The Tiny Hero of Ferny Creek Library

by Linda Bailey

  “It wasn’t just the muffin top,” said Eddie. “It was me, too. I think I may have calmed that Mouse down. I just kept looking it in the eye.”

  “You tamed it, Eddie. Like Max with the Wild Things.” Min took a breath and recited from memory, “He ‘tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once.’”

  “Yes!” said Eddie. “That’s exactly how it was. Except the Mouse’s eyes were black, not yellow. But you’re right, I didn’t blink. Not even once.”

  Aunt Min laughed. “You can’t blink, Eddie. You’re a bug.”

  “Oh,” said Eddie. “Yeah. Right!”

  He laughed too. And as usual when the two of them found something particularly funny, they fell on their backs and rolled around, cackling and hooting.

  Finally Eddie stood up. “Time to make ink, Aunt Min. And listen, I have an idea—why don’t we go up top? Onto the desk? There’s nobody here now. I could boost you.”

  “Could you? Oh, that would be splendid! I’ve had such cabin fever.”

  “What’s cabin fever?”

  “Just . . . well . . . a feeling of being trapped. You know I’m not the kind of bug who can stay cooped up.”

  “I know,” said Eddie. “Come on then.”

  He fetched a blank sticky from the yellow pad and fastened it to his back. A minute later, they were both standing on the desk.

  “YAHOOOO!” crowed Min. “Isn’t the moonlight fine?”

  And indeed, a full moon beamed through the skylight, straight onto the desk. The sky sparkled with stars.

  “Glorious,” said Min. “And there’s your licorice.”

  “Right,” muttered Eddie as he unfastened his sticky. “Might as well get started.”

  Making licorice ink turned out to be even worse than he’d imagined—a miserable, tedious ordeal. With blueberry juice, the “ink” was already there. With licorice, he had to chew.

  After five minutes, he hated the taste of licorice.

  He chewed for hours, and he had to return twice to the floor for more chunks. Min tried to help with the chewing, but to her, licorice was a treat, so she kept swallowing it instead of spitting it out. Also, she tired quickly. It was easier to do it himself.

  The moon offered enough light—just barely—to write. But it wasn’t till dawn that Eddie managed to finish his message:

  the library

  Two words. Two, this time! He was so happy, he could have burst.

  “‘Please save the library,’” said Aunt Min, looking as proud as Eddie felt. “Is that your whole message?”

  “Yes.”

  “I love it. Perfect.”

  “Thank you,” said Eddie. “Do you want to decide where it goes?”

  Min looked pleased. “It’s the last sticky, so it should go in the most special place. Do you know that tall red cabinet at the back, Eddie? The one that’s so beautifully carved?”

  “You mean—your favorite cabinet? With all the other colors?”

  “Yes! Miss Cavendish gave that cabinet to the Library. She made it herself. Imagine!” Min clapped her front feet in admiration. “And isn’t that fitting! Because on top of Miss Cavendish’s cabinet—that’s where you’ll find the little books.”

  “Little? Like us?”

  Min nodded. “Tiny books, just right for a child’s small hands—or a bug’s small feet. One is called Little Fur Family. Another is The Tale of Peter Rabbit. And there’s a special box that holds four little books by Maurice Sendak. The Nutshell Library. One of them is my all-time favorite. Chicken Soup with Rice. I would so love it if you could put the last sticky on that book. Are you up for a climb?”

  Eddie had already had more than enough exercise for one night. But what could he do? The book was Min’s all-time favorite.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Miss Cavendish’s cabinet was at the opposite end of the Library—another long hike. The sky grew lighter as Eddie trudged slowly across the great expanse of floor, wearing his sticky like a big floppy roof.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the story-time carpet, but he turned away. This was no time to be tempted by an open book! He was glad, too, that the sticky hid the posters from his view. No matter how odd or boring the Grischer’s new posters were, he couldn’t help but read them—it was just so amazing that words could be on walls as well as in books.

  When he reached the cabinet, he discovered a problem. The cabinet’s surface was shiny and slippery. Tricky to get up.

  Eddie shrugged and started to climb. By this point, not even glass would have stopped him.

  Twice on his way up, he slipped—heart-stopping drops that sent him plummeting nearly to the floor. His third try got him more than halfway.

  That’s when, almost too faint to hear . . .

  Click!

  The tiniest sound. Barely there.

  Except it was.

  A key, opening the Library door.

  Eddie paused, holding his breath.

  The Grischer!

  He turned to look, but the sticky blocked his view.

  He concentrated hard, using his whole body to sense her. Listening. Smelling. Feeling the air. He could tell when she reached her desk. Yes. There. The soft tink of the hanger on the hook.

  Silence.

  He waited, hardly daring to breathe. There he clung, fully exposed, with a bright yellow sticky on his back:

  the library

  This time, there would be no hiding.

  His only hope was distance—he was a long way from the desk. Maybe she would stay where she was. Maybe children would come. A teacher. Oh, please, thought Eddie.

  He stayed still. He ached with the effort of holding on.

  Then suddenly, she was there.

  So close, Eddie could feel her body heat. So close, he could smell the breakfast on her breath! Bacon. Burned toast.

  And in that instant, Eddie knew, beyond a doubt, what the Grischer was doing. She was reading the yellow sticky.

  He heard a gasp.

  All this time, through long days and dark nights, through terrible dangers and difficulties, Eddie had managed to stay calm.

  But even a bug has his limits.

  He let out a thin bleat of fear. The kind that would never normally be heard by a great big Squisher. Not unless the room was very, very quiet. Not unless the Squisher had excellent hearing.

  In this fateful moment, both those things were true.

  “What?” said the Grischer. “Did somebody . . . say something?”

  Eddie couldn’t stop himself. He bleated again.

  “What?”

  He thought of the rolled-up magazine. He remembered the THWACK as it hit. Suddenly he panicked. He began to run like the dickens up the cupboard.

  The Grischer didn’t move. Just stood like a statue and stared. And of course if you think about it, you will know that she wasn’t seeing Eddie at all.

  She was watching a small yellow sticky as it raced up a tall red cabinet—entirely on its own. A sticky that had just talked to her!

  All Eddie heard were the thuds.

  THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

  The sound of her big Squisher feet as she crossed the Library and ran—

  KA-BANG!

  Out the door.

  CHAPTER

  21

  When Eddie reached the top of Miss Cavendish’s cabinet, he did what he had come to do. He found the Nutshell Library—four little books in a box—and planted his sticky across them. He made sure to press extra hard on Chicken Soup with Rice.

  The Nutshell books looked wonderful! They stood in a row of other small books, propped up by wooden squirrels on each side. Eddie loved that the books were so close to bug size.

  He was still admiring them when children’s voices sounded at the door.

  Eddie ran behind one of the squirrels and peeked out. Three children were standing on the story-time carpet.

  “Nobody’s here,” said a boy with gla
sses. “We beat Ms. Grisch.”

  “Good!” said a girl with ribbony braids. She walked straight to the story-time chair and pointed.

  “There!” she said. “That’s where it happened.”

  “Well, go ahead,” said the third child, a boy with red hair. “Sit on it!”

  “Think I won’t?” said the girl. “Look! Here I am. Sitting. In Miss . . . Cavendish’s . . . chair!”

  As for what happened next, well, it may have been the result of some movement the girl made without thinking. Suddenly, the chair just . . . dropped backward!

  The girl leaped to her feet with a squeal. Behind her, the chair rocked madly.

  “Your turn!” squeaked the girl to the boy with glasses.

  He took a quick step back. Then he glanced around uneasily. “Hey!” he said. “That cabinet down there matches this chair. It’s got the same carving and paint.”

  “Hey, yeah,” said the other boy. “And look! Wow, you guys! Up there. Can you see it?”

  “I don’t believe it!” said the girl, clapping her hands to her face. “It’s a new sticky!”

  They ran to Miss Cavendish’s cabinet. Eddie ducked behind his squirrel and didn’t see the rest. But he could still hear their voices.

  “What does it say?”

  “I can’t see.”

  “Let me look. I can read it. It says ‘the library.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You have to put the words together. From all the stickies.”

  “Yeah, right. Hey, I get it! ‘Please . . . save . . . the library.’”

  “Really?”

  “Sure! Ms. Grisch still has the first two stickies on her computer. If you read them together, they say, ‘Please save the library.’”

  “But how did a sticky get way up there?”

  There was a pause.

  “Do you think . . .”

  A long silence followed. Eddie squirmed.

  “Miss Cavendish! Wow! For sure.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah! Ghosts can go anywhere.”

  “So that’s what Miss Cavendish wants us to save? The library?”

  “Yeah. She’s sending us a message!”

  Eddie smiled. From what he knew of Miss Cavendish, he was sure she would want to save the Library, if she could.

  The bell rang then. From his hiding spot behind the squirrel, Eddie watched the children hurry out. As the Announcements began, he settled down to wait.

  When the Library door opened again, it went KA-BANG!

  The Grischer was back, and with her, the Principal.

  “Look!” she said, pulling him to Miss Cavendish’s cabinet. “Up there! Another one of those wretched stickies! When I came in here earlier, it was moving. It was slithering up the cabinet. It talked to me.”

  “Excuse me?” said the Principal. “Who . . . er . . . what talked to you?”

  “That sticky! That yellow one. Up there.”

  Behind the wooden squirrel, Eddie twitched in surprise.

  “It spoke?” said the Principal. “And . . . um . . . what did it say?”

  “Well, how would I know?” said the Grischer. “It had a very quiet voice.”

  “The sticky,” repeated the Principal.

  “Yes! Of course. The sticky! I couldn’t make out what it said. But it spoke just as surely as I’m speaking to you now. Don’t you see, Mr. Steadman? It’s part of the haunting!”

  “The . . . er . . . what? Haunting? Oh, heavens, are you talking about the Miss Cavendish story?”

  “Well, of course,” said the Grischer. “I’m talking about the old lady who died. Right here! In that very rocking chair—the chair that tripped me when I first arrived. And excuse me, this is not a laughing matter.”

  “Oh, Ms. Grisch,” said the Principal, trying to control his chuckles. “Poor Miss Cavendish died more than twenty years ago. What do you expect me to do?”

  “I expect you to stop wasting time,” said the Grischer. “Call the police, call a minister, call a medium! Just . . . solve the problem.”

  The Principal sighed.

  “Look,” he said. “I am removing the sticky from the little books. Hello, sticky? Anyone home? It’s not speaking now, Ms. Grisch, you are safe. Do you still have the other stickies?”

  “Yes, of course,” said the Grischer. “I stuck them to my computer. Come with me.”

  Peeking out, Eddie saw the Grischer pulling the Principal along by his sleeve.

  “Here!” she said when they reached the Librarian’s desk. “Evidence!”

  The Principal stared at the two stickies stuck to the computer screen. He added the new one. Now there were three in a row.

  “Please . . . save . . . the library,” read the Principal. “Hmm. Interesting writing, don’t you think?”

  “Not made by a human hand,” said the Grischer.

  She’s got that right, thought Eddie.

  “What I’m wondering,” said the Principal, “is where these stickies came from.” He glanced around the tidy desk. Then he grabbed the handle on the drawer and jiggled it.

  “Oh, that!” muttered the Grischer. “It’s stuck. Useless!”

  “Hmm,” said the Principal. “Let’s give it a try.”

  He pulled on the drawer. It didn’t move. He pulled harder, bracing himself with his other arm. The drawer opened slowly, with a squawk of protest.

  On top of the cabinet, Eddie stopped breathing.

  Aunt Min!

  Fortunately, the drawer wouldn’t open all the way. Only far enough for the Principal to find the blank pad of stickies.

  “Look!” he said, holding it up.

  “Let me see,” demanded the Grischer, seizing the pad.

  “And what’s this?” The Principal had something tiny on his fingertip. He held it up to the light. Then he held it to his nose.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Licorice.”

  “Disgusting.” The Grischer looked closer. Then she let out a cry.

  “It’s been chewed!” she said. “Someone has deliberately left a chewed-up lump of licorice in my desk.”

  The Principal patted her shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a sensible explanation. Why don’t I speak to Mr. Iversen about it? Ask him to clean the drawer out. See if he can fix it.”

  As he spoke, he tried to shove the drawer closed again. When that didn’t work, he leaned over. Then—WHAM!—the Principal threw his whole considerable weight against the drawer, shoulder first.

  Eddie went rigid. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped the new thought in his head was completely and utterly wrong.

  “There we go,” said the Principal, rubbing his shoulder. “Now why don’t you come along to the teachers’ room, Ms. Grisch? We’ll make some chamomile tea . . . and perhaps you can have a little lie-down?”

  The Grischer rose to her full imposing height. “A lie-down? I have a class arriving in three minutes, Mr. Steadman. Why don’t you lie down? Better still, find out who’s been spitting in my desk.”

  She snatched up a tissue and used it to pick up the licorice lump, which the Principal had placed on her desk. “Evidence!” she snapped, holding it in the air. “I shall keep it right here until action is taken. I shall keep the stickies, too!”

  The Principal stared for a moment at the licorice, being brandished now like a trophy. He let out a sigh.

  “As you wish,” he said, and left.

  Up on the cabinet, Eddie barely listened, so badly did he long to run back to his aunt. Alas, it was impossible. For the rest of the morning, the Grischer never once left the Library. Classes came. Classes went. Children clustered in small groups, whispering and nudging one another. And as much as the Grischer tried to discourage it, nearly all of the children ended up, at some point, lingering beside the librarian’s desk long enough to read the three yellow stickies lined up on her computer.

  “Move along now,” ordered the Grischer. “Get away from here, all of you. Why are you loitering? Don’t you know
that curiosity killed the cat?”

  “Cat?” said a child with a high, squeaky voice. “Is there . . . a cat ghost, too?”

  “Cool!” said someone else.

  Through all of this, Eddie remained trapped behind the squirrel, utterly distraught. He couldn’t think of anything except the next bell. When would it ring? When would they leave?

  The instant the room emptied, he ran! He raced across the cabinet, then slid, dangerously fast, down its side. Hitting the floor with a thud, he staggered, then ran again for the desk. He heard his own voice, frantic, in his head. “Aunt Min! Aunt Min!”

  The drawer, when he got there, was shut tight. Firm and flat. Not even the thinnest, tiniest opening remained.

  No way to get in.

  No way to get out.

  CHAPTER

  22

  As slowly as a snail and very carefully, Eddie crawled back and forth across the front of the drawer, searching for a way in.

  There was a keyhole. Alas, it was tiny. Too small for even a bug to get through. But at least he could speak into it. He peered into the dark interior of the drawer.

  “Aunt Min? It’s me, Eddie! Are you there?”

  He held his breath. Horrible images formed in his mind. Aunt Min suffocating for lack of oxygen. Aunt Min crushed at the back of the drawer.

  “Eddie?” she said.

  “Oh, good,” he blurted. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, dear, as fine as possible under the circum—”

  “HI, Eddie,” said a second voice.

  “Huh?” said Eddie. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s Alfie,” said Min.

  “Alfie! What’s he doing here?”

  Alfie answered for himself, his voice echoing. “I came to SAVE YOU, Eddie. You’ve been gone ALL WEEK. Ma and Pa are going BUGGY.”

  “What?” Eddie struggled to absorb this. “Did you tell them where I went?”

  “No,” said Alfie. “If I did, they’d come AFTER YOU. They’d come AFTER ME, TOO. And they’d be MAD!”

  Eddie was still confused. “Well . . . how did you get in there?”

  Min’s voice was impatient. “How do you think he got in? He showed up during Announcements. He was wandering around, hollering your name. Louder than a cricket at sundown! I made him hide in here to be—”