The Unseen World of Poppy Malone: A Gaggle of Goblins

by Suzanne Harper

  “You sound like Dad.” Will yawned.

  “I do not!” Poppy kicked his ankle, a little harder than she meant to.

  “Ow.” He opened one eye, squinted disapprovingly at her, then closed it again. “Exactly like Dad,” he murmured sleepily to himself.

  “Don’t be ridiculous—”

  “Will’s right,” said Franny. “Every time we’re on a case and Dad’s gotten to the part of the investigation where he’s ready to reveal his Theory of What’s Really Going On If Only We Could See the Truth, that’s what he says. ‘Please try to keep an open mind.’” She rolled her eyes. “And then if you try to tell him what’s wrong with his theory, he always says, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’”

  Franny pulled the elastic band out of her hair and redid her ponytail, her head tilted at the perfect angle in order to look through the doorway to where Oliver Asquith was sitting at his ease in a lawn chair, a tall glass of iced tea in one hand and a paperback mystery in the other.

  “He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” Franny sighed. “And smart and adventurous and brave—”

  “And a good eater,” Will added. “Don’t forget to add that to the list.”

  “I don’t know why you have to be so sarcastic all the time,” said Franny. “After all he’s been through, he needs to get his strength back—”

  “He must have the strength of three people by now,” Will pointed out. “Considering how much he ate at breakfast.”

  Poppy waved her hand to get their attention. “Excuse me? We’re drifting,” she said. “We were talking about Rolly.”

  “Oh, right.” Reluctantly, Will opened his eyes and sat up. “So you’re saying that a goblin took Rolly and then another goblin who looks exactly like him took his place. A—what did you call it?”

  “A changeling. A goblin who replaces a human child and is raised by the unwitting human parents—”

  “Lucille, come quick!” Mr. Malone’s shout interrupted her. “I just felt an incredibly strong energy surge! I may have located the central vortex!”

  Mr. Malone zigzagged into view, his outstretched dowsing rod quivering in his hands. He looked as if he were being pulled across the lawn by an enormous invisible dog.

  “Unwitting is right,” said Will. “I bet it turns out we’re adopted.”

  “I’m sorry, dear, I’m in the middle of something important,” Mrs. Malone called back from an open second-story window. She held up a small cloth bundle. “I’ve got the garlic all ready, Oliver!”

  Professor Asquith looked up from his novel and raised his glass in salute. “Intrepid woman!” he said. “I wish I’d had you at my side during that nasty business in Slovakia!”

  “Too bad it wasn’t nastier,” Mr. Malone muttered, casting a dark look at their guest. “Too bad you aren’t still in Slovakia. . . .” All the energy seemed to have drained out of his ley line. He wandered listlessly toward the corner of the house and then out of sight.

  “I made twenty-three bundles with three cloves each,” Mrs. Malone called out. “That’s enough to hang over every window and door in the house—”

  “Don’t forget the chimney,” Oliver reminded her as he languidly turned a page of his novel. “Vampires will use any opening to get inside, you know. They count on people forgetting about the chimneys.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” Mrs. Malone was hanging halfway out the window as she tried to nail the garlic bundle to the frame over her head. “Let me know when it’s centered.”

  “A little more to the left, I think,” Oliver called back. “No, no, that’s too far. Try an inch or so to the right. . . .”

  “I can’t believe we’re going to have to live in a house that reeks of garlic,” said Franny. “I’m going to have to take three showers a day just to make sure I don’t smell like a pizza.”

  At that moment, Rolly came out the back door, carrying a soccer ball. His shirt and shorts looked as clean and fresh as when he’d put them on in the morning. His hair was neatly combed and his face was scrubbed pink.

  “See what I mean?” Poppy asked. “That doesn’t look at all like Rolly.”

  She could feel her sister and brother exchange a look behind her back.

  “Actually,” said Franny carefully, “he looks exactly like Rolly.”

  “Only cleaner,” Will added. “And less diabolical.”

  “That’s my point!” Poppy said between gritted teeth. “That’s what I’ve been saying. Last night he put his dirty clothes in the hamper, picked up his toys, spent an hour drawing pictures with colored markers and never once wrote on the wall—”

  Franny tilted her head to one side, considering this. “He has been really good lately.”

  “Lately, as in for the last twenty-four hours,” Poppy said, pressing her point. “After he got lost in the woods.” She could tell from Will’s and Franny’s faces that they were almost convinced. She sat up a little straighter and said, “That’s when I think the exchange was made.”

  Franny raised an eyebrow. Will pressed his lips together. Poppy knew that she’d lost them.

  “Maybe he’s finally growing up,” Franny suggested. “Stranger things have happened.”

  “I saw the goblin,” Poppy said. “I talked to it. I took photos—”

  “Yeah, and what happened to them?” Will asked. “Let me guess. The goblins destroyed them.”

  “They did!”

  Will shook his head. “Come on. No one will buy that story.”

  Poppy slumped down, her elbows on her knees. “Forget it,” she said.

  “Listen, Poppy,” said Franny. “If you’re so sure that Rolly has been stolen by goblins, why haven’t you told Mom and Dad?”

  Just at that moment, Mr. Malone came back around the house and began circling Oliver Asquith’s lawn chair with his dowsing rod.

  “I hope your ankle is feeling better,” he said.

  “Much better, thank you,” said Oliver Asquith.

  “Perhaps you’d like to try your hand with one of the dowsing rods you sent us? We’ve really just scratched the surface—”

  “I wish I could,” said Oliver Asquith, “but I fear I might throw out my back. I felt a definite twinge this morning when I got up, and I know from experience that one can’t be too careful—”

  “How does this look?” Mrs. Malone had finally managed to nail a garlic bundle to the center of the windowframe. She beamed down at Professor Asquith, her face scarlet and her hair straggling across her cheeks in damp strands. “All we have to do is finish off the rest of the windows, scatter some salt on the porch, and nail iron horseshoes on the doors, and we’ll be ready for anything!” She spotted Mr. Malone for the first time. “Oh, there you are, Emerson. I wondered where you had disappeared to.”

  Mr. Malone stiffened. “You might just possibly be interested in knowing that I think I’ve detected a slight but definite energy flux warp by the oleander bushes.” Even from a distance, it was clear he was gritting his teeth. “I know fluctuations in the space-time continuum aren’t quite as newsworthy as vampires, but perhaps I can get a small mention in an academic journal somewhere. . . .”

  Poppy turned back to her sister and brother. “Do you think I should talk to them before the vampire attack or wait until after Dad finds the energy vortex?”

  Franny and Will looked at their parents, then at each other, then at Poppy.

  “Okay,” said Will. “I still think you’re nuts, but if it will make you feel better to go goblin hunting, I’m in.”

  Poppy nodded her thanks, then looked at Franny.

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to let the two of you go off and leave me behind to hang garlic with Mom,” she said. “I’m not an idiot, for heaven’s sake.”

  That evening, as the supper dishes were being cleared from the table, Mrs. Malone announced that Rolly had to go to bed early.

  “We don’t know what tonight will bring,” she said. “I want you to be tucked in, safe and sound. Now don’t argue with me, Rolly. I sim
ply can’t be worrying about you and Moldavian vampires—”

  “I’ll be glad to go to bed early, Mother.” He gave her a sunny smile. “I understand that you have to concentrate on your work. And I am”—he yawned hugely—“I am rather tired.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Malone seemed both pleased and somewhat taken aback by this. “Well, good. Let’s get your bath ready, then.” She gazed vaguely around the room. “Now, whose turn is it to do the dishes?”

  Mr. Malone stood up, his chair scraping across the floor, and headed for the door. “I think I’d better check the outside of the house one more time before night falls,” he said hastily. “Just to make sure there aren’t any unprotected spots where a vampire could slip through. . . .”

  “I do know a bit about setting up perimeter defenses, Emerson,” Oliver Asquith said, following Mr. Emerson out the door. “It was the only thing that saved me from Cihuateteo three years ago, when I went to Mexico to research Aztec legends of the undead—”

  As the door closed behind them, Franny slipped out the room, murmuring something about how it couldn’t possibly be her turn to clear the table since she had been forced to do the breakfast dishes that very morning, and Poppy and Will were left alone.

  “See what I mean?” Poppy asked. “When did Rolly ever talk like that?”

  Will shrugged, staring glumly at the table of dirty dishes. “He is acting weird,” he admitted. “But Rolly always acts weird. Maybe this is just a different kind of weird.”

  “Come on,” said Poppy, deciding not to argue. “Let’s hurry up and do the dishes so we can get ready. I’ve still got to pack my backpack and we’re going to have to find the perfect moment to sneak away. . . .”

  But Will stayed seated as she stacked up several plates and carried them to the sink.

  “How interesting,” he whispered, pressing his fingers to his forehead and closing his eyes. “I seem to be getting another vision—hey!”

  His eyes popped open in time to see Poppy at the sink. She was pointing the rinsing sprayer at his face and grinning.

  “Don’t even try it,” she warned.

  ***

  Poppy slipped down the hall and quietly opened the door to Rolly’s room. Although it was still light outside, the curtains had been drawn, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. When they did, she saw that the bedcovers had been turned back, but Rolly wasn’t asleep or in bed. Instead, he was curled up on the windowseat with a book in his lap.

  Even from the doorway, she recognized it. He was reading her book on the little people. He must have snuck into her room to take it.

  She was ready to stride across the room and snatch it from his hands. In fact, she had even taken two furious steps when a tiny sound stopped her in her tracks.

  It was the sound of a sniffle.

  Poppy tiptoed closer. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  He hastily wiped his face with his sleeve. “I’m fine.”

  She sat down on his bed. “Look,” she began. “I know you’re not Rolly. So who are you, really?”

  “I’m not really,” he said, giggling. “I’m Rolly.”

  Poppy felt a chill run down her spine. Rolly had come into the world scowling and had set about developing a remarkably somber personality. It was completely unlike him to make a joke, even a weak one. And he never, ever giggled.

  “You know what I mean!” she pressed on. “Where did you come from?”

  He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “Before you were here, in this house,” said Poppy. “You were somewhere else, right? That other place, the place where you were before you came here, we want to know where that place was.”

  Rolly’s beady black eyes gazed steadily at her. “I have always been here,” he said simply.

  He looks just like Rolly, she seemed to hear Will and Franny say. He acts just like Rolly. . . .

  “I’ve always lived here with you and Franny and Will and Mother and Father—”

  Poppy raised her eyebrows. “Mother and Father?”

  He looked suddenly wary. “Yes. I mean—” He bit his lip. Poppy could practically see him mentally replaying what he had just said and searching his memory for the right words.

  Then his face relaxed and, with a note of relief in his voice, he said, “Mom and Dad.” He nodded to himself. “I’ve always lived here with you and Franny and Will and Mom and Dad.”

  “Look.” Poppy sat cross-legged on the floor so that she was face-to-face with him. “You’re not going to get in trouble. I just want you to tell the truth, that’s all.”

  An amused, almost sly look crossed the changeling’s face. For a split second, he looked not like a little boy at all, but like an ancient member of an alien race.

  Then his expression shifted again to one of baffled innocence. “I am telling you the truth,” he insisted.

  Poppy hesitated. More than anything else, his stubborn refusal to break under interrogation came close to convincing her that this was actually Rolly. A memory flashed into her mind of her father giving Rolly a jaundiced look and saying, “I almost look forward to seeing That Boy on the witness stand some day. He’ll make mincemeat of the best prosecutor the legal system can throw at him.”

  Then her gaze fell on the book, which was open to the illustration of a goblin. The goblin wore a long dress and a kerchief over her hair, and was stirring a pot of stew over a fire. She didn’t seem motherly, exactly—her eyes were too sharp and her fingernails too long and pointed—but Poppy had seen the changeling’s chin tremble when he stared at the picture.

  “Is that your mother?” she asked gently.

  “No,” he said, slamming the book shut.

  “You must miss her,” persisted Poppy. “You must wish that you could see her again. . . .”

  He set his chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you wish you could see her again?”

  He blinked, as if trying not to cry.

  “Don’t you want to go home?”

  She saw a shadow of some feeling, something like homesickness, pass over his face. He turned to stare out the dark window.

  “Home?” he asked in a wavering voice.

  Poppy held her breath. She felt that she was just about to break through. All he needed was a little push. . . .

  Then an enormous moth, as pale as a ghost, crashed into the window. The changeling jerked back in surprise, and the spell was broken.

  He turned away from the moonlit night and looked calmly into her eyes.

  “I am home, Poppy,” he said. “And I’m never going to leave.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I don’t know why we have to traipse through the woods in this sweltering heat,” Franny complained, swatting at a bug that was merrily circling her head and making occasional daring dives toward her nose. “Why can’t we wait until it cools off a little?”

  “Because that won’t happen until October,” Poppy snapped. “And waiting four months to start an investigation probably isn’t the best way to solve a kidnapping.”

  “You don’t have to be so sarcastic,” said Franny. “I was just asking.”

  Poppy bit her tongue. The last thing she wanted to do was start an argument, which was exactly what would happen if she said what was on her mind. There were three things making her cranky. First, she was just as hot, sweaty, and thirsty as Will and Franny; in fact, she was probably even hotter, sweatier, and thirstier because she happened to be the only member of this expedition carrying a backpack. That led to the second reason she was cranky: despite her best efforts, she had not been able to convince Will and Franny to carry their fair share of the emergency supplies she had collected.

  “We’re going for a walk,” Franny had said. “And it’s still light out, for heaven’s sake. Nothing dangerous is going to happen.”

  “That’s what people always say,” Poppy had pointed out. “Right before something dangerous happens. Then they wish they h
ad some equipment. Then they wish they had thought ahead.”

  “Look, I can understand carrying a water bottle,” Will had said, peering into her backpack. “But you’ve got three flashlights, a box of matches and a lighter, sweaters, gloves, long-sleeved shirts, six light sticks, a first-aid kit, a nightscope, extra socks, a bandanna, a rope, candles, and—hey!” He pulled an energy bar out of a side pocket. “Chocolate chip!”

  She had snatched it back. “These are emergency supplies. Which means that we use them only in the case of an emergency. Like when we’re lost in a dark woods with nothing else standing between us and a slow death from starvation.”

  “So dramatic,” murmured Franny (which was, Poppy thought, a fine example of the pot calling the kettle black).

  “We have to be ready for anything,” said Poppy. “We have to be prepared.”

  “Fine,” Franny snapped. “So we’re ready for anything—so what? Even if goblins do exist, how do you know where to look for them?”

  “I have a hunch,” Poppy said shortly, scratching her elbow.

  “A hunch!” Will said. “You’re getting to be as bad as Mom and Dad. Next thing you know, you’ll be having some of those strange tingly feelings that mean that something uncanny is approaching. Whatever happened to evidence? Whatever happened to logic and reason and the principles of scientific inquiry? Whatever happened to—”

  “You can go home if you want,” Poppy snapped. She plowed through a particularly prickly section of bushes, then wished she hadn’t. “Ow.”

  She stopped and pushed damp hair off her forehead. They had almost reached the clearing where they had found Rolly. If a switch had taken place, she thought, it must have been there. . . .

  “I think we’re just wasting our time,” said Franny. “All because you have a hunch.”

  “Would you rather be back at the house, hanging cloves of garlic?” Poppy asked impatiently. “Or setting up more infrared cameras to take pictures of the Dark Presence?”