by Mikki Lish
“Milk, please, Hedy,” Grandpa John said with a smile.
Hedy turned to open the fridge and froze. Yesterday the letters had said WELCOME TO OUR HOME. Now they said FIND ME.
“Grandpa,” Hedy asked softly, “did you make this message?”
Grandpa John placed some plates on the table and came to Hedy’s side. “Spencer, was this you?” he asked, frowning.
Spencer shook his head.
Grandpa John scattered the letters to break up the message and yanked open the fridge door to get the butter. “It was only me being silly. A bad joke.”
Knowing when someone was fibbing was a skill Hedy had, a combination of listening and watching people’s faces and how they moved their bodies. If someone didn’t meet her gaze as usual, their hands fidgeted, their shoulders looked a bit stiff, and their voice sounded a little tight, the bloodhound in Hedy became alert. And right now, that bloodhound was sitting up very straight with its nose pointed at Grandpa John. He wasn’t telling the truth.
After breakfast, Grandpa John gave the children some money and asked them to walk down into the village. “I’m sure you’d like to get out of the house for a bit,” he said, holding out their jackets. “And we need some cookies. Your cousins are coming for morning tea.”
The streets of the village were quiet. Small mounds of snow heaped prettily against fences (inviting Spencer to kick them), and long ropes of Christmas fir decorated with cherry-red ribbon and golden bells were strung between lampposts. Every house had a Christmas ornament of some sort—a frosted wreath on the front door, or a sign asking for Santa to stop by. Grandpa John’s house was the only one not decorated, Hedy thought, looking back at it on the crest of the hill.
When they were a safe distance away, she tapped Spencer on the shoulder. “Last night, when you were asleep, something weird happened.”
“What? That thing in the floor again?”
Hedy shook her head. “I went back to that bedroom to put the picture away. It’s Grandma Rose in the picture, you know.”
Spencer tried to hold back a shiver. “That room scares me.”
“It’s not that bad. Except what happened at the end. I was looking at this photo frame. It had a picture of Mom as a baby, with Grandpa John and Grandma. And then …” Hedy stopped to look around. No one was nearby. “Words just appeared in the dust. Like an invisible person was there, writing in the dust with their finger.”
Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “What did it say?”
“ ‘Find me.’ ”
“That’s what it said on the fridge!”
“I know.”
“Find who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find them how?”
“I don’t know. That was all it said. After that I ran back to the bedroom.”
Spencer glanced back up the hill toward the house. “We should tell Grandpa.”
“No, not yet. We weren’t supposed to be in that room, remember?”
“You went in there first, not me!”
“Well, you’re my accomplice.”
Spencer frowned. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means you helped me,” Hedy said. “I’m sure Grandpa wasn’t telling the truth when he said he did the message on the fridge. I don’t think we can talk to him about this yet.”
“But why would Grandpa lie about it?”
“I don’t know that yet either, Spence. Don’t say anything. Promise.”
“Can we tell Mom and Dad?”
Hedy clenched her teeth. So many questions! “Not unless you really do want to lose one of those fingers!”
Spencer glared at Hedy, then turned his back on her and stomped along the footpath toward the shops. Hedy took a breath, feeling bad for losing her temper. Why couldn’t he trust that she was trying to keep them from getting into trouble? She caught up to him before the end of the street and fell into step.
“Spence, don’t worry, I’ll look after you. Promise.”
Spencer glanced at her worriedly. “But what if I can’t look after you?”
Hedy just patted his head, which was encased in Dad’s oversized aviator hat. She didn’t have an answer.
At the center of Marberry’s Rest was Sutton’s General Store. Its front window gleamed in the cold air, dressed with Christmas decorations and a wooden Nativity scene with real straw in the little manger. Hedy and Spencer pushed on the door, and a bell jingled to announce their arrival. The shop smelled wonderful inside: gingersnap cookies, hot chocolate, and maybe some kind of freshly baked pie.
Behind the counter sat a rosy-cheeked woman who was knitting. Her body was trussed in a red-and-green apron, from which dangled all kinds of mismatched brooches.
“She looks like a Christmas tree,” whispered Spencer.
The woman put down her knitting and smiled at them. Hedy could tell the smile was genuine, but she could also tell that the woman would start firing questions at them like a cannon any second now.
“Good morning!” said the woman.
“Hello,” both children replied. Hedy started edging toward the large fridge at the back of the shop.
“Can I help you with anything?” asked the woman.
“We’re buying some milk and cookies,” said Spencer.
“You’ll find milk in the fridge at the back,” she said just as Hedy reached the fridge door, “and fresh shortbread is up here with me. Delivered this morning, it was.”
“Thank you,” said Spencer, peering at the pieces of golden shortbread shaped like Christmas trees and stars and snowmen. His stomach gave a pleading rumble. “Do you sell Polaroid film?”
The woman squeezed one eye closed, as though using it to read a list of goods and locations inside her head. With a victorious “Aha!” she ambled from behind the counter, down the central aisle. Three cats followed her, weaving their way through her legs.
At the door, the bell tinkled, and another older woman walked in. “Hello, Melanie!”
“Hello, Lisa dear! Be there in a moment!” the shopkeeper called back before continuing in a lower voice, “Polaroid film, eh? No one’s asked for that since three winters ago.” At the end of the aisle, the shopkeeper moved a small ladder to the spot she wanted and heaved her large frame up the rungs. “That was the year Mr. Godfrey’s toupee was snatched clean off his head by a big bird and turned into a nest in Mrs. List’s yard.” She pulled two boxes of film from the top shelf and blew a cloud of dust from them. “Are you … passing through with your family?”
“We’re staying here with our grandpa for Christmas,” Spencer said.
The woman’s face creased into happy understanding. “Ah! You must be Mr. Sang’s grandchildren! Am I right?”
Spencer nodded.
“Well, it is very nice to have you visiting. I’m Mrs. Sutton. It’s Spencer and Hattie, isn’t it?”
“Hedy,” said Spencer. “H-e-d-y.”
Mrs. Sutton nodded. “I see, of course. Hedy. Just like the actress—or actress and inventor, I should say. Wonderful, wonderful. Yes, Peter mentioned you would be staying a few months ago.”
“Do you know our uncle Peter?” asked Spencer, surprised.
“Oh yes, I know just about everyone in this village. Peter’s a lark, isn’t he? He used to visit Marberry’s Rest quite a bit, before …” Her face clouded as she turned some ancient misfortune over in her mind. “Although not so much these days. But that’s by the by. I used to know your mother too, when she was a small girl. I haven’t seen her in years. How nice for Mr. Sang to have you to stay. Liven the place up, won’t you! Now, I’ll just go help Lisa over there, and you two look around if you like.”
There wasn’t much to look at, as the shop was not very big. Hedy and Spencer drifted between the neatly stocked shelves, and they couldn’t help overhearing snippets of hushed conversation between Mrs. Sutton and her customer.
“… John Sang’s grandchildren …”
“… they never did find her …”
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“… must have run off …”
“… don’t like to think of the alternative … why I keep my distance …”
“… you know, he rarely has visitors …”
“… heard he was disliked by other magicians … rather full of himself …”
The children wandered back to the front of the shop, knowing they were the topic of conversation. The two women, their heads huddled close together, coughed and sprang apart abruptly.
“And how do you like it at your grandfather’s?” Mrs. Sutton asked with a caught-out smile.
Hedy and Spencer glanced at each other, not knowing what to say, what with the ghost and the weird things in the floor and their grandfather’s peculiar moods.
“We only got here yesterday,” said Hedy cautiously.
The other customer, Lisa, peered at the children with intense curiosity. “Doesn’t the house spook you? ‘The mysterious house on Hoarder Hill,’ it’s sometimes called round here.” Her mouth pursed in disapproval.
“Well—” Spencer began before Hedy interrupted.
“Can we have fourteen of the shortbread trees, please?”
Mrs. Sutton packed the cookies into a cardboard tray and slipped in a couple of slices of Christmas cake. “Don’t listen to everything people say around here,” she said. “And tell your grandfather that Mrs. Sutton said to put in his order for the Christmas puddings today. He must buy a tree this year too. Can’t have Christmas with children in the house and no tree! No sense in being gloomy every year.”
Hedy and Spencer got back to the house half a minute before Uncle Peter’s car pulled up. An extraordinary clamor emerged from the car as its doors were opened and slammed.
“My word, isn’t this good timing!” called Uncle Peter. “Here are your cousins, as promised. Angelica and Max.”
There was no doubting the girl and the boy were siblings; they both had the same large brown eyes, wildly curly black hair, and round noses. The eldest, Angelica, bounced toward Hedy and slipped an arm easily through hers, peering into the paper bag that Hedy held. “Gingerbread from Mrs. Sutton’s?” she asked.
For a moment, Hedy was taken aback. She and Angelica had been babies when they’d last met, so were practically strangers. But Angelica’s wide smile was so friendly that Hedy found herself smiling back. “Um, yeah. I mean, they’re shortbreads actually.”
Max, who looked around six years old, yelled “Hello!” and raced around the yard, jumping over tree stumps and puddles. He looked like he’d gotten dressed out of the costume box: On his head was a black top hat, a light black cape streamed from his shoulders, and a tiger tail drooped from his waist.
Angelica led Hedy up the garden path toward the front door. “On my life, you have got to try the gingerbread. They’re crazy good,” she said. Hedy couldn’t help staring at her cousin. Two twisted horns of hair poked up from her head, polka-dot red wool stockings emerged from below her purple wool coat, and yellow wellington boots crunched along the snowy path. “I can’t believe we haven’t seen each other in all these years,” Angelica continued. “It’s basically forever. Actually, I know why it’s been so long.”
“Oh. Um, why?” Hedy was having trouble keeping up with the sudden swerves in Angelica’s chatter.
“Your grandpa doesn’t like to have us over because he thinks we’re nosy.” Her grin grew. “But that’s okay. I am nosy. Anyway, call me Jelly. I’m so sick of people calling me Angie. Do you have a nickname?”
“Not really,” Hedy said, disappointed.
“Don’t worry,” Jelly assured her. “I’ll think of one.” She reached into the bag of food and pulled out a slice of Christmas cake. Breaking it in the middle, she handed one half to Hedy and began to munch on the other. Hedy smiled and took a bite herself. At the front door, Jelly raised her hand to the doorbell. “Have you got a key or shall I ‘bell the ring’?”
But before she could press it, Grandpa John opened the front door. “I thought I could hear imps approaching,” he half grumbled, but a small smile played around his lips as he stood aside to let everyone in.
“Hi, Uncle John!” Jelly cried, giving him a brief hug.
Max followed Spencer up the path, and Hedy noticed an expression of awe on the little boy’s face as he said hello to Grandpa John. A fan of magic, Hedy guessed. She placed the bag of cookies and milk on the hall table, then started to take off her coat and scarf.
“No!” Jelly snatched the bag off the table.
“Why? What?”
“I’ve got so much to warn you about,” Jelly said in a strangled whisper. “But let’s wait until everyone goes in.”
“What’s in there?” Spencer asked Max, pointing to a glass jar tucked in the crook of Max’s elbow.
Jelly groaned with embarrassment as Max proudly held up a small, glistening ball of snot on his finger. Then he stuck the snot inside the rim of his glass jar.
“That’s disgusting!” said Spencer, looking both horrified and fascinated.
“Why in the world aren’t you using a tissue?” demanded Grandpa John.
“I’m doing an experiment!” Max replied.
“Well, you’re not bringing that jar a step farther into this house,” Grandpa John said. “And you wash your hands before you come through to the kitchen. The bathroom is there.” He muttered to himself as he took the cookies and milk from Jelly and stalked away, followed by Spencer and Uncle Peter.
Jelly pulled Max back by his tiger tail before he could follow them. “The most important thing,” she said to Hedy, “is never ever leave anything on this table.” She pointed to the hall table and then made a triangle out of her thumbs and index fingers. “I call it the Bermuda Triangle. You leave stuff on it, and …” She whipped her fingers apart. “Poof! Gone!”
“What happens? Where does it go?”
“I don’t know. But we’ve visited here three times, and something’s gone missing every time. Just … vanished, in a split second when you’re not looking.”
Hedy stared at her cousin.
“You don’t believe me,” Jelly guessed.
Yesterday’s Hedy would have agreed with her, but today’s Hedy was different. Hadn’t she thought things had been moved on this table? And hadn’t she been contacted by some sort of ghost in the night, seen strange movement in the floor, and been messaged by fridge magnets? “I might believe you.”
Jelly grinned. “Let’s do an experiment. Hey, Max,” she said to her little brother, “put your jar on the table.”
Max dutifully placed his glass jar where Jelly pointed, then stood back to look at it.
Hedy watched her younger cousin and his jar carefully. “Now what happens?” she asked Jelly.
“Now we have to not look at it.” Jelly gave Max a nudge toward the bathroom. “Go and wash your hands, bogey boy.”
She took Hedy’s hand and said, “Okay, walk and don’t turn until I say.” She counted as they walked down the hall. “One, two, three, four, five, TURN!”
Hedy spun around, and her jaw dropped open. “It’s gone!” She ran back to the table and checked all around. There was nothing on the floor, no sign of it anywhere.
“See what I told you? Bizarre, right?” Jelly’s eyes were alight.
“Where did it go?”
“Who knows?” Jelly said. “I reckon this house has magic in it.”
Relief flowed over Hedy. “I never thought magic was real,” she began, “but there’s something I need to show you—”
“Girls,” Grandpa John called, “unless you want to lose your shortbread to these gannets, you had better get in here quick.”
Jelly looked worried. “Come on,” she said, tugging Hedy’s hand, “tell me while we eat.” Over her shoulder, she called back to the table, “Enjoy the bogeys!”
They continued toward the kitchen. A moment later, something hard came hurtling out of nowhere and knocked Jelly on the back of the head.
“OW!” The girls spun around to behold the object on the
floor. It was the glass jar.
In the kitchen, Spencer was showing off a new top hat, just like the one Max wore.
“Look, Hedy!” Spencer exclaimed. “This is a present from Max and Uncle Peter, and so’s this!” He pointed to a box of tricks on the table, called “Marvelous Magic.”
“Where’s that jar of yours?” Grandpa John asked Max as he poured some tea.
“Out there. On the table,” Max said, pointing to the hall. “Jelly made me leave it there.”
Grandpa John looked at Jelly suspiciously. Hedy wondered if now was the time to tell Grandpa John about all the strange things that had been happening, and she took a breath to speak. Jelly, however, smiled innocently and said, “I didn’t make him do anything. He dropped it when he ran in here. The jar’s still out there on the floor.” She took a bite of her shortbread Christmas tree.
“Spencer,” Grandpa John was saying, “no hats at the table.”
“Goodness, John,” Uncle Peter scolded, “you can’t blame a boy for wanting to be like his grandfather.”
The grumpy look on Grandpa John’s face softened. He leaned over to take the hat from Spencer and said, “Well, you can put it on as soon as we’re done with tea. And when you put it on, you should do so with a magician’s style.”
The black top hat rolled the length of John’s fingers as though some kind of magnetism was holding it in place. He raised his arm up high, and it dropped onto his head perfectly. The boys clapped, and Grandpa John bowed his head once before placing the hat behind him on the bench with a sigh.
“Need a nap already, old man?” Uncle Peter teased.
Hedy saw the belligerence in her grandfather’s eyes as he dunked a cookie in his tea with more force than was necessary. While the boys pestered Grandpa John to teach them a trick, Jelly winked at Hedy and asked loudly, “Hedy, can you show me your room?”
Hedy quietly led her cousin to the room with the green door. Jelly gawked at stacks of old magician’s props until Hedy beckoned her to the small table with the photo frame and pointed to the message written in the heavy dust.
“ ‘Find me,’ ” Jelly read. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Did Uncle John write it?”