by Kim Thompson
“Belle gave you some money. She probably wanted you to take her to the ocean, am I right?” Willa didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to tell on anyone, so she kept quiet. Miss Trang continued. “And her money started acting strangely and here you are. You think the coins are magic. You want to solve the mystery.” She was speaking very quickly and sharply. Willa backed away, feeling small and foolish. Miss Trang paused, her voice softening just a little, little bit.
“Well, there is no magic and there is no mystery. Belle was just playing a little trick with magnets. Nothing more.” A teeny smile crawled across her face, but it wasn’t reassuring ... it just made her look scary.
“And we don’t want any newspapers. Goodbye.” The last word was so firm and final that Willa could do nothing but turn and go down the steps. At the bottom she looked back to see Baz picking up the coins as Miss Trang held the door open.
As she reached the sidewalk she heard the door slam shut behind her. She glanced back and spotted Belle in an upstairs window, slowly combing her long, long hair. Willa could hear her humming mournfully and froze in her steps, overcome with sudden pangs of sorrow. She looked so sad. Willa waved but Belle was looking beyond her, gazing off in the direction of the ocean.
Willa’s mind was racing. Magnets? Ridiculous. What magnets could work all the way across town? Miss Trang was lying. What was going on in that house? Was she keeping those old ladies prisoner?
That evening Willa found her mom in the bathroom surrounded by tubes of colour, busily banishing the grey from her hair. Twisting her towel into a turban, Mom scowled to hear that Willa was giving up on the newspaper job. But Willa had a plan B. She would work doing odd jobs — mowing lawns, weeding, cleaning houses, pet-sitting, that kind of thing. She’d even made posters with their phone number at the bottom that she was going to put up all over the neighbourhood. Her mom was surprised for sure, maybe even impressed. When Willa showed the posters to her dad, he said she had gumption.
Willa herself felt uncommonly adventurous. Especially because of the secret motivation behind her plan B. The posters were really just a way to get another look at the old house by the park. Willa was going to get inside and try to find out more about its inhabitants. She felt excited and nervous at the same time. It was like real detective work! It might even be dangerous. Well, probably not very dangerous. After all, it was just bunch of little old ladies.
The next day she went about taping her posters to lampposts all over the neighbourhood. When she reached the park across from the old house, she sat on a bench, pulled out a book, and waited.
Detective work turned out to be more boring than she expected. The porch was empty and nothing happened for nearly two and a half hours. She had finished her book and was just nodding off when the slam of the front door snapped her awake. Miss Trang strode off down the street, purposefully consulting a piece of paper, a shopping bag slung over one arm. Willa held her book up in front of her face until the coast was clear, then she strolled casually to the front gate of the big house, her heart pounding. As she passed through the gate, something small and hard hit her on the head with a sharp CRACK!
An acorn dropped to the ground in front of her. Willa rubbed her head, wondering what acorns were doing falling from a willow tree. She peered up into the branches, right into an old, old face, brown and lined with wrinkles, all of them creased into a smirk.
“Gotcha!” it squealed.
Startled, Willa let out a shriek and jumped back as the owner of the face swung from a branch and landed heavily in front of her. He grimaced, clutching his back as he straightened up. Willa was surprised to find the old man was smaller than she was — he only came up to her shoulder, but he raised his fists as if to fight her.
“Wanna fight? Hmm? I may be old but I’m wily!” He danced, hopping awkwardly around her.
“I was just going to visit ...”
“Hah!” he interrupted, squinting at her. “Aren’t you scared? I am Tengu, and this house is feared by all!” He hopped back and forth, grimacing and waving his arms. The effect wasn’t very scary; in fact, it was all Willa could do to keep from laughing. She covered her smile with one hand, not wanting to hurt his feelings.
Then he stopped and leaned in conspiratorially. “I bet you’ve heard lots of scary stories about this place. Yes? Hm? Well ... they’re all true!” With this he let out an exultant wolf howl. “OwWOOOOO!”
Willa looked around nervously. She really didn’t want to attract any attention. “I — I haven’t heard any stories at all,” she admitted.
Tengu stopped in mid-howl, his face falling. He was clearly disappointed. “None? Doesn’t anyone talk about this house?”
Willa shrugged helplessly. The little man’s energy seemed to drain away. He plunked himself down cross-legged on the walk with his frowning head in his hands. “No reputation at all. Simply unacceptable. Something must be done,” he muttered.
“There may be stories, I’ve just never heard them,” Willa offered, but he waved her away, lost in thought. She stepped around him and continued up the porch steps, taking a deep breath. Back to her plan. She was going to find out what was going on and do her best to help those dear old ladies. Miss Trang couldn’t keep them trapped in there. They’d be so glad that she’d come to rescue them.
Willa paused at the front door. She could hear voices inside, arguing loudly. She rang the bell. The voices stopped abruptly. There was a moment of silence and then the door opened a crack. Baz peered out through the chain, just staring at her, not speaking. Willa cleared her throat.
“Hm. Hello. I’m ... I was here the other day. Selling newspapers?”
Baz stared blankly at her. A long, uncomfortable moment passed. Willa felt it was now or never. She drew herself up to her full height and spoke in her best “Aunt Hattie voice,” surprising even herself. “I want to talk to you about a very, very important matter!”
Baz pursed her lips and squinted. Willa squinted back. Finally Baz blinked. “Well ... hold on a sec.”
She shut the door again and a great ruckus began inside — banging, a loud thumping up the stairs, more banging, whispered arguing. When all was quiet, Baz suddenly swung the door open, grabbed Willa by the arm, and yanked her inside, slamming the door after her.
Willa stumbled into the dark hall, dropping her posters. She stooped to pick them up, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The place smelled distinctly of cat. She followed Baz into the parlour, where someone was shouting.
The room was dark, the sunshine blotted out by heavy red curtains. It was very old-fashioned and crazily cluttered, with leather armchairs and ottomans underfoot and a flowery sofa scuffed by cat claws. There was a fireplace, a piano, spidery plants on little end tables, a large dollhouse in the corner, ghostly white teacups on dark shelves, and doilies over the backs of the chairs. A large birdcage hung in one dark corner, housing some kind of bird, asleep with its head under its wing. More immediately, however, Belle and a distinguished old gentleman were shouting across the room at one another.
“You know-nothing pompous ass!” Belle barked.
“Loud-mouthed shrew!” the man hollered back, frowning behind tiny wire spectacles. Willa watched in alarm as Belle grabbed a teacup and hurled it at the man. He neatly deflected it with a throw cushion, sending it crashing into the piano. Baz didn’t seem to mind the ruckus. Grinning, she draped herself on the sofa with her hands folded beneath her chin.
The man picked up a scone and lobbed it at Belle; she in turn grabbed another teacup.
“Stop! Stop!” Willa hollered. They turned, staring, and she felt herself blushing.
Belle dropped the cup onto an ottoman. “We have a visitor. Behave yourself, Horace.”
The man straightened his tie and jacket, looking very tweedy and professorial. He sat back down as Belle swivelled her wheelchair to peer at Willa. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I’m Willa. I was here the other day....” Blank look. “Selling newspapers?
” Belle shrugged, tucking her blanket around her legs. Willa tried again. “You wanted me to take you to the ocean, remember?”
At this Belle’s eyes lit up. Her face split into a grin. “Oh! and you’ve come to take me there. You dear, sweet, sweet girl!”
“No, I can’t do that, exactly....”
Belle’s face fell into a scowl. “Well, what good are you then?” This was it. Willa stepped forward.
“I’ve come to help you.”
Horace sat up quickly. “Then settle this for us. Who do you think would win in a fight ... Odin or Zeus?” Both he and Belle leaned forward, eagerly awaiting her answer.
Willa blinked in surprise. “You mean, the gods Odin and Zeus?” They nodded. “What kind of a fight?”
Belle answered, holding up her own bony fists. “A bare-knuckle brawl. No magic, no flying, no weapons, no outside help. Who would you bet on?” Willa thought it over carefully for a moment.
“I don’t think they’d fight. Wouldn’t it make more sense if it was Thor and Ares? The gods of war?”
The old man cackled. “You have a point there,” he started, but was interrupted by a loud banging from upstairs. He shouted up at the ceiling. “She says they wouldn’t fight!” He was answered by a loud crash that made Willa jump. Horace grinned. “Our distinguished colleague upstairs disagrees with your assessment.”
Belle was scowling. “Hogwash,” she grumbled. “Of course they’d fight, they’re cranky old men! Anyway, Wilma isn’t here to settle arguments. She’s here to take me to the beach, the darling.” She had turned all sweet again and was clutching at Willa’s arm.
“It’s Willa, and I’m sorry, I can’t. I just came to —”
Belle snatched a poster from her hand and scowled as she looked it over. “Yesterday it was newspapers, today it’s odd jobs. You’re in every racket going!” She crumpled the poster and tossed it over her shoulder. “We’ve already got someone! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” She flicked off the brake on her chair and rolled through the dining room and out into the kitchen, Baz padding along behind her. Willa turned back to the old man, Horace. He shrugged.
“Miss Trang is not fond of outsiders coming into the house, so you should probably be on your way.”
He gestured kindly but firmly toward the door. Willa hung back. None of this was going the way it should. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How many people live here?” The old man scratched his head. “People? That rather depends on your definition....”
Willa continued, the words tumbling out. “Is ... is Miss Trang ... keeping all of you prisoner here?” Horace blinked a couple of times then burst into laughter.
“Prisoner? Keeping us PRISONER? HAhahahah!” He slapped his knee and doubled over, guffawing loudly.
Willa blushed. “I just thought ... ” she began, but was interrupted by a tremendous CRASH from the kitchen. Horace headed that way, still howling with laughter.
“Girls! Wait’ll you hear this!”
Willa winced. How could she have been so wrong ... about everything? Laughter erupted in the kitchen. It was time to leave.
As she turned to go, something moved in the corner, making her jump. It was the bird, stirring in its cage. In the dim light its feathers shone dully, red and gold with a metallic sheen. Willa watched as it slowly pulled its head out from under its wing and looked at her. Willa held her breath. Instead of the parrot she thought it was, this creature looked more like a hawk or an eagle. Long, sharp talons gripped the perch, and above a cruel yellow beak two eyes burned like embers. It stared evenly at her as Willa stood frozen in her tracks. As the bird looked right through her, she felt her thoughts laid out, bare and open. Then the bird blinked, and such warmth flooded into its eyes that Willa felt comforted, embraced, and happy. And strong. And brave. It was odd, but she no longer felt the sting of embarrassment over her misguided mission, even though she could still hear Horace and the ladies giggling in the kitchen.
Reluctantly, Willa turned to leave, but caught sight of something scurrying under the sofa. It must be one of the cats she kept hearing but not seeing. Willa bent to look beneath the sofa. “Here kitty, kitty ...”
There was a soft skittering and a rustling in the floor-length drapes. Willa followed the sound along the drapes to a big armchair in the corner. Aha! Got you cornered now, thought Willa as she knelt on the chair and looked over the high back.
Crouched on the floor behind the chair was a hairy little man, only a few inches tall, staring up at her with large, scared eyes. Willa stared in shock. Behind her an angry voice suddenly filled the room.
“WHAT IN HEAVEN’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?”
Willa spun around. Miss Trang was in the doorway, a bag of groceries in her arms, her face dark with anger. Willa shrunk back in the chair.
“I — I was just ... looking for your cat, and ...” Her voice trailed off. Horace, Belle, and Baz appeared in the dining room, watching with wide eyes.
Miss Trang dropped the bag and tin cans clattered across the floor. “We don’t HAVE a cat!” she hissed, moving slowly toward Willa and casting a cold, cold shadow. Willa opened her mouth but no words came out. Miss Trang leaned closer and closer, until her face was inches from Willa’s. Willa stared into her unblinking eyes — they were golden in colour, with flicks of red shooting through them. She held her breath as Miss Trang stared at her for a long, terrible moment.
Swick! Everyone turned to see a tiny suitcase slide out from under the piano, followed by the hairy little man Willa had seen behind the chair. He crawled out, his face puckered purposefully, picked up the suitcase, and stomped toward the front door.
Miss Trang’s mood changed as she spun to follow the little man out into the hall. “Wait! Don’t go!” she pleaded. “She didn’t mean it. It won’t happen again!” Belle shook her head at Willa. Horace gave her a sympathetic grimace. In the hall the front door opened and closed with a bang.
Willa peeked out the window. The little man reached the sidewalk, looked right, then left, then right again, before marching off to the right.
“Now you’ve done it,” Belle muttered ominously. “Do you know how hard it is to find a good brownie? He worked day and night, nonstop. And never asked for a penny in return. Lived entirely on tea and biscuits.”
Willa was stunned. “That was a brownie?”
Before anyone could answer her, Miss Trang re-entered the living room, ducking to fit through the doorway. Her eyes were really ablaze now. Her hair had worked its way out of her neat little bun and was floating like snakes in the air around her head.
“You interfering little pest! Why do you keep bothering us?” Her voice boomed, lower than before. And she was getting larger by the minute. Her head brushed the ceiling now, and her shoulders had broadened. The room seemed crowded, too small to hold her. As she advanced on Willa, teacups and china figurines fell crashing to the floor. Belle and Baz disappeared into the kitchen. Horace remained, trying to make peace.
“Miss Trang, please! Think of your blood pressure.”
She loomed over Willa now, her head hunched forward as her shoulders pressed up against the ceiling. She became wedged there for a moment and flailed around with one arm, smashing the ceiling lamp. The room went dark. Willa dropped to the floor and crawled between Miss Trang’s tree trunk legs as the woman thrashed about in the dark, breathing noisily through her nose and grunting like a great beast.
Willa reached the dim light of the hall, stumbling through the tin cans to the front door. Behind her Miss Trang, or the thing that used to be Miss Trang, roared out after her as she made her escape.
“Don’t tell anyone what you saw here! I’m warning you!”
Willa didn’t tell a soul. In fact, as the next few days dragged on in their boring and ordinary way, it became harder and harder to believe the incident had happened at all. Willa couldn’t stop thinking about the place. It seemed every time she pondered one of the house’s mysteries another five or six came to mind. First t
he coins, then Miss Trang, then the old man in the tree who had pelted her with acorns again as she ran away that day. And what about the loud crashing upstairs, and the strange bird, and the little man behind the armchair? Was it possible? Did brownies really exist?
And then there were the tin cans. The ones she had tripped over in the front hall. Cat food.
Chapter Three
A new job and a shocking discovery
The summer was definitely not working out as planned. Willa’s odd jobs work hadn’t really taken off. She spent one hot day cleaning out Mr. Santos’s garage, and another afternoon washing Mrs. Blanding’s St. Bernard dog, who managed to get soap suds all over her, the yard, and the neighbour’s fence, which she then had to wash off as well. Other than those jobs and three lawns to mow, for the next week or so Willa didn’t have much to do except think about the old folks in the boarding house. Once she had regained her nerve she began to wander by there once in a while, walking slowly, hoping to see someone but ready to run if it was Miss Trang. To her disappointment the curtains were always drawn tight and not a soul could be seen. She wondered if they’d all left town. Maybe Belle had finally gotten her way and they’d gone to the seaside for a vacation.
“Honey! You’ve got a job this morning! Hurry up and I’ll take you on my way to work.”
Her mom was rushing around the kitchen as Willa straggled down the stairs, trying to flatten her crazy slept-on hair with her hands. She was tired but glad for the work — she felt guilty she hadn’t been making much money so far this summer.
Mom pushed some toast toward her with a glass of juice. “A lady just called, wants you to come by right away.”
Willa spread some marmalade on her toast and grimaced. “I hope it’s not another garage.”
“She didn’t say what she wanted you for. It’s at that old place, the rooming house near the park. Now hurry and eat, I’m running late.” Her mom hurried out the door, not seeing her daughter turn deathly pale.
