Jake and the Giant Hand

by Philippa Dowding

  So he scratched at it, and knocked on it, and tried his best to move it, but the white rock wouldn’t budge. The blood rushed to his head, and he was feeling faint.

  “Hey, pull me out! Pull me up now!”

  Kate and Chris backed up and started pulling him out of the hole, just like Gus had a few days before. Jake’s shirt rode up his back, and dirt and rocks scratched his skin as he travelled upward. When he reached the top, he rolled onto the grass, breathing fresh air in big gulps.

  “I’ve never been so happy to see the sky,” Jake whispered.

  Kate knelt down beside him. “Did you get the stone? What is it?”

  “No, I couldn’t dig it out. It’s too big. It’s really stuck down there.”

  Kate and Chris both took a turn. They were lowered into the hole to see if they could dig out the white stone, but no one could budge the rock. Everyone got scratches on their arms and legs and backs.

  They were all exhausted after that. It was almost five o’clock when they finally gave up. Jake didn’t want his grandfather to wake up and find him out in the field playing in post holes again. With Chris and Kate’s help, he refilled the hole with dirt. It was a lot faster and easier to refill a post hole with a shovel and dirt than it was to dig one with the auger.

  The twins and Jake walked back to the farmhouse together.

  “Should we try again?” Chris asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m beginning to think that nothing can budge that rock.”

  “Maybe it’s chalk or something? My dad says the fields around here are really chalky.” This was Chris talking, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

  “It’s not chalk,” Jake said.

  “Then what is it?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know, but it reminds me of something,” Jake said vaguely.

  The twins put on their helmets.

  “Thanks anyway, guys.”

  “Okay, see you, Jake. Let’s go fishing tomorrow.”

  It was the strangest thing, but as his friends drove away, Jake felt like something BIG was about to happen. Something strange and upsetting that he had somehow set in motion and he was now helpless to stop.

  He was right.

  Chapter 16

  Chalk and Cheese Sandwiches

  Chris and Kate left with a roar of the mini-bike. This time it was loud enough to wake up his grandpa, who came down to the kitchen with Gus, looking hungry.

  “When’s dinner there, Jake?” his grandpa said with a stretch.

  “I’ll start the grilled cheese sandwiches,” Jake answered. He really wanted to ask his grandpa about the flies, but he’d have to time it. He didn’t want his grandpa to get all quiet again. Or upset.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I made grilled cheese sandwiches for the Queen of England?” his grandpa asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, looking well-rested and happy, while Jake stood cooking at the stove. Jake didn’t turn around.

  “No, Grandpa. You didn’t.”

  But you could tell me about the giant fly tornado!

  His grandpa started a long story about how he was once a short-order cook on a riverboat in Ottawa. He was cooking for a summer, the same summer that the Queen of England came to visit. She wanted a grilled cheese sandwich; she’d never had one, and she’d heard that it was a Canadian delicacy. On and on the story went.

  Jake was barely listening. How was he going to talk to his grandpa about the giant hand? About the flies? His grandpa said he didn’t want to talk about it. Jake was concentrating hard, trying to come up with a plan, and stopped paying attention to what he was doing. He was making the first grilled cheese sandwiches of his life. He thought if he had to eat spaghetti or hot dogs one more day, he’d die.

  But he stared out the window at the horse-head pump a little too long.…

  “JAKE! Watch what you’re doing!” his grandpa yelled. Jake came back to his senses and clicked off the smoking stove. He burned one side of the sandwiches and undercooked the other, and the cheese didn’t melt inside. But his grandpa didn’t even seem to notice. They both sat at the table and ate in silence since his grandpa had finished his unlikely story about the queen’s grilled cheese sandwiches.

  Jake drank a glass of milk with his dinner. His grandpa had a root beer. Gus lay at their feet, biting his paws.

  It all seemed pretty normal. But Jake was wiggly. He wanted to talk. He needed to talk about the swirling cloud of giant flies. About the white stone.

  And the picture in the archives with the horse-head pump.

  Finally he blurted out, “Grandpa, where’d those flies come from? And what’s the white stone at the bottom of the post hole?”

  His grandpa put one cheek on a fist and leaned against the table. “Have you heard about the time I discovered the sacred white wishing stones?” his grandpa said. He had a glint in his eye.

  “No, Grandpa, no more stories! I’m serious. What’s that white stone? It reminds me of something.”

  “Or did you ever hear my story about the great Fly Spirit that visits people with hordes of flies that clean up unwanted manure?” His grandpa was still grinning, but Jake was getting mad.

  “Grandpa, it’s really time to stop telling me stupid stories! I want the truth! Is it so hard to tell me the truth about what’s going on around here?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jake,” his grandpa said, sitting up straight. He had an innocent look on his face. But Jake also thought he looked maybe a little … worried. Or possibly sneaky.

  “Yes, you do know what I’m talking about. You filled in the hole. You must have known there was something down there, something you didn’t want me to see. Something white and creepy.”

  “I didn’t want you to fall into any more holes, Jake. And I didn’t see anything down there, just dirt, although the soil is chalky around here….” His grandfather trailed off. But he turned away and wouldn’t look at his grandson.

  He really looked like someone who was hiding something.

  “But what about the flies, Grandpa? You can’t deny those exist. You almost got carried away in a whirling cloud of them out in the field, and they’re everywhere. Big, awful flies that buzz like a chainsaw.”

  “I only saw a cloud of bugs, Jake, not enormous flies,” his grandfather answered quietly. But he kept his eyes down.

  Jake nodded slowly, then said, “You tell stories all the time, Grandpa, but this is one story you don’t want to tell me. Why?”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” his grandpa said again. Boy, could he be stubborn.

  “I think you know, Grandpa. I think you know exactly what I mean.”

  They looked at each other for a moment. Jake couldn’t read the expression on the old man’s face. He didn’t like upsetting his grandpa, but he had to find out the truth. He was beginning to figure it out … he had a terrible idea he already KNEW the truth.…

  After a long silence Jake spoke again. Everything was suddenly perfectly clear, and he spoke like a grown-up who knew the beginning, middle, and end of the story. “There are gross, enormous flies disturbed from a long rest swarming all over the place. And it’s not a white stone down there. I know exactly what it is, though. I’ve seen it before.”

  Jake held his grandpa in a long stare then finally said, “It’s bone at the bottom of the hole, isn’t it, Grandpa?”

  Chapter 17

  Fourth Cold Room on the Left

  Jake’s grandpa opened his eyes wide and guffawed. “Bone? BONE? Where’d you get a crazy idea like that, Jake? Do you think that I’ve got bodies buried all over the field?”

  “No,” Jake said quietly. “Not bodies. Bod-y. Just one. Or part of one. The skeleton of a giant hand.”

  Jake’s grandpa fell silent and suddenly wouldn’t look up.

  Jake went on. “It was this field, wasn’t it? Your dad and grandpa woke up to loud buzzing. They had to cover their faces because of the giant
flies. They buried the rotting corpse hand to hide it forever.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Jake! Where’d you come up with such a crazy idea?”

  But Jake was barely listening. He stood up and started pacing around the kitchen, figuring it out.

  “It makes perfect sense! The story is a hundred years old. The McGregor family has lived on this farm for over a hundred years, so the timing is right. Maybe you didn’t know exactly where the giant hand skeleton was buried in the field, Grandpa. Maybe you even thought it was just a story too, but I bet you always wondered if it was true. Now you know. We found the tip of one of the bones when we dug the post hole for the shed! You were surprised at what I found at the bottom of the post hole. That’s why you filled it in!”

  Jake was breaking into a sweat.

  “It explains the FLIES! You disturbed them when you laid out the shape of the shed with stakes. They came up out of the ground!”

  “Sit down, Jake,” his grandfather said quietly. “Calm down. You’ll get yourself all worked up again. A giant hand, son? Where would it have come from? Really? I mean, just think about that.”

  Jake was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.

  “But the giant flies, Grandpa! The white stone at the bottom of the hole.…” Jake didn’t want to stop, now that his grandpa was at least listening to him.

  “Maybe those were cicadas, Jake. It’s cicada season. They have been known to swarm. And the white … stuff … if it exists, maybe it’s chalk.”

  “No. Not cicadas, not chalk! You know it, and I know it. They were FLIES! They’ve been chasing me for days. And it’s BONE!”

  Jake was getting upset now. He could feel himself close to tears. He started shouting.

  “Why won’t you tell me the truth, Grandpa? I know bone when I see it! The Cuthberts have a moose skull outside their new cabin. The bone at the bottom of the hole is just like it — white and grainy and strong!”

  Jake’s eyes were wild and he was leaning on the kitchen table, nose-to-nose with his grandfather. Gus was up on his feet, ready to bark.

  His grandpa sighed and pushed away his dinner plate. “Sit down, Jake. Calm down, for heaven’s sake. It’s true this farm has been in our family for over one hundred years. Strange stories get told and passed down, but you should remember this: they’re stories. No one knows for sure if they happened or not. Like poor old Edwina Fingles wanders off and disappears, and suddenly she becomes the swamp creature. Or a huge old prehistoric tree, or ancient animal bones or something, turn up in a field and someone makes up a story about a giant hand. People have huge imaginations, Jake, especially bored people.”

  “But Grandpa, I went to the library. Mrs. Cody knew who I was. She was nice until I asked her about the giant hand, then I saw her take a clipping from the wall. I know I did. She probably wanted to protect you and hide the truth.”

  His grandpa stayed silent, so Jake went on.

  “And … and … at the library, Kate and Chris and I found a picture of the farm with the hand. There was a horse-head pump in the background! It has to be here, Grandpa! THE GIANT HAND IS ON THIS FARM!”

  Jake and his grandpa looked at each other for a long time. Jake could hear his heart beating, could hear the farmhouse kitchen clock ticking on the wall … heard a fly buzzing somewhere nearby … time stood still.

  Anything could happen next. Truth or fiction, lies or tall tales, Jake was sure his grandpa was about to tell him something that would change everything.

  He waited. And waited. Finally, his grandfather sighed and rubbed his chin. He looked up at Jake. When he spoke, he suddenly sounded to his grandson like an old, old man.

  “I didn’t know about the horse-head pump in the picture.” Jake’s grandpa hesitated, then went on, slowly. “I always hoped that one day this farm would be yours, Jake. I don’t know about a giant hand. I’ve heard the stories, yes. I’ve wondered. There’s no way to know the truth, not for sure. Not unless we dug up the field. And what would be the point?”

  His grandpa looked so old, so tired and sad, that Jake suddenly felt bad. Like maybe he should just forget it and stop bugging his grandpa about the truth.

  Maybe the truth didn’t really matter after all. The story was as good as the truth would ever be or maybe better. If it hurt people to get to the truth, maybe he should just leave it alone.

  Jake would have. At that moment, looking at his tired old grandpa, he would have let it be right then and there. But his grandpa went on quietly, like something needed to be said and now no one could stop him.

  “But there is something you should know, Jake. You may not like it.” His grandpa paused and sighed like he was carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.

  He continued. “Just remember, there are different kinds of stories. Some are true, some are lies, and some are in-between. You have to decide for yourself what’s true … and what isn’t. And for what it’s worth, I’m not sure what I believe myself.”

  He got up and walked slowly to a table in the hallway.

  He looks so old! Jake thought sadly. He watched his grandpa yank open a drawer and pull out a huge old key. He shoved the key across the table at Jake.

  “Here. The fourth cold room on the left,” his grandpa said. “And I hope you’ll forgive me,” he whispered.

  Then the old man turned his back. Jake wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought before he turned away, his grandpa’s eyes shone with tears.

  Chapter 18

  Proof in Hand

  Jake watched his grandpa shuffle away. He hesitated, but just for a second.

  What’s down there? Do I want to know? … YES!

  He snatched the key from the table then ran down the farmhouse stairs two at a time. He snapped on the light at the bottom of the stairs and the bulb slowly buzzed to life. He breathed in the musty, cobwebby smell of the place.

  One, two, three, four doors.

  Jake stood in front of the fourth cold room on the left.

  It was locked. He fit the old key into the padlock and the door swung open with a huge creak.

  It even sounds spooky!

  The cold room was … cold. And dark. And it smelled like decay and leaves and dirt. And something else. Time maybe. Or something forgotten. He flicked the light switch and the bulb slowly flickered to life.

  The shelves were empty. The dirt floor was cold and damp. It took a moment for Jake’s eyes to adjust to the dim light …

  … something gleamed out of the dark. Something dull and yellow. Jake gasped.

  A golden circle was leaning up against the wall of the cold room. It filled the room from floor to ceiling. The circle was taller than Jake’s head and wider than his arms spread out.

  It was a huge, heavy golden circle. It practically took up the entire room.

  Jake ran his hand over the cool, gleaming metal. It was perfectly smooth and made a circle that reached the dark ends of the cold room. His hand caught at something rough on the inside of the circle. He pushed his face closer to the metal and saw a letter stamped on the inside. It was a giant “T.” Jake looked closer; it was hard to see in the gloom. There was another letter beside it: “O.”

  There were more letters, all around the inside of the circle. Jake ran his hands over the circle and whispered the letters to himself as he read them: “T-O-M-L-O-V-E-L-O-N-O-U-R-W-E-D-D-I-N-G-D-A-Y.”

  Jake froze. He realized it was a sentence: “To M Love L on Our Wedding Day.”

  A chill started in Jake’s feet and rose over his whole body, right to the top of his head. He didn’t want to say the words on his lips, but he couldn’t stop them:

  “It’s not a gold CIRCLE! It’s a gold RING! It’s a golden wedding ring big enough for a … GIANT.”

  And it came from a giant’s rotting hand!

  A scream started in Jake’s throat. He tore back up the stairs and out the kitchen door. He ran down the lane, screaming, waving his arms wildly, and he never looked back.

  He couldn’t. A swarm of
giant flies chased him, buzzing like chainsaws all the way.

  This Part Is Also (MOSTLY) True …

  Welcome to the end of the story, and if you’ve made it this far, congratulations. I told you at the beginning that it was scary and more than a little sad, and yet here you are. I’m sure you’ll never look at a farmer’s field again without wondering what secrets, and possibly what horrors, lie beneath it.

  You’ve no doubt got many questions at this point. You’re probably wondering what happened next, what happened to Jake, and you might be thinking … is this story true?

  It certainly seems true, doesn’t it? But if you remember on the very first pages of this story you read these words: Truth is an odd thing; one person’s truth can be another person’s lie. That’s the most important thing to remember about this story: sometimes things that seem like lies are actually true. And sometimes you never can tell.

  I could leave the story right there, and you’d just have to accept it, wouldn’t you?

  But that would be unfair of me and I pride myself on being fair. So, without further ado, here are the answers you seek….

  It was a long time before Jake went back to his grandpa’s farm (he skipped a few summers), although he did eventually visit again. Once he did go back, he and his grandpa never discussed the giant hand, not ever. He loved his grandpa too much not to visit, and they managed to enjoy each other’s company once again. There were just some things they didn’t talk about. They never did build a shed, either.

  On the plus side, Grandpa stopped telling crazy stories, lies, exaggerations, or whatever else you want to call them, which was a good thing as far as Jake was concerned.

  He visited Kate and Chris Cuthbert again, since they were great friends. But no one was allowed to tell ghost stories. Ever. Chris was fine with that, and more surprisingly, so was Kate. They spent lots of time in the gingerbread cabin in the woods, playing cards and making s’mores and not telling stories. At Jake’s request, they kept a can of extra-strength bug spray under the cabin sink.