by Peter Wilson
“The fat one?” Jack asked slowly.
“Oh, you do speak! Well then please leave the glove on.”
“Sure, ok. But how did you get in here?” Jack asked.
“A silly question, if ever there was one,” she said. Turning around and looking over the attic, “Perhaps your ability to speak isn’t the only factor I should have considered. Perhaps the fat one or the scrawny girl would be the better ones to talk to…”
“Hey!” Jack said loudly. “I can hear you, and I’m not stupid. Now tell me how you got into my house.”
“Your house?” the red woman turned back to face him. “Jack Gregson, you assume too much. Are you saying you’re the current owner of the house?”
“My grandmother owns it,” Jack admitted. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”
The red woman smiled, obviously pleased she was correct and then turned away from Jack and started walking towards the centre of the Attic. “Now come along, and as I said keep the glove on.”
Jack was torn between being annoyed at her rudeness and wanting to know more about who this bizarre woman was and why she knew so much about him and his family. Reluctantly he walked after her.
“Come, come.” She continued as she approached the centre of the room and what appeared to be an exact replica of the entire Gregson Manor.
Jack walked around the large table amazed at the level of detail. Every tree, statue and piece of furniture was placed in the miniature gardens just as they were in real life. Even the roses he and his grandma had planted last spring sat in tiny pots along the driveway in the Front Garden. He looked towards the house and realised that if he squinted he could see through the small windows to the rooms inside. He walked to where his bedroom was and saw that the light was on, his tiny bed sat unmade just as he had left it. “It’s all exactly the same,” he whispered to himself.
“You left your bedroom light on,” the woman responded disapprovingly as she followed his gaze. “You do know that is a great waste of power.”
“Yes I know,” Jack said absently as he spotted the model attic. He hadn’t noticed it at first, as it wasn’t actually part of the house. Instead it sat over it, hovering metres above the roof and chimneys. “It’s floating in mid-air!” he blurted, shocked.
“What’s floating?” Rosie asked, as she approached from the other side of the room. “And who are you talking to?”
“The Attic, we’re floating!” Jack replied as he pointed up in its direction.
“Jack, there’s nothing there,” Rosie said confused.
“What do you mean? It’s right there.” Jack replied, also confused.
“What is?” David asked as he joined the conversation. Jack turned to see him walking towards them, the strange red headed woman standing in his path. As he continued to walk, it seemed clear to Jack that he didn’t see her and was on a collision course.
“Watch out!” he called out to the woman who was still facing in his direction. All of a sudden David appeared before him, having walked straight through her. “What the…you just walked through her!”
“Walked through who?” Rosie asked.
“I’m nowhere near her,” David responded, thinking Jack had meant Rosie.
“What is going on?” Jack cried, getting frustrated.
The short red woman rolled her eyes and walked out from behind David. “This just won’t do, we don’t have time.”
All of a sudden Jack felt his hand tingling, as the glove he wore tightened on his hand. He lifted it up to eye level as it started to sparkle and shimmer. The brown leather was pealing away, and transforming before him. He started feeling pressure on his three middle fingers, as something started to form on each. Eventually the shimmering died down, and Jack saw the glove was completely gone, replaced by three silver rings, all exactly the same.
“What was that?” asked David in awe.
“More magic!” shouted Rosie.
Jack looked at the rings on his fingers, admiring the detail of the small vines carved into the metal. Three voices said in unison “Now then, perhaps we can continue.”
He looked up and saw there were now three versions of the woman in the room, one sitting and the other two standing side by side.
“There are three of you.” Jack blurted.
“Observant, he is,” said the one sitting down sarcastically. “Smart as a whip,” said another, with just as much sarcasm as the first. “I really should have started with the fat one,” the third one put in the final insult.
Jack yelled in annoyance as he gripped one of the rings and started to wriggle it off his finger.
He pulled it free and immediately one of the red women disappeared.
He pulled the second one off and dropped it to the ground as another vanished.
“Hey now, be careful with them,” the last red woman said, just as she realised Jack was pulling off the third ring. “Now, hang on a moment! I was just jokin…” her sentence was left unfinished as he removed the last ring and she disappeared.
Sighing with relief, he looked up at the model and saw that the Attic was gone as well. In fact without the glove or rings on, the model looked plainer, lacking the detail it had before.
He glanced to his bedroom window and saw that the light was no longer on, and the tiny unmade bed no longer there.
“What is going on?” Rosie demanded.
“Something to do with the rings,” David guessed, picking the one up from the floor and putting it on before Jack could stop him. A look of surprise came to his face as he gazed upon the model coming to life in front of him.
Suddenly David spun around. Jack and Rosie looked on as he put his hands on his hips, and said “who are you calling fat, shorty?” to thin air.
“Now I get why you were confused,” Jack said to Rosie.
“Were confused? What the heck is going on?” she begged.
“Here,” Jack said as he placed one of the rings on her middle finger. As soon as it was on her eyes widened just as David’s had, as she looked upon the room anew. Jack then took a deep breath and put the third one back on his finger.
He looked around, paying more attention than when he’d first put on the glove. He realised it wasn’t just the woman and the model that had changed, but everything in small ways. Colours were all of a sudden more vibrant, the smells of the room more distinct. It was subtle, and he could understand how he had missed it when he’d donned the glove.
He turned to David and the woman as they continued to argue. He was telling her how rude and weird she was, as she was firing back about how dumb all three of them seemed to be. Jack still exhausted from the last conversation with her, decided to stand back and watch them go at it.
Jack was wondering if David’s stubbornness would beat the strange woman’s arrogance when Rosie yelled out, “What is THAT!” Her fear tinged voice cutting through the argument.
Jack and David raced around the table to where Rosie stood gawking. “Bloody Hell.” David said as he followed her gaze to the Rear Garden.
“It’s what I’ve been trying to show you,” the red woman said as she caught up to the kids, a look of deep concern on her face, “Someone’s taken the Rear Garden, and it’s only a matter of time before they come after the rest.”
Chapter Four
The Rear Garden
Taken the Rear Garden? The first thing that came to Jack’s mind was his mother.
Like all Gregson family members who passed away, she was buried in the family graveyard, located at the back of the garden. He had never known her, she had died the day of his birth, but he visited her grave often. Usually he’d think about his happy memories of her, shared to him as he grew up. If the gardens were “taken,” how would he be able to visit her any more? He put it out of his mind as he looked down on the model.
“What is it?” Rosie asked, still shaky. The “it” she referred to was a black statue in the centre of the garden. It was of a powerful man in black armour, standing as if i
n battle and pointing his sword at an unseen enemy. Unlike the other statues that were lifeless stone, this one pulsated, sending a black mist crawling across the earth. It seemed to infect everything it touched as trees and plants once lush and blooming sat lifeless, their wood twisting them slowly to death. His dark red eyes glowed, as he seemed to stare at the three of them.
“It’s the Warden of the Blue Emerald, he’s been attacked!” the Red woman said.
“Who?” Jack asked.
“WHO?” the red woman said shocked. “The heir to the Gregson Manor is told a Warden is in danger and he says ‘WHO!’ It’s bad enough you don’t even know who I am.”
“Who are you?” David asked, ignoring her frustration.
“I am the Curator of the Attic!” she snapped. Realising she was becoming hysterical, the curator closed her eyes and took some deep breathes. Suddenly her eyes snapped open again, a quizzical look coming over her face. “It seems you don’t know much of what you should Jack Gregson. Where then did you learn of the Attic?”
“From ‘The Gregson Estate’ book, Ms Curator.” Jack replied, using her title in hope it would calm her down. He walked over to Rosie as she was pulling it from her bag. “We found it in the library and it has a full chapter on every room of the house, including the attic, and clues on how we could get here.” He took it from Rosie and handed it over to her.
“It told us you like lilies and ponds.” David added.
“I’ve never heard of such a book,” the Curator replied as she began flipping the pages.
“Curator you say I should know things, but from where? Who was supposed to teach me of the Wardens and the Attic?” Jack asked
“Every owner of the Estate must hand down their knowledge to the heir of the property. Once your father…left, you became heir.” She closed the book and handed it back to Jack. “Your grandmother knows this and should have started your teachings from a much earlier age.”
“Grandma? But Great Uncle Peter is the one who knows more than anyone about the house.” David asked confused.
“Ha! That old man has been trying to sniff out the secrets of this house for years. Oh he knows more than the rest of the family, but what he knows only scratches the surface. Getting you kids to use dynamite on the door in the Western Gardens. Madness! No your Grandmother is the eldest child of her generation and she should have passed on her knowledge to Jack.”
“If it’s all such a secret then why are you telling us this?” Rosie asked. “Shouldn’t you just be telling Jack?”
“Because of that!” the Curator replied as she pointed at the dark statue on the model. “A black soldier now stands in place of the Warden in the rear garden. If the blue emerald has been stolen that means some bad people will be trying to overtake the manor. If they do and they are successful there will be no more secrets to keep. You must go down to the Rear Gardens and see what has become of the blue emerald.”
“What does the emerald do?” David asked
“We don’t have time for a history lesson right now, boy. There will be time for that later, but suffice it to say if the emerald is gone we’re in serious trouble. You need to get down there now!”
Jack looked back to the model and shivered. The mist had nearly covered the entire garden, clinging to the base of the statues, trees and gravestones. As he moved around the table, the eyes of the black statue seemed to follow him. And she wanted them to go down there? Suddenly he had a thought and raced off towards the rear of the attic.
“Where are you going?” David yelled after him.
Jack didn’t respond but continued his way to the glass wall at the end of the room. He looked down at the actual rear garden and saw that the black statue was there too. Seeing it life size and in one of the gardens he had grown up in sent a chill down his spine. He gripped the ring on his finger, held his breath and pulled it off. Suddenly the black statue and mist were gone. Not only that, but the twisted trees had returned to their upright state. The foliage seconds ago dead now drifted slowly in the mild winters breeze.
“It’s gone!” Jack said calling back to the others.
Rosie and David caught up to Jack and looked down on the garden in disgust and fear, “It’s an illusion. Take off your rings, and it’ll all go away.” Jack urged. They both took them off and they too saw the garden return to normal. “Maybe it’s the rings, causing us to see things,” Jack said hopefully, not truly believing it himself. He put his ring back on and turned to the curator who was slowly approaching where they stood. “What do these rings do? How come we can only see you when we wear them? Why does the backyard look normal without them on?”
“I think I’ve answered enough of your questions Jack Gregson. As I said I’m the curator of this Attic, not your bloody tutor! If you want some more answers, you need to do something for me, and that is go down to that garden and see what has happened to the emerald,” she said, losing her patience once again. “You have to,” she added almost pleading.
“Must we wear the rings when we are down there?” Rosie asked, having put her ring back on. “Perhaps we could check on the emerald better without all that black mist.”
“You can go down without wearing the rings, but do take them. The book as well…I think you’ll need that too given your startling lack of knowledge. Go to where the statue of the Warden is, the exact spot the black soldier now stands. He should hopefully hold the blue Emerald. You must see if it still remains there.”
“Will you come with us?” David asked hopefully.
“ I cannot leave the Attic,” the curator said, almost apologising. “Now go, quickly!”
With that Jack, David and Rosie ran off to the exit, descending the stairs out of the floating attic above the Gregson Manor.
***
Jack ran out the back door, his cousins right behind him. His heart pounded as he crossed the patio and ascended the small grass incline to the Rear Garden, nervous about what they would find. They all breathed a sigh of relief, as they saw the garden looked as it usually did, no mist or black statue in sight. He considered putting on the ring, but quickly decided against it with a shiver.
“This way,” Jack said as they slowed to a walk.
The Rear Garden was the least used and least maintained of the four gardens. Jack had been told they were once beautiful with mowed lawns and paths surrounded by statues, maples trees and thriving garden beds.
Once the Gregson’s could no longer afford gardening staff, there was always too much to do around the manor and the rear garden was gradually overlooked. First the lawns didn’t get mowed anymore, then autumn came and as the maple leaves fell to the earth they were no longer raked away as they smothered the flowerbeds.
Gradually the fine dirt paths had turned to mud, the plants died or were overgrown by weeds and the furniture began to rust. The Rear garden became simply a pathway people used on occasion to visit the graves at the back of the manor. Jack thought that if you were going to “capture” the gardens one by one, this would be the place to start.
They continued down the mud track until reaching a junction where three paths met and the Warden Statue stood before them.
“The Monk,” David said as they looked up at it. Over the years the three of them had named all twenty-three statues of Gregson manor, based purely on what the person looked like. While they knew each represented important Gregson family members from different generations, that hadn’t stopped them inventing some of the more childish names such as The Fat Dwarf, Big Butt Betty and Jacks personal favourite The Constipated General.
The Monk stood on a small pedestal, the total height of the statue being around two metres. He had bare feet, with low flowing robes closed by a rope tied around his waist. His hands were pressed together at chest height as if praying and his shaved head was bowed with eyes closed.
“What do we do now? There’s no blue emerald here that I can see.” Rosie asked, examining the statue from all angles.
“Don’t know, that
nutty woman didn’t say.” David replied referring to the curator. “She did tell us to the bring the book though, maybe that will tell us something.”
Rosie pulled it out, then dropped the bag to the ground and sat on it. She went to the contents page and read down the list until she came to the chapter on the Rear Garden. She started to read:
The Rear Gardens are situated at the rear of the Gregson Manor…
“Whoever wrote this really spells things out don’t they? Does it mention that the grass is green and the trees point upwards in a tree like fashion?” David asked sarcastically. “It’s like it’s written by a moron, for morons.”
“What? The wording, it’s changing!” Rosie exclaimed. “Listen to this.”
The Rear Gardens, situated at the rear of the Gregson Manor was where David Gregson tripped on the root of a maple tree. Rather than get up, he cried for his mommy to kiss it better. He was eight.
“Looks like the book doesn’t like you much,” observed Jack.
“That never happened! Hang on are you saying that this book not only changes what’s written in it, it can get annoyed at people too?”
“Amazing. Anyway, here I found it.” Rosie continued.
The blue emerald was procured and placed in the rear gardens by Charles Gregson (whom you three call the Monk). It is imbued with the power to seal the portal from unwanted visitors.
“Portal? Do you think it means the door?” Jack asked.
“It would have to,” said David excitedly.
With the emerald placed around the neck of Charles, no one can leave or enter through the Gregson Manor Portal.
Rosie looked up from the book, and stared at the statue saying, “I’ve never noticed a necklace on the statue before and he’s not wearing one now. What do you think it means?”
“It must have been stolen, it’s not anywhere I can see.” David said.
Jack held the ring from the Attic in his hands, while he looked around the grounds. He’d lived here his whole life and had never seen an emerald so he knew it must be hidden. He also knew he would have to put the ring on to search the surrounds, but the memory of the black statue was still fresh in his mind, the fear of seeing it again holding him back. He wondered if the statue and mist had been an illusion that could hurt them. Or worse, was what they saw right now the illusion, and they were really standing amongst the decaying remains of the Rear Garden?
