The Legend of the Loch Ness Lilo

by Karen McCombie

  They were all images I’d printed out from the computer – except for Christine cat, who was too furry and fat to fit down a computer cable.

  So what were all these print-outs for?

  For Thing, of course.

  I wanted to show it that water came in lots more ways besides rain and puddles.

  After I’d finished drying the dishes with Mum, I got straight on the internet and researched these pictures, quicketty-quick.

  In the morning, I’d look for a notebook and glue stick, so that I could present Thing with this, er, present after school.

  But right now I was in the mood to be lazy and lie in a different kind of water – a bubbly, deep bath.

  Actually, I reminded myself, I should go and check that it wasn’t overflow—

  SPLAT!

  Glancing at my window, I saw a gloopy wodge of tissue stuck to the glass.

  Only one person could land a perfect splat like that.

  The sort of person whose bedroom was at the side of their house, directly overlooking mine.

  I stomped to the window and flung it open.

  ‘Jackson!’ I hissed, as – yuck! – the gloopy wodge now slid down the pane and flumped into the leaves of the wisteria that clung to the side of the cottage.

  ‘Yes?’ I heard my friend’s voice say innocently.

  ‘That’, I growled, ‘better not have been toilet paper!’

  ‘Might have been!’ Jackson said with a wide, dumb grin.

  He was standing at his window, staring at me through a set of lookalike binoculars made out of loo-roll tubes and a bit of elastic.

  ‘You are so annoying!’ I told him.

  ‘I am so bored, you mean!’ he answered, using a longer kitchen-roll tube as megaphone. ‘What are you up to, Ruby?’

  ‘I’ve been printing something,’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah? Like what?’ Jackson boomed at me.

  ‘I’m doing a project on water, for school,’ I said, while tilting my head in the direction of the back garden, and Thing.

  Surely Jackson would understand I was talking in code, in case of random passing parents?

  But of course, he didn’t.

  ‘What project on water for school?!’

  Sighing, I ran and scooped up the A4 sheets from the bed, and waved them at Jackson.

  ‘I mean, this is the sort of THING’, I said, tilting my head towards the garden again, ‘that someone interested in water might like to see!’

  Jackson pointed his binoculars at the print-outs and then at me.

  ‘Why’s your head twitching, Ruby?’

  ARRGHH!

  ‘There’s noTHING wrong with my head!!’ I barked at him.

  ‘And you’re speaking funny. You’re freaking me out!’ he yelled through his makeshift megaphone.

  If there wasn’t such a distance between us, I’d’ve been tempted to reach over and strangle Jackson Miller with my bare hands.

  Instead, I did something else with them.

  Letting the print-outs flutter to the floor, I held my hands to my chest like floppy paws and made my eyes as wide and as worried-looking as possible.

  It was a pretty good impersonation of you-know-who, I was sure.

  ‘Ah! Yeah! OK! So the pictures are for Th— school!!’ gasped Jackson, getting my drift at long last. ‘That’s a brilliant idea! It – I mean school, will love them! Actually, wait a minute …!!’

  With that, Jackson and his toilet-roll tubes disappeared.

  Tick-tock-tick, a minute or two passed by.

  I guessed he must have gone to get something incredibly important to show me.

  Tick-tock-tick, went another couple of minutes.

  Or maybe he’d just gone to the loo.

  Tick-tock-tick!

  In the meantime, I listened to the rustle and swish of leaves in the evening breeze.

  ‘Is you lost this, Rubby?’

  I nearly jumped out of my freckly skin as a small surprise appeared on the window ledge.

  So the rustles and swishes hadn’t been caused by any breezy breezes – it had only been Thing scurrying up through the wisteria.

  ‘Wow – were you trying to give me a shock?’ I gasped.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Thing, gazing up at me with a sweet, puzzled smile. ‘I coming to visit, then found this …’

  I looked down at its outstretched paw and saw a gloopy mush of toilet paper.

  ‘Urgh!!’ I muttered, taking hold of the mush with the smallest pinch of my fingers and lobbing it into the bin by my desk. ‘So why did you want to visit me right now, Thing?’

  ‘All warm now, Rubby. Not need this wrappings.’

  Thing held up its other paw and offered me a muddy-looking piece of cloth with leaves and twiglets snarled into it.

  ‘Uh, thank you,’ I said, not much happier to take the tatty tea towel than the toilet-paper gloop. It could stay in the bin for now too …

  ‘Actually, I have something for you,’ I told Thing, reaching down to the floor for the print-outs. ‘I was going to show you these tomorrow, but since you’re here …’

  ‘Hey! Hi!’ came a loud interruption from the other window.

  Jackson – grinning his best big baboon grin – was gazing over at us, holding a print-out of his own. (So that’s what he’d been off doing.)

  Thing scuttled round to face him, then stopped and stared hard.

  Its stumpy wings wibbled and it began rocking from side to side – a sure sign it was confused.

  Perhaps it was because Jackson had two cardboard horns growing out of his forehead. (He must’ve shoved his binoculars up there, out of the way, while he was on his computer.)

  Or maybe it was because of the bright green cartoon creature visible on the white sheet of paper.

  ‘Big caterpillar is zwimmin, Rubby?’ asked Thing, pointing at the wiggly shape.

  ‘Ha!’ snickered Jackson. ‘I googled Loch Ness! This is the monster that lives in the loch!!’

  Thing blinked, understanding just about nothing of what Jackson had said.

  It turned and blinked up at me.

  ‘Monsterer is name of big caterpillar, Rubby?’ it purred hopefully.

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Well, the Loch Ness Monster is supposed to be a little bit bigger than a caterpillar,’ I said gently, so I didn’t alarm it.

  ‘You’re JOKING, right?’ bellowed Jackson, with a laugh as loud as a small explosion. ‘The Loch Ness Monster is as huge as Ruby’s HOUSE! And MY house probably, put together!!’

  ‘Is that right, Jackson?’ I suddenly heard my mum’s voice exclaim.

  I whipped round and saw her standing in my bedroom doorway, smiling.

  How long had she been there?

  What had she seen?

  The answers to those two questions had to be ‘not very’ and ‘not much’, or there was no way she’d be smiling …

  ‘Um, hi, Mrs Morgan!’ mumbled Jackson, wiggling his fingers in a limp and nervous hello.

  ‘Hi, Jackson! It’s a bit late for a conversation this lively, isn’t it? How about saving it for the morning, for the walk to school?’ Mum suggested, while waving back in Jackson’s direction. ‘And anyway, Ruby, I’ve just checked and your bath’s ready …’

  ‘OK!’ I squawked, as my brain yelled, ‘She must need glasses, badly!’

  I mean, how else could Mum miss the weird and wonderful thing that was sitting on the sill?

  ‘You know, the water was right at the top!’ Mum said over her shoulder, as she walked away, back downstairs to Dad and the telly and normality. ‘Just as well I noticed!’

  ‘Thanks!’ I called after her, finally daring to …

  What I saw was a small, extremely freaky statue staring back up at me.

  ‘It’s all right, she’s gone,’ I murmured.

  ‘I stay very, very still, Rubby,’ Thing purred up at me in a tiny, frightened voice. ‘I stay very, very, very, very, very still, so she not see me …’

  ‘Well done,’
I said, patting it on its stumpy-winged back.

  But it wasn’t the statue impersonation that had saved us both; it was the Amazon River.

  At least the print-out of the river that I’d been holding up in front of Thing the whole time, without even realising.

  Who knew such a faraway splosh of water could be so useful?

  ‘Hey, is everything OK?’ came a husky boom, which I supposed was Jackson’s pathetic attempt at a whisper.

  ‘Yes!’ I said sharply, closing the window on Jackson.

  And his stupid cardboard megaphone.

  And his stupid loo-roll horns.

  And especially his stupid Loch Ness monster, which had nearly got us all caught.

  ‘You like I stay, Rubby?’ purred Thing, suddenly spotting (even if I hadn’t) that closing the window meant I’d shut it inside.

  I mulled for a second.

  (An X-ray of my head would have shown the words ‘good idea’ and ‘bad idea’ swirling around at top speed.)

  Then I nodded.

  ‘Why not?’ I announced, reckoning that Thing could just about fit in my dressing-gown pocket …

  ‘So, so many ubblies!’ purred Thing in wonder.

  ‘Bubbles,’ I corrected it.

  This wasn’t the most relaxing bath I’d ever had.

  Thing was finding the bathroom and all its sights and smells ridiculously exciting, and couldn’t sit still.

  Amongst other things, it had knocked the shampoo and conditioner bottles over and sent them skittling across the floor.

  It had emptied an entire jar of cotton buds into the loo.

  It had unravelled the toilet roll till it lay on the floor like a floppy, lopsided pyramid of paper.

  ‘Look!’ I said, scooping up some bubbles and blowing them into the air. ‘You can make them fly!’

  Yes, you guessed. I was just trying to distract Thing so it would take a break from wrecking stuff.

  ‘Oooh!’ cooed Thing, from its vantage point on the mixer tap.

  It leant forward to grab a bubble or two – using the bath chain for balance – then jerked in panic at the sudden sound of gurgling.

  ‘It’s the plug! You’ve pulled it out again!’ I explained, quickly thrashing around so I could stop the warm water from vanishing.

  ‘Ah … not pull plug,’ it muttered, straightening up. ‘I remember now, Rubby! Like not play with cloudy powder.’

  ‘No. Talc can get a bit messy,’ I agreed, looking at the whitish fur on top of Thing’s head and thinking that I hadn’t quite patted all of it out.

  What Thing needed was a good wash.

  Which meant it was in exactly the right place.

  All I needed to do was coax it in …

  ‘Why don’t you give it a try?’ I asked, making a splash or two to show Thing what fun bathwater could be. ‘It’s warm, I promise! Not chilly like the birdbath. And I’d make sure you were properly dry before you went back to your den!’

  (I wasn’t sure what Thing would make of the hairdryer, though – I’d have to explain about the loud, hot wind first …)

  ‘Too much water, Rubby,’ said Thing uneasily, hopping from one foot to the other, and hopping faster when it put a foot on the hot tap. ‘Might be monsterer inside?’

  Great. Instead of educating Thing, Jackson had frightened it, with tales of Loch Ness and the non-existent big beastie lurking in it.

  ‘Honestly, there’s only me and some bubbles in here!’ I tried to reassure Thing.

  ‘Peh!’ it muttered, unconvinced, before scampering up the silver metal tubing coils of the shower and swinging itself on to an unexplored shelf above the sink. ‘What this?’

  It picked up a pair of specs that Dad must have left there and held them up to examine.

  I covered up a snigger with a soapy hand – gazing through the lenses, Thing’s eyes loomed twice their size, like some 3D Disney character.

  ‘Those are glasses. They help my dad to see clearly,’ I told it, as straight-faced as I could.

  ‘Peh! Make you all fuzzy!!’ Thing grumped in disgust, dropping them back down in a tangle of wire legs. ‘And what this do? EEK!’

  Who knew such a small creature could get into such huge pile of mischief so fast?

  Not me, not till I met Thing …

  ‘It’s called shaving foam,’ I explained, as I glanced around for my pink flannel, so I could wipe off the mousse that had just blobbed on to Dad’s glasses. ‘It’s for—’

  As I spoke, so did someone else, on the other side of the bathroom door.

  ‘Hello in there!!’ Dad called out brightly, as his knuckles interrupted with a tappitty-tap. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Ruby, but I think I left my specs on the shelf when I had a shower earlier – mind if I grab them?’

  ‘Um, OK!’ I blurted out, quickly heaving myself up out of the water.

  In a couple of soggy bounds, I could grab Dad’s glasses, give them a swipe on the towel hanging from the radiator, and safely slide them out through a gap in the door only as wide as my hand.

  So there would be NO chance of Dad catching sight of Thing.

  Phew!!

  ‘Thanks, honey!’ said Dad, as the door suddenly opened wide.

  NOOOOO!! I shrieked silently to myself, dive-bombing back into the bath and sending shock-waves splooshing over the sides.

  The door!

  I’d locked it!

  Hadn’t I?!

  ‘I’m not looking, promise!’ said Dad, holding a hand up to shield his eyes. ‘I know young ladies need their privacy! Which is why I must get round to fixing this loose lock …’

  With the hand that wasn’t shielding his eyes, Dad reached out towards the shelf.

  The shelf where his specs were sitting, along with the tin of shaving foam, the beaker holding all our toothbrushes and toothpaste, and – thankfully – no Thing.

  But wherever Thing was, it wasn’t the only problem.

  Please, please, PLEASE let Dad’s hand hide the REST of the mess that Thing’s made, I wished, keeping my fingers firmly crossed under the bubbles.

  ‘Oops, how did this get here?’ muttered Dad, scooping up his glasses and examining the foam-blob on the right-hand lens.

  ‘How did what get where?’ I mumbled, knowing how lame that must sound.

  Dad must think I’d been goofing round with his stuff, making lotions and potions out of the bathroom products, like I did when I was a little kid.

  ‘Never mind – it’ll rub off,’ Dad said cheerfully, reversing back the way he’d come. ‘I’ll leave you in peace!’

  Click went the door.

  And relaxxxxxx … went my shoulders.

  Dad hadn’t seen Thing, or Thing’s mess, which was all that mattered.

  Now that we were out of danger, I glanced round the room for my little fuzzy friend – and saw a shivering, pink flannel by the edge of the bath.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I tried to reassure Thing, as I lifted the cloth off its head. ‘You did a great job of hiding, again!’

  Two parents and two near misses in one evening – that was pretty nerve-racking. I needed to calm Thing down quick before …

  Uh-oh.

  Was it already too late?

  White foam was frothing from its tiny mouth!!

  Had it gone completely mad with panic?!

  Ah, no…

  I noticed the squeezed tube of toothpaste clutched in one paw and realised Thing had just had its first ever taste of mint – which didn’t seem to have gone down too well.

  ‘Thish NOT niysh, Rubby!’ it jabbered, grabbing hold of its tongue. ‘Inshide all fizzzzzshly!’

  ‘Hold on – you need some water,’ I told it quickly.

  As I lunged for the tumbler by the sink, Thing did something very peculiar: it plunged headfirst into the bath.

  ‘No! I didn’t mean that kind of water!’ I sighed, wishing I’d explained mouth-rinsing a bit better.

  ‘EEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!’

  OK, now we were in big, huge, GIANT
trouble.

  As Thing squeaked and splashed and did a good impression of drowning, I heard Dad’s footsteps not very far away.

  ‘You all right, Ruby?’

  ‘YES!!! Just … just SINGING!!’ I shouted out, absolutely desperate for him not to come back in. ‘EEE-eeee-EEEEE!!’

  ‘AARGHH!’ gurgled Thing.

  ‘AARGHH-EEEEEE-AARGHH!’ I singsonged.

  ‘Mmm, nice tune!’ I heard Dad laugh.

  Then better still, I heard his footsteps fade away.

  But help … grabbing Thing was like trying to grasp hold of a slippery soap, it was wriggling and squiggling and drowning so much.

  Then at last I had it in my hands.

  I was just lifting Thing to the safety of the bath’s edge when I felt it shuddering in my grasp.

  Uh-oh …

  What was happening? (As if I didn’t know!)

  Flickers of light danced across the shiny tiles on the walls, as if someone had set off a sparkler.

  Not magic! Not here! Not where my parents could find it, whatever it turned out to be!

  The sparkles glittered and cartwheeled around the bathroom, bouncing off the mirror, the walls, the towel rail and the toilet seat.

  Why had I been so stupid and shared my bathtime with Thing? I snapped at myself.

  But then – just as soon as the mini fireworks show started – it stopped.

  ‘Thing, what have you done?’ I muttered, though it was a question that didn’t really need an answer.

  In fact, it was a slightly tricky question to ask.

  With the bathroom completely filled floor-to-ceiling with bubbles, talking made me accidentally swallow some.

  ‘Water make me go gah-gah-gah! So I try to make it go away, Rubby!’ Thing answered, swizzling its arms around like helicopter rotors and popping some space. ‘But it go wrong!’

  Sigh.

  Thing is as good at magic as I am at knitting with spaghetti, but it doesn’t seem to have figured that out yet.

  ‘Grab this …’ I told it, letting go with one hand and feeling around for my flannel with the other.