I have to be brave. I think of Grandpa Truegood. ‘Take your fear in your hands, Ziggy, and throw it away,’ he would say.
I concentrate hard, gathering up all the fluttery cold feelings that are running through me and toss them as far as I can. I wait until they slither away, then I poke my head out the window and look down. The screaming has softened to pitiful cries of pain. A musty odour wafts upwards. It’s as black as coal below me.
A flash of lightning floods the woods with a stark white light. I see a shape writhing on the ground. Then everything goes black again. Was it a fox? Surely not. It was far too big. But it looked like a cross between a wolf and a fox, with its silver fur and big bushy tail and yellow eyes.
The creature yanks and pulls at the chain and I feel the tree house rock again. Then I hear a snap and the jangle of the trap being dragged into the woods.
I wait until everything is quiet, then I climb down. There’s a lot of blood around the trunk of the tree and the smell sickens me.
I sit back on my haunches, trying to steady my thoughts. What am I going to do? I’ve trapped the beast, but now it’s run off. I can’t let it suffer. I have to go after it.
The beast has taken a trail that runs through a patch of open forest and up a slope to a stand of boulders called the Giant’s Marbles. At the top I look around for more blood and listen for the clinking of the trap or cries of pain. But the crickets are too loud. I keep walking. The woods rise and fall, and where the trees begin to thicken, the land tumbles down a stony slope to Fiddlers Stream.
I stop, hold my breath. I hear soft whimpering.
The air is filled with the copper smell of blood as the Hollow Tree looms in front of me. I hear the creature raging inside my special cave. I hear the clang of trap and chain, and feel my insides churning. Then it emerges, dragging the leg with the trap clamped around it.
It sways on its feet and slowly turns to face me. I wince as I feel the creature’s pain, and it’s like a fog has lifted from my head. My heart hurts.
What have I done?
It growls. I hold my breath and look around for a place to hide. Is it my time to die?
The beast is there. The water waits.
But it is not my birthday.
The beast lifts its head as if sensing something coming. And then I hear it too – there’s someone else in the woods!
Along the edge of the stream where the soil has been washed away, the roots of the Hollow Tree are exposed. If I can squeeze in between the roots, I’ll be out of sight. I move fast, dropping down the embankment, hoping the beast is too distracted to chase me. Huddled against the slope, the stream rushing past my feet, I hear twigs snap, leaves crunch, trees creak. And then, that sound, that call . . .
‘Kaaa li laaaa.’
A cold shiver quakes my body as I crouch amongst the tangled roots. The stream bubbles and gurgles beside me, the beast pants and whimpers as it drags the trap towards the voice. It is too cold and real to be a dream.
I want to peep over the edge, but I don’t dare.
Then a human voice comes from just above me. ‘Kalila . . . Kalila.’ The song is soft, comforting.
The creature lets out a purring sound like a cat, but deeper and throatier. Then the purring changes into a kind of cooing, broken by painful whimpering.
The person is speaking but I can’t quite catch the words. And those I can hear don’t sound like English – they’re too soft, too lyrical. It’s a young voice though, the voice of a boy.
Carefully, I raise my head.
Raffi is shining the beam of a flashlight over the creature’s wounded leg. What’s he doing here? What has he got to do with the beast in my dreams?
I can see the beast clearly now. It’s a fox, or similar to a fox, only twice as big. And instead of being red, its body is covered in silver fur with dark flecks through it. Its front is creamy white, as are its paws. But the hind leg is matted in blood and dangles at a painful angle where the trap is clamped tightly around it.
The fox is staring at the boy like Mystic looks at me. Its eyes are yellow but strangely human, with dark lashes along the top lids.
I am sickened by what I’ve done.
Raffi coos softly to the animal while he releases the injured leg from the jaws of the trap. He looks at it with disgust, and shakes his head. Then he flings it away and rubs the blood on his trousers. He moves his hand in small slow circles over the beast’s wound. A golden light seems to come from his palm.
What is he doing?
The silver fox relaxes and lies so still that for a moment I think it is dead. Then I see its chest moving.
After a few minutes, Raffi sits back on his heels, says something under his breath. The silver fox slowly gets to its feet and starts walking around, and then trotting in circles. I bite back a gasp. Its injured leg seems completely healed!
The fox shakes itself, a streak of silver fur that reminds me of the falling star Petal and I saw the other night. It nuzzles up to Raffi, rubbing its head against him. Then it puts its large paws on his shoulder. Raffi gently grabs the animal around the neck and they tussle and roll on the ground as if they are friends who have not seen each other in a long time.
How does Raffi know this creature from my nightmares? And why is he here?
My thoughts and feelings are scattered like dry autumn leaves kicked into the air. I can’t make sense of any of it. All I know now is that Raffi Tazi has a part to play in my life . . . or my death. A shiver goes through me. How he scares me!
As Raffi talks, the silver fox listens. Then in the pauses it seems to answer him, touching Raffi’s ear with its nose. Raffi nods then stands up and goes inside my Hollow Tree. In the dark, I see the flashlight probing here and there. I hear him rummaging around, flicking through pages of my books, picking things up, emptying things out. It’s as if he is tearing pieces off me and tossing them away. I’m angry. I want to come out of my hiding place and yell at him to stop. What’s he looking for anyway?
The wind suddenly changes direction, blowing from behind me across the stream.
The silver fox lifts its head, nose quivering. It gives a shrill bark and Raffi emerges, looking straight at me. I can’t hide any longer. All I can do is run.
My legs don’t work at first. They are like lumps of concrete, numb from being crammed in between the roots. As the blood rushes back into my feet, pins and needles make them feel as though they’re on fire. But I know the woods well. This is my advantage – the only thing that can save me from the silver fox and from Raffi.
I stumble across the shallow stream, tripping on stones, falling into the water then getting up again.
‘Stop!’ Raffi yells. The silver fox yaps behind him.
I hope he hasn’t recognised me. I don’t want him to know that it was me who set the trap. I pull up the hood of my jacket. It’s dark in the woods. He has a flashlight but still he stumbles, the light bouncing off the trunks. I don’t want to lead him to my home, so I run in the opposite direction.
Grandpa Truegood taught me the deer-stalking run. Head down, breathing steady, pins and needles gone, I’m in my stride now. And I know where I can lose them.
Not far ahead is a maze of trees. And amongst the twisted and corkscrewing trunks is a space just big enough for one small person. I made it a few years ago by twisting branches and vines together into a kind of hammock. It’s the perfect hiding place. Even if the silver fox can follow my scent, I know they won’t be able to find the way in. The trees are so dense they entangle you in grasping arms. The secret way in is by climbing a tree, going out onto a certain limb, and sliding your body into a small gap. Then you climb down to the ground and feel your way through the trees.
I imagine myself as a needle weaving in and out of a tapestry that I have sewn many times before. And that’s how I escape.
Much later I hear Raffi’s laboured breathing, and the panting of the silver fox, but I’m safely in my hammock hideaway.
I stay there unt
il well after the woods have gone silent.
The next morning, I’m shocked to see Petal walking to school with Stella. I wheel my bike down an alleyway and let them pass.
I hear Stella say, ‘I’d stay away from Ziggy if I were you, Petal. She’s always been weird.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ says Petal.
I hold my anger inside and ride furiously towards Gold Leaf Lodge. I have to tell someone what happened in the woods last night and the only person I can think of is Grandpa Truegood. Even if he won’t understand.
Just as I’m nearing the end of town, I see Miss Cubby. I slow down. What’s she doing here? She should be at school, getting ready for class.
Then I realise she’s crying.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Cubby?’ I say, getting off my bike.
Miss Cubby stands very still and takes in a long deep sigh. ‘The town council had a meeting last night. They . . .’ Her breath hitches in her throat and more tears well up in her eyes. ‘They no longer want me to teach at the school.’
My hand goes up to my mouth. ‘What? But why?’
‘The town elders don’t like what I’m teaching you. They say you don’t need to know about the outside world.’
‘But Miss Cubby, you are the best teacher we’ve ever had!’
‘And I’m rewarded every day with your enthusiasm. I’m going to miss you all, especially you, dear Ziggy.’ She touches my cheek with her hand. ‘I don’t understand what is happening. The town has changed so much in the last year. It feels different.’
Then she looks at me. ‘You don’t seem to change though, Ziggy, and that gives me hope. You’d better get off to school yourself or you’ll be late.’
Miss Cubby wipes her tears and turns away.
But I don’t go to school. I ride slowly to the Lodge, thinking about poor Miss Cubby. How could they say that what she is teaching is bad? What is going on in Dell Hollow? The worry is like a stone in my chest.
When I get there, Grandpa Truegood is staring out the window. He seems to be listening to the songbird in the woods. It’s singing a sad lonely song, as if it has lost something precious.
I squeeze his hand gently. ‘When I was a little girl,’ I say. ‘You told me a story about Kalila.’ There’s a flicker of light in his eyes and I’m hopeful. ‘Do you remember Kalila, Grandpa?’
Grandpa Truegood smiles and nods.
‘What does it mean? Can you remember?’
He looks confused and I realise I’m asking a string of questions.
‘Kalila,’ I say again, seeing if this one word will spark a memory.
‘It has returned, Ziggy,’ he says, looking me straight in the eye. ‘Take great care.’
‘What has returned, Grandpa Truegood?’ I say, urgently.
‘A wicked creature. A trickster. I fought it once. It took my mind. Be careful . . .’ Grandpa Truegood touches my heart. ‘Do not trust what you see or hear.’
He turns to look at a nurse talking to a patient at the next table. He points at a set of keys hanging from her belt. ‘The jade bottle is the key,’ he says.
I wait a moment, confused. But he is silent. Then I suddenly realise what he is talking about.
‘You mean the little jade bottle you gave me?’
He nods, eyes bright, and opens his mouth.
‘It is time for your therapy, Mr Truegood,’ interrupts the nurse, taking his arm. ‘Will you excuse us, Ziggy.’
No, not now, I want to say. Grandpa Truegood’s mind is sharp and I need to find out so much more. But he stands obediently and his eyes are dull again.
I stare after him. What did he mean when he said the trickster who took his mind? Does he mean Raffi? Or the silver fox?
When I get to school it’s recess, but everyone is still in the classroom, their faces white. Miss Cubby’s desk is empty.
‘Where have you been?’ says Petal. ‘Did you hear the news?’
‘About Miss Cubby, yes,’ I say.
‘None of us want to work. Principal Poole might as well send us home for the day.’
I turn to look at Raffi’s empty desk.
‘He didn’t come to school,’ Petal says crossly. She turns and walks over to Stella. I want to follow her, to ask her what’s going on, but on the other side of the room Harry Arnold’s voice rises above all the others. I hear the word ‘hunt’ and ‘wild dog’.
Everyone quietens down to listen.
‘My dad’s lambs had their bellies ripped open like they were made of cottonwool,’ he says. ‘I saw them, guts and blood and hair everywhere. It was disgusting. Whatever did it, its claws must’ve been huge. My dad’s got a hunting party going into the woods tomorrow. Who wants to come?’
No one answers.
‘Are you all too sissy to go into the woods?’ Harry says.
‘But no one goes into the woods. They’re dangerous,’ says Chris.
‘Well, now we have to. My dad says so,’ replied Harry.
There’s a pause, then Macka says, ‘Count me in.’
‘And me.’
‘And me.’
Soon all the boys except Big Bobby Little have agreed to join the hunt. I listen, horrified. But I don’t say anything. It had to be the silver fox that attacked those lambs. Was it angry because I set the trap?
Then another thought surfaces and a chill runs through me. Did Raffi order it to attack the lambs, to pay me back?
That night I can’t get to sleep for ages, and when I finally do, I dream.
I’m standing on the grass, mist curling at my feet, spinning spidery webs around my body. I look back to my bedroom. The blind is up and I see my sleeping form.
Then I see the silver fox. It’s standing at the edge of the woods by the sycamore tree, dark against the tree’s pale trunk. Fine droplets of water flick up off the grass as it trots past me as if I am invisible.
I try to follow it, but something is stopping me. Why do my legs feel so strange? I look down. I am no longer Ziggy. I am a white antelope with two long curving antlers. I watch as the silver fox stalks towards my bedroom.
The fox leaps through the window and onto my bed. I feel its hot breath on my neck. I think about those razor-sharp claws that ripped apart the lambs and those jagged teeth that will tear my throat open. I cry out a warning, but the only sound that comes out of my antelope mouth is a bleat that gets swallowed up in the creak and whirr of the woods.
Helplessly, I watch as the silver fox treads around my sleeping body, sniffing and pulling at the blankets. I am defenceless, unable to stop the attack that will come at any moment.
Then a surprising thing happens. The silver fox yawns, stretches and lies down beside me in the exact spot where Mystic usually sleeps. What is even stranger is this: it feels as if we know each other. This is the beast that has been stalking me. The beast that is going to drown me on my twelfth birthday. But feelings of fear and love and wonder wind themselves together like the strands of a silken cord, binding me to my fate.
A fate I can no longer understand.
Six quick hollow raps wake me. I sit up and rub my eyes. It’s the little woodpecker with its red cap looking for breakfast in the tree outside my window.
The dream is as sharp-edged as if it had been cut into my brain with a scalpel. This time it hasn’t left snakes coiling in my mind. It’s left calmness. I was a white antelope and the silver fox was my friend.
The dream felt so real that I push back the covers, almost expecting to see an antelope’s cloven feet. Mystic lifts his head and looks at me. He’s lying on my bed, in the place he always sleeps. Then he rolls on his back, waiting for me to stroke his belly.
I lean over to give him a kiss and my nose itches. I sneeze. There’s a wild and musky smell on my bedcover.
Then I see it. A fine layer of silver fur.
The silver fox was here, sleeping beside me. It wasn’t a dream.
My thoughts are in turmoil – Raffi, the silver fox, Grandpa Truegood, Miss Cubby . . .
&
nbsp; Far away in the woods comes the sound of barking. For a moment I’m puzzled, then I realise what day it is. The day of the hunt!
The silver fox is in danger! I have to go and warn Raffi.
I get dressed, roll the silver fur into a ball, and put it into my pocket.
When I rush out to the kitchen, I’m surprised to find Momma in the armchair by the fireplace. Her head’s bent over as if she’s sleeping. It’s strange because she never sits here in the morning. She looks so small and defeated, as if the armchair is about to swallow her.
‘Momma, what’s up?’ I say, kneeling at her feet so I can see her face.
Her eyes are red and swollen from crying. She brings her handkerchief to her nose and blows it.
‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she says.
‘Do what, Momma? What’s going on?’
‘Papa and I . . .’ She takes a deep breath and lets it out. ‘I told him when we married we wouldn’t stay in Dell Hollow forever. But I put it off and put it off until he couldn’t take this town any longer. They never accepted him. I don’t blame him for leaving.’
‘Then let’s go too, Momma.’
‘I can’t, Ziggy. Dell Hollow is still my home. I’m . . . too frightened . . .’
I sit back on my heels and stare into the empty fireplace. I can’t help feeling that there’s something more. Something I don’t know. How can everyone here be scared to leave? What has made them like that?
Momma takes out a letter from her dress pocket and lets out a long sigh. ‘Your father wants a divorce.’
‘Divorce?’ It’s such an ugly word – hard and grey and forever. I have a bird trapped in my stomach, wings beating to escape. I open my mouth to speak. The words are on my tongue but they are sharp, stabbing, hurtful words and I don’t let them out.
I snatch the letter from Momma and tear it into tiny pieces.
‘There!’ I say. ‘Our future isn’t decided by those stupid words any more. We have to make our own future. We have to be brave, Momma.’ I hold her hand. ‘I have to go, but when I come back, we need to talk.’
The Beast of Hushing Wood Page 5