shone behind the clouds. There were no lights on in the house and only the glow of a single lantern in the barn.

MooooOOOOOoooo!

Milky White must be calving out now. That must have been what woke me.

Boom.

A vibration traveled up the tree and buzzed in my bones. I looked up. The clouds roiled and the sky rumbled liked a hungry stomach. There was a flash. Lightning. Thunder.

It started to rain, just a sprinkling at first, and then it got faster. Harder. Heavier. It stung my skin as it came
down. I held out my hand and caught dark specks and clumps. It was dirt.

The dirt fell in spurts, like someone was throwing it down on us the way Mama threw grain to the chickens. Dirt pelted the barn and house. Inside, it probably sounded just like heavy rain, but I had dirt on my head and in my eyes.

Dirt shower.

The clouds were bulging and twitching like something was trying to get out. Or in.

Boom! CRACK!

The sky split open like a linen sack. Light poured through the hole, and something long and thin unraveled toward the ground. Something else followed. A foot. Then there were two feet, two legs, two arms, and a head. The dark shadow of a creature started to climb down the rope—out of the sky. The shadow got closer and closer, bigger and bigger, until it was skimming the treetops and then—

BOOM!

A giant landed right in the middle of our wheat.

He was twice as tall as the oak tree and wide as the barn. His arms and legs were like great tree trunks, his feet as big as wagons. Flung over his shoulder was an empty sack.

I clung to the branches of my tree with trembling limbs.

Crack!

With a flash of light, the sky split open again. More
dirt showered down, and a second giant emerged. He climbed down the rope and—

BOOM!

—landed next to the first giant. This one had more sacks and a bundle of crates slung over his shoulder.

The first giant looked around and sniffed. He bent down and scooped up a pile of wheat in one hand. He sniffed it and then stuffed it into his sack. He scooped the next pile and the next, until he had taken it all. A whole summer of work, gone in less than a minute. A whole winter of food.

The second giant did not seem as interested in his surroundings. He just stood there until—

MoooooOOOOOooooo!

Baaaaaaaaa!

Boom, boom, boom!

—he stomped over to the neighboring pasture, where there were cows and sheep in the fields.

He picked up a cow. The cow mooed and wriggled her legs like a bug on its back. The giant shoved her inside a crate. He then took the sheep by handfuls and the cows one by one, scooping them up like baby mice and runty kittens. Into crates they went, bleating and mooing.

Bok, bok, bok-berGEEK!

The hens were clucking wildly. The second giant stomped toward them and ripped the henhouse off the ground. He looked inside with one eye. He grunted and stuffed the whole thing into his sack.

The first giant was now ripping up the rest of the farm. He plucked trees from the ground just like carrots. He sniffed at them, picked at some of the branches, and then either stuffed them inside his sack or tossed them aside. I held my breath as he drew closer. Should I climb down and risk being crushed? Or stay in the tree and risk getting uprooted along with it?

The giant tore up another tree, not too far from me. He sniffed it and tossed it away, then turned down the road toward the village. I could just see the outline of him bending down to rip things out of the ground and stuff them in his sack as he went. A tornado with hands and feet. At least he was moving away from me.

Boom!

The tree shook as though a violent wind had rushed upon me, only there was no wind. The other giant! I hadn't been paying attention to him. His fist wrapped around the trunk, and his foot stomped down right alongside the Giant Foot Pond, almost the exact same size and shape.

Crack!

The giant yanked the tree out with one hand. I clung to the branches, whooshing up, up, up in the air. Soon I was level with the giant's face. Teeth the size of dinner plates sliced down just inches from my head. The giant crunched on the wood and leaves. He spat it out, then tossed the tree away. I sailed with it, clinging to the branches as the tree crashed down on our roof and ripped into the side of the house. I smacked my head on
something and got scratched on all the branches. Someone screamed. Inside the house.