George & Annie: an Unofficial Biography

Chapter 4: 1988

Mud

Annie chased after the ball that had gotten away from her. Once again, she found herself playing alone in the schoolyard as the other children busied themselves with their friends. She didn't care much that no one else wanted to play with her. She already knew it was better to fly under the radar, when possible.

As she ran past a small knot of children, she overheard something interesting for a change.

"And then my brother heard a horrible howl..." said a boy rather dramatically.

The audience of kids oohed and ahhed appropriately.

"And he ran like hell out of the woods. He got away from the werewolf, but just barely...."

"Wow!" whispered a girl, reverently.

"Amazing!" added another boy.

"What?" exclaimed Annie, pausing as she walked by with the ball in her hands. "What woods? What werewolf?" she asked.

"The one right next to your house," the storyteller said testily, upset at being interrupted by such a skeptical tone of voice.

"Didn't you know?" a girl asked her. "The forest outside of town is haunted. I thought everybody knew that!"

"It's true!" cried another boy. "My brother says you can hear shouting, and see flashes of light, but never see anyone. It's ghosts!"

"My sister says somebody got murdered in there, and haunts it every full moon...."

"It's not haunted!" Annie cried. "That's stupid. I go there all the time..." she said, her voice fading as she spoke. She had not intended for anyone at school to know about her forays in the forest. So much for flying under the radar....

"Bullshit!" claimed the boy storyteller.

Annie looked around at the faces surrounding her. Most of them looked skeptical of her claim as well, but one girl had a different look on her face.

"Well, that's no surprise. I mean, look who she lives with," said the girl, her tone getting nasty.

Annie was torn. The last thing she wanted to do was draw any more attention to herself, and she would never reveal any of the secrets Fred and George had entrusted her with. But they were calling her a liar....

"You're being stupid," she said, hoping another tack would diffuse the situation. "Everyone knows there're no such things as ghosts or werewolves." She said it with as much conviction as she could muster. She had neither seen nor heard mention of either, but she knew that didn't mean much, in light of what she knew about the magical world.

"Says you," snapped the storyteller boy.

The suspicious girl sniffed. "What about witches, then?"

Annie froze in fear. How could she know? What if Fred and George's family were found out? "What do you mean?" she asked, carefully nonchalant.

The girl snorted. "I mean, it's no surprise your grandmother sends you off into the woods. She's a witch. My mum told me all about it...."

After a stunned moment, Annie burst out laughing. "My Gran..." she gasped, unable to catch her breath for laughing. "A... a witch!"

Some of the other children began to giggle as well. This certainly wasn't the reaction they had expected from Annie Jones. No arguments, no threats, no fists were flying.

The suspicious girl looked quite put out at having the audience turned against her so quickly. "It's true!" she claimed, then stomped off, unhappy at being laughed at by her intended victim.

"A witch!" Annie sighed, still laughing. "My Gran!"

The crowd of children began to disperse. "What a weirdo," she heard one of the kids mutter as they walked off, and correctly assumed they were referring to her. After another moment, Annie found herself alone once again, holding a soccer ball. She walked out onto the field and began kicking it around with her foot.

The next day - a Saturday - she met up with her friends at the tree fort. "You'll never believe what happened at school," she exclaimed.

Fred and George looked at her with surprised expressions. Annie never talked about school, and certainly not with excitement in her voice.

"One of the kids said his brother met a werewolf here in the forest!" she laughed. "How ridiculous is that? Considering all the stuff that really is here... the idiot picked werewolves!" she said, shaking her head.

The surprised amusement on the twins' faces was immediately replaced with shocked, fearful ones.

"A werewolf?" George whispered.

"What?" she asked, confused by their reactions. "It's a joke... isn't it?"

Fred slowly shook his head. "Oh, they're no joke," he said. "But I never heard of one here. Mum and Dad must not know, or we'd never be allowed out of the house," he said worriedly.

"This isn't funny, Fred," scolded Annie, hoping they were teasing her. She was beginning to feel a bit frightened.

"How did this muggle see a werewolf and live to tell about it?" George wondered aloud. The look on his face told Annie such a non-fatal encounter was unusual in the extreme.

"I dunno... I thought it was a lie so I didn't ask! Billy said his brother heard a howl last week in the forest..." she said, getting upset.

"So he never saw it... just heard it?" George verified.

"Hang on... last week? That can't be! It's a new moon today!" argued Fred.

George breathed a sigh of relief. "For crying out loud, Annie! Don't scare us like that!" He chucked her shoulder playfully.

"Me scare you? What in the hell are you on about? You're the ones claiming friggin' werewolves are real!" she cried.

"Well, they are! And not exactly friendly sorts of people, either. But you wouldn't hear howling unless it was a full moon, so this Billy bloke is full of it," Fred replied.

"That's just super. You're telling me that people can turn into wolves, but only during a full moon. I'll be sure to point that out to Billy when I see him on Monday," she said sarcastically.

George chuckled in response.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Annie said, her attempt at sounding stern greatly undermined by the giggle that followed.

"I think you're funny... looking," he corrected her.

She stuck out her tongue at him. "Well, that wasn't the funniest thing they said, either. Apparently, there's a rumor in town that this forest is haunted, and my Gran is a witch!"

The boys began laughing along with Annie. They started to climb down out of the tree fort, in search of something fun to do.

"Muggles will believe anything," Fred said, shaking his head as he jumped down to the ground.

"Most of 'em can't see a kneazle right in front of their faces," George added, landing next to his brother.

"And then they pick your Gran, the muggle-iest old dear in town, for a witch!"

"Yeah, well, she didn't exactly mean it as a compliment, did she?" Annie said with a wry smile while dangling from the lowest branch. She began kicking her legs to swing herself back and forth.

"How do you mean?" asked George. Fred had already struck out toward the north.

Annie let herself drop, then answered. "Most muggles I know think witches are ugly, evil old bats with green skin and warts and claws and they eat little children, and they laugh like this," explained Annie, cackling for effect.

"That's hags," Fred corrected her from about fifteen paces in front.

"Beg pardon?"

"What you just described is a hag, except for the green skin, that is," laughed George. "And you do a very good impression, I must say."

Annie playfully swatted at him. He expertly ducked out of reach. "Is a hag a witch, too?" she asked him.

"Hmm. Good question. I guess a hag is a sort of witch... maybe. What do you think, Fred?" he asked, following behind Annie.

"I don't. Who cares?" Fred answered, seeming to lose interest and patience all at once.

George and Annie rolled their eyes. As Fred led them deeper into the forest, the two of them continued conversing quietly about hags, witches, and werewolves.

It was slow going. The past week had seen two days' worth of torrential rain, followed by a string of warm, dry days. The forest floor was still damp everywhere, with several mud pits they had to skirt around to avoid getting stuck.

"Are we going anywhere in particular, Fred?" Annie asked after half an hour.

"Do you ever stop asking questions?" he retorted.

"I'll take that as a no," she replied.

A minute later, they came to a stop. They seemed to be on a sort of ridge. Below them, maybe ten feet or so, was a small hollow that ran from east to west. It looked like it had been flooded by the rain, and the walls of the ridge looked slick with mud. What appeared to be a large but shallow mud puddle was at the bottom. The three of them looked from side to side, searching for a way across.

"Maybe we'll find a fallen tree or something," Annie suggested, beginning to walk toward the west. The ridge crest was crowded with trees, and it would be difficult to pick their way along it if they had to go very far.

Fred reached up and tugged on a grapevine that hung down from a large tree. "This'll do," he suggested, tugging on the thick vine harder, taking several steps back from the crest.

George was looking up into the tree. "I can't see where it's wrapped around," he warned his brother.

"What? You're going to swing across like Tarzan or something?" Annie asked, incredulous.

"I have no idea who this Tarzan bloke is, but yes, I'm swinging across," Fred said with an eager smile.

"Stupid," muttered Annie.

"Good luck, moron," mumbled George.

Fred took a running leap, whooping as he swung across the hollow. They could hear the sounds of leaves ripping and wood groaning. He was nearly to the other side... then began to swing back toward the bank.

"ARGH!" Fred groaned in frustration.

"Try running harder next time," George suggested.

Only there wasn't a next time. Fred didn't have enough momentum to come all the way back to the side of the ridge he started from. He dangled for a moment, hanging from the vine, as it swung only part of the way back to the near bank, then found its equilibrium, stranding him over the puddle.

"Oh, crap," Fred muttered.

George and Annie each tried to reach out and catch the vine, attempting to pull Fred back. Unsuccessful individually, George wrapped an arm and leg around the nearest tree trunk, supporting Annie by the hand as she leaned out into the open space below the ridge. Her fingertips barely reached, then wrapped around the vine.

"Got it!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

At that very instant, an alarming cracking sound ripped through the tree. The vine yanked out of Annie's hand, and she felt herself jerked backwards by George. A look of panic crossed Fred's face as he plunged five feet, then jolted to a halt. Somehow he managed to keep his grip on the vine.

"Whew, that was close!" called George.

A second later, with another whoosh of ripping leaves, the vine gave way completely. Fred landed on his backside in the puddle, which he discovered was less than a couple of inches of water suspended above nearly six inches of mud. A rain of leaves and bark fell from the tree above onto Fred as he spluttered in shock.

"Are you okay?" Annie and George called out together.

"Nothing's broken," answered Fred after taking a moment to collect himself. "Ack!" he cried in disgust as he attempted to stand up, slipped again, and fell forward into the slimy pit, catching himself on his hands and knees.

Annie and George began to chuckle from the ridge above him.

"You look like a wallowing pig!" giggled Annie.

"Mum is going to murder you!" laughed George.

"Stop laughing and get me out of here!" Fred yelled, flinging handfuls of mud at them.

George and Annie ducked the mud grenades successfully.

"That stops right now or you can rot down there, understand?" Annie demanded in a teasing voice.

Fred obeyed, looking disgruntled.

George grabbed the loose grapevine and wedged it into a low branch of a tree. "Give that a try," he suggested. "You should be able to haul yourself up."

"Careful, that bank looks slippery!" warned Annie as Fred failed to find much purchase.

"You're not being helpful!" Fred shouted, lobbing a few more handfuls of mud in frustration. He smiled with satisfaction as one found its mark and Annie squealed.

"You idiot!" she screamed in a temper as George guffawed. "That's it... you can stay down there, for all I care!" Annie marched angrily over to the vine and started tugging it loose.

"Don't!" cried Fred as he watched Annie dismantling his only hope for escape.

"Shut up!" cried Annie, glaring at George who was still laughing at her. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her free from the vine, attempting to help his brother.

Annie shoved him away, then felt herself lose her own footing. Her arms made windmills as she scrambled to find purchase. George was in the process of stumbling backward himself, and fell onto his backside on the ground next to the tree.

"Oh!" she said in surprise as she began to slip down the ridge.

On her way down the bank, Annie managed to grab a hold of something. She clung to it, eyes closed, praying it would break her fall and keep her out of the mud at the bottom.

George dug his hands into the soft earth at the top of the ridge as he felt himself being pulled over the crest and down the bank.

"Ahhh!"

"Nooo!"

The next thing Annie knew, she was lying in cold, wet goo with a heavy weight on top of her. She could hear hysterical laughter coming from somewhere nearby.

"Get off!" she grunted, shoving against the weight.

George rolled off of her. "You pulled me in!" he cried angrily.

"It's your own fault!" cried Annie, although she couldn't really see how that was true. She began to try to stand up. Annie's heart sunk as she surveyed the damage. She was covered head to toe in the muck.

In the next instant, another splat of mud hit her in the head.

Annie screamed with rage and lunged at Fred, who was laughing but scrambling to get away. Both of them were slipping and sliding in the mud. She managed to tackle him by sheer force of will, mashing handfuls of mud into his hair and face, swearing like a deckhand as she did so.

She felt two hands on her arms pulling her off her spluttering victim.

"Annie!" George yelled. "Lay off!"

Annie was startled back into reality. She looked at the two figures before her, dripping with brown muck. Fred was spitting, scraping mud off of himself and flinging it to the ground.

"Sorry," she said with an iota of sincerity.

"'S okay," Fred assured her with slightly more.

George offered his brother a hand, and he stood up. "Okay, morons," asked George, losing patience. "How are we going to get out of here?"

"The sides are too slick here," said Fred. "Let's walk down a bit, see if they get any better...."

"The water had to drain somewhere. Maybe this leads to a stream or something," Annie suggested.

George was scanning the treetops above them, searching for any better ideas. He sighed, finding nothing. "Fine. Let's get going, then," he said and began heading east.

Fred faked like he was going to fling more mud at Annie, and she flinched. He smiled. Annie glared and shook her head slightly, hoping to convey a threat of over-retaliation if he did it for real.

After slogging for almost half an hour through even more mud, they finally reached a place where the miniature canyon met with a quickly moving stream. Knowing with confidence that it was sure to ultimately lead them to the River Otter, they began to relax. They reached the fast-moving stream soon after.

"I'm going to try to wash some of this off," Annie said. "You lot stay here, I'll go upstream a bit," she offered. They all were ten years old now, after all, and even though there was nothing different to see now that they hadn't seen when she was seven, none of them was comfortable anymore with the casual nakedness they had taken for granted when they were younger. Annie knew she could trust them to stay put and give her some privacy.

She reached a spot several yards upstream, just around a bend, which would offer her plenty of cover. First she scrubbed her shoes, then set them in a sunny spot on the rocky bank. They don't look too horribly, she reckoned. It helped that her trainers were black, that's for sure.

She dunked her whole body in a slightly-deeper pool, rubbing her skin and hair briskly to wash off the dried mud. Once again she felt like throttling Fred for starting the mud fight.

Next she slipped out of her shirt, scrubbing it against the rocky stream bottom. Clouds of mud bloomed in the water and washed away. Even so, the shirt was likely ruined. Gran was going to be furious with her. She wrung it out as best she could and put it back on to dry.

Finally she took off her shorts. They were old cut-off jeans, so the mud stains weren't nearly as visible. Annie dutifully scrubbed them clean as well, wrung them out, and wrestled her way back into the wet denim. Carrying her shoes as she waded back toward the boys, she looked skyward, attempting to tell the time. Probably noon, or shortly thereafter, she figured. She was starting to feel a little bit hungry.

"I'm coming!" she called out a warning before getting too close.

"We're decent!" came an answering yell. As she approached, she could see her friends had draped their dripping wet shirts on a tree limb and were sitting in sopping wet trousers on the far bank in a sunbeam. Annie made her way over to join them, lying back in the sun, hoping the warm light would dry her quickly.

About an hour later, having almost dozed off, Annie was startled into full alertness by a rumbling stomach.

"Was that you or me?" she asked.

"Dunno, but I'm starving," said Fred.

"I suppose there's no use putting it off any longer," sighed George. "We've got to eat. Think you're Gran's going to be really pissed?"

"What d'you think?" she asked, spreading her arms wide to display her mud-dingy shirt.

George and Fred grimaced.

"Yeah, she's gonna blow a fuse," Annie sighed dejectedly. "What about you?"

The boys nodded as well. "Mum'll be right pissed, yeah," muttered Fred.

"Well, I guess I'll see you again someday," Annie said, standing up slowly. "She can't ground me forever."

"Good luck, mate," offered the boys, patting her shoulders as she passed between them, heading toward home and punishment.

"Thanks. You too...."