“Hallelujah!” Corliss cried out. “Yahoo!” shrieked Pam. They lifted their vines victoriously over their heads.
Wendy picked up more speed and glided through the waves.
Digger gazed out at the shimmering water. He was finally going to one of those distant lands he’d always dreamed of, a place where his father, too, may have gone, and never come back from.
Chapter 5—Sea Beasties
In Wendy’s belly, on a table of two short planks nailed side by side into a barrel, Mrs. Happer set down bowls brimming with leftover summer stew. In the middle was a basket of buns, placed there by Mrs. Doyle, who was triple-checking the gas stove to make sure it had been properly turned off. Corliss, then Digger, then Pam, all with wind-ruffled hair, scrambled down the hatchway ladder and into the kitchenette.
“Mom, we’re moving.”
Wendy rose and dipped on the waves with a rhythm much like that of deep breathing.
“Yes, Pam, we certainly are, dear,” said Mrs. Happer, steadying herself with both hands on the rim of a porthole.
Corliss plopped down on a bench and eyed the buns. “Dad said to save some for him. He’ll come down when we’re farther out—once he’s sure the boat’s headed the right way.”
They all knew the plan. Once Mr. Happer had set Wendy’s course, and when she was far enough from the fishing boats that bobbed about near the coast, her Wind-Makers would be cranked up to maximum speed. If each of those gizmos ran like clockwork, and if the weather cooperated, the schooner would stick to her path and zip across the ocean to Aomori.
Of course, if Wendy went off course—at such a high speed—she’d blow herself astray, which is why Mr. Happer would be checking her compasses now and again. And again. And again. He’d have to make sure she was still traveling in a straight line. In the meantime, everyone else would “STAY. OFF. THE DECK.” he’d warn more times than anyone could count.
Down below they were safe from roving gusts of wind. “If you’re lifted off the deck and blown out to sea,” Mr. Happer told them, “well, let’s just hope you’re a strong swimmer . . .” The schooner was capable of extraordinary speeds, but she’d never been much of a turner. “Circling back to search for you out there could take hours. Someone overboard! might just as well mean Someone never to board again!”
If all went well, they’d reach land by dawn the next day. The journey, which for a normal boat could take a week, would be finished in less than twenty-four hours on Wendy.
* * *
Lunch was gobbled down by everyone but Mr. Happer, who was still steering Wendy, and Mrs. Doyle, who had settled for half a buttered bun. She said she was feeling queasy from all the rocking, but Digger figured her appetite had shrunk because of the mail they’d received. And also because of what the professor had told them about her husband’s possible appearance in a place she knew nothing about. Digger’s “gift” must have been troubling her as well. Was she worried it would make him vanish, too?
The rest of the day didn’t pass as swiftly as Wendy’s glide over the water. But they filled the time as best they could, much in the same way they spent rainy days at home. Card games, comic books, drawings, snacks, peeps through portholes, jokes, rock-scissors-paper bouts to settle arguments, questions from Mrs. Doyle about safety at sea, paper planes, paper boats, paper hats, prolonged preparations for dinner, twiddling thumbs . . .
Mr. Happer was tuckered out from keeping an eye on Wendy over gazillions of gallons of water. After dinner—one meat pie each and a bucket of potato salad to share—he conked out against the wall at the far side of the table.
Pam cleared the dishes with her mother. Mrs. Doyle put a kettle on for tea. And Digger and Corliss left the kitchenette for yet another game of cards in their cabin, where a pair of cots and sleeping bags had been unfolded and unfurled, and a narrow bunk for Pam had been set up in a corner.
“Dig—it’s now or never,” Corliss said under the pear-shaped lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Now or never, Digger knew, could only mean one thing—going topside.
“Come on. The stars will be amazing. We’ll see ’em all. And all you have to do is keep your hands on a vine.”
“We can’t,” Digger insisted weakly. He imagined being blown off the ship into wet blackness.
“Ah, you’re scared again, aren’t you?” Corliss crossed his arms, pretending to be let down.
Digger kept his mouth closed. He didn’t like being a chicken.
He watched Corliss slip out of the cabin. Then, after a long, weighted silence, Digger snuck out behind him, telling himself that even Corliss didn’t have the guts to go all the way up and outside.
It wasn’t until they were halfway up the hatchway ladder that Digger spoke. “This is far enough, Corliss. I can’t . . . Neither of us can . . . Why don’t you just stick your head out for a peek? Your dad won’t get so angry about that, right?”
Corliss peered down from the top of the ladder to sneer at Digger. His eyes were like mischievous green marbles in the dim light. “C’mon, wimp.” He unlatched the hatch above his head. In seconds he raised it up, wide open, and let it down outside, against the deck. A waft of frenzied sea air flooded the hatchway. “Seriously, Dig, no one will know—”
“You said that yesterday.” Digger’s mother’s voice echoed inside his head: Don’t let him get you into trouble.
“Yeah, but yesterday was, well . . . yesterday, which is different. Anyway, my dad caught us because of my sister. He wouldn’t bring her to the workshop, Dig. She must have brought him. My guess is she noticed we weren’t at the bridge fishing. Then she sniffed us out, the little rat.”
“Am not.” Pam was at the bottom of the ladder. Without a peep she’d slipped out of the kitchenette. “What are you two up to?” she demanded, hands on her waist and a foot stomping dramatically.
“We wanted a quick look is all, Sis.”
Pam rolled her eyes and looked back toward the kitchenette door.
“You’d better not tell,” Corliss hissed at her.
“Why would I? I’m going with you.”
Now Corliss’s eyes rolled. “All right, then. Follow Dig up. And watch your step—all your steps—on the ladder.”
Now sandwiched between his two cousins, Digger had no choice but to go up too.
Stars lit the sky like tiny spotlights. The moon reflected off the waves with silvery electric streaks. The churning Wind-Makers and their howling airstreams made Digger even more uneasy. And the headwind was so powerful that they had to use the vines to pull themselves forward.
“That’s it for me,” Digger shouted as loud as he could so his cousins could hear him. They were pushing and pulling through the wind to Wendy’s port side. “I’m going back now. Can You Hear Me?”
“Just a sec, Dig. Wait right there. Pam, let’s get to the front. I want to check out the waves we’re smashing through.”
Digger took a deep breath. It felt like greasy roaches were skittering around his tummy. A spray of seawater lashed his cheek and arm. He watched his cousins tugging their way toward Wendy’s bow. He turned and gazed into the night and at the white-capped waves. Farther out was a pitch-black void. But then he spotted something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It can’t be, he told himself. It has to be my eyes—playing tricks. But it was there—a line of flickering, pulsating pinkish-purple light below the surface, moving fast alongside the schooner.
Digger froze in wonder and in fear when a long, thick tentacle rose out of a wave. The arm extended in a graceful, twisting motion, as if it was reaching up to give Wendy a gentle poke as she sped past.
Digger rubbed his eyes. Then, as quickly as it had risen, the tentacle drew away and went below the waves. The fluttering light was gone.
“We’re finished, Dig. It’s crazy-windy up there,” Corliss yelled into Digger’s ear. “Way too strong for us. Pam could barely walk. Let’s go before our moms check in on us.”
The second they were back in their cabin, Pam shouted, “
That was awesome!”
“And you won’t tell dad, right? No matter what.”
“Of course not, Corliss. Dummy. I’d be in as much trouble as you.”
Digger sat on his cot and tried to make sense of what he’d witnessed.
“Hey, Dig? You think we’re in for it when my dad wakes up, eh?”
“No.”
“What is it then?” Pam asked. “You see a UFO?” She used her fingers like a brush to tame her wind-crazed hair.
Digger had seen enough over the past couple days. After so much talk about Kappas and invisible writing, he doubted his cousins would believe a freakishly long arm had stuck out of the ocean and come close to patting him on the head.
“Did either of you see anything out there?” he asked. “Anything . . . out of the ordinary?”
“Yeah, more water than I’ve ever seen in my life.” Corliss laughed. “And the whole universe.”
“Yeah, but, anything . . . in the water?”
“Like what?” Pam asked.
“Um, like a light?”
Corliss and Pam waited.
Digger let out a weak cough to clear his throat. “Or an arm?”
Right away Corliss snickered. He checked Digger’s eyes to see if his cousin was serious. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You have to get those eyeballs of yours checked, Cuz,” Pam joked.
“No—for real. I mean . . .” Digger slowed himself down. “I’m pretty sure we passed some . . . thing.”
Corliss and Pam raced to the porthole.
“Nothing but wetness out there, Dig.” Corliss shrugged.
That’s when Mr. Happer opened the door, toothbrush in hand and groggy from sleep.
“You kids should get to bed,” he said. “Another big day tomorrow.”
“Digger saw a sea monster out th— Oh, um . . . out the porthole,” Corliss said.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Well, I thought that, well, maybe I saw some kind of light in the water.” Digger knew he sounded kooky. “Then something came up—like a long feeler. Or . . . a tentacle?”
Mr. Happer grinned as Pam stared out the small glass circle in the wall. “You have the imagination of your father, don’t you, Digger?”
Digger lowered his head, and Mr. Happer saw his nephew’s discouragement. “Digger, I’m a man of science. Please excuse me if I don’t always believe what I hear so easily.”
Digger wanted to tell them the arm had nearly touched Wendy’s side, but what was the point? Who had ever heard such nonsense?
“I bet you saw a big fish jumping, eh?” Corliss said. “I mean, come on . . . Yesterday it was invisible words. Now sea monsters?”
“Well, Corliss,” said Mr. Happer, “you could very well be right. Digger’s eyes may have deceived him. We shouldn’t assume that everything we see is truly there. Our imaginations are extremely powerful. And cunning, too.” He stepped up to the porthole and stared out at the inky, starlit night. “But we must also use our imaginations for guessing at what could be out there,” he continued. “There are many things people don’t know. That’s why all of us—even scientists—must always ask: What if?”
Corliss again chuckled. “You mean, what if there are sea monsters?”
“Precisely. And what if there are other kinds of animals, or plants, or insects that no one has set eyes on yet?” Mr. Happer sat on Pam’s bunk. “What if Kappas do inhabit the forests of northern Japan? Your father, Digger, was driven by such questions. And his research—his adventures—all began as quests for answers. You see, he was a cryptozoologist, as is Professor Satori. And part of a cryptozoologist’s job is to ask questions while searching for unknown creatures.”
Digger knew that his father was a cryptozoologist, but he had thought that job was all about studying myths, not real life.
“Digger, it was difficult for me to believe that the creatures your father spoke of actually exist. I never tried to convince him that he was wrong, mind you. How could I? After all, incredible discoveries are made every day.”
“Like Uncle Doyle’s shell,” interrupted Corliss. “But that isn’t much of a discovery if it came off some turtle.”
“We can’t rule that out, Corliss. Indeed—there’s a good chance the shell came from a turtle. But, quite simply, we don’t know for sure. Not yet, anyway.” Mr. Happer scratched his nose. “Have you ever heard of the Kraken? No? Well, for as long as man has traveled the seas, there have been stories of giant sea monsters. Many thought such beasts were as big, or even bigger, than Wendy. They could churn the water into whirling vortexes—holes in the sea strong enough to suck ships into—and bring them down into the cold depths. Even after science started guiding our understanding of this world, people kept on telling tales of monsters. But where was the proof? Sailors in faraway places continued to believe those stories. And proof that something does not exist is much harder to find than proof of existence. And so . . . people go on believing.”
“So what about the Kraken?” Corliss asked.
Mr. Happer looked over at the porthole. “Proof came eventually. In the 1800s, enormous tentacles were turning up on seashores. There were even reports of a sailing ship being attacked off the west coast of Africa. And then the crew of another ship claimed they’d captured the Kraken. It was too heavy to haul aboard, so they couldn’t bring it with them back to land. In other words, not a single person was able to show one of those monsters to the rest of the world and say, ‘This here’s the Kraken.’”
“Aren’t there any pictures?” Pam asked. Mr. Happer’s bedtime story had given her goose bumps.
“Well, nowadays there are video and audio recorders and all sorts of other gadgets and devices that help us search for life in the seas, mountains, jungles, deserts, and outer space . . . But even with all that technology, there’s plenty out there we haven’t documented yet.”
Digger didn’t know what to think. He wanted to believe that what he’d seen was real, and that his father’s myths were more than just stories. But at the same time, he couldn’t imagine how creatures like Kappas and Krakens could go unnoticed for so long.
“To answer your question, Pam,” Mr. Happer said, “the world now does have pictures of a real-life Kraken.”
“C’mon, Dad,” Corliss said. “You expect us to buy that?”
“No, but I’m convinced that the picture Daryus showed me was of a real monster. I’ve never come across one so big myself, though.”
“Where did they take the picture?” Pam asked.
“As a matter of fact, off the coast of Japan. But not where we’re headed—unless Wendy blows us off course. Researchers—out on a boat—were almost ready to give up on their search for the animal. But in a last-minute effort, they lured one with shrimp odor, deep under the water. They took 556 photos of that real-life giant, perhaps the biggest animal in the world—a massive beak, long tentacles, powerful eyes the size of dinner plates . . . The Kraken had, in a sense, gone from being a myth to a reality.”
Mr. Happer looked pleased that he’d stirred their imaginations. And although Digger was still worried his eyes might be playing tricks, at least he didn’t feel like he was going nuts. Even Kappas seemed possible.
“And now it’s time for sleep.” Mr. Happer stood up to leave. “As I said, tomorrow will be another big day.” He yawned and closed the cabin door behind him.
After he left, Pam, Digger and Corliss got into their sleeping bags. Corliss pulled a string which turned off the light. He joked about being swallowed up by the Kraken, describing how slimy a death it would be. Soon he was snoring.
Digger got up for one last look out the porthole. The waves appeared higher than before. The schooner rose and fell with each one. Way off in the distance there was a flash of lightning, which turned the sky a powdery grey-blue for a fraction of a second. The sky over Wendy was still full of stars.
Back on his cot, Digger listened to the whistling of the wind as it coursed through Wendy’s woody holes
and cracks. It somehow sounded close and far away at the same time. He closed his eyes, then slept, among a jumble of shadowy dreams and swirling expectations.
Chapter 6—Two Satoris
Land was spotted at noon—hours later than expected.
Through portholes and a steamy haze that lingered over a now dead-calm sea, Digger and Pam were first to glimpse the far-off mountains. Mr. Happer went on deck to slow Wendy’s approach, and everyone else followed. In the hot, sticky sea air they gazed out at the toothy horizon—mountains that rose up as the schooner neared the coast.
During the gloomiest hours of the previous night, Mr. Happer had to steer Wendy away from the looming storm Digger had seen. The wailing, cracking, pounding fury of wind, rain, lightning and thunder came menacingly close. But luckily Mr. Happer caught sight of the storm at about the same time as Digger. He pointed Wendy northward to avoid the bad weather. Then later, when Wendy was out of harm’s reach, he’d turned the schooner southward, then gradually westward, bringing her back on course—or so he hoped.
Wendy was pushed around by a few roving waves amid scouring rumbles of thunder, but all seemed well enough. Changing course, however, had come with some risk. Before breakfast, Digger overheard his uncle mentioning to his aunt that they’d “probably lost a fair amount of time” and were now “bound to be late.”
“We’ll get there when we get there,” Mrs. Happer said. “For now, let’s focus on not sailing past Japan and running aground in Siberia. But seriously, Buddy, there’s nothing you can do at the moment, so there’s no need to tell the others our plans may change. That would only stress out Isabelle, and she’s already near the breaking point, right?”
Mrs. Doyle, though, had sensed that something might be wrong. She hoped out loud that Wendy was taking them to the right port—or at least to the right country. Mr. Happer, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the Gust Lever, urged everyone to keep their fingers crossed. According to his instruments, they were heading in the right direction, basically. But he—more than anyone—knew his gadgetry was not always reliable.
Digger Doyle's Real Book of Monsters Page 4
