The Moonlight Statue

by Holly Webb

  Polly sighed. It had been a dream. Of course it had. Stone beasts didn’t come alive and talk.

  “I suppose at least it means I didn’t sleepwalk,” Polly whispered to herself. But, for once, she wouldn’t have minded.

  Polly shifted a little, trying to ease her cramped knees. She had started out sitting on a bench just below the terrace, where she could see the two dog statues quite easily. But people kept looking at her and one lady had asked her if she was lost and needed help finding her parents. Embarrassed, Polly had mumbled something and hurried away.

  So now she was perched in the yew tree, balanced in the crook between one great spreading branch and the trunk. If she peered through the dark needles, she could see Rex still stretched out on the edge of the steps. Polly didn’t know what she was watching for but she couldn’t drag herself away. She had been there all morning now, gazing at the statues and eyeing the visitors wandering up and down the steps. Lots of them stopped to admire the statues but no one seemed to notice anything strange about the right-hand dog. No one stroked his neck or hugged him or murmured in his ear. He looked so lonely.

  Polly flinched as those two loud boys came racing up the steps again. They had been chasing each other around the gardens for ages and the oldest one had run along the balustrade beside Rex and nearly fallen off. Polly hoped he wasn’t going to do it again. Although that might be a good way to wake up Rex. If he could wake up. She was willing to bet that he wouldn’t let a child fall if he could help it. He’d grab the back of the boy’s T-shirt in his teeth or something like that. Polly rolled her eyes. Now she was actually hoping that the annoying boy would fall off…

  “I didn’t mean it,” she whispered aloud. “Oh, don’t do that!”

  They were climbing again, both of them this time, scrambling up on to Rex’s back and pretending to ride him. Just like I did, Polly thought. It still feels so real…

  The small one was kicking at Rex’s sides as if he was a stubborn pony. Polly gripped the tree branch, digging her fingers into the bark. Oh, stop it! Stop it! You’ll hurt him. Can’t you see you’re being mean to Rex? Even if it had all been a dream, she still couldn’t bear to watch.

  She caught her breath in relief as the boys’ father strode by under the tree, waving and calling to them to come and have their picnic. It had to be lunchtime then. The gardens would be quieter for a bit, as people drifted away to fetch cool bags and rugs from their cars, or to go to the tea room. As the boys dashed away, Polly slid down from the tree, brushing yew needles out of her hair, and hurried across the grass to the steps. She reached up to Rex, stroking the stone fur around his neck, her hand running over the studs on his collar. She had dreamed those, too – on the real collar they’d been metal. “Did those boys hurt you? I wanted to tell them off.” She leaned her cheek against his ears, feeling the stone scratch her skin and remembering how soft they’d been the night before. “I did think you were real.” She sighed. “I so wanted you to be.”

  There was a faint warmth against her skin now and then the slightest of shivers ran through the stone. Polly stepped back, staring as a hint of wheaten gold rippled over the grey. It was gone almost at once but it had been there, it had.

  “I didn’t just dream you…” Polly flung her arms tightly round Rex’s neck and stared into the statue’s sightless eyes. “Tonight! I’ll see you tonight. It’ll be late. I won’t be able to creep out until Mum’s gone to bed. But I promise I’ll come,” she said under her breath.

  A quiet snigger made Polly whirl round. She stared at the statue on the other side of the steps. It had to be those boys again! Were they laughing at her?

  She was so furious that they had interrupted her moment with Rex, she didn’t care if she got into trouble. “Get out of here!” she yelled. “Leave us alone…”

  Except there was no one there.

  Polly blinked. Then she scowled and marched across the steps to peer round the other side of the dog statue. Those boys had to be hiding behind it, she’d heard them. They must have ducked down…

  They couldn’t have done, though.

  Bushes and flowers grew right up to the steps and there was no room for even the skinniest child. The flowers stood straight and tall, the foxgloves’ purple-and-white bells humming with bees.

  Polly went back to stand by Rex, still frowning at the other statue. She hadn’t imagined that horrible little laugh, she was sure of it. Someone had found it funny when she’d spoken to Rex. A boy, she was certain. The kind of annoying boy she knew from school, one who thought he was way cleverer than any girl… Polly folded her arms and glared across the steps.

  And then, just for a second as the sun went behind a cloud, she saw him. A boy not much older than she was. Arms folded, like hers, and a smirk on his face. He was wearing a shirt and shorts but they were old-fashioned looking, somehow. For a start, it was an actual shirt, like school uniform, with a collar, and long sleeves rolled up. And the shorts were brown and baggy round his knees. He had battered boots on and his light brown hair was floppy and longish.

  Polly caught all that in her first glimpse but what was more important was that he was most definitely laughing at her. A dog was peering over his shoulder, a great iron-grey dog, with a long muzzle like Rex. Another wolfhound. It was smirking, too, its pink tongue lolling from sharp white teeth.

  “What?” Polly snapped, starting forward. “What’s so funny?”

  Then she swallowed, her eyes making sense of what she was seeing at last. The dog and the boy were both standing beside the opposite statue’s plinth and the statue was gone.

  But then the sun shone out again and there was no boy – just a statue of a dog, its stone face noble, its paws elegantly crossed. And there was no sound, except the bees buzzing in the foxgloves.

  Polly was alone.

  Polly lay curled up on her bed, flicking through her dog book and thinking back over the day. She was desperate to go out to the gardens again and find Rex. Rex was definitely real, even if she didn’t understand exactly what he was. Something strange and magical was happening.

  It was the first time she’d used that word to describe Rex, she realized. Magic. The stone dog really was magic and she was part of it. Magic was actually happening to her.

  The thing was, if she believed in strange stone dogs who came to life, what else might she end up believing in? Penhallow was such an old house it had to be full of stories and Polly had a feeling they didn’t all end well.

  She had gone back inside the house that afternoon. After she’d had that weird glimpse of the boy and the grey dog, she hadn’t wanted to stay out in the gardens. She had been wandering about so deep in thought that she’d almost walked straight into Trudy, one of the volunteers, on the Grand Staircase.

  Polly had apologized and Trudy had said that if Polly was at a loose end, why didn’t she come and help her with the tour of the nurseries. Polly hadn’t felt like smiling and chatting to visitors but she couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough.

  Not many of the rooms up on the top floors were on show. One of the larger rooms had been laid out as a nursery, with the best of the toys – a huge rocking horse, a toy theatre and an amazing dolls’ house full of tiny, delicate furniture. The house was made to look like Penhallow itself but only one set of rooms deep.

  Trudy took out some of the less fragile pieces to show to the visitors. Polly loved the tiny beds and the fussy little dolls with their painted china faces. But at the end of the session, when they’d put all the furniture back, Trudy had stopped to answer questions. As Polly stood waiting for her in a shadowy corner of the room by the nursery door, she had been suddenly terrified.

  It made her shiver even now, just thinking about it. There had been footsteps – faint, soft steps and a scratching, like claws. It was stupid to be so scared. But she hadn’t been able to move, while those steps went past her…

  Polly gasped, pressing a hand across her mouth as she heard footsteps again, echoing out of the dar
kness. And then she sighed, shaking her head. It was only Mum, crossing the passageway outside Polly’s door on her way to bed. The steps paused and Polly shoved the books to one side and wriggled swiftly under her duvet, then pushed it half off again. Mum would never believe she was asleep wrapped up in a duvet on a night this warm. Polly could tell even with her eyes closed that her mum was peering round the door, eyeing her worriedly and checking that she was OK. That she was actually asleep, not about to sleepwalk across a busy road again. Although she’d have a hard time finding traffic around here.

  The door shut with a faint click and Polly held her breath for a moment, waiting to hear the footsteps padding into her mum’s room. How long should she leave it? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Cautiously, she wriggled her legs out from under the duvet and slid off the bed to sit on the floor. Being in bed made it all too easy to fall asleep. Even now the luminous hands on her bedside clock were blurring and fading as she stared at them…

  Polly blinked and sat up, groaning. She’d slipped sideways, pillowing her head on her old toy dog. How long had she been asleep for? She peered at the clock again and sighed – it was eleven o’clock. A whole hour wasted! Still, at least that meant Mum must be asleep by now. Polly stretched her legs and eased herself up, then slipped on her plimsolls and tiptoed over to the door.

  She crept down the little passage, past her mum’s room and into the living room, stretching up to unhook the key. Of course, if Mum did catch her, she could pretend to be sleepwalking again. But then Mum would fuss even more about locking the doors. Polly paused, listening. All was quiet. She slipped the key into the lock, flinching at the tiny click. Mum hadn’t bolted the door tonight, she must have forgotten – after all, as far as she knew, Polly hadn’t been sleepwalking since they’d been at Penhallow.

  Polly ran down the Grand Staircase, suddenly so excited that she forgot to be quiet. The moonlight was shining in through the tall windows over the stairs and the wooden banisters gleamed. They were made of some dark wood, worn shiny by thousands of hands. Tiny carved creatures, foxes and hounds and sharp-faced ferrets, peered out from under the banisters, lurking in between the pillars and under the handrails. They seemed to scurry and snap at each other in the moonlight as Polly raced by.

  She hurried past the staff room and the offices to the little side door. Stephen had shown her where the spare key was kept, attached to a magnet under one of the pictures. Polly bit her lip – she must have remembered that the night before, too, when she was asleep.

  Outside in the gardens, the moon was still almost full – just a tiny sliver had been cut away. The trees threw great eerie moon shadows on the lawn and Polly shivered. It wouldn’t feel so lonely with a dog for company.

  She smiled to herself. When they’d still been living in London, she had spent ages finding out about small dogs – really tiny ones, like miniature dachshunds and teacup terriers, dogs that were so little they’d fit in a flat. She’d imagined a dog small enough to be slipped inside a rucksack and smuggled into school. And now she had a dog – or almost – and he was positively enormous. She was pretty sure that if Rex stood on his hind legs, he’d be as tall as her dad. And her dad had been six foot. Rex could have put his massive paws on her dad’s shoulders. Dad would have loved it.

  Polly dashed round the corner of the house to the terrace, planning to fling her arms round Rex’s great neck and hug him hard. His thick fur would drive away the eeriness of the moonlit gardens. She frowned at the shadows around the steps, trying to make out the shape of the dogs, and she found herself slowing to a walk. Rex’s plinth was empty. Her heart thumped – had he gone? Had something happened?

  Then she squeaked as something furry nudged her elbow. “I didn’t know where you were!” she gasped. “You scared me!”

  “I couldn’t wait any longer,” Rex said happily. “I was too excited to stay still. Where shall we go tonight?”

  Polly wrapped one arm round his neck, leaning against the warm, comforting bulk of him. “I’ve got an idea. But it isn’t as exciting as the beach…” she said doubtfully.

  “No matter.”

  “Well, could we go to the water gardens? Just to sit, maybe. I … I want to talk to you. I want to know things. I mean, are you allowed to tell me? It won’t break a spell or anything?”

  Rex snorted and licked her cheek. “I’ll tell you what I can, Polly. But what I know might not be all you want to hear. I haven’t woken in who knows how many years, my memories are hazy.”

  Polly nodded eagerly, leading him down the steps and along the path around the house. The water gardens were laid out on the south side of the building, so that the Elizabethan gentleman who’d had them built could stroll around the streams and pools with his family in the warmest sunlight. Polly had read all the information boards now and heard the talks from the volunteers. She thought she could probably lead a tour of Penhallow Hall herself.

  “Here,” Polly suggested, leading Rex to her favourite spot on the wooden bridge. As she’d thought, they couldn’t see the fish but a faint breeze stirred the night air as the cool dark water flowed beneath them, splashing over the rocks.

  “What did you want to ask?” Rex leaned against Polly’s shoulder. “You’re very quiet.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” Polly said, sitting down and dangling her legs over the side of the bridge. “All my questions sound so stupid.”

  “Just ask.”

  “Well… What are you? I mean, how do you come alive? And when? Does there have to be moonlight?”

  “I’m a dog…” Rex sounded hesitant, his deep growl of a voice had grown thinner, almost wobbly. Then he snorted, as though he was laughing at himself. “I don’t know what else I am. I’ve been a statue for so long and nothing else. The occasional moonlit night, when the tide was out and the sands were calling, then I’d wake, just for a gallop. But I always went back to my statue before dawn.” He nudged her with his muzzle, a timid little dab that seemed strange from such an enormous creature. “I don’t entirely remember, you see. But I’m sure I was real once…”

  Polly gasped. “Did someone turn you into stone?” She put her hands on either side of his head, gazing worriedly into his eyes. She had read books where poor creatures were turned to stone by witches or wizards or monsters, but she hadn’t ever thought of it happening in real life.

  “That doesn’t seem right!” Rex hung his head, pressing it into her shoulder. “It wasn’t like that. I should know…” he growled into her hair.

  “I wonder how many years you’ve been a statue,” Polly murmured. “I’m not surprised you can’t think.” She ran her hand down his neck, thinking of that odd glimpse of the boy and the dark-grey dog. Could Rex have seen them, too? “Does the dog on the other side of the steps ever wake up?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Rex pulled back, staring at her, his dark eyes catching the light. “Yes, he has in the past, I remember now. He was real once… I remember him! And the others.” He stood up, pacing round her in a circle, his tail swinging heavily from side to side. Every so often he shook his ears, as though shaking away a confusing dream. “We could wake them!” he told her excitedly. “You woke me – woke me properly, I mean. Why shouldn’t it work for the others?”

  “Yes, but how did I wake you?” Polly knelt up, staring at him. “I don’t know how I did it. And what do you mean, the others, anyway? I haven’t seen any more statues of dogs… Only you two on the steps.”

  Rex huffed, a low, chuckling sort of sound. He was laughing at her, Polly realized. But he sounded so happy, she didn’t mind.

  “What? Why’s that funny?”

  “Penhallow is full of dogs, Polly. Look around and you’ll see. We’re everywhere. We always have been.”

  Polly and Rex stood on the lawn in front of the steps, gazing up at Rex’s twin statue.

  “His name is Magnus.” Polly felt Rex tremble as he said it. “I remember…” His eyes flickered as time and memories flooded back through him.

/>   “Was he here when you were?” she whispered.

  “No… He’s not as old as I am. He lived here many hundreds of years later than I did but he played chase with me across the beach sometimes. Him and his boy.” He glanced round at Polly. “I was here long before this house – and the statues – centuries before. There was a settlement here – a small knot of houses. I was just a hound then. I ran through the woods by day and at night I stretched myself out before the door of the house, guarding my family.”

  Polly looked at Rex’s empty plinth and frowned. “I don’t understand. How can the statue be you, when you lived so long before it was made?” She thought back to what she’d heard of the tours. “This house was built by Edward Penhallow in the 1600s. It’s Elizabethan. But there were houses here before – there are bits left, in the grounds and down in the cellars. You’re older than Penhallow Hall then?”

  “Yes.” He shook his ears, snorting, as though he didn’t like to think about it. “Over the years the family became richer and more important. But the Penhallows still told stories about me, centuries on. That was when they gave me the name Rex.”

  “It wasn’t your real name?”

  “No one remembers my first true name. I’m the hound. They remembered me, deep down – the hound of Penhallow, their guardian. When they built this house, my family knew that I was still here. Penhallow has always had hounds. We belong here, all of us, and we stay… Here I am still. But awake now, Polly, thanks to you.” Rex shook his head, his soft ears flapping. “I feel almost real again.”

  Polly smiled. He did seem more lively – like he had been when he’d danced across the beach. She wondered if he’d finally shaken off the stone feeling that had settled deep inside him. But she still didn’t understand how he’d been stone in the first place.