Young Writers Society

~890 words

Gavin and I creep towards the house with the open window and door. The sky is bright, beautiful blue above us, and I almost feel as though we are untouchable. I know that’s a dangerous feeling, but sometimes my mind needs to breathe.

We get close enough to smell the sweet fruit in the pie, and hide behind a nearby bush, still scraggly from the winter. Gavin looks at me. “It’s too easy,” he whispers.

I nod. People don’t just leave pies out on window sills. We wait, listening for any sign of movement beyond the window. I hear nothing. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Gavin looks uneasy, but reaches up to grab the pie. It slides easily off the sill. We dart away before someone notices, running back to our alley.

As far as I can tell, it’s a clean escape. We start in on the warm pie, eating it with our hands. I don’t recognize the fruit: It’s red and sweet and sticky. There are little seeds sticking to my fingers. I lick them off. This is easily the best thing I have eaten in weeks.

Gavin must have thought so too, because he devours it right along with me. We can’t stomach the entire thing, but we eat enough to notice that there is a scratched into the bottom of the metal pie tin. Curious, Gavin tries to take the rest of the pie out, holding it a little ways above the tin so as not to spill any. He only partially succeeds, as a glop of the delicious filling splats on the dirty ground.

“Can you read it? Quick!” he says.

I scoop up the fallen filling with my finger, and stick it in my mouth while I read, “Return the tin for another pie.” I see some other markings next to the words, looking more like lines than letters, but I recognized it. My eyebrows pull together. “Hey, it’s written in thieves’ language too.”

“Let me see,” says Gavin, moving the pie over, spilling more filling. “Huh, that’s weird.”

“Maybe we should return it?” I ask, tentatively.

“What if it’s a trap?” Gavin squints one last time at the writing on the tin, and then sets the pie back down.

“How would they know thieves’ language?” I argue. I won’t lie, the idea of another delicious pie is appealing to me, but I, too, am afraid that it’s a little too good to be true.

Gavin yawns. “Let’s think about it later. All I want now is good night’s rest.”

I agree. And there’s no point in returning a pie tin with pie still in it, after all.

---

There are butterflies and little else in my stomach, and my knuckles are turning white as I clutch the pie tin. I glance at Gavin and nod. He knocks on the door. Fear grips my heart and I’m regretting everything and I just want to run away, what am I thinking, stealing that pie and then waltzing right back… but it’s too late. The handle is turning, and the door opens to reveal nothing more than darkness.

There’s a pause, and a man’s raspy voice comes from beyond the door. “Come in, quickly.”

I uneasily step over the dusty threshold, Gavin right behind me. A shadowy figure closes the door behind us, then beckons us farther into the house. My neck hair is standing on-end, and it’s all I can do to keep my feet moving.

The figure leads us through a veritable maze of dark corridors which eventually opens up into a wider room, dusky with sunlight muffled by a curtain. The man in front of me looks tired, and his face is wrinkled. He sits down in a chair with a moan.

“I see you have my pie tin,” he says. He coughs a bit, and extends his hand toward me, gesturing for me to hand it over. I do. He looks it over as if it’s new to him. “I suppose I promised you a pie.” He looks at us like he’s expecting an answer.

“Yes, you did,” Gavin said meekly.

The man just looks at us.

“We’re very hungry,” I offer.

The man seems to come to a conclusion. “Well, I obviously didn’t know when you would, or if you would come back with the tin, so I couldn’t have one ready. And…” he falters. He rubs at his eyes, takes a breath and continues, “And this is my last tin, so I wouldn’t have been able to make one anyway. So few people return the tins. At first I thought that it was because they couldn’t read the note, so I got one of the few who bought it back to translate it into thieves’ language. But it didn’t help much at all.” The man stares into the distance.

I glance at Gavin who stares back at me. This guy seems kind of nutzo. Kind enough, but I still don’t understand what he’s doing. Why was he giving out free pies? What does he want from us.

“Well, I better get cooking. You’re welcome to stay in here, I suppose,” he says.

“Can we help you in the kitchen?” I ask.

He smiles for the first time since I’ve seen him. “Yes, that would be alright.”