The Red Rubber Nose

Toby’s boots made a sound like a giant slurping a milkshake. Every step into the brown muck felt like the earth was trying to steal his shoes. The snow was almost gone, but it left behind a world that looked like cold chocolate milk. It was spring, but it wasn't the pretty kind with flowers. It was the messy kind. The kind where everything is wet and the air smells like old basement carpet.

Toby reached into his pocket. His fingers hit a hole. The silver compass was gone. His heart did a scary flip-flop in his chest. That compass belonged to his dad. It was heavy and smelled like old pennies. Now, it was somewhere in the mud. The forest felt way too big. The trees were tall and skinny, reaching up like bony fingers into the gray sky. He looked around, but everything was missing. The path was missing. The bird sounds were missing. Even the sun was hiding behind a flat, white cloud.

He wiped his nose with his sleeve. He had to find that compass. If he went home without it, the house would feel even more empty than it already did. Since the Move, things kept disappearing. First, it was his favorite blue truck. Then, his mom’s silver earrings. Now, the compass. It felt like the world was a giant eraser, rubbing out the things that mattered. He took a step toward a patch of dirty snow. Something bright caught his eye. It wasn't silver. It was red. A round, bright red ball sat right on top of a pile of slush. Toby leaned over. His knees creaked. He picked it up. It wasn't a ball. It was a rubber nose. It was shiny and smelled like a new shower curtain. Why was there a clown nose in the middle of the woods?

"I would advise against touching the props, young sir," a voice boomed. The voice sounded like it came from a big wooden box. Toby jumped. He slipped in the mud and landed hard on his bottom. The cold water soaked through his jeans instantly. Standing near a crooked pine tree was a man. He was very tall. He wore a tuxedo that looked like it was made of shiny trash bags. His face was painted white, but the paint was cracking like a dry lake bed. He had big, blue circles around his eyes and a mouth that was painted into a permanent, giant smile. But his real eyes didn't look happy. They looked like glowing green lightbulbs. "That nose is part of a very specific costume design," the man said. He spoke like he was on a stage in front of a thousand people. "It is not a toy for wandering children."

"I’m not wandering," Toby said. His voice shook. He tried to stand up, but the mud was slippery. "I’m looking for my compass. It’s silver. Have you seen it?" The tall man stepped closer. He didn't walk normally. He moved in big, jerky hops, like a grasshopper. Behind him, two more figures stepped out from the shadows of the trees. They were shorter and wore baggy yellow jumpsuits covered in neon polka dots. Their heads were smooth and silver, reflecting the gray sky. They didn't have faces, just little speakers where their mouths should be. "A compass?" the tall man asked. He leaned down until his white face was inches from Toby’s. "An instrument of direction? A tool for those who are fundamentally lost? I am afraid we have seen no such device. We are here for the Spring Gala. The performance is about to begin, and we are missing our lead comedian."

"I don't care about a gala," Toby said. He felt a lump in his throat. "I just want to go home. Which way is the road?" The two silver-headed clowns began to juggle. They didn't use balls. They used heavy, rusted gears and pieces of broken clocks. The sound of the metal clanking together was loud and sharp. Clack. Whir. Snap. It made Toby’s ears ache. "The road is a concept of the past," the tall man declared. He threw his arms out wide. "In this forest, there is only the stage and the audience. You, my small friend, appear to be the audience. Or perhaps, if you are lucky, you might be the opening act." The clowns in the yellow suits started to move around Toby. They hopped in circles, their metal gears flying through the air. The mud splashed up on Toby’s face. It tasted like salt and dirt.

"Stop it!" Toby yelled. He scrambled to his feet. He turned and ran. He didn't care about the compass anymore. He just wanted to get away from the glowing eyes and the clanking gears. He ran toward a thicket of bushes. The mud tried to hold him back. It felt like running through a dream where your legs are made of lead. He could hear the tall man laughing behind him. It wasn't a normal laugh. It sounded like a recording being played at the wrong speed. "The chase is the best part of the first act!" the man shouted. Toby pushed through the branches. They scratched his arms. He didn't stop. He came to a small clearing. In the middle was a giant pile of stuff. It looked like someone had dumped a whole house into the woods. There were broken chairs, headless dolls, and stacks of old magazines. Everything was covered in a thin layer of melting ice.

He saw something shiny on top of the pile. He climbed up, his hands scraping against the wet wood of a broken table. It was a toaster. Next to it was a bicycle wheel. Then, he saw it. Near the top of the heap, tucked under the arm of a plastic mannequin, was the silver compass. "Found you," Toby whispered. He reached for it, but his foot slipped. He tumbled down the pile of junk. He landed in a soft patch of mud. He looked up. The tall man was standing right there. The two silver-headed clowns were right behind him. They had stopped juggling. They were holding their gears like they were stones they were about to throw. "You have a talent for finding lost things," the tall man said. He tilted his head. "That is a very dangerous skill in a place where things want to stay hidden."

"It’s mine," Toby said. He gripped the compass tight. The cold metal felt good in his hand. It felt real. "My dad gave it to me. I’m leaving now." The tall man reached into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of colorful confetti. He threw it into the air. It didn't fall like paper. It floated and buzzed like tiny neon bees. The confetti started to glow, lighting up the dark woods. "The exit is closed for the season," the tall man said. His voice was suddenly very quiet and very serious. "But the show must go on. Don't you want to see the finale? It involves quite a lot of fire and very little safety equipment." Toby looked at the silver-headed clowns. They started to vibrate. The speakers on their faces emitted a low, humming sound that made Toby’s teeth rattle. He realized they weren't people in suits. They were machines made to look like nightmares.

He looked at the compass. The needle was spinning in circles. It wouldn't point North. It just kept spinning and spinning. The forest was changing. The trees seemed to be moving closer, their branches weaving together to form a wall. The mud was getting deeper, bubbling like a pot of brown soup. Toby felt a cold wind blow past his ears. It whispered his name. Or maybe it was just the wind. "I demand that you let me pass!" Toby shouted. He used the big words his teacher used when she was being very formal. "I am a citizen of the town, and I have a right to go home!" The tall man laughed again. He did a backflip in the mud, landing perfectly on his feet. "A citizen! How theatrical! You speak like a true lead actor. Perhaps we can find a role for you after all. We need someone to play the part of the Boy Who Disappeared."

Toby didn't wait for the next line. He bolted. He dove under the wall of branches. He crawled through the cold, wet leaves. He could hear the metal clowns clanking behind him. They were faster than they looked. He saw a hollow log ahead. It was huge, big enough for him to fit inside. He slid into it, the bark scratching his back. He held his breath. He squeezed the compass so hard the edges hurt his palm. Outside, he heard the squelch of boots in the mud. Squelch. Pop. Squelch. The humming sound grew louder. It was right outside the log. Toby closed his eyes. He thought about his room. He thought about his bed with the red blanket. He thought about the way the kitchen smelled when his mom made toast. He tried to remember every detail, because it felt like those memories were trying to slide away too.

"Where has our little star wandered?" the tall man’s voice echoed through the log. It sounded like he was talking into a long pipe. "The curtain is rising. The lights are hot. The audience is waiting for a miracle. Do not be shy, little bird." A long, thin finger with a white painted nail poked into the end of the log. Toby crawled further back. He hit a spiderweb. It stuck to his hair. He wanted to scream, but he clamped his mouth shut. The finger wiggled around, searching for him. Then, it stopped. The humming stopped. Everything went quiet. The only sound was the drip, drip, drip of the melting snow. Toby waited. He counted to a hundred. Then he counted to another hundred. He slowly peeked out of the log. The clearing was empty. The pile of junk was gone. The tall man and the silver clowns were gone. Even the red rubber nose was gone.

But the forest didn't look like it did before. The trees were different. They were covered in white blossoms that looked like popcorn. The mud was gone, replaced by soft, green grass that felt like velvet. It was spring, but a different kind of spring. A spring that had arrived in a single second. Toby looked at his compass. The needle had stopped spinning. It was pointing toward a bright light between two massive oak trees. He didn't know where he was, but the light felt warm. It felt like the sun on a Saturday morning. He stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants. He still had the compass. He still had his memories. He started to walk toward the light, but then he heard a tiny, high-pitched giggle coming from the branches above him.