Yes! After a three-day wait, chapter seven is here! Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER SEVEN

~Hannibal Woods, 1840~

"Ugh! Shoot!" Wilbur groaned as he walked through yet another seemingly invisible spider web. He made a useless attempt at brushing off the sticky threads before he gave up and kept walking. Suddenly, he felt a presence on his arm. He looked down and squealed as he saw the creator of the web resting soundlessly on his arm. He shook his arm frantically and ran. Finally, in about five minutes, he collapsed by a tree and complained to himself.

"Stupid woods; stupid sister; stupid spiders and their bizarre web-making," he grumbled. He went on like this for a while, until his irritation turned to self-pity. "Oh, some time soon, maybe, Kilbur will regret snapping at me and return to beg for forgiveness, only to find me dead, a knife in my back and Injun Joe standing above me." He pitied himself more, not even remembering that his sister's name was Huck now and Kilbur was a thing of the past. "Or maybe she and her boyfriend will feel so bad about treating me poorly and find me dead with a spider on me from these forsaken webs."

He pitied and angered and whined for a little while longer, and eventually all this reminded him how lonely and hungry he was, and how it would only be a little longer until a cold sheet of death covered him and he would be no more. He could imagine his tombstone now—Wilbur Robinson—2024-1840. It would be surrounded by flowers and onlookers dressed in black, weeping into handkerchiefs. His father's arm would be around his sobbing mother, and even Sierra would pitch in a nice word or two. They would all hate Huck, and she would be blamed for getting him killed. She would be in such trouble and everyone would turn against her. She would be bullied at school for getting the most popular and handsome boy in school killed (note how creative his imagination is).

Unless she never went back to school at all. She planned on staying with Huck Finn forever, after all. Maybe no one would ever know he died here. Perhaps he would just drop dead one day—here one minute, gone the next—and his corpse would rot and be picked clean by vultures and animals, until eventually decomposing, leaving no trace of him. Then he would be forgotten, a mere drop in the ocean of memories. Nobody would care. Nobody would want to. Wilbur Robinson's name would go down in vain, and nobody would do anything about it. Sure, the Robinson family would have trinkets and such from his previous good life.

Or maybe, Wilbur thought, he wasn't giving himself enough credit. Yes, people would find him. They would construct a monument far greater than any of the Great Pyramids for him. He would be in a sarcophagus, bejeweled in the greatest and most expensive gemstones, outlined and accented in gold, made of precious metals, his famous lightning bolt insignia resting, gleaming, in the center. People would offer precious antiques and belongings to the tomb, and all his belongings would be placed in the tomb or the museum, in glass cases, on display, so incredible that no one could ever touch them again. His varsity Chargeball glove would be stared at and awed. His comb would be wanted and special. He would be envied and missed, and such occasion should never be forgotten.

Wilbur soon grew tired and weary of such imagining, and he was lulled to sleep by comforting thoughts and mentally writing his fabulous memoirs.

Huck yawned and opened her eyes. She was exhausted from the previous night—the murder, the oath, Wilbur throwing a tantrum. He wouldn't last two days on his own. She knew it, too. It would only be a matter of time before he came running back. Of course, she needn't worry herself with such. Why should she? If he died, it wasn't her problem. It wasn't her fault Wilbur decided to throw a hissy fit and storm away, thereby sealing his own fate. She didn't force him to come with her. It was his decision to follow her and snoop into her business. She could've stopped him—no, she could have tried. Wilbur's stubbornness would have just made him do it anyway.

She got up and stretched. This was the life! She had no idea what time it was; all she knew was that she was starving. She smiled at the still-sleeping form of Huck Finn. She couldn't help but think, he is so dreamy. Then, she hitched up a sack, slung it over her shoulder and made her way through the woods until she saw an opening. It was the town—Hannibal. She crept behind the houses and through alleyways. The mud and dirt stained her feet as she sneaked around. It was exactly like it was in the movie, so she basically knew every inch of it. She saw oblivious townspeople walking down the roads, clearly happy for so early in the morning (actually, it was 11:45 A.M., but Huck didn't know that. She couldn't care less about time).

Huck picked up her feet and, with cat-like stealth, swung onto a branch jutting out of a tree behind someone's house. She knew exactly which house it was, but it was better if they didn't know she was here. She stared at a window that peered into the kitchen. It was open, and a middle-aged woman with light blonde hair and worn skin hurried around in there. She put flapjacks on plates, scuttled them out of view, came back and stirred eggs, put a pie on the windowsill, and hurried out of the house to get water from a well. This was the golden moment of opportunity for Huck. She leapt down from the tree, grabbed the pie, and darted off.

Huck then went to the river—the good ol' Mississippi. She checked some of the other fishers' traps. They weren't by them presently, so who would it hurt if she decided to check them herself? There was a good amount of fish, which she put into the sack and, once again, slung it over her shoulder and was off. She went back to the opening in the woods from whence she came out and made her way back to her and Huck's camp. She picked up twigs and sticks along the way, tucking them under her arm. She arrived at the camp some time around noon, though she couldn't care less.

Huck was just stirring, his hair hanging in front of his eyes in a way that made the other Huck's heart melt. He was just so hot. Honestly!

Huck smiled to herself, thinking if I licked my finger and put it on him, it would sizzle. Lick, tssss, he is so hot. Why can't everyone have hair like his? Nah, if everyone did, not everyone could work it. Seriously, though, I just want to kiss him so bad. But not yet. I'm pretty sure he's falling for me too on the inside. After all, I do look awesome with messy hair. And baggy clothes don't make me look fat. Not that I'm exactly overweight to begin with, but I think everyone's self conscious about their stomach at least a little. Anyway, they're comfortable, and Huck manages to make them look hot as well. In fact, I think I'll just stare at him until he asks me what I'm staring at.

This satisfied her, and it was a couple minutes before Huck did ask, "What are you starin' at?"

"You," Huck replied simply, setting her things on the ground.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why? Because I think you're hot," Huck responded nonchalantly. No use hidin' it. He was gonna figure it out sometime or another. I mean, come on, LOOK AT HIM! He's GORGEOUS!

"Okay," Huck shrugged. He's been told that many times. He's hung out with her for many weeks. He's used to that. "So where've you been?"

"Gettin' food. I ain't doin' it all myself. I reckon you're helpin' me," Huck said, helping her friend up.

"Okay, so what can I do?" Huck asked, eyeing the sack.

"You can help me clean and gut the fish. Then, I'll get the fire started and you can start cooking the fish."

"Sounds right."

With that, Huck got a clasp knife from a sack and proceeded to gut her share of the fish. The other Huck did the same and in a few minutes, they were feasting on fish and pie.

Presently, their hunger faded and Huck asked, "Ain't you worried 'bout your brother?"

"Not particularly."

"Why not?"

"Eh, I ain't never worried 'bout him. He ain't my problem," Huck leaned against a rock nonchalantly.

"Well, what if he was?"

"Hey!" Huck snapped, staring at him with her cold blue eyes. "It ain't my fault that he wanted to come with me. It ain't my fault that he stormed off. It ain't my fault that he couldn't get used to me changin'."

"What if you was in his position?"

"Well, I ain't, am I?"

"What if you was?"

"I ain't stupid enough to let that happen!" They sat in silence for a few minutes.

All of a sudden, they heard yelling coming from the direction of the town. The Hucks exchanged looks and ran to the town. All the townspeople were running like a mob in the direction of the graveyard. Huck drew in his breath.

"Crap," the other Huck said and they flawlessly joined the crowd, unnoticed. They followed until they reached the graveyard, where Muff Potter was surrounded by people, blaming him for murder.

"I didn't do it! I swear I didn't do it!" Muff yelled.

"Look what I found!" a man yelled. "It's Muff Potter's knife! I sold it to him last winter." He walked into the middle of the crowd, holding the knife and waving it around.

"Well, I say lynch him, lynch him now!" another man with weird sideburns yelled. Huck recognized him as Mr. Dobbins, the schoolmaster.

Muff protested, when a voice rang out:

"I saw the murder!"

Injun Joe walked by Muff Potter. Muff glowed and said, "Oh, oh, Joe. Thank the Lord. Now you tell them…you tell them it ain't me."

"Tell us what you know!" a voice said.

"Yeah, I passed through here last night, and I saw Muff and Doc Robinson digging up that there grave," Injun Joe gestured to a tombstone. "And then, in a drunken rage, I saw Muff stab the doc."

Gasps arose from all around. Huck narrowed her eyes. She saw this coming.

"That ain't the way it happened," Muff said as people grabbed him. "I swear! We found the map to Murrel's treasure, and then Joe and doc got in a fight, and—"

"Ya hear that, people? More drunk talk from Muff Potter!" Injun Joe shouted.

Muff's jaw dropped. Huck went silent and crept back behind a tree. The other Huck followed her and they listened intently to the conversation unfolding before them.

"Murrel's lost treasure is an old wife's tale!" Mr. Dobbins yelled, waving his hand in the air like a preacher. "I know the history of this entire county, and I'm telling you it doesn't exist!" He did a weird gesture with his hands, which caused Huck to shoot one of her famous sarcastic looks toward her friend crouching below her.

Huck looked up at her and mouthed, "What?"

She stared at Mr. Dobbins and mouthed back, "What the heck did he just do with his hands?"

Huck shrugged and they returned to watching the scene.

"But I seen the map!" Muff yelled.

"I say you're lyin," Injun Joe said, putting his face a few inches from Muff's. "I say there ain't no map." A smirk flashed across his face for a split second. "There never was." He and Muff stared at each other for a moment, and Injun Joe gave an almost unnoticeable nod to someone in the crowd.

The man Injun Joe nodded to stepped through the crowd and yelled, "Who all thinks Muff Potter is a drunk, a liar, and a murderer; raise your hand!"

Nearly the entire crowd pumped their fists in the air and shouted. The Hucks exchanged glances as the crowd swelled and tightened their circle on Muff. One man even put a noose around Muff's neck. Among all the chaos, a gunshot rang out, silencing them all.

"Now, let's just hold on, people, hold on!" a voice followed the gunshot. It was Judge Thatcher, holding a pistol. "Thank you. Now…" He gave a small laugh. "Now…" he repeated and shook his head gently. "You folks wouldn't be tryin' to deny me the pleasure of presidin' over a trial now, would you?" He approached Muff Potter and shoved the man with the noose away. He took it off and asked, "Are you all right, Mr. Potter?"

Muff nodded feebly, still in shock from the noose.

Judge Thatcher nodded and turned to the crowd. "Now what would be the point of having a new judge in town if you won't let me judge anything?"

"But we all know he's guilty!" Mr. Dobbins said. Shouts of agreement sounded from all around.

"And we all know you're an idiot, Ed Dobbins!" an elderly woman all dressed in black bonked Mr. Dobbins on his hand with her cane, then knocked his toupee off.

"Ow! Hey!" Mr. Dobbins scrambled to put his toupee back and glared at the woman.

It was the Widow Douglas. "Now, listen to me, you pointy-headed ghouls. Muff Potter may be the scum of the earth, but he deserves a fair trial and I aim to see he gets one." She turned to Judge Thatcher. "Judge, how soon can you get this business started?"

"We should be start hearin' evidence the day after tomorrow," Judge Thatcher replied.

"Settled." Widow Douglas looked to the crowd. "Now the rest of you good citizens, you be on your way." She ushered them along with her cane. "Let the law do its job. Come on."

"Let's go, Muff," someone said and grabbed his arms. They pulled him away and the crowd dispersed.

"I didn't do it, Tom! I swear I didn't do it!" Muff called to Tom Sawyer, who was among the crowd during all this.

Tom frantically went back and forth in his mind whether to defend Muff or keep his oath to the Hucks (and Wilbur). He made up his mind and began to chase after Muff, unwittingly passing by the tree the Hucks were ducking behind.

Huck stuck out his foot and tripped Tom. Tom scrambled to turn over to see the Hucks glaring at him. Huck held out the oath and said, "You wanna drop dead an' rot?"

"Muff's innocent, Huck! We gotta help him," Tom protested.

"We ain't gotta do nothin'."

"You'd let him hang for something he didn't do?" Tom asked in skepticism.

"It ain't no skin off our backs," Huck cut in. She had always wanted to say that line to someone!

The Hucks turned away and began walking. Tom followed close behind. "What if we could get the map?" Tom said. "It would prove Muff was tellin' the truth and it wouldn't make us break our oath."

"Only one little problem!" The Hucks whirled around. "That map is in Injun Joe's pocket!"

Tom gave a mischievous grin. He would have to dare them into this. "Well, if you're scared—"

"Why should we stick our necks out for Muff Potter?"

"'Cause you know he didn't do it."

Huck snorted. "So?"

"So not doin' anything about it is wrong."

"Says who?"

Dang it, they're good. Tom sighed and desperately tried to think of another lure. "What if it was you in Muff's shoes?"

Huck retorted right back, "It ain't."

"What if it was me?"

"Well, if you was that stupid, then maybe you'd deserve what was coming to you!" With that, there was a minute of silence. The Hucks stared at Tom, as if daring him to say something else.

"That's not what friends do, Huck. I thought we was friends." Tom turned on his heel and walked away.

"Yeah, well maybe I don't know what you're talkin' about!" Huck yelled after him, grabbed his friend Huck, and turned around.

They made their way back to their camp and sat down on rocks. "That went real smooth." Huck shook her hair out of her eyes and leaned back into a tree.

"Like you said, it ain't our fault."

"That's true, after all."

"Do you feel bad about any of this?"

"A little. Muff don't deserve it. Neither does Tom." Huck's microscopic conscience was rearing its ugly head again. It bugs the crap out of her whenever it does that. She began banging her head against the tree.

"Yeah…maybe we should—"

He was cut off by a blood-curdling scream in the distance.

The Hucks stared at each other in alarm. Panic squeezing her heart, Huck whispered:

"Wilbur."

-

Duh, duh , DUUUUHHH!!!!