The Tiny Hero of Ferny Creek Library

by Linda Bailey

  CHAPTER

  18

  If you’re thinking that the children of Room 19 in Ferny Creek Elementary knew Eddie, you’d be wrong. Mr. Patullo’s fourth-grade class had not the faintest idea that a small green bug lived behind the old chalkboard on their wall.

  But of course, Eddie knew them. Day after day, he had listened to every detail of their lives. And now, hearing their voices as they entered the Library, he could hardly keep from rushing out to greet them.

  “Wow, Aunt Min! It’s so weird to have them here!”

  “I know what you mean,” said Min. “It discombobulated me too at first.”

  Eddie was pleased that there was a wonderful word like discombobulated to describe how he felt. And if you’re not quite sure what it means, imagine this. You are watching a movie in a theater—say, a superhero movie full of thrills and jolts and explosions. Suddenly you look up at that gigantic screen, and you see—your teacher! Yes, it is definitely her wearing that metallic silver suit with the red cape blowing in the wind. And yes, she is flying at the speed of sound! It would not be surprising if you felt a bit discombobulated.

  That’s how Eddie felt when he heard the Room 19 children in the Library. Topsy-turvy. Discombobulated. But he also felt delighted. Listening to the familiar voices, he realized how much he had missed fourth grade.

  He remembered something else, too—how much the Room 19 children liked to visit the Library. They chattered happily as they wandered in.

  It wasn’t long before Sebastian made a discovery.

  “Look!” he said from somewhere very near the secret compartment. “A sticky with funny writing on it. Hey everybody, here’s another one of those weird messages!”

  “Oh, gosh,” whispered Min. “Let’s get closer.”

  After their recent experience with the Grischer’s fingers, Eddie wasn’t sure this was a good idea. But Min was already moving to the front of the drawer.

  They peeked out at the fourth graders, who were gathering around the desk.

  “What does it say?” asked Josh.

  “‘Save,’” read Sebastian. “It says ‘save.’”

  “Save what?” asked Kayla.

  Suddenly a shadow fell over the drawer opening, plunging Eddie and Min into darkness.

  “What are you doing?” demanded the Grischer. “Who said you could snoop at my desk?”

  “I was just passing,” said Sebastian. “I just—”

  “Ohh!” cried Hazel. “I think I know!”

  “Know what?” asked the Grischer.

  “Where the stickies are coming from.”

  “WHAT?” snapped the Grischer. “You tell me what you mean. Right now!”

  Eddie could see the Grischer’s face, splotchy and red as she loomed over Hazel. It felt as though she was looming over him, too. He didn’t like it!

  But Hazel didn’t seem bothered at all.

  “Wellllllll,” she said slowly and with great drama. “Do you know about . . . Miss Cavendish?”

  Now all the children were gasping and exclaiming.

  The Grischer blinked. “Who is Miss Cavendish?”

  “She was a volunteer. A long time ago. Back when my mother went to school here. Miss Cavendish was very, very old, and she loved the Library.”

  Brody interrupted, all excited. “Yeah! My parents talk about her, too. I know about this.”

  “About what?” demanded the Grischer.

  “Wellllllll . . .” said Hazel again, drawing the word out. “One day Miss Cavendish died. She just up and died—right in the middle of a story! She was sitting right there, in the story-time chair.”

  There was a long pause. Eddie knew what the children were doing. Staring at the rocking chair.

  “WHAT?” said the Grischer.

  “It’s true,” said Hazel in her strong, sweet voice. “She just closed her eyes. Like this! They say she had the most beeeeeautiful smile on her face. She loved the Library sooooooo much. And ever since then, people say . . . well, they say she never left! Not really.”

  “WHAT?” cried the Grischer. “You mean . . .”

  “Yes,” said Hazel. “A ghost. She’s been haunting the Ferny Creek Library for years.”

  “WHAT?”

  Eddie heard something behind him. Her turned to see Aunt Min rolling with laughter on the bottom of the drawer. Her chuckles turned into snorts and squeals. Eddie had to tap her antennae.

  “Shh!” he hissed.

  Other children were talking now. Apparently they all knew about Miss Cavendish.

  “She wants us to save something,” said Mateo.

  “But what?” asked Lily.

  Five or six voices answered at once.

  “STOP!” cried the Grischer. “All of you! Stop this nonsense right now. There are no such things as ghosts. This is foolishness. You’re going to frighten . . .” She looked around, trying to find someone who looked frightened.

  But there was no one to point to. Everyone was talking at the same time. The fourth graders seemed to be enjoying themselves quite thoroughly.

  Aunt Min was having the best time of all. “This is priceless,” she gasped between hiccups.

  Eddie didn’t understand. “But it’s not a ghost. It’s just me. And some blueberry juice!”

  “Of course,” said Aunt Min. “Hic! That’s what’s so funny.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s funny at all. How will the Grischer get the message if she thinks it comes from Miss Cavendish?”

  Min laughed again. “Don’t you see? It’s better if the message comes from Miss Cavendish.”

  Eddie frowned. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. She might actually listen to a library ghost.”

  “Oh,” said Eddie. “Well . . . that would be good . . . I guess?”

  Aunt Min nodded. “That would be very good.”

  The children meanwhile were still chattering about the famous volunteer. And when they went outside at recess that morning, they talked some more. They must have talked to other children, too. The way Eddie knew was—every class that came into the Library had one thing on their minds. The ghost! Everyone wanted to see the second sticky. Everyone had a story about Miss Cavendish.

  The rumors flew like butterflies through Ferny Creek Elementary that day—so many it would be impossible to repeat all of them here. But the following conversation, overheard by Eddie after lunch, will give you some idea of the excitement in the air.

  “She died? Here?”

  “Yeah! My uncle told me she just dropped forward. Very, very slowly. She didn’t even fall off her chair. She was smiling. Uncle Ben said she died happy.”

  “If she was so happy, why is she haunting the Library?”

  “She likes it here.”

  “Yeah, she must like kids.”

  “Yeah! And books, too.”

  “Of course she likes books and kids. If she didn’t, she’d have volunteered someplace else. Like the animal shelter.”

  “Well, maybe she did. I heard she had a dog.”

  “A dog? Really? So do you think there’s a ghost dog, too?”

  “Wow!”

  “A ghost with a dog!”

  “Yeah! Isn’t that awesome?”

  “And she’s sending us messages? Wow!”

  “STOP!” cried the Grischer. “All of you! Stop it at once. That is quite enough.”

  But they didn’t stop. They went on and on. The excitement spread like syrup across a pancake. Eddie got more astonished by the minute.

  His new sticky was a sensation!

  CHAPTER

  19

  Eddie was totally dumbfounded by the excitement his stickies had caused. The whole school was buzzing about the Library Ghost. For a while, it was fun to listen. But then he stopped paying attention.

  After all, what good did it do? Nothing had changed. The Library was still in danger.

  He needed to finish his message. But the blueberry was now a dried-up, caved-in mess. First chance he got—the instant
school ended—he would head for the teacher’s room to find a new berry.

  “Absolutely not,” said Min. “You know the rules. Not till the Cleaner has been through.”

  “Aunt Min, pleeease.”

  She thought for a moment. “Well, I happen to know some very good stories,” she said, “for while we wait.”

  Eddie laughed, realizing that he was being tricked. There was only one way to distract him, and Min knew what it was.

  “Okay,” he said, finally, “but do you know any more stories about little creatures? Like the Borrowers? And Charlotte?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  And so she told another story. This time the creatures were extremely tiny. Smaller than bugs. Much, much smaller.

  “They’re called Whos,” said Min, “and they’re so small, they can fit on a speck of dust. A whole village of Whos, Eddie—on one speck of dust.”

  “Are you making this up, Aunt Min?”

  “Oh, no, not me. It’s a book, dear, called Horton Hears a Who! It’s by Dr. Seuss. Horton is the name of an elephant who helps the little Whos.”

  The story was excellent. It was written in rhyme, and Aunt Min could recite most of it by heart. When it was over, they talked about the Whos for ages while the Cleaner roared through the school.

  “I have a favorite sentence in that story,” said Min.

  “I bet I know,” said Eddie. “‘A person’s a person, no matter how small.’”

  “That’s the one.”

  “It’s my favorite, too!” said Eddie. “It’s one of the smartest things I’ve ever heard.”

  Min smiled. “Then we agree.”

  She waited awhile. Then, “Eddie?”

  “Yes?

  “You can go to the teachers’ room now.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes, of course. The Cleaner’s gone home.”

  “Really?” Eddie had been so absorbed with the Whos, he hadn’t even noticed the quiet that had settled over Ferny Creek Elementary.

  “Off you go,” said Min. “Good luck!”

  Eddie shinnied down the desk leg in a lighthearted mood.

  “‘A person’s a person, no matter how small,’” he said out loud. Then he said it again.

  It made him feel hopeful. About life. About his berry. The moonlight shone bright through the skylight that evening, and the hallway felt less worrisome. As Eddie hiked to the teachers’ room, he got more and more excited. Blueberry or blackberry, either would be fine, but black ink might make a nice change. As for the reddish berries—strawberry, raspberry, cranberry—he wasn’t sure they’d be dark enough.

  The teachers’ room gave off the same rich bouquet of smells as before. Once again the night light glowed over the sink. And once again there was a fine selection of treats laid out beneath the leather couch. Some he recognized from his last visit. Others were fresh.

  He searched hopefully among the scraps. A potato chip, a chicken bone, two broccoli heads. A licorice candy. A muffin top. The muffin top had a pale crispy cinnamon surface. Any other time, he would have been thrilled.

  But no berry.

  Not a berry anywhere.

  He let out a sigh of disappointment. Was it possible? Could his entire ink supply have dried up overnight?

  And then, in an instant, he forgot about ink.

  There was a smell. . . .

  Strange. Disturbing. A rank, funky smell.

  Food? Had something rotted?

  No, he decided as the hairs on his legs slowly rose. Not food. The strange smell was coming from something else. Something that didn’t belong.

  His eyes did a slow, careful scan. Searching for patterns. Watching for movement.

  Nothing.

  Except a sound so slight, he almost didn’t hear it. Something was . . . breathing.

  Eddie went still. Every atom in his body tensed. The sound was coming from . . .

  The muffin top.

  No. Not the muffin top. From behind it.

  Peering into the murky stillness, Eddie slowly made out two dark spots. He stared at them. The spots seemed to stare back.

  Eyes.

  He peered above and around the eyes. Shapes that had been hidden in the shadows formed. Ears. A pale nose. A sudden flicker . . . whiskers.

  The Mouse!

  It was not Stuart Little. Not by a long shot. This Mouse was wild and dark . . . and big! Eddie felt like Jack in “Jack in the Beanstalk,” facing a giant.

  What did mice eat? What if a mouse’s favorite food was . . . fresh insect?

  How fast could a mouse move? Should he run?

  These thoughts came and went in a much shorter time than it takes to tell. But then as Eddie stared in terrified befuddlement, something happened.

  The Mouse began to nibble at the muffin. Eddie could see the whiskers quiver. And now he could see the pale paws, and the claws gripping the muffin top. Sharp claws.

  Slowly he backed away, watching the Mouse every second. The Mouse returned his gaze.

  Then Eddie remembered. . . .

  Ink.

  He couldn’t leave until he found some. All he had was “please save.”

  Eddie stopped moving. He studied the Mouse. He tried to read it, the way he would read a book.

  The Mouse’s gaze stayed locked on Eddie, too. Only its mouth moved. Chewing.

  Eddie glanced around the teachers’ room. Was there anything he could use for ink? Broccoli, potato chip, licorice? A noodle he hadn’t noticed before?

  He twitched. Glanced back at . . .

  The licorice.

  Eddie had tasted licorice once. He hadn’t liked it. Aunt Min was fond of it, but even she complained about its texture. “Like rubber,” she said. “Tasty, but tough as an old boot.”

  Eddie didn’t care about that. As he stared at the piece of licorice, there was only one thing Eddie cared about. Its color. Black.

  Black ink would be perfect!

  The catch was—the licorice was in a very unfortunate place. Right beside the muffin top.

  The Mouse was still nibbling. So far it hadn’t paid too much attention to Eddie. But what if Eddie started creeping forward? Would the Mouse understand? What if it thought Eddie wanted to steal its muffin top?

  He could try a squeak. Mice spoke in squeaks. But it would be so easy to make a mistake. What if Eddie accidentally squeaked something rude like “Gimme that muffin top!”

  He decided to whisper instead. Who could object to a whisper? Meeting the Mouse’s eyes, he did his best to look humble and polite.

  “It’s just me,” he breathed, almost too softly to hear. “Eddie.”

  Slowly, he crept forward, staying low. “The muffin top is yours, Mouse,” he whispered. “All yours, okay? The only thing I want is that licorice. I’m not even going to eat it. It’s for ink. I want to send a message—”

  He paused. This was getting way too complicated.

  The mouse paused, too. It lifted its head and stared at Eddie with growing interest.

  Eddie gulped. He began to bargain again, in his tiniest voice. “Just the licorice, Mouse. You can have the potato chip. I bet you like potato chips.” He was pretty sure his words weren’t going anywhere, but he was hoping his general message would get through.

  Slowly he edged closer. . . .

  This Mouse really was very smelly.

  And now Eddie was there—at the licorice. It had an awkward shape. Squarish, but with rounded edges. Rolling it would be complicated.

  He heard a sound. Scritch. He turned.

  The Mouse had moved closer. It was up now on its back legs. It was standing right in front of Eddie. The black eyes gleamed. The smell was nauseating.

  Desperate, Eddie whispered a final message. “I’m going, Mouse. Just taking my licorice and . . . bye now.”

  He gave the candy a push. The licorice toppled forward. Eddie followed, pushed again. As he and the licorice passed the broccoli, he looked back.

  The Mouse was once again abs
orbed with its muffin top. Suddenly Eddie felt a huge surge of gratitude to whoever had provided the splendid, crispy, cinnamon-sugary muffin that was keeping the Mouse so busy.

  “Thank you!” whispered Eddie to the unknown teacher.

  It took a ridiculously long time to cross the room. The licorice was even worse than the blueberry. It had a mind of its own and never once went where Eddie wanted it to go. At long last he reached the door. He paused to look back at the shadowy hulk of the couch. In the pale glow of the night light, all was still.

  Eddie’s relief was so strong, he felt giddy. Even generous.

  “Good luck, Mouse,” he called as loud as he could.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Eddie’s licorice continued to be uncooperative all the way back to the Library. It tumbled every which way as Eddie pushed.

  “You’re going to be ink!” he told the candy several times as he wrestled it down the hall. Without these reminders, he might have just given it a good kick and walked away in disgust. By the end of his journey, he was extremely annoyed with that licorice.

  When he finally reached the desk, he was worn to a frazzle. No way could he carry this candy to the top. He bit off a large chunk and saw to his relief that, when chewed and mixed with digestive juices, the licorice did produce a sticky black substance. He hauled the soggy chunk up the desk and collapsed at the top.

  “Eddie? Is that you?” called Min from the drawer.

  “Be right there!” Leaving his burden behind, he staggered to the drawer and dropped in.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Min.

  “Licorice.”

  “Licorice! Good golly, did you run into Willy Wonka?”

  Eddie knew about Willy Wonka, of course. He was the candy man in the story of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But struggling with the licorice for so long had put him in a grumpy mood.

  “No,” he replied. “I did not meet Willy Wonka. If you really want to know, I met a big, stinky mouse.”

  “What? Oh, Eddie! You met—the Mouse?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Up close. Closer than I wanted.”

  So then, of course, he had to tell the whole story. He described the Mouse in detail. He even imitated its bold gaze and twitching whiskers.

  “How lucky that it was eating a muffin top!” said Aunt Min.