Another concern was that if Wendy had gone off course, then they wouldn’t be meeting up with Professor Satori at the agreed time. And if the professor continued on without them, they’d have to find their own way of getting to the village near Mount Osore.
Drained from a long night and lack of sleep, Mr. Happer was as eager as everyone else to get off the schooner and stretch his legs on land. So much so that when the port finally came into view, he belted out, “Hooray!” and raised his arms in triumph.
From sea, the port town appeared to be even smaller than Westwood. Each tiny building was tucked into a horseshoe-shaped hill, which curved around the black-blue bay. On both sides of the bay’s narrow mouth stood colossal rocks. These jutted out of the water and looked like ancient castle ruins, topped with tufts of yellowish green bamboo.
At the wharf, two T-shaped piers extended out over the water. Both were lined with a colorful array of fishing boats. And when Wendy blew herself closer, Digger saw people on those boats, and the piers were packed with fishermen and dock workers. Some unloaded the morning’s catch, while others lugged carts with heaps of fish up to the wharf house or to the shacks that rimmed the inlet. Digger also saw a train shoot out of a mountain tunnel. It snaked its way along the coastline into town.
“Let’s get the luggage on deck,” Mr. Happer instructed with renewed oomph. “Who knows when the next train stops in this town. If the professor is still here, he’ll want to catch that one.”
* * *
Everyone at the port was in a rush. Men in squishy rubber boots were unloading fish and crabs or untangling nets. Dock workers were hustling about, bellowing orders to boatmen docking their boats. Digger stepped off the gangplank and instantly felt disorientated by the shifting throng of people and thick smell of fish. He looked back at his uncle for directions.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Digger,” Mr. Happer called down before tossing a rope to an obliging dock worker, who was ready and waiting to secure Wendy to a post.
Scatterbrained, Corliss asked, “We’re heading to the train station, aren’t we?”
Mrs. Doyle’s response came with a tinge of annoyance. “The plan hasn’t changed, Corliss. We have to find the professor first.”
“Yeah, right. Just checking, Aunty Doyle.” He rolled his eyes at Digger. “Oh, Aunt Doyle? Why don’t I give you a hand with your bag? It must be heavy.”
Mrs. Doyle sighed and passed him the bag. “Oh, you’re too kind,” she said sarcastically, eyes also rolling. Corliss tossed it onto a cart. “All right—that’s done,” he said. “Time to look for the man from Japan.” And with that he disappeared into the crowd, of Japanese men.
Digger took a couple steps in the opposite direction. “Pam, we might find the professor at the wharf house, up there.”
“Beat you to it.” And off she bolted.
Since none of them had any idea what the professor looked like, and because so many people had packed themselves into such a small place, Digger and Pam kept an eye out for anyone who was not in work clothes, or who did not have a wrinkly, weather-worn fisherman’s face.
Inside the wharf house there wasn’t much apart from crates of wriggling sea life and the smells of fish guts and seaweed. And the only man who might resemble a professor was older than McKay. He was sitting on the floor below an open window, reading a newspaper.
“Professor?” Pam asked. He scrutinized her through spectacles, fascinated by her red hair, then shook his head once and lowered it back between the pages of his paper.
After returning to the crowd, they saw Corliss standing alone at the pier’s edge. He looked puzzled.
“Did you see the professor?” Digger asked.
“No . . . Not yet. But did you see the man on that black boat over there? With a bushy beard?”
Digger looked in the direction his cousin had pointed but didn’t see anyone on the boat.
“A huge guy,” Corliss said, “wearing a hat. With two boys.”
“Nobody’s there now,” Digger said. “Do you think it was Professor Satori?”
“He wasn’t Japanese. I’m sure he said ‘Digger.’ He stared right at me. Like he was waiting for me to answer him or something.”
“Maybe he spoke Japanese,” Pam guessed. “Maybe you didn’t understand what he said.”
“Creepy guy.” Corliss’s eyes searched back and forth between the black boat and pier. “A mean face, too. Plus his arm had a tattoo of a sn—”
Just then they heard Mr. Happer calling through all the hubbub. “Come on, kids,” he hollered while pushing through the crowd. “We found them. Or, rather, they’ve found us—over by Wendy.”
“They?” Pam asked, but Digger and Corliss were just as confused as she was.
* * *
Doctor Doyle had known Professor Satori for eighteen years. They had conducted research together in many corners of the world, from the deepest parts of Mongolia and Paraguay to Iceland’s northernmost point, and even on New Zealand’s terrifying Taniwha Island. They wrote each other about their discoveries and shared information about mysterious sightings. They also worked on research papers, their most recent one entitled: “Snow Trolls of the Peaks—Tracking the Elusive Himalayan Yeti.”
Although Buddy Happer had never met the professor, he knew some things about him from Doctor Doyle’s stories. “From what I’ve heard,” he told Digger and the others during the voyage, “the professor is quite serious about his work. He’s very knowledgeable and a well-known cryptozoologist. Since he’s going to be our host, we must remember to be respectful and courteous.” Mr. Happer eyed Corliss and Pam, not Digger.
What none of them knew was that the professor had a daughter.
Years before, Doctor Doyle had met her twice, once on the island of Lombok, where he and the professor snapped the first-ever photograph of a Sea Serpent Bat, and then during a cryptozoological study of the Pishtaco boogeymen of Panama.
Yukiko Satori was the same age as Digger, but growing up with a no-funny-business father—who had taken her along on plenty of adventures—had made her worldly-wise. She was confident and bold. She spoke a few languages. And she knew a lot of things about a lot of things.
On the pier alongside Wendy, Mr. Happer and Professor Satori exchanged a business-like greeting with a handshake. Mrs. Happer thanked him for sending the letter and making arrangements for their stay.
Digger didn’t think Professor Satori resembled any of his father’s other friends, most of whom wore old plaid jackets and overly long slacks. They were either as round as a barrel and balding or as tall and lanky as skeletons, with mops of messy hair and muddled beards.
But Professor Satori seemed strong and orderly. His dark eyebrows and deep gaze gave him a wise, inquisitive look. He wore blue jeans and a button-up shirt with collar. His thick goatee matched the determination in his face.
Yukiko’s midnight-black hair flowed to her waist. Her smile was cool but not totally unfriendly. She had sharp eyes. She wore a plain summer dress, and on her left arm was an exotic bracelet. There was no hint of shyness in her expression. Even at first glance, her self-confidence was apparent.
“Isabelle, I heard so much about you from Daryus over the years,” the professor said warmly. “It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you, professor. We’re . . . Well, we’re glad to be here.”
“Coming all this way to search for traces of him . . . I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.” The professor’s mild manner had a calming effect on Mrs. Doyle, and she smiled for the first time that day, then graciously bowed her head. “Your husband was a man of remarkable talents and incredible kindness,” he said thoughtfully. “Let’s hope we can get to the bottom of all this.”
“Yes, let’s hope so.”
The bottom of all this? Digger couldn’t tell if the professor was talking about his father’s disappearance or the shell the Satoris had received in a box.
“You must be Digger,
and you’re Corliss, and . . . Yes—I remember—Pam,” he said with a friendly tone. “Digger, you’re the spitting image of your father—albeit a much younger version.”
Digger bowed, awkwardly, as if he was head-butting a soccer ball, and then Corliss and Pam gave the gesture a go—just as clumsily—which amused Yukiko. She put a hand over her mouth to wall off a chuckle.
“I’d like to introduce my daughter. This is Yukiko.”
They said their hellos and nice-to-meet-yous, and Corliss put out his hand to shake Yukiko’s. She pretended not to notice. The professor started piling the last of the luggage into the cart, and Yukiko squinted up at Wendy, examining the schooner’s scraggly vines and Wind-Makers.
“You made it to Japan in that?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yup—all the way,” Corliss said, just then lowering his hand. “And she’s fast, too.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me,” Yukiko said coolly, half to herself and half to Corliss, Digger and Pam.
Corliss gave Digger a sideways glance, uncertain of what he should say next. Had he done something wrong?
“Everyone, please follow me.” The professor lifted the handles of the cart and began pushing it up the pier, its wheels making a chuh-chut, chuh-chut sound over each wooden plank. “To the train we go.” Mr. Happer picked up the Plastron-Zetetic by its strap, and checked one last time to make sure Wendy had been properly tied.
They followed the professor in a winding line through the crowd, then climbed the steep path to the train station. And with less than a minute to spare before the day’s final departure, they boarded the train.
Chapter 7—An Uneasy Ride
The train pulled out of the station at a slow speed but within seconds was shooting through the Japanese countryside like a flying serpent. Digger, Corliss, Pam and Yukiko had seated themselves in a compartment inside the train’s fifth car. Digger and Pam faced each other, both beside the window, and Corliss and Yukiko sat next to the aisle. Across the aisle, their parents chatted in another four-seat compartment.
Mrs. Happer chirpily remarked on how much fun they’d all be having, and Digger wondered if that was true. He wasn’t so hopeful, and figured they wouldn’t find any traces of his father at the old house. Even if his father had left something behind, years had passed, and he’d learned that both people and things go missing over time.
And were they actually going into a forest where vicious creatures lurked? The thought made his stomach uneasy. It terrified him. And why had his uncle taken him along, anyway? Even if they came across another page from that ancient book—a page only he could read—those words wouldn’t explain what happened to his father.
Of course, he would not mention any of his doubts or fears to his uncle. He wouldn’t say anything to his mother either. Her worries about Wendy sinking into the sea had been replaced by fresh uncertainties, about the Aomori woodlands. Digger didn’t want to load her up with his own fears as well. And Corliss and Pam—he wouldn’t dare tell them he was scared. They weren’t afraid of anything. What’s more, whenever they called him “fraidy cat” or “wimpy boy,” it made him feel like he was shrinking.
Corliss went off to explore the train. Yukiko was nice enough to let Pam touch her jade bracelet. Pam also saw a colorful plastic package in Yukiko’s hand. “What’s that? Food?”
“Yes—a Japanese snack,” Yukiko said. “Dried squid. Go ahead. Take one. It’s chewy.”
Pam and Digger both pulled a stringy yellowish strand from the bag and started to chew. Salty and sweet, the squid tasted okay, but lots of jaw work was needed before they could swallow a single piece.
“I’ve never eaten anything like this.” Pam chewed and chewed.
“Never?” Yukiko seemed surprised.
“Nope—but Digger saw a squid last night. And it was a Cracker.”
“Huh?”
“Kraken, Pam,” Digger corrected.
Yukiko yawned and said “Architeuthis,” then popped another piece of squid into her mouth.
“What’s that mean?” Digger asked.
She finished chewing and swallowed. “Architeuthis” she repeated louder. “A gigantic cephalopod—or squid. I’ve seen them too. Not so special, really.”
She was clearly uninterested in Digger’s story. And he wondered if Corliss had taken off because he couldn’t stand being around her. Hopefully, Digger thought, she’ll be nicer by the time we get to the village.
Yukiko took a book out of her bag and opened it to a page in the middle.
Unable to read the Japanese title, Digger wanted to ask her what the book was about. But obviously she wasn’t in the mood for talking, so he gazed out the window.
Rocky seaside outcrops had become narrow green valleys. Thick patches of forest spread through steep ravines and valleys, with ridges rising up into layers of grey mist. The train had entered into a dimmed world. It was late afternoon. Was daylight fading? Or was the forest stealing the light?
Corliss plopped into his seat. The professor leaned across the aisle, peering past them and out the window.
“There could be Kappas in those hills,” he said softly.
Digger imagined a hunchbacked creature in a river gnawing on a helpless cow. He squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked to clear his thoughts.
Corliss challenged the professor. “Doubt that,” he said. “Have you got any pictures to prove it?”
“Corliss,” Pam said sternly, hoping to remind her brother to be respectful.
The professor straightened himself. The blur of trees outside the window seemed to have mesmerized him. In a more casual tone he said, “Well, if not Kappas, then Japanese macaques.”
“What are those?” Pam asked.
“Macaques are monkeys. They get big up here in the mountains. They’ll sneak up on you to snatch your food. Kids, if you come across one, or more than one, you’d better keep your distance.”
Digger wasn’t sure if the professor was joking. Regardless, talk of monkeys wasn’t as unsettling for Digger as talk of monsters, a topic everyone else seemed so eager to dwell on.
“As for Kappa photos, some people claim to have taken such pictures. I’ve seen a couple shots myself. One was of a small shadowy figure hunched over the edge of a pond. In the other picture, a little face was peeping out from behind a twisted tree—far away and too fuzzy for anyone to say for sure what it was—quite possibly a monkey or raccoon dog. Unfortunately, photos aren’t always reliable as evidence.”
“Are the monkeys really dangerous?” Digger asked, aware that Corliss was rolling his eyes at such a “wimpy” question.
Yukiko’s cold sarcasm came like the crack of a whip. “Yes, they’ll eat you whole if you get too close.” She clicked her tongue once, to taunt him more.
The professor muttered something in her ear. And although Digger couldn’t understand what the professor said, he could easily guess when Yukiko crossed her arms and her face went pouty.
“Monkeys shouldn’t be a problem for us,” the professor went on. “They’d rather watch us from the trees or soak in a hot spring than chase us. Our main concern should be Kappas. On the other hand, those stories about Kappas might just be from centuries-old myths—legends told in villages to scare children away from rivers and forests.”
“I’m gonna use one of the johns on this train,” Corliss bluntly announced.
“No. Wait!” Digger startled them. The knot in his stomach had tightened so much it now hurt. This feeling hadn’t come from stories of sea beasts or mountain-dwelling turtle men, though; it was something else—a sense that something bad would happen if Corliss, or any of them, went off alone.
“Wait for what, Dig? Nature calls.”
“What is it, Digger?” Mr. Happer asked, leaning across the aisle. “Everything okay?”
He must have sounded ridiculous, panicking about Corliss going to use a restroom. He wanted to fake a smile for his uncle but couldn’t. That awful feeling in his gut was growing.
“I’ll go too,” Digger said, figuring it was the only thing he could say to stop everyone from staring at him.
“Come on then,” Corliss said. “They’re six or seven cars that way.”
From one train car to the next, Digger felt the uneasiness expanding into his chest. He’d never been so queasy. It was pure dread, and his body felt as if it was stuffed with moths.
He continued down the aisle. The automatic doors between cars slid open with a suction sound. He winced at the brightness of side-by-side vending machines radiating flashy bottled drinks. The train floor moved up and down and jerked about like a surfboard or sled or flying carpet.
When they reached the end of the sixth car, the doors slid open to a space with several restrooms. “I’ll take this one.” Corliss went in and the door shut behind him.
Digger stumbled into the next one. He didn’t know what was happening to him. His heart was a battle drum. His shoulders were as stiff as dried-out playdough. Shady images raced through his mind. He was dizzy. He splashed some water onto his face. What’s wrong with me? The dried squid? Am I sick?
Then the door of another restroom opened with a bang. Hard, heavy boots clopped four or five steps. And Digger leaned against the door, breathing deeply, trying not to throw up.
After what seemed like minutes but was merely seconds, he heard those boots again. Whoever wore them was now walking away.
He opened the door a crack—barely an eye’s width—and caught a glimpse of the long beard and dark coat of a tall man with a broad back, who also wore a black cowboy hat. Digger couldn’t see the man’s face. The heels on his leather boots looked hard enough to split rocks.
Digger shuddered as he watched the man go into the next train car. When the door on that car shut, Digger’s racing heart slowed down. And the murky shadows which had been swirling in his head were now dissolving.
Digger Doyle's Real Book of Monsters Page 5
