I need Petal’s brains and Big Bobby’s genius with plans and paper. They might have some ideas. It’ll be like old times. Then, like a cold shock, I remember: Petal’s hanging around with Stella now. At school she was wearing her hair piled on top of her head like a true Stellagtight. I could hardly believe it. And she’s barely spoken to me in the last week. That leaves only Big Bobby.
I call out goodnight to Momma so she doesn’t come in later and find me gone. Then, raincoat hood up and the jade bottle safely tucked away in my pocket, I quietly climb out the window with Mystic at my heels.
The wind is still gusting fiercely, blowing twigs and leaves and rubbish about. It’s no use riding my bike in this gale, so I walk, leaning into the wind and biting rain. Mystic is excited being out so late on an adventure – he yelps his delight and runs ahead, splashing through the puddles on the road.
There’s nobody about on the streets as I pass through town. Just one lone light in the funeral parlour. What is Mr Maloney working on so late?
I suddenly remember that tomorrow is my birthday. I feel a prickle at the back of my neck as a memory of the nightmare surfaces: a silver beast clawing and pushing me down, bubbles, red water. But why would Kalila drown me? She and Raffi are my friends. I hunch my shoulders as I taste that strange voice in my head, the one that made me set the trap. But this time I know what it is. This time I know it’s the jinn I must fight, not Kalila. I force the voice away. The only thing I need to do now is to concentrate on deciphering this drawing.
Take one step at a time, Ziggy, I tell myself.
Big Bobby Little lives above his parents’ grocery store. His room is upstairs around the back. I can hear country music blaring, even though his window is closed. I throw a pebble against the glass. Then another.
Finally, the music is turned down and Big Bobby looks out. I beckon for him to come down.
In the beam of the flashlight under the back porch, Big Bobby inspects the drawing with my magnifying glass. He turns it to the right, then to the left, then upside down. He turns it over and holds the flashlight behind so he can see the drawing backwards. He considers it for a long time.
Pulling out his notepad, he writes one word. School.
‘Dell Hollow Elementary?’ I say.
He nods. See here? He points to one of the rooms with his pen. This tiny room is off the library. I’ve never seen it before. You?
I shake my head.
It could be a storeroom that nobody uses. But it’s worth checking out.
When we get to school, there’s a dim light over the front entrance. The rest of the building is in darkness. I’m glad Big Bobby is with me. Schools without kids are sad places. It’s the laughter that makes them happy. And at night they are just plain scary.
The town clock strikes ten as we go around the side of the building to the cellar window. Big Bobby slips his penknife in to loosen it, like he did the other morning, and we climb through.
The first thing we do is take off our raincoats. Mystic shakes himself, sending a fine spray around the room. We also remove our sodden shoes. We don’t want to leave telltale puddles.
We walk down the passage that goes to the kitchen and dining room. Then we make our way to the front of the school where Principal Poole’s office, the administration office, the ballroom and the library are.
In the library, Big Bobby looks at the drawing. He points with his flashlight at the middle bookshelf.
We begin taking out books. They seem to be the heaviest and biggest books in the whole library. I wonder if this was deliberate. A rat the size of a kitten jumps from the shelf onto the floor and runs between my legs, making me cry out. It scurries across the carpet with Mystic in pursuit. Big Bobby chuckles silently and I elbow him in the ribs. We take out more books, looking for a door to the hidden room. Eventually, the bookshelf is empty.
‘It has to be here,’ I say, feeling exasperated and disappointed.
The bookshelf is solid wood and too heavy to move, so Big Bobby reaches through and starts tapping the wall behind the empty bookshelf with his flashlight.
It makes a hollow sound in one place and a dull thudding in another.
‘The door’s been plastered over!’ I say.
I look around for something heavy. On the librarian’s desk is a bronze bust of Principal Poole. Big Bobby catches my thought and smiles. He picks up the bust and, with a single blow, makes a hole in the plaster.
A rush of stale air hits us and I hear a small sigh come from the hidden room as if it’s happy to breathe fresh air at last.
Big Bobby makes the hole big enough for us to shine our flashlights inside. The musty smell of old books is what I notice first. Then my eyes grow wide with surprise.
Big Bobby punches out more plaster with his fist until it’s just big enough. He lifts me up and I crawl between the shelves. Then I tumble headfirst through the hole onto the dusty floor. Mystic whines but I tell him to stay.
Dell Hollow, Myths and Beliefs. That’s the first title I see when I sit up and shine my flashlight around. The hidden room is small, more like an anteroom, but it is filled from floor to ceiling with old books, newspapers and crumbling folders. There are other strange titles. The Book of Hushing Wood. Places of Magic and Power.
We look around in amazement.
Who do you think hid these books in the room and why? Big Bobby writes.
‘It must have been my Grandpa Truegood. He was the town librarian and the one who told me about this room,’ I say, shaking my head in wonder.
Big Bobby nods.
‘Maybe something bad happened so they had to be hidden away.’
I open The Book of Hushing Wood. There are chapters on Fiddlers Stream and healing plants and much more. There is also a whole section on The Hollow Tree. My tree! It says the tree is one thousand years old. And that the hollowed-out space inside the tree has the power to protect people. I smile in amazement. That must be why I always feel safe when I’m inside it.
I open the book called The History of Dell Hollow and begin to read. It’s so different to the history we have been taught at school. The town was much bigger once, with so many more shops on Main Street. The Corner Café used to be called Artist and Poet’s Corner. There used to be music festivals and dances in the street and outdoor art shows.
I show Big Bobby the black and white photos. We flick through them silently. Neither of us can believe this is our town, the same town. Then I see the photos of people playing and picnicking on the banks of Fiddlers Stream. And a rope swing tied to one of the branches of the Hollow Tree. Grandpa Truegood was right – people used to visit the woods!
‘Dell Hollow today is a lie,’ I say sadly. ‘This Dell Hollow was a wonderful place. People liked to play music, to dance, to make art and create things. They weren’t afraid of anything different. And they knew how to use their imaginations! I’ve always wanted to live in a place like that.’
Why does nobody remember? Big Bobby Little writes.
‘The jinn,’ I say.
Big Bobby shakes his head and mouths, I don’t understand.
‘I can’t explain it all now. But it has to do with my nightmares, with Raffi, and with something called a jinn.’
Then I see a book called The Book of Bad Genies. It’s at the bottom of a towering pile of books. Big Bobby helps steady the stack while I carefully remove it. Then he sits down with The History of Dell Hollow.
When I open the book, a yellowing sheet of paper, like parchment, slips out. On it, written in beautiful script, is a story called ‘The Dragonfly Who Laid an Emerald’.
I’m about to put it back when a word jumps out at me.
Kalila!
I begin to read, and as I do, wispy sentences echo in my head. I realise I have heard this before – it’s the fable Grandpa Truegood told me a very long time ago.
There was once a boy who lived with his grandfather and young sister. The boy loved his little sister so much that each day as he walked to and fr
om school he would give her a gift. Sometimes it was a flower, or a poem he had written in class, or a butterfly wing he had found on the ground.
One day he could not find anything to give her. He searched through the alleyways in vain. He finally went home empty-handed and broken-hearted.
But just before he reached the front door of his house, he heard a small reedy voice. ‘I have a treasure for your sister,’ the voice said.
The boy looked down and there, on his neighbour’s window ledge, sat a beautiful dragonfly. It had big orange eyes and an emerald green body.
The boy looked at the dragonfly in surprise. ‘You said something about a treasure?’ the boy said.
‘If you care to wait a moment I will show you,’ replied the dragonfly. It stood up on its hind legs, waving its other legs in the air as if conjuring magic.
When it moved to one side, there on the ledge was an emerald as big as the boy’s little fingernail, set on a base of white jade. It was the most beautiful treasure the boy had ever seen, glittering and sparkling in the afternoon light. The boy knew deep down that it was not a treasure that he had found himself, but he pushed this flickering feeling away.
‘It is yours,’ said the dragonfly.
‘Mine? Really?’ the boy said. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘From a land far away,’ the dragonfly replied.
‘But what favour do you want in return?’ For the boy knew that most gifts do not come without a price to pay.
‘Simple,’ said the dragonfly. ‘Let me live in your house for one week. A roof over my head would be a fine thing, even for a short while. I grow so tired of the sand and the wind that blows off the desert.’
‘I did not know dragonflies like living indoors,’ said the boy. ‘But if that is what you wish, follow me, sir.’ It was such a small favour for such a magnificent gift. And he picked up the emerald, cradling the precious stone in his hand. Against the white jade, the emerald gleamed with the colour of spring.
The boy opened the door and the dragonfly buzzed into the house. It found an earthenware jar to perch on and looked around.
The little sister came running up to her brother. ‘What did you bring me today, dear Brother?’ she said.
The boy opened his palm, revealing the emerald.
The little girl squealed with pleasure and held the emerald up to the light to let the sun shine through it. ‘Look, Brother,’ she said, putting her eye up to the stone. ‘The whole world is green and beautiful.’
The boy smiled to see his little sister so happy.
An hour later, their grandfather arrived home.
‘Where is Kalila?’ he asked the boy.
‘I gave her an emerald and she went up to the rooftop garden to play.’
Their grandfather frowned. ‘Where did you get the emerald from?’ he asked.
‘A dragonfly gave it to me, Grandfather,’ the boy replied.
‘Did you let it into the house?’ His grandfather’s voice was urgent.
‘Why yes, that’s what it wanted in exchange for the emerald.’ The boy grew worried.
‘Silly boy! You have been tricked by a jinn.’
They hunted for Kalila in the rooftop garden and through all the rooms of the small house. But she was nowhere to be found. The jinn had taken her. All that was left was the emerald.
The grandfather told the boy to prepare the caravan. They were going on a long journey to find Kalila. But first they had to wait for the stars to appear in the night sky. One shooting star, the brightest in the sky, would show them where to go.
I look up, shocked. Surely the people in the story can’t be Raffi and his grandfather, Jaddi! And the shooting star . . .
But this room has been locked up for years. And Kalila is a silver fox, not a little girl. And how can this story be written down and put in an old book that’s been locked away for years, when it is only just happening.
It’s too fantastic. My brain is spinning.
I read on. ‘In the Land of Hushing Wood lives a brave young girl called Rima . . .’
My heart seems to stop, then flutters against my rib cage. What is going on? How can I be in the story too? I feel short of breath and shut my eyes. I don’t want to read on, I don’t want to know my end.
Mystic gives a soft growl that tears apart the whirlwind inside me.
Big Bobby and I sit up, straining to listen. But all I hear is the rain pounding on the tiled roof. What can Mystic hear that we can’t? Big Bobby indicates that we should go. I agree. But we still have to pack up the mess we’ve made.
I carefully fold up the story and put it in my pocket. Then we crawl back through the hole and into the library. One by one, we replace the books on the shelf to hide the gaping hole. It’s not perfect, but hopefully no one will notice.
As we walk in the rain past the town clock I look up and see that it’s two-thirty in the morning.
‘It’s my birthday,’ I say to Big Bobby. Dread settles in my chest.
Big Bobby knows what I mean. He puts his arms around me and squeezes tight. It will be all right, he mouths.
At the Littles’ grocery store, I say goodbye to Big Bobby. He’s worried about me, so I tell him everything will be okay. What I don’t mention is that I’m meeting Raffi in three hours’ time in the woods. I don’t think this news would calm him down.
I go home and change into dry clothes. There’s not enough time to nap even though I want to so much. If I close my eyes, I might sleep too soundly, and I can’t miss meeting Raffi. I look out the window. The rain is still pelting down. Through the trees of Hushing Wood, I can see the sky slowly changing from raven black to goose grey. Dawn is almost here.
I can’t stop thinking about the jinn and the story of the dragonfly. Is this the same dragonfly I’ve been seeing? I shiver at the thought. Luckily I have Mystic to protect me. I put my arms around him. My heart is so full of love for my wolf dog.
The story is in my pocket but I don’t dare read on. I’m scared that if I know the future, and it is not a good future, then I won’t be strong enough to fight the jinn. So I leave it there, burning a hole in my pocket.
Suddenly I hear a pitiful wail coming from the woods.
Is it Kalila? Is she in trouble? I hesitate at the window. It could be the jinn trying to trick me. Grandpa Truegood said not to believe everything I see or hear. He said to trust my heart. But my heart is telling me nothing.
I don’t know what to do. If it is Kalila, she needs my help. I have to go.
I climb out the window. Mystic takes off along the trail that leads to the Hollow Tree and I run after him.
Branches hang low, heavy with water after the storm. Mud on the track is like quicksand, sucking at my feet, making the going that much harder. In places I have to skirt around the edge of huge puddles that have spread out into the woods like small lakes.
The sound of a wild, angry river roars in my ears as I get closer to Fiddlers Stream. Mystic runs off down the embankment and I follow, sliding and skidding between the trees, more on my bottom than on my feet. Mud splatters my clothes, and my hands and shoes are caked with it.
I’ve never seen the stream this wild before. It roils and froths, eating away at the banks, uprooting trees and tearing bushes from the earth as it races downstream. The once crystal clear water looks like melted chocolate.
When I reach the Hollow Tree I see that its roots are submerged and the cavern inside is full of water. All my things have been washed away.
Mystic is upriver, prancing along the bank, following something in the water. Then I see the silver fox balanced precariously on a narrow log that’s jammed between rocks right in the middle of the river. She yelps and whines at the torrents lashing at her feet. There is no way to reach her unless I jump into the river and swim to her.
I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, ‘Kalila!’ But my voice is lost in the snarl and roar of the water.
Today is your birthday, Ziggy. You will soon be mine, the river sings.
Everything seems dreamlike. The woods are sliding away. Mystic’s frantic barking grows deep and lazy like a tape being played in slow motion. The trees too are whispering but I can’t hear their words.
A thin, wheedling voice winds around me and through me. Don’t go near the river, Ziggy Truegood. Don’t throw away your life. Now is the moment to take control of your own destiny.
‘My destiny?’ I hear myself say.
You can choose, the voice says. Live or die.
‘But Kalila . . . I must save Kalila.’
Well then, the river will take you both. Will you let it have its way? Run, Ziggy, run away now . . .
What do I do? Jump into the angry river and sacrifice my life to save Kalila? We would both die. Or I could turn and run. I could go back, meet Raffi at six o’clock as we planned, and pretend I haven’t been here. And by then it will all be over.
I shake my head as my heart and the voice battle inside me. I sway on the spot as if they are pushing me one way and then the other.
That’s right, save yourself, the wheedling voice comes again. No one will know. Raffi will never find out.
My eyes fill with tears as I turn and scramble back up the embankment. I hate myself. I am a coward. That horrible, shameful word bores into my brain. You are not true or good, Ziggy, I tell myself as I run.
Behind me, and growing more distant, is Mystic’s frantic bark.
As I run, I feel something tickle my ear. I turn and see a bright green flash. The dragonfly!
‘Get away from me!’ I scream at the jinn, batting the air with my hands.
‘You are smart to go home,’ he says in my ear.
‘I’m a coward,’ I say. ‘Leave me alone!’
I trip and fall to the ground and it is then, lying there, that an image of the white antelope comes to me. I look down, almost expecting to see four strong legs. I feel antlers spring from my head. I touch my hair. The antlers are in my imagination.
The Beast of Hushing Wood Page 8
