im not even trying to write a good story. this entire series is to see how long I can write nonsense before I start getting counseling.

They came back up out of the pond. Iris was patting a geranium. He straightened up.

‘Well? How’d it go?’ the eye asked. Elsie avoided his gaze.

‘She said she’d give us the body if we got her everything on this paper,’ said Dylan. ‘Here.’ He put the folder into Iris’s proffered hand. The eye took it, studied it, and then red it aloud.

‘Eye of doot, bat of frog,

Hungry fish and talking dog,

Goat’s gut and overstuffed sheep,

Something you’ll see when you weep.’

‘Nice rhyming couplets there,’ grumbled Dylan. “What does that even mean? Bat of frog? And what’s a doot anyway?’

‘A doot is a creature of death and ash. Trust me, I don’t envy you.’

Elsie swallowed hard. ‘Where do we start?’

Iris shrugged. ‘My best bet would be Ye Olde Ducks, the tavern. Follow the blue path. Blue. Remember that, it’s very important.’

Elsie looked confused.

‘Great. As if I didn’t feel like I was already in a book,’ muttered Dylan. ‘Now we have to follow a colored road to the humbug wizard, I assume.’

Iris started laughing and slapping his knee. ‘I don’t get it!’ he choked. ‘But it was funny, anyhow.’

‘Where’s the tavern?’

‘Through the woods, over the River of Eternally Crying Souls, into the Cave of the Horrendous Wasp, and then through Grandma’s back yard.’ Iris paused. ‘Be careful around there.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s my grandma,’ he shuddered. ‘And she has prunes.’

‘You’re scared of prunes?’

‘Get going.’

‘Prune your family tree. That’s my advice.’

‘Go!!!’