Hatched

by Bruce Coville

  “What is outer space?”

  Bradley shook his head. “I’ll explain some other time. The important thing is you can relax. They have no idea you’re here. They thought you were a…a flying machine and that you crashed somewhere in the woods. So there’s no one looking for you, just for what they thought you were!”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “You had me terrified,” I said…then immediately wanted to bite off my tongue for admitting that I had been terrified.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you would think it was funny.”

  “I do, now that you’ve explained it to me. Wait! Would this have anything to do with the green lights that shot past me when I was flying here?”

  “Green lights? Holy Moses, dude. They were shooting lasers at you!”

  “What are lasers?”

  “More science…Just be glad they missed you!”

  “I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other’s worlds,” I said.

  Bradley agreed that this was true, so we talked about our worlds until it was almost dark.

  It was very educational, especially the part about how most humans don’t think things like griffins and dragons and unicorns are real.

  I found this quite distressing.

  When it was time for Bradley to return to the house, he said, “Is it all right if I come back tomorrow?”

  “Please do,” I replied.

  It was a lovely conversation.

  Here is today’s poem.

  All unexpected

  I’ve made a new friend.

  I’m glad we’ve connected,

  But where will it end?

  This is forbidden,

  Another rule broken.

  I should have stayed hidden.

  I shouldn’t have spoken!

  I think I’m getting a little better! Have to stop now. The light is almost gone and it’s getting too dark to write.

  Wait! I have to put down one more thought. I just realized that I did not ask the most important question during my conversation with Bradley. When he talked about his father I should have asked, “Why did you say was?”

  I feel bad that I was not thoughtful enough to realize that. Why do I always figure out what I should have done when the time for doing it is past?

  Well, I can’t think about that now. It is time to hunt. It will be easier to leave tonight, as Bradley showed me the loft door.

  It’s a strange door, because it opens onto nothing. A human who stepped through would plunge to the ground, which is about twenty feet down.

  “It’s where the farmers used to bring in the hay and straw,” Bradley explained as he demonstrated how to open it.

  Flying out of this will be much easier than having to climb down that foolish ladder!

  The moon is high, and it’s time to hunt.

  Watch out, bunnies, here comes Gerald!

  I just wish they had the pink ones here….

  From the Journal of Bradley Ashango

  (Summer Assignment)

  7/2 (Thurs.)

  I like the Catskills. It is not as hot here as it is in the city. Also, unusual things can happen here.

  One unusual place is my grandmother’s barn. It is filled with old tools and machines. It is also a little bit scary, because it is so rickety that I am afraid it will collapse on my head.

  My favorite thing is to go up to the lofts. They are mostly empty. Even so, you never know what you might find up there!

  (3 paragraphs, 3 sentences each, including 1 compound sentence.)

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/2

  Holy freaking corned beef sandwiches…I’ve made friends with a griffin! A genuine, straight-out-of-myth, scary-big, weirdly gentle GRIFFIN!!!

  I could hardly sleep last night thinking about it. This is not like last year. I am not sick, not delirious, not feverish. I am completely awake and alert. (I just pinched myself twice to make sure.)

  Which makes me wonder if what happened last summer, the thing I had convinced myself was just a fever dream, might have been real after all.

  So…about last year.

  It was my first time visiting Bibi at the farm. Before that she had always come to visit us in the city. As near as I could tell, this had to do with Mom being stubborn about some old fight and refusing to go out to the country.

  I love Mom, but she is a piece of work.

  Anyway, whatever the reason, and to give Mom some credit, she decided that given the teasing I had been getting at school, what had happened with Dad, and the fact that I just wasn’t all that “robust,” it would be good for me to spend the summer in the Catskills with Bibi.

  This was completely fine with me. I love Bibi and feel more safe and happy with her than with anyone else in the world.

  Also, Dylan and Carter (my only two friends from school) were going to be at camp, meaning I wouldn’t have anyone to hang around with.

  Problem was, it turned out my health was even worse than Mom had realized. Maybe there were some allergies involved; we’re still not sure. Whatever the reason, by my third week here I was so sick I could scarcely get out of bed to pee.

  Bibi was super-nice to me, but I could tell she was concerned. I was, too, when I was alert enough to think about it. A lot of the time I was in a haze, not sure whether I was dreaming or awake.

  This had been going on for three or four days, and I could tell (when I was awake enough to tell anything) that Bibi was getting really worried. And then one night…I had to stop for a minute, because it feels so weird to be writing this down.

  One night I was visited by gnomes.

  At least that was what I thought happened. I truly had no idea if it was real or not. In fact, until now I figured it was a fever dream. But after yesterday I’m starting to wonder.

  So it was the middle of the night…or maybe not. I was too groggy to tell. Let’s just say it was dark outside my window. I was fairly zonked out but was roused by something moving on my pillow. I came more awake when I felt something touch the skin above my eyebrow. It was like Bibi’s hand when she was checking my fever but not nearly as large—more like a fingertip than a palm.

  I turned my head sideways and let out a yelp when I saw a tiny woman standing right next to my head!

  She put her finger to her lips, signaling I should stay silent.

  Given how loopy I was, it was easy enough for me to do so.

  The woman was a little taller than my hand is long…five inches, maybe. This was added to by a tall, pointed hat. The bits of hair I could see beneath the edges of the hat were silvery white. She was built like a tiny version of Bibi.

  While I watched, she climbed onto my chest and pressed her ear to my heart. When she stood again she scowled and shook her head.

  That really scared me!

  She walked back across me and down to the pillow. I turned my head to follow her progress and saw two more little people—obviously men, since they had thick white beards—standing on the bed.

  The tiny woman climbed down to the men, and the three huddled together. They talked too quietly for me to hear, which was frustrating.

  I struggled to stay awake but couldn’t manage it.

  The next thing I remember is being woken by the female making her way up my shoulder again. When she scrambled onto my face, I came to full wakefulness.

  Or else that’s when the fever dream kicked into high gear.

  The woman pried at my mouth, which was very dry. When I opened it she took what looked like a tiny wine sack and pressed the spout between my lips. She squeezed the sack and something bitter squirted onto my tongue. I sputtered, but she held my lips together—she was remarkably strong—so I could not spit it out.

  When I had swallowed the nasty liquid she climbed off my face. Once she was on the pillow she leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Be well!”

  Then the three of them disappeared over the edge of the bed.

  The next morning, I did indeed feel better…much b
etter.

  Bibi was delighted and clearly relieved.

  And she asked me an odd question: “Did you have strange dreams last night?”

  “Sure did,” I said. “I dreamed I was getting medicine from little people!”

  She smiled and said, “Ah, good.”

  I was still too woozy to think about what a weird response that was. And once the summer was over and I was back in New York, I figured the whole thing had just been a hallucination.

  But now that I’ve met a griffin, I have to believe that anything is possible.

  From Myths and Magic of the Catskills

  By Trevor Montrose

  One of the more unusual stories to be found in the Catskills is attached to a little town called Vande Velde’s Landing, which is tucked away in one of the region’s most rural areas.

  The name of the town itself is a bit of an oddity. “Landing” would indicate a place where something came to dock. However, Vande Velde’s Landing is located far from the mighty Hudson River and has only a medium-sized creek (or “kill,” as the Dutch would term it) for waterfront—something that would hardly require a ferry for crossing.

  So what is the reason for the name?

  Gnomes!

  At least that’s what local lore would tell us. According to the legend, hundreds of years ago a migrating colony of Dutch gnomes made its way up the Hudson River, then by connected creeks westward to this isolated spot! This little town is where they pulled up their ships and decided to settle.

  It is delicious to imagine a gnome ship, or perhaps several, each scarcely ten feet long, sailing the tributaries of the Hudson to this place. As gnomes are said to be but six inches tall, a ten-foot ship for them would be equal to a human three-master longer than 120 feet. For these little folk, such a vessel would have been half again as roomy as Henry Hudson’s Half Moon, the ship that first navigated this river!

  Lovely as the story is, it’s hard to imagine how such a tiny ship, or ships, could have crossed the often tempestuous Atlantic Ocean. So how could the gnomes have reached these shores to begin with?

  Whatever the reason, it’s a matter of public record that in 1732 the name of the town was changed from Vande Velde’s Corner to Vande Velde’s Landing.

  Surely something must have prompted this change of name!

  To this day the townspeople are split into two elements.

  One group, the Gnomists, celebrates the legend and claims to believe in the gnomes. Supporters of this approach tend to display statues of the familiar garden gnomes in their yards.

  (Though this writer is sympathetic to the Gnomists’ cause, I must admit their fervor sometimes goes to excess. I have personally seen front yards crammed with hundreds of the little statues and can state with certainty that it is a sight both alarming and tacky.)

  The other faction is sometimes called the Deniers. However, this is not entirely accurate, as they do not deny the legend. Rather, they are resolutely silent about it. Among these folk, questions regarding the idea of gnomes having settled in the area are greeted with silence or, on occasion, outright hostility.

  Few people, it would seem, are in the middle on the matter.

  Consider this just one more charming quirk of the endlessly charming and quirky Hudson Valley!

  Thursday, July 2

  Where, oh where, can Master Abelard be? His absence is driving me mad with worry!

  It makes me restless to be trapped here in the barn all day. But I dare not go out until after dark.

  I fear I would lose my mind if not for Bradley.

  Here is today’s poem.

  I just made a friend named Bradley.

  The truth is I needed him badly.

  I’m alone and I’m frightened,

  But my new friend has brightened

  These days when I’m feeling so sadly.

  Drat. I’m not sure the grammar is right on that last word. I should mention that Bradley has told me I can call him “Brad.” Apparently this is something known as a nickname. From what I can make out, it is a sign of friendship and affection among humans.

  Not wanting to seem unfriendly, I told him he could call me “Ger.”

  Hmmm. It looks funny when it is written that way. Maybe it should be “Jer.” Or “Jare.” Which looks weird but sounds right.

  That I can consider this at all is due to the fine teaching of Master Abelard.

  Master Abelard…

  Sigh.

  I should back up.

  First off, Brad didn’t come out to the barn today until fairly late in the afternoon. Naturally, this added to my nervousness and worries.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” he said when he had climbed to the loft. “I had to go to town to help Bibi with some errands and it took longer than we expected.”

  At once I felt suspicious. Had the two of them gone to town to tell someone I am here?

  I tried to beat down my fears. After all, you can’t be friends with someone if you are afraid of them. The thing is, I have been told from before I could even fly that it would be disastrous to meet a human. Pushing past those years of warnings is hard.

  After we had talked for a while I grew calm again. When Brad asked what had prompted me to leave the Enchanted Realm, I decided to tell him the story of my Hatchday(s). It seemed safe to tell the story here, since he couldn’t tell it to anyone in the Enchanted Realm. Even more important, despite my occasional bouts of fretting, something in me really feels that I can trust him. And it felt good to get it out, to unburden my heart.

  “Wait,” Brad said shortly after I had started. “Do you mind if I record this?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He took from his pocket a slim black box. “This is a cell phone,” he said. “I can do a lot of things with it. I’ll show you. Hold still, and I’ll take your picture.”

  He pointed the little box at me. I heard a clicking sound. Then he turned it around and said, “See! It’s you!”

  “How did you do that?” I squawked. Then I sighed and said, “I know…any sufficiently advanced technology…”

  “You got it,” said Brad. “Is it all right if I keep the picture? I can erase it if you want me to.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, flattered that he wanted to keep it.

  “Now let me show you how I can record your story.” He started tapping the little box, then said, “Okay, say something.”

  “Something,” I replied.

  “Very funny,” said Brad. “Give me more to work with.”

  I started to tell him about my Hatchday, but I had only got out a sentence or two before he said, “Okay, that’s enough. Now listen!”

  He brought the box over to me, tapped it again, and played my own words back to me.

  It was weird, and a little scary, to hear my voice coming out of that small box!

  “Do I really sound like that?” I asked.

  “Pretty much. It would sound better if I had big speakers, but yeah, that’s your voice.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of having my story recorded. But Brad said he thought it was important to get the experience down in my own words.

  That might have been just flattery, now that I think of it, but it got me to agree.

  From Brad’s Real Journal

  7/2

  This afternoon Gerald told me the story of his Hatchday.

  I am not sure if it is fair to write it down. I know he would never do it himself, since it embarrasses him so much. On the other hand, I am trying to gather as much information as I can about griffins. I’m thinking about putting it all in a book…though I probably wouldn’t try to publish it, since it needs to stay secret. Maybe I could turn it into a novel, the kind Dad and I liked trying to write together. I could even dedicate it to Dad.

  Even if I never tackle such a book, I think it’s good to keep an accurate record of this. Griffins, at least some of them, are clearly more sensitive than we would think.

  So…here
are Gerald’s words, exactly as recorded on my cell phone:

  When my parents decided it was time to start a family, my mother laid three eggs, as griffin mothers normally do. The process is to lay one egg a day until the set is complete. The eggs do not start to develop until the third one is laid and the mother begins to brood upon the nest. Though maturation begins at the same time for all three eggs, and they should all hatch on the same day, it is expected that first laid will also be first hatched.

  In this egg triplex, I was the one in that first egg. Had I only been a bit bolder I would have been first hatched as well.

  Oh, this is embarrassing!

  I cut out a brief section here that is nothing but my trying to convince Gerald to keep going. Finally he agreed.

  You must understand that when I began to stir in my egg I did not know where I was, or who I was, or even what I was. I knew only that I was cramped and should come out.

  Using my talons—though I did not yet know that was what they are called—I poked a hole in the greenish wall that surrounded me. I now had an opening I could look through. What I saw beyond my wall was fascinating but also terrifying! I tipped myself back and forth so I could see more…and the more I saw the more frightened I became.

  Outside was so big!

  I did not know then, of course, that all I was seeing was my parents’ cave, and that the real world was much, much bigger still!

  Anyway, though part of me sensed I should break through the green wall, fear held me back and I decided to wait for a while before going further.

  Even in the egg I was dithering!

  In time, I slept.

  When I woke—it was an hour later, as I eventually learned from my mother—I watched through my peephole as my sister gleefully burst out of her egg. I did not know that she was my sister or that her name was Violet. I only knew that someone else had broken a wall and come out and that I should do the same.