Lost Places by Carla Jablonski Page A

ears, Tim admonished himself. Concentrate on finding Molly and Crimple. Then they can help you track down Tanger, if he’s here.
    Tim gazed around at the strange colorless landscape. It seemed flat, like a painting, but he could move through it, and objects around him were certainly three-dimensional. He was in a dark wood, filled with tall, scrawny trees and a thick underbrush covering the ground. Whispers and cries and howls hovered just at the edge of his hearing. “Yeah, this seems about right for a place that demons would romp around in,” he muttered.
    Now to find Molly and Crimple. He reached down, wondering if the rocks in a demon landscape would oblige him the way rocks back home did. Then he froze, his arm outstretched a few inches above the ground. A loud crrr-aack had come from just up ahead, as if someone—or some thing —had stepped onto a rotten tree branch and broken it. Tanger didn’t weigh enough to break a twig unless he tried very hard; whoever was approaching was a stranger.
    Tim quickly stood back up. “You out there,” he called, mustering up all the bravado he could. “I’ve got weapons here! Uh, sandals of sharpness—” No, that can’t be right. What had Tanger said?
    â€œUm, so, show yourself,” Tim demanded.
    A figure emerged from the bushes, completely shadowed by the thick canopy of trees. Whoever it was wore a cloak and a hood, casting more shadows over his—or its —face.
    At least he’s my size , Tim noted. “Okay, tell me your name,” Tim ordered.
    â€œI am no one,” the figure replied. “Who are you?”
    â€œNo One?” Tim scoffed. “That’s not a proper demon name. Even I know that.” Then again, the demon may not have wanted Tim to know his name, because names have power. The polite thing would have been for Tim to ask the stranger what he was “called,” but Tim wasn’t feeling very polite at the moment.
    â€œI am not a demon,” the figure in the hooded cloak replied.
    â€œOh, right, sorry,” Tim scoffed. “My mistake. You being dressed up in a sack and hiding your face and flitting around in the demon playground and all, I just assumed—”
    â€œThis isn’t a demon playground,” the figureargued. “Ummmm. Not necessarily. I mean, it could be. But it doesn’t have to be. It all depends.”
    Tim snorted. “You—you talk just like me. You sound as confused as I feel.”
    The figure flipped back his hood and now Tim gasped.
    He was staring at…himself!

Chapter Six
    S ERIOUSLY WEIRD , TIM THOUGHT , his eyes never leaving his face. Only, of course, it was his face on someone else’s body.
    The Other Tim snorted. “Listen, I wouldn’t stand around with my mouth open like that if I were you. This place is full of all kinds of creepy crawlies. One could flit right into that gaping maw.”
    â€œNow listen, you body snatcher,” Tim said. “If you’re implying that I’m no one by calling yourself that, then you’re a lot dumber than you look.” Hey wait , Tim thought. Did I just insult myself somehow? He shook his head. I talk to myself a lot, but it has never been like this!
    The Other Tim crossed his arms and smirked.
    Do I really look that obnoxious when I do that? Tim wondered. I should rethink that expression.
    â€œAll right,” the Other Tim said. “If you’re sosure you’re someone, prove it.”
    â€œThat’s stupid,” Tim snapped. “I don’t have to prove anything. And certainly not to you!”
    â€œCome on, admit it,” the Other Tim taunted. “You don’t know who you are. You don’t have a clue. And you can’t prove you’re someone because you don’t know what that really means.”
    Poof! A little figure appeared just inches above Tim’s left ear—smaller even than Tanger or Crimple.
    Tim was