Max Downstairs: Episode 11

“Yes, I devised three riddles, and as the riddler, I also get to choose the solver.” Tilley turned around slowly, glaring first at Mrs. Patterson, then Max, then Malvin, and finally at Keisha. She smiled a cruel smile and pointed the Staff of Truth at the young girl.

“You,” she said.

Keisha’s skin crawled. She wasn’t sure if it was the way the few remaining tendrils of smoke seemed to cling to her skin as if to hold her in place, or the fact that she had never been good at riddles. In fact, she was terrible. Arty was the clever one, while Keisha was agile and fast. Together, she and her brother made the perfect team. Without him, she felt like she was running a race she couldn’t win.    

What was it Mom always said? Do your best. That’s all anyone can expect of you.

The words wrapped around Keisha like a big hug. She could do it. She would do it—her very best even. For the Overside, the Underside, the Haven, her family, friends, even her maybe enemy, Malvin.

Keisha stepped forward. “I’m ready.”

Tilley smirked. “I’ll give you the easiest one first, just to be fair. What gets bigger, the more you take away?”

Keisha scratched her head. What gets bigger, the more you take away? What?

Her mind was a blank. Her mind was a blank. The harder she thought, the blank-er it got. The more you take away. It was as if the riddle had taken away all her brains and, in her skull, had left a huge…

“Hole!” Keisha exclaimed.

Tilley glowered but the Staff of Truth shook in her hand.

“Very good, dear,” Mrs. Patterson said. “The Staff of Truth likes your answer.”

Tilley waved a hand dismissively. “I said it was the easiest. There are still two and they are really hard. You’ll see. Riddle number two: What can you break even if you never pick it up or touch it.”  

Keisha throat seemed to close in on itself. She swallowed hard. That was hard. Arty was the one who broke things. He broke Mom’s window with a baseball he accidentally threw backwards. How does anyone throw a baseball backwards? And Dad’s mower when he put peat moss in the gas tank, that time they learned pioneers used to burn peat to heat their homes. There was only one thing Arty never broke, not to Keisha or anybody, and it wasn’t because he couldn’t touch it, even though he couldn’t …

“A promise!” Keisha blurted out.

Was it that her eyes were adjusting to the dark, or did the Staff of Truth begin to glow?

Tilley seemed to notice it. Her smirk turned upside down. But Mrs. Patterson was beaming. “You’re quite good at this, Keisha. You may have some troll in you. We love riddles.”

“Which is why you can’t help her!” Tilley screeched. She jabbed the Staff of Truth in Mrs. Patterson’s direction. A root leaped up from the ground and attached to Mrs. Patterson’s mouth like a leech.

“Never mind,” Tilley said. “I’ve saved the best for last. You’ll never guess riddle three. You’ll be trapped down here forever. What is dark but is made by light?”

Keisha’s cheeks flushed with heat. Sweat dripped down her back. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what was made by light but is dark. Or was it the other way around? Where was Arty and his clever brain when she needed it. She looked to the crevice where her brother hid. The stone he held in his hand began to glow, all on its own. And it made the most amazing, most beautiful, and darkest thing Keisha had ever seen.

She had her answer. She turned to yell it out, when a large, fat, dirt-covered root slapped itself across her mouth.

“You have to let Keisha answer. That’s not fair!” Max said.

“No one said it was a fair game.” Tilley cackled and a root slapped itself across Max’s mouth.

Arty started to move in his crevice but Max shook his head violently. Arty froze.

Tilley turned to Malvin. “Well, it’s just you and me, Malvin. We’ve won.”

Malvin looked away from Tilley. His eyes met Keisha’s. They dripped with tears. He didn’t want to win. He wanted to help them but something stopped him. Something Tilley knew. Something that was stronger than a hundred roots.  

But it didn’t stop Rascal. The kitten pounced on the root across Keisha’s mouth and bit down.

Ingredients needed for the next scene: What does Tilley know about Malvin? What will the Staff of Truth do when its special stone is returned? Will the truth make a friend out of Tilley, or will she remain the villain? 

—Stacy

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back next Thursday to see what we wrote!

P.S. If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 10

Tilley Tartmore picked up a large staff and thumped it on the ground. “Hee-hee! All the disruption you’ve caused. See what it uncovered? The Staff of Truth! And with it, power!” She thumped it again. 

Tendrils of smoke pulled Malvin up from the Haven and into the clearing. 

"And you thought you were safe there, but nothing escapes the Staff of Truth. Except, where is that sniveling boy?"

Malvin just shook his head.

“Ah well! I will summon him eventually. Meanwhile..." Tilly Tartmore gave another thump and leered at Keisha. "I decree this by the power of the Underside Patrol: Stepping on my grass, you miserable girl, is punishable by making your house troll my servant!”

“No!” Keisha said. “He didn’t step on your grass. I did. Besides, you step on ours all the time. What does that make you?” Rascal curled around her neck, hissing as if she could do something.

“It makes me one step closer to avenging my father’s death!” Tilley Tartmore turned to Malvin. “For doing my dirty work, for doing all the things to bring Max and those wretched kids to my territory – where is that boy? Anyway, here's a reward.” The smoke tendrils loosened around Malvin. He stumbled backward to a wall of boulders behind Max.

Keisha was about to cry. “Malvin? And just when I started trusting you.”

“I’m sorry. But she, she—”

A rumbling came from the distance, the roots and smoke forcing someone toward them.

“Mom?” Max said from his prison-chair.

“Max!” Mrs. Patterson walked forward like it was just another sunny day. How could she stay so calm? “Here you are!” Then she turned. “Hello, Tilley. We meet again. But really, do I need to remind you that we are not the enemy?”

“Oh, but you are. I saw it with my own eyes, your husband, in his troll form, standing over my father, bleeding and dead."  A scrape of noise came from behind Max. "What’s that?”

That was the slight noise of pebbles tumbling from a crevice in the boulder wall. And that was Arty, Max’s stone glowing in his hand. He pulled it back just before Tilley Tartmore spun around.

“Confound it!” Tilley Tartmore said. “More crumbling. Malvin! You WILL clean up this place.” She turned back around. “Now, where was I?”

“You were accusing my family of murder, the story you want to believe.” Mrs. Patterson turned to Keisha. “Here’s the real the story. Her father, a cruel man, demanded a house troll of his own, but none would live there. Attempting to kidnap one from the Underside, he disturbed a fissure and fell through.”

“Safely,” Tilley Tartmore said. “He fell into the Haven, where giant fireflies lowered him to the soft dirt. And your evil trolls—”

“Were trying to save his life,” Mrs. Patterson said, “after his head hit on a boulder.” She turned back to Keisha. “The trolls had almost stopped the bleeding when Tilley found a way down, interfered, and accused them of kidnapping and killing him.”

“Lies! All lies!” Tilley thumped the staff again.

Would that force Arty out of the crevice this time? Keisha held her breath. It didn't! Maybe the stone was protecting him. That gave her the courage to step forward. “If it’s lies, then show us. If that really is the legendary Staff of Truth, it will show what happened. You told us. Remember, Max?”

Max shook his head. “Only with the special stone. You know, the one with—” Tilley Tartmore had turned, eyes wide. "I mean the one that disappeared or something," he continued.

Tilley groaned. As she stormed back around, Max leaned toward the crevice as best he could and spoke softly. "It needs to stay hidden until we are free.”

Arty must have heard because he stayed in his crevice.

“But how do we get home free?” Keisha said.

Mrs. Patterson put a reassuring arm on her shoulder. “No worries dear. There is a way up. That’s the good news. The bad news, we’ll have to be clever. The person who brings anyone down here must have devised three riddles. If we answer them – and the Staff of Truth, even without the stone, will be the judge – we will be transported back up to the Overside.”

“That’s right!” said Max. “Tilley Tartmore, we’re ready. Riddle number one. Go!”

Ingredients needed for the next scene: What riddles will Tilley Tartmore use to challenge them? How can Arty safely come out of the crevice and attach the stone so everyone will see the truth? And Malvin: Is he a friend or a foe?

—Jody (with help from story ingredients provided by Elijah T, Gracyn, and Tucker E. ... Thanks!) 

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back next Thursday to see what we wrote!

P.S. If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs--Episode 9

Coughing and choking, Keisha struggled against the smoke tendril tightening around her waist. It pulled her deeper and deeper into the body of the smoke. She couldn’t see, could barely breathe. The burnt-toast smell was everywhere. Rascal huddled against her neck, tiny body convulsing with the effort to catch a breath.

The tree roots kept heaving underfoot. If I fall down, I’ll never get up again, Keisha thought. We’ll both suffocate.

But wait . . . was there light up ahead?

“Bring her here,” said a raspy voice echoing through the smoke. “The kitty too.”

The root under Keisha’s foot heaved up so she had no choice but to lurch forward, the smoke tendril supporting her so she wouldn’t fall. Root after root propelled her onward, until she could just make out a giant shape looming through the haze.

Two more steps and the smoke had almost cleared. There before her was a massive throne, made of roots and the skulls of small animals, as well as the same kind of stone Max had used in his garden at home. Two enormous smoky-colored dogs sat on either side. The one on the left had a white blaze on its forehead.

Keisha gave a gasp, which sent her into a coughing fit. Because sitting on the throne, looking miserable and extremely uncomfortable, was . . . .

Max.

He had on his usual vest and trousers, but also a long robe woven of fine, rosy-colored vines. He wore a crown of twigs with a large square stone in the center. The crown was too big for him, and looked as if it might drop down over his eyes any minute.

Tendrils of smoke encircled his waist, wrists, and ankles, tying him to the throne so tightly he could barely move.

Keisha doubled over coughing, tears streaming from her eyes, Rascal’s claws digging into her shoulder.

“Ask her where the boy is,” said the raspy voice. “And the big lug who came up through the fissure.”

Keisha wiped the tears from her eyes in time to see Max furiously shaking his head at her. She straightened up. “Arty’s home.”

Max nodded encouragingly.

“You’re lying.” The voice said. “My dogs say all of you went into the tunnel.” Where was that voice coming from? It sounded familiar.

“You can never trust a dog,” Max said. The left-hand dog, the one with the blaze, turned to give him an evil stare. “Especially the man-eating ones.”

The left-hand dog padded over to sniff at Keisha’s knee. Rascal hissed. The dog backed away and gave a series of yips.

“Phantom says the girl smells of lemon,” said the voice. “So she’s been near the Haven. Phantom, take Shadow and try to find out if the others are there.”

The dogs loped off into the smoke.

“Now, Max, Your Stoniness,” the voice said, “you must decide what to do with the girl and the kitty. And I suppose it’s time I showed myself.”

A figure, much smaller than Max, stepped out from behind the throne, wrapped in a cape made entirely of smoke.

She had a pointy nose, her lips pursed in a permanent scowl.

“You’ll never step on MY grass again,” Tilley Tartmore snarled.

– Ellen

Ingredients needed for the next scene: Why is Max tied to the throne? What is Tilley Tartmore doing there? What’s been happening to Arty and Malvin all this time? 

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday June 16, at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Thursday June 18, to see what we wrote!

If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 8

One of the dogs, the most ferocious one, pushed its pointy head through the gap between the large boulder and the wall. Saliva drooled from its snapping jaws. Its sharp teeth gleamed. The ropey muscles in its neck strained as it growled and tried to lunge through the opening.

The boulder shifted. Just a fraction. 

Keisha and Arty sucked in a scared breath and stepped closer to each other. 

“That bloodhound is going to break through,” Keisha said in a shaky voice.

“And get us,” Arty finished in a shakier voice. 

Rascal mewed the shakiest meow ever and buried her head in Keisha’s shoulder.

“Not on my watch.” Another boulder on his shoulder, Malvin stormed past the kids. A few feet from the gap and the ferocious bloodhound, the large troll skidded to a stop and launched the boulder into the air. 

The bloodhound yelped and pulled in its head. 

The boulder landed right in the gap, sealing the opening.

"Let's get going," Malvin said.

The group began walking. Keisha carried Rascal. 

Fluorescent white rocks lined the tunnel, lighting the way.

When they reached the last rock and the end of the tunnel, Keisha and Arty looked around and blinked. 

“I thought the tunnel led to the regular woods,” Arty said, gripping the stone in his pocket. 

“Not anymore,” Malvin said. “Now it’s all Underside.”

Thick, warm, dry smoke swirled around them and tickled their throat. It smelled like burnt toast. It was dusk and getting darker by the minute. The ground was uneven with bumpy roots. The roots moved, making it tough to balance. 

“These roots grab you and slow you down,” Malvin said, kneeling so Keisha and Arty and the kitten could climb onto his broad shoulders. “We don’t have much time before they know we’re here.”

“Who?” Keisha asked from the left shoulder, then coughed.

“Quiet,” Malvin hissed. “Everything in the Underside has ears, even the trees.”

From Malvin’s right shoulder, Arty squinted into the falling darkness. “I don’t see many trees. It’s mostly just smoke.” He coughed.

“Smoke is the worst,” Malvin whispered. “Smoke is the most dangerous.”

“But where are we going?” Keisha whispered. She coughed again.

“To the safe place.” Malvin sniffed, his large nostrils flaring. He took three big steps forward. He stopped. He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed again. He took three big steps to the left. He stopped.

“Don’t you know where it is?” Arty asked. 

“The safe place changes every day,” Marvin said. “It’ll be faster if we all sniff. The more of us sniffing, the stronger the smell.” 

“Smells don’t work like that,” Keisha said.

“They do in the Underside,” Malvin said. “Today is a lemony smell. Like lemon bars or lemon butter cookies or lemon pound cake.” He took three more steps to the left.

Keisha and Arty sniffed. The kitten clung to Malvin’s neck and wiggled its cute little nose.

“I smell lemon,” Arty said. 

“So do I,” Keisha said.

“Let’s go.” Malvin took off running. Keisha and Arty sniffed and steered by tugging the troll’s ears. He ran through the dusk and the smoke, his large feet squelching the wriggling roots. He ran so fast, wind whistled through Keisha and Arty’s hair and Rascal’s fur.

Finally, when the lemony smell was so strong, Keisha and Arty could taste it on their tongue, Malvin stopped running.

“We’re here,” he said, standing completely still.

Fireflies sparkled in the dark, clear air. The smoke had disappeared. The wriggling roots were gone. The ground was dirt. Trees stood tall in the near distance. The smell of lemon was overpowering.

“Where?” Arty asked, frowning.

“At the safe place.” The words were barely out of Malvin’s mouth when the ground yawned around his feet. The troll and the kids on his shoulders and the kitten on his neck began to sink. “This safe place is under the Underside. Hang on.”

Down, down, down.

The ground was swallowing them up. 

The stoned burned in Arty’s pocket. 

When only Malvin’s shoulders were above ground, Rascal mewed and jumped.

Keisha jumped off Malvin’s left shoulder to grab the kitten.

“Keisha!” Arty called.

In a flash, Malvin with Arty on his right shoulder sunk lower and disappeared from sight. The ground closed up.

Keisha picked up the kitten and cradled her. “Rascal, where are they? What are we going to do?” Tears pricked at her eyes.

A lonely tendril of smoke wisped along the ground. It wound around Keisha’s ankle, then up her leg and around her waist. The tendril thickened and tightened. It was as strong as rope. It tugged Keisha away from the clear air and back toward the swirling smoke and the smell of burnt toast. 

Keisha opened her mouth to scream, but could only cough.

                 --Barrie

Ingredients needed for the next scene: What happens to Keisha? What happens to Rascal? What does Arty do?? 

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday June 9 at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Thursday June 11 to see what we wrote!

If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!