The Hobble, Knobble, Gobble Tree

By Camille Singleton

As settlers began filling the landscape, no home near the tree was ever raided by the Natives; they knew, through the tales of their elders, about the evil spirits that dwelled within the tree. Horses shied as ghostly shadows floated across the road toward the gnarled tree. Parents used the folklore as a disciplinary advantage; no child wanted to be eaten by the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree. As time went by, the homesteaders had a tendency to forget and let down their guard; a child only disappeared every twenty-five years . . .more or less.

Meanwhile, the tree waited but now the time has come; once again, it hungered. Ten-year-old Abigail is about to find out if nightmares really can come true.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Camille Singleton
• Release date: Aug 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301958405

Camille Singleton

I'm a librarian at a small Jr/Sr High School in Indiana. Finding books for reluctant readers is a challenge, but very rewarding when they find a book they can't put down.I'm struggling with the empty nest syndrome, so I'm dusting off my manuscripts and sharing my stories.I have two daughters - my youngest just graduated from college. I live in the country with a cat and a dog.I enjoy attending Writer's Conferences around the Midwest.I've been a member of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators since 2007.Professor William Holt wrote:When I was eight or nine, the four Great Books were Alice, The Water Babies, The Wind in the Willows, and Stuart Little. I don't know what the four Great Books will be for future generations, but if The Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree proves as popular with children everywhere as it deserves to, joining the Harry Potter books and who knows what else, college curricula will need revising and the name of Camille Singleton will become a household word.You won't be disappointed. Or if you are, tell me why. I think it's a sheer, somewhat horrific delight. If a sundew or a Venus' fly trap can eat a bug, why can't a tree eat a kid?Hey, it's no scarier than Hansel and Gretel or The Juniper Tree. And the children I know LOVE to be scared!Professor Holt specialized in Creative Writing and British Literature at Tarrant County College in Fort Worth, Texas. He taught three writing classes and two that encompassed the entire range of British Literature. * Now enjoying retirement.Alecia Stone, author of Talisman of El, wrote of The Hobble, Knobble, Gobble Tree:I was pulled in right from the start. What an intriguing story you have here. Great, vivid descriptions that gave a great sense of place. Your characters felt real and the dialogue was spot on. What I like more than anything is that even though this is a children’s book, it’s not patronizing in any sense. I like the eerie tone.This is very well written. I think you’re onto a winner and I’m certain you’ll go far.Poppy Z. Brite, author of Lost Souls, wrote of Curse of the Golden Fly:The story is compelling, the characters appealing, the authorial voice clear and often quite funny. As a writer, you are what teachers from the Young Writers' Workshops at UVA I attended in my teens used to call "a natural".Gerry McCullough, author of Belfast Girls, wrote of Curse of the Golden Fly:An interesting book with an unusual plot. The description of Lesley turning into a fly, seeing her hairy fly legs, and realising what was happening, was very striking. The prologue is a good hook. It's clear something is going to happen to whoever ends up with this golden object. Lesley and Samir, are excellently drawn characters, very individual, with good dialogue. The relationships in Lesley's family are very true to life, 'Dinner and a show every night,' is a great line; and over the six years since Samir left, it seems to be true that Lesley has turned into a bully. This is very unusual for a central character. We see the fear she instills into both pupils and even teachers, and hope that she intends to put things right, when she talks of dropping in on people later. Plenty here to make me read on.Raymond Nickford, author of Cupboard of Skeletons, wrote of Curse of the Golden Fly:Lesley and Samir are an endearing portrait of young love. The treehouse scene where Samir gives Lesley the magic fly is particularly engaging.Lesley's metamorphosis will leave the mouths of many a child - and indeed adult - agape, her return to the recognisable Lesley engineered with a subtle psychology as she tentatively readjusts herself to being a person again.The description was consistently good; the scene in the tomb very atmospheric, the whole effect bound to maintain the involvement of the YA reader when combined with the fluous prose and easily readable style.

Book preview

The Hobble, Knobble, Gobble Tree

Camille Singleton

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Camille Singleton

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Disappearance

Chapter 2 - The Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree

Chapter 3 - The Black Pond

Chapter 4 - Ma and Boy

Chapter 5 - Kin Folk

Chapter 6 - Tick Forest

Chapter 7 - The Fairy Tree Duir

Chapter 8 - Creeping Cypress Swamp

Chapter 9 - Trolls

Chapter 10 - The Kick-the-Boulder Tournament

Chapter 11 - The Oracle

Chapter 12 - Sirens

Chapter 13 - Mermaid Lagoon

Chapter 14 - Watermelon Meadows

Chapter 15 - The Ogre's Toenail

Chapter 16 - The Beauty

Chapter 17 - The Fairy Tree Dair

Chapter 18 - The Egg

Chapter 19 - The Mountain

Chapter 20 - The Edge of Nowhere

Epilogue

Prologue

Gather around children and you will hear,

All the stories you have come to fear.

When the moon is full and the stars are bright,

I'll enter your dreams - late, late at night.

You'll hear just a whisper or maybe a sigh;

You'll dream of running or maybe you'll fly.

Don't bother to scream, you'll not be heard;

To those all around, you'll sound like a bird.

By the light of the moon, you'll come to me -

The Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree.

Chapter 1

The Disappearance

"Abigail, Abigailll..." She was running in slow motion. Something was coming closer. Branches tore at her face and her nightgown. Twigs snapped under her bare feet, but she couldn't feel them. Tears were running down her cheeks; she could taste salt on her lips. It was becoming difficult to catch a breath of air - how long had she been running? She just had to make it to - where was she running to? What was she running from? It was closer than it had ever been. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. She never looked back; she was too afraid of what she would see. But it had never been this close, she had to look. She had to know. As she turned her head, she lost her balance and started to tumble head over heels. Her nightgown wrapped around her legs, trapping her like a bug in a spider's cocoon. She stopped rolling, looked up, and screamed.

.

Abigail, wake up! We'll be late for school. Seth shouted. Uncle Ora isn't going to drop us off; he has to take the wagon to fetch supplies at Allen's Feed Mill. There's a storm brewing and he wants an early start. He'll tan your hide if you don't gather those eggs for Aunt Bernice. I already finished my chores. Now get up, Lazy Bones.

Ten-year-old Abigail was still in the grip of the dream. Her scream still echoed in her ears. Had she screamed out loud? She opened her eyes. Seth, her twelve-year-old brother, was looking at her funny.

Abigail, do you feel all right? He put his hand on her forehead. Yuck, you're all sweaty. Are you sick? Well, if you aren't ailing, get out of bed. We won't have much time to eat breakfast.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. As usual, she couldn't remember much of her dream. Something had been chasing her, but what?

Abigail Porter, you get yourself out of bed this instant! The shout from below the loft startled Abigail into action, She stepped onto the braided rug.Yes, Aunt Bernice I'm coming! She hurried to the pitcher and splashed water on her face. Then fumbled with her dress, laced her boots, climbed down the ladder from the loft, and ran to the outhouse.

.

Aunt Bernice had eggs, sausage, and a mug of fresh milk waiting when she came into the kitchen carrying a basket of brown eggs.

Goodness, child, did you have to go out into the woods to gather those eggs? Get your brush and I'll braid your hair while you eat.

As she rushed past Aunt Bernice, her aunt snatched a twig out of her tousled hair.

.

Abigail had to run to keep up with Seth as they hurried to school. Wait up, Seth! I'm getting a stitch in my side.

The wind had picked up, blowing dust across the road. Seth didn't hear her. Dark gray clouds were starting to roll in. The sky looked ominous and she could hear thunder in the distance.

She had the eerie feeling she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and goose-bumps erupted on her skin. She wiped her damp hands on her dress and dared a look over her shoulder. She didn't see anything except the ugly, dead tree the school kids were always teasing her about.

They called it the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree. No one knew how old it was. The roots lay on top of the ground as if reaching out to grab an unsuspecting passer-by. Large, knobby protrusions stuck out from its trunk casting eerie shadows on the dead grass that surrounded the tree. She had never seen birds resting on the leafless branches and squirrels didn't make the cavities in the tree their home. Her classmates said the bumps were heads of children who were trying to escape after they had been gobbled by the tree.

Years ago, a horse-drawn carriage had spooked at something near the tree, causing the vehicle to overturn. The family of four had been killed, or rather, assumed dead because the children were never found. After hours of searching the woods, the bodies of the two children just seemed to have disappeared.

Locals assumed that wild animals had been drawn to the accident site, and that the bodies of the children had been dragged into the shelter of the woods, and then to their hidden den where they were devoured by the predator's young.

Someone should just chop it down for firewood, she muttered. Abigail started to turn away from the tree when she thought she saw one of the knobs on the tree move. She yelped and ran as fast as she could to catch up with Seth.

They arrived at the one-roomed schoolhouse just as Miss Ridenour was taking attendance. She gave them a stern look as they hurried to organize their school supplies on the wooden desk they shared.

Miss Ridenour sat at her desk and clasped her hands tightly together until her knuckles were white. She chewed on her bottom lip and her face was pale. The tight bun on her head was slightly askew.

Something wasn't right. All of the children sensed it and waited with less fidgeting than usual. It was so quiet that each tick of the clock, made their pulse race.

Miss Ridenour cleared her throat.

Mrs. Tucker came by early to give me some disturbing news. Little Timmy is missing. He wasn't in his bed this morning. He must have been in the woods some time last night; his mother found pieces of bark and twigs in his bed. She asked me to talk to all of you to find out any information you might have about his whereabouts.

She searched all their faces.

The children turned and looked at one another. No one said a word.

Out of nowhere, Michael, the school bully, shouted, Maybe the tree ate him!

It was utterly quiet. Then there was some sniggering, and then more kids joined in with nervous laughter.

Miss Ridenour's hands flew to her mouth. She jumped from her desk as if her rear end had just been branded by a hot iron, grabbed the bully by the ear, and marched him outside.

After several minutes had passed, the boy who was eavesdropping at the door leaped back to his seat almost knocking the desk and his partner over with it. The writing tablets slid to the end of the table and were rescued from crashing to the floor by an agile student across the aisle.

Miss Ridenour and Michael were both red faced when they entered the classroom. Michael's ear was even redder.

Young man, you will be staying after school for five paddles! Miss Ridenour glared at Michael.

This time she didn't correct any sniggering. Michael had it coming.

.

At the end of the school day, the children gathered on the playground. Even though the storm was closing in, the children huddled in groups to ponder Timmy's disappearance.

There had been children who died from illness, but there hadn't been a disappearance for nearly a quarter of a century.

For once Abigail was accepted into a group of girls as they chattered about the possibilities. After Michael had blurted out about the tree eating Timmy, her mind had raced back to the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree. Had she really seen a knob move on the tree or had it been her imagination? Was it Timmy trying to get out?

She wanted to bring it up with the girls, but she didn't want to take the chance of being laughed at when she had just been accepted into their circle. So, she decided not to utter a word about her suspicions.

She looked around and spotted Michael sitting alone on the school steps. She assumed he was waiting for his punishment.

Miss Ridenour always gave the children, who were to be paddled, time to think about the error of their ways. She didn't paddle out of anger, but that didn't take the sting out of the wooden paddle as it smacked their hind ends.

She started to walk over to Michael, hesitated, then got her courage up and continued toward the steps.

Michael sat with his head in his hands. He saw a pair of girl's boots standing in front of him.

What do you want?

Abigail gulped. Approaching the school bully wasn't the smartest thing she had ever done.

I . . .I wanted to ask you a question about what you said in class. Do you really think the tree ate Timmy?

On a good day, Michael would have loved to torment this naive girl, but today he had his own troubles. Besides, when he scanned the playground, he saw Abigail's brother watching them with narrowed eyes. He couldn't afford another lickin' for fighting.

The day would come when he would knock that city slicker down a few notches. He hated Seth Porter and would love nothing better than to send his little sister running off in tears.

It's just an old folk tale, you stupid girl. Now leave me alone.

Abigail nodded and backed away. She heard the rumbling of a wagon as she felt the first cold rain drops on her head.

Seth waved for her to hurry. Uncle Ora had brought the buckboard wagon to pick them up from school. Seth lifted her onto the wagon bed, and then jumped up beside her.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice her new friends waving or the jerk of the wagon when Uncle Ora told Old Blackie to walk on.

After supper, Aunt Bernice was helping her dry her hair by the fire. She just had to ask someone a question that was burning in her mind. Aunt Bernice was a no-nonsense woman. She didn't put stories in their heads like their mother had.

Abigail loved the stories her mother had told them by the firelight in their cozy home, but she wasn't a baby anymore and she had to grow up. She had to leave her childhood and the fantasy world behind her.

Aunt Bernice, have you ever heard of the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree?

Land sakes, child, where ever did you hear about that old tree?

The school kids told me and Seth about the tree when we first moved here. And since we walk past it every day to school, I just wanted to know something about it. Do you know how old the tree is?

Aunt Bernice paused toweling Abigail's wet hair. You know, I asked my mother that question.

Your mother? Holy cow, that tree must be ancient!

Aunt Bernice smiled, "And that is the same question my mother had asked her mother."

Abigail's mouth dropped open, Why hasn't anyone ever chopped it down?

Well, I reckon it wasn't hurting anything being off the road and such. It wouldn't make good firewood any ways.

Abigail pressed on, Have you ever heard any . . . stories about the tree? Like - it eats children?

Aunt Bernice laughed and slapped her knee, Oh Lordy, yes! I grew up with those stories. I don't know when the stories started or why, but I imagine they were made up by parents to scare their children into coming home before dark. I recall my mother using the same tactic on my sister and me. No child wanted to be eaten by the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree.

Have you ever heard of any children going missing?

Aunt Bernice scratched her chin.

I remember talking to my mother about that when I was a child; maybe just a little older than you are now. I believe my mother told me children come up missing every twenty years or so. She had an uncharacteristic twinkle in her eye. But my mother was a mean, old crone.

She hadn't told Aunt Bernice about Timmy Tucker yet. She didn't know if Seth had mentioned it to Uncle Ora when they were outside doing chores.

Things had been rushed when the three of them got home. The storm was in full force and they had to get the wagon put away and Old Blackie bedded down.

Miss Ridenour said Mrs. Tucker came by the school and asked if she had seen Timmy. He wasn't in his bed this morning.

Aunt Bernice had given up the towel for the hairbrush, which dropped with a clatter on the puncheon floor.

Oh my! How horrible for Timmy's parents.

In a low voice, Abigail asked, Do you think the tree . . . ate Timmy?

Aunt Bernice's jaw dropped. Abigail Porter, you get those crazy notions out of your head this instant! You're old enough to know the difference between fact and fantasy. Your mother was a good woman, God rest her soul, but she filled your head with too much nonsense.

Abigail felt tears well up, But what about the poem? Where did that come from?

Land sakes, child, who knows how many times that poem has been changed throughout the years. Now get yourself off to bed. I don't want to hear another word about that silly tree.

Yes, ma'am. She reluctantly trudged off to bed.

.

She didn't have bad dreams that night, but she did have a plan - she was going to check out that old tree. She wasn't a baby and her aunt thought the stories were a bunch of nonsense. She bet that mean, old bully, Michael wasn't even brave enough to go poking around the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree. Come Monday, the kids at school would have a new respect for her. She drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

A gust of warm air billowed the curtains on her bedroom window. A velvety whisper rode in on the evening breeze.

"Commme to meeeeee..."

Chapter 2

The Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree

Abigail raised her arms, stretched, and yawned. She didn't think she had dreamt at all last night. She looked over to see if Seth was in the twin bed next to hers, but he was already up and it wasn't even quite light yet.

She heard Hannibal greeting the new day in the style he did best, crowing on top of the chicken coop. She heard the cackling of hens, then Lil' Hoss, the donkey, started braying. Minutes later, the barnyard seemed to come awake with a chorus of oinks, moos, and neighs.

She jumped out of bed, hopping on one foot while she tried to put on a boot. Uncle Ora was going to tan her hide for oversleeping. She smiled at that - her aunt and uncle didn't have a mean bone in their bodies.

.

She made her way down from the loft and saw that her aunt had left a corn pone, wrapped in a gingham cloth, on the kitchen table. She smiled at her aunt's thoughtfulness, gobbled down the warm pone, drank a mug of milk, and was ready to start the day.

She gathered eggs, milked the cow, grated corn, helped her aunt work in the herb garden, and made candles. After the noonday meal, she sat for a spell and read to everyone while her aunt worked at the spinning wheel and Uncle Ora and Seth molded bullets.

Abigail was just getting ready to fetch her basket to gather some red raspberries, when they heard a horse galloping toward their cabin. Uncle Ora went to open the door just as Jamie Smith was poised to bang on it. Jamie nearly fell into the cabin.

Afternoon, Ora, Seth. A nod to Abigail, then he took off his hat. Bernice, the baby's coming!

Jamie Smith, I told you what to look for! Why are you just getting here to tell me?

Sorry, ma'am, I went out hunting. Margaret said she'd be fine. She seemed like she felt good, too. She was cleaning and baking like she used to before she was with child.

Aunt Bernice put her hands on her rounded hips. For land sakes, Jamie, that's one of the signs I was telling you to watch for! We'd best be going, Ora. Seth, hitch up the wagon. Abigail, gather my birthing bag and hurry.

Jamie jumped on his horse and galloped off.

Ora and Bernice followed in the wagon at a slower pace.

Abigail decided it would be best if she started supper. The preparation would take longer without Aunt Bernice to help. Rabbit stew and biscuits would be good to hold over if Uncle Ora and Aunt Bernice got home late.

She still had mending to do and more barn chores before she could gather berries and visit the tree.

She had thought about how she could prove she had been to the tree. She decided to tie one of her bright hair ribbons on a branch. She could retrieve the ribbon after the unbelieving kids at school saw the proof for themselves.

.

While Abigail was in the barn, she checked on Fluffy to see if she had delivered kittens yet. She felt something brush against her legs. She bent down and scratched Fluffy on the head and was rewarded with loud purring and more leg rubbing.

Fluffy! You're not fat anymore. Now where have you hidden your kittens?

Fluffy answered with a soft meow, but it was enough for the newborns, they mewled enthusiastically for their mother.

Abigail peered between bales of straw and found a squirming litter of six with the umbilical cords still attached. She picked up each kitten trying to decide if she should name them yet.

Abigail noticed Fluffy nudging something with her nose several feet away. It was a scrawny white kitten; it wasn't moving. She gently picked up the lifeless kitten. Its body was limp and cold, but its mouth opened, then closed. It was barely alive. Abigail wrapped the kitten in the hem of her dress and blew warm air onto the newborn, whose life was hanging by a thread, and then she briskly, but gently rubbed the kitten between her hands. Quite a spell passed before the kitten threw its head back and cried weakly for its mother. Fluffy detached herself from the nursing kittens and trotted to Abigail and the kitten she had abandoned.

Abigail forced Fluffy onto her side and put the weak kitten to a nipple. The kitten rooted for awhile then latched onto the nipple and sucked greedily.

Abigail! Where are you? It's getting late!

Coming, Seth! She had lost track of time.

She ran past her brother to get her berry basket, climbed into the loft to find a bright, red ribbon, and ran past Seth a second time. She called over her shoulder that she was going to the forest edge to gather some berries for a pie.

Don't stay out long or the Injuns will get you!

Oh, Seth, you know the Indians have never bothered us. She hurried toward the tree line.

As Seth watched his little sister run into the shadow of the woods, Abigail's last words made him ponder. He wondered why the Indians didn't make raids on them as they did on other settlements. He scratched his head while walking to the cabin to eat the supper Abigail had prepared.

.

Abigail felt disoriented. She had picked berries in these woods many times before, but she couldn't find the red raspberry bushes. Where were the bushes? It seemed as if she had wandered for hours. She decided to head back to the cabin. She turned one way, then another, not sure which direction to head.

The full moon was starting to rise. She hadn't intended to get such a late start. What if Uncle Ora and Aunt Bernice were back from the birthing?

A rabbit bounded from a bush startling her.

She put her hand over her heart; it felt as if it would thump out of her chest.

She watched the rabbit hop away as a black cloud covered the moon, making the woods much darker and a little frightening.

When the cloud finally moved away, a beam of moonlight illuminated the Hobble Knobble Gobble Tree.

Abigail sighed with relief. Whew! At least she knew where she was now and could follow the road home. Thankfully there was plenty of light from the full moon.

It really was a lovely night. There were more twinkling stars than she could count in a lifetime. She fingered the ribbon in her pocket, drew in a deep breath, and approached the eerily luminescent tree.

The ugly, old tree didn't look so scary up close. She took the ribbon out of her pocket and tied it on the lowest branch she could find.

She was turning toward the road when she heard a crackling noise, then smelled something similar to rotten eggs. She looked to the sky and saw three fireballs as big as teacup saucers heading toward her. She ducked as the fireballs hit the tree. Everything was engulfed in white, then there was darkness.

.

Abigail was dreaming of children crying. The noise escalated until she had to cover her ears. She opened her eyes. She wasn't in the loft. Then she remembered the fireballs that had hit the tree; she sat up and looked around. It appeared everything as far as she could see was dead. Trees, grass, and foliage - everything looked dead. The sky showed no sun or clouds, just a dismal gray.

She could still hear crying; it was so loud. The cries had turned into a wail. She had to leave this place; she had to run! There was a path of sorts, so Abigail ran towards it. As she neared what looked like a dead weeping willow tree, the sound