Squirrel Tales (continued)

This is Chapter 2 of my middle grade novel, Squirrel Tales. See yesterday's blog post for the first chapter. I plan to post a chapter each day this week - to celebrate Squirrel Week! - and then a chapter a week after that through the finish.  Thanks for reading!

SQUIRREL TALES: 2

         by  Mary Lee Corlett

BUNDLE TWO: BOXELS

Usually, when the Boxels come out of their Box Houses, they climb right into the Rolling Box they park out in front of their house and drive away in it at top speed, never looking back and never noticing any of the Yard life around them.  All the Boxels in the neighborhood have at least one Rolling Box, and we really hate those things because once inside that Rolling Box, the Boxel is especially dangerous. They stop for nothing!  Not even a squirrel! We call those mobilized monstrosities “RBs” because if you say “Rolling Box” it’s the same as calling its name and you risk conjuring one by accident.  Too often those RBs materialize out of thin air anyway, even without being called.

Thankfully, the RBs are mostly confined to the wide black path that winds around the neighborhood, past every Boxel House, connecting each House to the other and to the Big Boxes that are the Boxel Stores and Meeting Places. The black path is generally referred to as the Dodgeway, because if you aren’t prepared to dodge when you cross it, you might not make it to the other side.  The RBs appear so suddenly on the Dodgeway and they move so fast that only luck gets you out of the way in time.  That’s why we usually try to cross the Dodgeway from up above, by using the treetop canopy or the high wires if at all possible.

  

The next Leaf that Nutmeg picked up was about the Boxels.  Nutmeg studied it, turned it around, flipped it over, and squinted at it as she attempted to follow the flow of the dense markings Hazel had made on every available inch of a tattered portion of a Vanilla Wafers box.  “Flying squirrel stash!  You certainly don’t waste any space, do you!” she exclaimed. 

“Well,” Hazel answered a little defensively, “It’s not always easy to find a nice big cookie box when you need one!” 

But Nutmeg didn’t answer; her attention had already shifted to the writing on the Leaf:

During the early hours of the morning the Boxels in the Boxel Houses are usually pretty quiet. Boxels are very strange creatures.  For example, my Boxels are hardly ever outside. Mother says that a while ago they had the Yard planted all along the fence line with those nice wide beds of lush ferns, hydrangeas, hostas, irises, holly, azaleas, pachysandras, boxwood, hemlock, a Japanese maple, and a butterfly bush.  Why did they do this when they rarely step out of their Box House to even look at it! 

Behind the Boxel House is a very large, very old poplar tree, whose great span of leafy branches cast much of the backyard in deep, cool shade.  The Boxels have surrounded the poplar tree with some sort of floor made of what looks like flattened tree branches, which have just been freshly painted a bright red.  On top of this floor are special places for Boxels to sit, but unless the weather is particularly fine, the Boxels don’t come out to do that.  They never come out when it rains, or when the sunshine makes it too bright, or when the wind blows too much, or when there’s not enough of a breeze to drive away the mosquitoes, or when it is too cold outside, or when it is too hot.  You get the idea.  And then the night, which should be quiet and dark, they fill with noise and light.

           “Boxels!” Nutmeg snorted. “They think they own the world and they really get my dander up.  Make me want to toss my nuts, hurl my seeds…” She was warming up to the topic now, and Hazel wasn’t enjoying the imagery, so she quickly interrupted, “Got it!  Say no more, please.  You’re right, though.  They build things up, tear things down, move things around…. And never have a thought for how the rest of us might feel about any of it!”

“It’s creepy how much damage they are able to do outside of their boxes, while still managing to spend most of their time inside of them.”

“They do most of their plotting and thinking inside those Boxes.  That’s what’s so scary about them being in there so much of the time.”  The sisters both shuddered involuntarily. 

“I think we should find a more pleasant subject,” Nutmeg suggested.  “So, let’s see….here’s one.” She held up a tattered piece of a pasta box on which Hazel had made lots of symbols and marks on both sides.  “This is about one of us!”