As Mr. Malone and Oliver Asquith disappeared into Mr. Malone’s study, muttering to each other, Poppy slipped out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room, eager to record all that had happened in her logbook.
First, though, she opened the door to Rolly’s bedroom and peeked inside.
The bed was neatly made. The toys were in the toy chest, the clothes picked up off the floor. Other than that, there was no sign that a goblin child had ever lived there.
Poppy was surprised to realize that she would, in some way, miss the changeling. He could never replace Rolly, of course, but he had been rather sweet, not to mention quiet, polite, and remarkably tidy. Not really very goblinlike at all, really. . . .
Then she spotted the tiny footprints on the floor. There were two sets—apparently made with red paint. The footprints circled the bed, splotched a chair cushion, smeared the windowsill, and then ran across the porch roof.
Poppy sighed. She would have to clean this mess up before anyone else saw it. Vampires were bad enough, but she shuddered at the thought of her parents’ reaction if they realized they could investigate actual goblins. And as for Oliver Asquith! They’d never get rid of him if he got wind of this—
“Oh no!”
Poppy jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice, then turned to see Mrs. Malone and Rolly standing in the hall behind her.
“Honestly, Rolly, this is the last straw!” said Mrs. Malone, glaring at the footprints marching jauntily across the room. “I haven’t had a wink of sleep, I’ve spent hours listening to your father and Oliver arguing about the silliest things, and I absolutely reek of garlic. And now this! Rolly, what were you thinking?”
Rolly’s black eyebrows drew together. His lower lip jutted out. “But I didn’t—”
“Do it,” snapped Mrs. Malone. “Of course you didn’t. You never do anything, Rolly, and yet disaster seems to follow you wherever you go—”
“But I wasn’t me! It was Glitch!” Rolly’s face darkened. “And that Blot!”
His mother wasn’t listening. She had walked over to the bed, where she stood staring bleakly at the floor. “That rug will probably have to be dry cleaned. I’m sorry, but this time I think you need a time out.”
Rolly’s face looked even stormier.
“But I wasn’t even HERE!” he yelled. “I was in a CAVE! With GOB—”
“Please don’t shout, dear,” Mrs. Malone said, pressing a hand to her forehead. “The aspirin hasn’t started working yet. Now I’m going downstairs to get some cleaning supplies. I suggest you sit quietly on your bed—quietly, Rolly!—and think about what you’ve done.”
As Mrs. Malone headed toward the door, Poppy saw Rolly climb onto his bed and stand there, his hands on his hips, his dark eyes snapping with fury. “This is not my fault!” he cried. “I keep trying to tell you about the weird stuff happening in this house and you won’t even listen to me!”
Mrs. Malone stopped midstride and stood absolutely still. Her eyes met Poppy’s. “Of course!” she whispered. “I should have thought of this in the first place. Small children are extraordinarily sensitive to otherworldly vibrations.”
She turned around slowly, as if trying not to startle Rolly, and peered intently into his small, fierce eyes. “I’m listening now, Rolly,” she said in a low, soothing voice. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”
Rolly smirked triumphantly and opened his mouth to answer. For a fleeting moment, Poppy thought of diving across the room and tackling him, but she immediately dismissed the idea as ridiculous. The bed was too far away. Rolly was too experienced at avoiding body tackles. And it was too late, anyway. The secret was out. . . .
“I saw a goblin,” Rolly began. “His name is Glitch. He’s little and has beady eyes and lots of pointy teeth—”
“I knew it!” Mrs. Malone exclaimed with delight. “I knew I was right!”
Poppy’s heart sank. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” she said weakly. “Maybe Rolly just saw a shadow or something and imagined that it was a goblin—”
“I can’t wait to tell your father,” her mother went on, ignoring her. “I knew there was a Dark Presence in this house!”
Poppy’s mouth dropped open. She glanced at Rolly, who looked as baffled as she felt. “But Rolly said—”
“That he saw a goblin, I know,” said Mrs. Malone with a wave of her hand. “But clearly, what he actually saw was an unhappy spirit that chose to appear to him in a way that he would understand. And young children are most familiar with fairy tales, which, of course, are often populated with goblins.” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful news!”
She hugged Rolly and even kissed him on the forehead before he managed to squirm free. “No time out, my dear. Now I must go and tell your father—he will be so pleased!”
She rushed out of the room and was gone.
Rolly dropped to his knees, bounced once on the bed, then flung himself back on the mattress. “It’s not fair,” he said to the ceiling. “No one ever believes me. No one ever listens to me. And when anything goes wrong, everyone always says it’s my fault.”
“Look on the bright side,” Poppy said, yawning. “From now on, you can always just blame the Dark Presence.”
“Mm.” Rolly gave this a few seconds of serious consideration before the corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “That’s actually a very good idea, Poppy. Thank you.”
For a moment, he sounded so much like Blot that Poppy felt a shiver of unease. “Um, well, you’re welcome, Rolly, but I wasn’t serious about that—”
He turned his head far enough to give her the blank stare that meant that his mind was far away, busily concocting some new plot. “Oh, that’s okay,” he said vaguely. “I was.”
Poppy saw the corner of his mouth lift in a tiny smile. She hesitated, wondering if she should ask what, exactly, he was planning to pin on the Dark Presence . . . then decided that she was too tired.
I’ll wait to find out with the rest of the family, she thought, blinking sleepily as she headed down the hall to her bedroom. I just hope this time there won’t be sirens.
When Poppy opened her door, she stared longingly at her bed. It looked so inviting, with its fluffy pillows and comfortable quilt and soft mattress. . . .
Then she blinked several times, opened her eyes extra-wide, and pinched herself for good measure before sitting cross-legged on the hard wooden floor.
The only way to maintain a clear and accurate scientific record, she reminded herself firmly, was to take notes while one’s observations were still fresh.
She flipped open her notebook. There would be plenty of time for sleeping later.
She pulled a pencil out of her pocket. I’ll just jot down a few notes to get my thoughts on paper. Then I’ll let myself take a nice, long nap. . . .
Ten minutes later, Poppy was still staring at the blank page, chewing on the end of her pencil, and wondering where to begin.
The problem wasn’t being tired or sleepy. The problem was much simpler than that: She was afraid. Afraid that if she wrote it all down—that she had seen goblins, talked to them, outwitted them, even—if she put it on paper, people might find out. Then she’d never fit in, never have friends, never be normal. . . .
Maybe I’ve inherited some kind of weird gene from Mom and Dad, she thought gloomily. Maybe I’m doomed to spend my life searching for UFOs and lake monsters and things that go bump in the night.
She slapped the notebook closed. No, she thought. Moving hundreds of miles to a new town had given her a chance to start over, and she planned to make the most of it.
I’ll just keep quiet, she thought. No one has to know about the goblins. No one has to know anything.
But almost as soon as the idea came to her, she dismissed it, a brief feeling of giddy relief vanishing like snow in August.
For better or worse, Poppy was a scientist. She had to write the truth, even if it meant that people laughed at her. Even if it meant s
he was unpopular. Even if—
I will record everything that happened, she thought, because that’s what a true scientist would do. I’ll just make sure that no one ever reads it.
Carefully, Poppy wrote a warning on the notebook cover. She made each letter big and bold, then darkened it with her pencil to make sure there was no doubt about what it said.
“Do not open for one hundred years,” she wrote. “At that time, the contents may be published, if it is deemed by the authorities that they will not lead to mass hysteria and public unrest. Until then, the knowledge contained in this book must remain Top Secret and Classified.”
She read that over a few times to make sure it struck the right note of danger. Then, with a flourish, she added one more line:
“By Order of the Author, Poppy Malone.”
Satisfied, she opened the notebook and began writing.
“I’m not the kind of girl who sees goblins,” she wrote. “If it had been anyone else in my family, it would have made a lot more sense. But they didn’t go into the attic on that hot June afternoon. I did, and that made all the difference. . . .”
About the Author
Suzanne Harper grew up in Texas and lives in New York City. You can visit her online at www.suzanneharper.com.
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Credits
Jacket art © 2011 by Peter Bay Alexandersen
Jacket design by Paul Zakris
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Harper, Suzanne.
A gaggle of goblins / by Suzanne Harper.
p. cm. — (The unseen world of Poppy Malone)
“Greenwillow Books.”
Summary: Nine-year-old Poppy’s parents are paranormal investigators who have never actually found anything, but that may change when they move to Austin, Texas, and Poppy meets a goblin in the attic of their new house.
ISBN 978-0-06-199607-8 (trade bdg.)
[1. Goblins—Fiction. 2. Family life—Texas—Fiction. 3. Austin (Tex.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H23197Gag 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010025558
11 12 13 14 15 LP/RRDB 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
EPub Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780062101747
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The Unseen World of Poppy Malone: A Gaggle of Goblins Page 16
