by Holly Webb
They’d stop, if she went down there, though. That tall fair girl would probably just give her a pitying look if she tried to join in.
“I’m like a ghost,” Polly whispered to herself. “Hardly anybody knows I’m here.”
Polly knew as soon as she woke up that it had happened again. She had that same sense of something terribly wrong that she had felt when she’d gone sleepwalking before. She looked around, biting her lip. Where was she? The full moon was bright but its light was silvery and odd, and everything looked ghostly, faded to black and white by the moon-glare.
Once, back in London, she’d found herself on the pavement on the other side of the road from their block of flats in the middle of the night, with no idea how she’d got there. That was when Mum had started fussing about hiding the front door key and fitting extra bolts. It was the same at Penhallow – Mum had made sure that the door to the flat was carefully locked each night since they’d arrived.
“She hung the key up by the door… She told me she had to in case there was a fire,” Polly whispered, shivering in the cool night air. “I can’t believe I got that bolt open – I must have stood on a chair.”
She was standing halfway down a run of shallow steps, leading out on to a lawn, her feet bare on the cold marble. “The terrace…” Where she had seen those girls playing that afternoon.
Polly shivered again, remembering how lonely she had felt watching them laugh, and turned to look back at the house. She could see the diamond lattice of the gallery windows, glazed in silver moonlight. She should go back in – Mum might have woken up and be worrying about her – but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The shining windows made the house look so different, almost unfriendly.
Polly twitched with fright and felt her nails scrape stone. She blinked, peering down at the steps. She had forgotten the dog statues, one on each side of the steps. Now she saw that she had her hand resting on the head of the huge stone hound – the right-hand dog. He had a longer nose, she noticed, smiling a little. He lay stretched out, guarding the steps with his companion on the other side.
“You’re very handsome,” she told him, stroking his stone head. “But enormous. I wonder what sort of dog you are. Something big – a hunting dog, perhaps?” She tried to think back to her dog book but it was hard to tell from the age-worn stone. A cloud drifted across the moon and in the dancing shadows the ruff of thick fur at the dog’s neck seemed to shiver. Polly sighed. “You looked almost real then, for a moment. I wish you were. You’d come exploring with me, wouldn’t you?”
She shook herself, trying to brush away the weird haunted feeling that sleepwalking left her with, and then scrambled up on to the balustrade, beside the huge stone dog. He had to be something massive, she decided, like a Great Dane, only he didn’t have the right sort of face, he was too pointy. Maybe an Irish wolfhound. If he were standing, his head would come right to her shoulder. She huddled up next to him and put her arm round his great neck, pressing her cheek against the cool stone.
“You’re a lot comfier than I thought you would be,” she said dreamily. “You’re even warm! Maybe it’s just that I’m cold…”
The stone dog leaned round and nuzzled at her, blowing softly in her ear, and Polly giggled sleepily. The dog seemed to take that as encouragement. He leaned in further and licked her cheek with enthusiasm – his tongue was warm and slobbery. Polly straightened up, staring at him in shock.
Now the statue looked the same as it always had – solid and stone and very, very still. Polly shook her head and then pressed her hands against her eyes wearily. “I suppose I fell asleep for a minute,” she muttered. She gazed uncertainly at the stone dog – had she only dreamed that he’d moved? That he’d licked her? But her cheek was damp…
“Did you – did you move just then?” she said, feeling stupid. He wasn’t going to answer, was he?
The great dog was still and Polly sighed. Of course she’d dreamed it. She turned away, dragging herself slowly up the steps. But as she reached the top, there was a scuffling behind her and a snort, and Polly turned round as slowly as she could.
The stone dog was standing now. He had turned round and followed her! He was peering down at Polly from the sloping balustrade, his huge feathery tail swinging from side to side and his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Polly stood there, staring at the dog – and the dog towered over her from the top of the balustrade. Polly peered down at the place where the statue had stood – perhaps it was still there and this was another dog that just happened to be running around the gardens.
But the stone plinth was empty. On the other side of the steps, the twin dog lay gazing blankly out into the gardens, still stone.
“Do you… Do you do this often?” Polly asked. It came out in a strangled sort of whisper. “Do you come alive every night? Doesn’t anybody ever see you?” She wasn’t sure if she was expecting him to answer or not. Dogs didn’t talk. But then, statues didn’t usually move, either.
“Not every night.”
Polly gave a gasping laugh of surprise – then she pressed her hand over her mouth, frightened that the great creature would take offence and freeze to stone again in a huff.
But the dog gracefully leaped down from the balustrade and stood next to her. Now that he was standing on the ground, he came to just below her shoulder. “Only occasionally, when the moon’s bright. And you spoke to me, I heard you. I couldn’t resist. No one has spoken to me in a very long while. And you sounded…” He halted, shaking his scruffy, pointed ears. “You sounded as though you needed me to answer,” he went on gently. His voice was low and gruff but friendly. He sounded very much like he looked – huge and surprisingly not all that fierce.
“Yes,” Polly admitted quietly, still blinking at the strangeness of a talking statue. “There isn’t anyone for me to talk to here. It’s just me and Mum and she’s working so hard. She’s almost happy again. I can’t spoil it for her by telling her I’m lonely, not when things are working out for her at last.”
“Don’t you like it here? You’re not happy?” Was it Polly’s imagination or did the dog sound disappointed?
“I love it!” she said quickly. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. I love exploring the house and the gardens. But it’s not the same, all on your own.”
The dog sat down rather suddenly, his back legs folding up like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “No, you’re right,” he agreed quietly. “It’s not the same.”
Polly came closer, reaching up to run her hand over his ears. The fur there was velvet-soft – somehow she had expected to feel dry, hard stone. “Are you the only one that’s real?” she asked. “What about him?” She glanced over at the other stone dog.
The huge creature nuzzled against her hand, his head drooping. “I don’t know – I don’t remember… For now I’m the only one – perhaps for always…” He sprang up suddenly, shaking his great head, his tail swishing from side to side in a frenzy. He jumped on all four paws, bouncing around like a puppy, and Polly caught her breath in a laugh.
“Come on then!” He barked low, stretching out his front paws. Polly would have known he was asking her to play, even if he hadn’t been able to talk.
“Where are we going?”
“To explore! Wasn’t that what you wanted? Hurry up! Where shall we go first?”
Polly glanced back at the house, wondering for a moment about her mum. What if Mum woke up and found her gone? But then she looked back at the dog, his ears quivering with eagerness, and decided that it was worth the risk. How could she pass up the chance to go exploring with a stone dog? And besides, why should Mum wake up? She was probably fast asleep, dreaming of old documents.
The house had changed again, Polly noticed as she stared up at the windows of their flat. The otherworldly silver glare had softened to a friendly shimmer now that she had a companion – a protector.
“What’s your name?” she asked. Then she bit her lip, hoping that he
did have a name and that she hadn’t upset him. But he turned back, gazing at her, his fat pink tongue lolling in a doggy grin.
“Rex.” He cocked his head to one side, watching her. “It means king, you know.” He straightened himself and gazed steadily down at her, tall and proud.
Polly nodded. It seemed right – he did look majestic. It wasn’t just the size of him – his head was noble, somehow. He looked like the sort of dog who would gallop at the side of a king as he charged into battle. He looked old, which made his puppyish bouncing even funnier. Polly opened her mouth to ask him how old he was and then shut it again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, not yet. It would make all this seem even more impossible. For now, she just wanted to believe.
“I’m Polly,” she said, turning slowly to look around. “I don’t know where we should go…” She had mostly explored the water garden so far. She loved the way the stream cascaded down over the rocks into the lake and she’d spent hours leaning over the bridge across the fishpool, watching as the huge koi carp ghosted past under her feet. But she suspected that the fish would be hard to see in the darkness. “What’s your favourite place?” she asked.
The dog came to stand beside her – Polly could feel the warmth of him, pressed against her hip. “The cove. It’s been so long since I felt the sand under my paws.” His voice was a low growl of excitement and his tail swung against her legs. “Will you come?”
Polly swallowed. She wasn’t sure about the path in the dark and her feet were bare, but she set her shoulders back and nodded. “Yes.”
“Hold on to me – put your hand around my collar.” There was an eagerness in Rex’s voice but a note of command, too. He seemed to be quite a bossy sort of dog, Polly thought, blinking at the oddness of it all.
The collar was a wide band of stiff leather, studded with metal. She dug her fingers tightly underneath it, burying them thankfully in Rex’s thick, wiry coat. Some little touch of his excitement and bravery wrapped itself around her and her heart beat faster.
The great dog bounded eagerly forwards, leading her over the perfect lawn. Polly shivered, half at the eeriness of being out in the moonlit night, half with the chill of the damp grass on her bare feet. Rex paced swiftly down the flagged path to the little patch of woodland that edged the cliff. This was the wildest part of the garden – the most wild-looking, anyway. Polly had seen Stephen and the gardeners working there, trimming back the bracken from the path.
She could hear the sea now, whispering gently against the rocks of the cove. She glanced at Rex and they sped up, eager to get down to the tiny beach.
“Keep hold,” he said as they came out on to the narrow sandy path and Polly scrunched up her toes, trying to avoid the stones. The cove opened out around them as they slipped and skidded down the path, and Polly caught her breath at the glimmering silver of the water. Encircled by the rocky cliffs, the cove was sheltered from the wind. Only the tiniest waves whispered on to the shore, breaking in a mass of creamy bubbles. At the far end of the beach, a waterfall poured down a cleft in the rocks, bouncing and glittering from the top of the cliff.
Rex scuffed at the sand with his huge front paws and then turned round to look at Polly. He ducked his head a little and she stared at him, thinking that he looked almost shy. “We could run…” he suggested, flattening his ears at her hopefully.
Polly grinned. She could feel it, too – the call of that long stretch of sand, smooth and biscuity. She worked her fingers out from under his collar and pushed her toes into the sand, ready to race. She knew he’d be three times as fast as she was but she didn’t care. Rex let out a wild woof and leaped away. He seemed to be halfway across the beach before Polly had even moved and she whooped, racing after him, laughing and panting and pounding over the sand.
He slowed down for her, whirling in dizzy circles after his own tail, then racing in wider circles round Polly as she ran. They ended up by the waterfall, Polly giggling and sticking her feet into the spray, and Rex bounding in and out of it, shaking water all over her.
At last they slumped down at the water line, where the sand was only slightly damp, and stared out at the sea. The moon was huge, full and round. It hung just above the water and Polly felt that if she could only stretch a little further, she could reach out and touch it, or even snatch it out of the sky to hold in her cupped hands. She leaned against Rex’s shoulder, gazing dreamily at its reflection in the sea.
“We should go back,” she said at last.
“Mmmm…” A soft growl.
“It’s only because of my mum. I’d rather stay here with you…”
“I should probably go back, too,” Rex murmured.
Polly wanted to ask if they’d do this again – if she’d see him again. But what if he said no? What if he only woke up one night a year? Or once in a lifetime? She swallowed hard – if she asked she might break the spell.
He snuffled into her ear and then whispered, “Hold on to me.”
Polly wrapped her arm round his neck and buried her face in his fur. She felt the muscles in his shoulders shift as he stood, pulling her up beside him. He led her stumbling across the beach and then, at the bottom of the path, he stopped, nudging her gently. “You’re worn out. Climb on my back.”
“Won’t I hurt you?” Polly said, swallowing a massive yawn.
He licked her ear and panted – it made him look as though he was smiling. “No. Climb on. It’ll be like old times…”
Polly was about to ask what he meant when Rex nudged her cheek with his damp nose. “Climb on,” he told her firmly.
Polly gripped the thick, wiry fur at the back of his neck and wriggled gingerly up on to his back. She held on tight with her knees and gasped as Rex started to move, pacing slowly up the path. She pressed her cheek against his neck, gazing sideways at the stars scattered across the night sky like grains of sugar.
At the foot of the stone steps, Rex stopped and Polly slid slowly off his back.
“Say goodbye,” he said gruffly and Polly clung round his neck even tighter.
“Goodbye.”
He pulled away from her gently and leaped up on to the balustrade. Polly gasped and turned away – she couldn’t bear to see him change back into a stone dog again. There was a faint scratching of paws and then a deep silence. Even the faint wind in the trees seemed to still itself and Polly raced up the steps in sudden fear.
On the top step she paused and made herself look back at him, stretched out along the stone base, his great head high. On the other side of the steps, the second stone dog stared out across the gardens in just the same pose.
Rex looked as though he’d never moved.
Polly stirred and muttered to herself, pressing her face into her pillow.
“Polly love. Wake up.”
She rolled over, blinking at her mum and her bedroom, confused. Her room was full of golden sunlight and she had a sense of something good, deep down inside her. Like the first day of the holidays or her birthday. She was pretty sure it wasn’t her birthday, though…
“Come on, sleepyhead!” her mum laughed. “I’ve let you lie in but I’ve got to go down to the office now. You’ll be all right, won’t you? There’s cereal and bread in the cupboard for toast. Just leave the kitchen tidy, OK? Pop in and see me later on.”
Polly nodded, blinking as she woke up properly and started to remember. Rex! The beach! She buried her nose in her duvet to hide her sudden grin. Then she pulled up her feet and curled them underneath her, in case they were sticking out from the duvet. They must be filthy after the woods and the beach – she couldn’t let her mum spot them. She’d worry that Polly had been sleepwalking again.
And I was, Polly realized in surprise, sitting up and smiling to herself as her mum tutted at the mess in her room and disappeared to the kitchen with the glass from the bedside table. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter that she’d walked in her sleep again, not when she’d gone out into the gardens and found… What was Rex exactly? She’d have t
o ask him… I’ll go out later – try and find a moment when there’s no one on the terrace. But I’ll have to be careful. I can’t risk anyone else finding out the secret.
And the most likely person to notice that something strange was going on was her mum. If she’d got mud all over her sheets, she’d better strip her bed and put the sheet and duvet cover in the washing machine downstairs.
Polly yawned and wriggled her toes, surprised that they didn’t feel sandy and grubby. Perhaps all the sand had brushed off on the way back up the stairs to the flat?
She yawned again and then blinked anxiously. Had she remembered to lock and bolt the door of the flat? If she hadn’t, Mum would know for certain that Polly had been out sleepwalking.
“Bye, Polly! See you in a bit!” The door slammed shut and Polly breathed out a long sigh of relief. She must have locked the door – although didn’t remember doing it. Polly twirled a strand of hair around her fingers, thinking. She didn’t actually remember coming back upstairs at all. The last picture in her mind was Rex, stony and silent once more on his plinth.
But that didn’t mean her moonlight adventure hadn’t happened.
Yet there was no sand anywhere – in her bed or on the floor. There was no mud on her feet and her hair felt clean – just a bit knotted like it always was in the morning. It wasn’t damp, or sticky with salt from splashing in the waves. Her pyjamas didn’t have any marks from the trip through the woods, either. Perhaps that was just luck – or she’d dreamed it all.
Polly swallowed, suddenly feeling sick with disappointment.
She trailed across to her window and peered down on to the gardens. She could only see Rex’s grey stone muzzle – the rest of him was hidden. She couldn’t really tell if anything about him had changed.