“Who’s there?” I held my camel tight.
“Um,” said the one on the left and shrugged, pushing the one on the right up to the door. I guessed they didn’t figure I was watching through the peephole. This one slapped the left one, who slapped him back. The right one wound up for another slap but pulled it and simply scowled at the left one, then said, “Wendy Adair, you are eligible to win a substantial prize and must open the door and invite us in.”
I didn’t see a prize, substantial or otherwise. I didn’t think I’d want a prize from this pair. That they knew my name creeped me out. Our old apartment door had a triple set of deadbolts. The Prestons’ single lock didn’t look that sturdy. I wished Ben were here. Even Werling would have been welcome.
“There’s no one home,” I shouted through the door and instantly cursed myself for being so stupid. I should have kept my mouth shut and waited for them to leave. But curiously enough, Tweedledum and Tweedledee looked totally confused.
After a short, whispered conversation, they shrugged and turned to go.
“You great prancing pillocks!” It was the voice of Cathal Corkin. But instead of the buff boy I had seen on the bridge, a sleek black horse stepped into view, its mane dripping water on the step. The dogs snarled and backed away form the horse.
Circling the Doublemint twins, the horse shook its head at them, splashing them. I’d swear that it steamed where the water struck them. The horse whinnied and turned to the door. Its long face and body transformed into the beautiful Cathal I met. “Wendy, lass. Open the door and invite me in.”
Six
Cathal at the Door
The shock of seeing a horse turn into a person, even a great-looking person, left me blinking and speechless. It could not have happened. This wasn’t a Hollywood special effects studio. I had to be going crazy.
I stepped back and looked at the door. I must have imagined it. It was a trick of the light or weird reflections or something. The doorbell rang.
“Wendy, lassie, open up. It’s your devoted servant, Cathal.”
I opened my mouth but closed it again. I was losing my mind. The eyepiece beckoned to me, but I was afraid of what I might see if I looked in it.
“Wendy, darling girl, I just wish a wee word with you. I know you are in there.”
I was tempted to not answer, to step away, run up to my room and lock the door. Instead, I cautiously approached the door and peeked in the finder. It was Cathal, in all his glory.
“Ah, Wendy, my girl, was your first impression of me so bollocks up? Donnya trust me?”
“Are you kidding?” I shouted back. I was freaked, but strangely enough, a part of me wanted to invite him in, to forget what I just saw and open the door. Ben’s warning about Cathal held me back. And even if I didn’t feel freaked at the horse-to-Cathal deal, there were the creepy twins and the dogs.
“Please don’t keep us apart, my dear, sweet darling. It is such a wee little thing I’m asking. It would please me so.”
With his every word I felt less sure of myself. It was hard to recall the creature, the wet horse Cathal was a moment ago. Was it a moment ago? I could be mistaken. The little lens distorted things. Before I knew it, my hand was on the doorknob.
“Yes, Wendy, my darling. You want to do it. Go ahead.”
I didn’t really want to do it, but I flipped the latch and the door swung open a few inches, then stopped. The chain was on. Cathal reached in to grasp the chain.
ZAWHAP! A blinding flash knocked me back. Cathal howled and reverted to the horse I first saw. The stink of burned hair and cooked meat turned my stomach.
“Treacherous daughter of Eve,” the horse said.
I slammed the door, flipped the latch and jumped back. My heart pounded a million miles an hour. What happened made no sense. The door just toasted his hand! I could’ve been killed! I checked myself for burns but other than the burnt smell, I was okay. Nothing had happened to me, but I had no desire to touch the door. Looking through the peephole again was way out of the picture. If Cathal, or the horse, or whatever else was still out there, I was not going anywhere near the door to find out.
From the living room bay window I checked the front yard. Cathal and the twins were gone. It was a relief, but then, after what just happened, I didn’t feel relieved. The yard was empty and so was the street. I ran around the house, peering out windows as I closed and latched them. The long nose and black eyes of the horse were stuck in my mind. Its huge size and wet hide were a dream—made all the worse because it turned into Cathal and back again. I kept thinking it hadn’t happened and I’d wake up. Painfully tearing a nail on the last kitchen window was pretty good proof I was not sleeping. It bled.
Anger at Ben suddenly made me growl. This was his mess: clams and Irish horse boys. I would kill him when he got home. I’d kill him, but first make him explain everything. Cathal must have followed us from the park. I swore to myself, no more walks with Ben.
There was not much more I could do. Everything was locked up tight. I sucked on my finger and wondered if I missed anything. I should call the police. Then, in the quiet, I heard a soft, scuffling sound from the basement.
“Crap!” I looked around the kitchen for a weapon. There was a rack of knives, but I knew I could never stab someone. The cast-iron skillet over the butcher block was more my speed.
The basement steps creaked. With my back to the counter, I raised the pan and waited next to the door to the basement. I could handle smacking Cathal on the head. In fact, I was pissed he took me in the first time we met. If the twins and the dogs were with him I’d have to keep swinging. I calmed myself like my Judo instructor had taught me. Calmed? Right. I could handle them. I tried to get pumped. No question that I could take out Cathal and brain the twins. The doorknob turned.
I raised the skillet higher and tightened my grip.
Seven
Surprise
The door slowly opened. I heard breathing and saw movement. Squeezing my eyes shut, I swung the skillet down, fast, and connected. There was a gasp.
“Jeez Louise, Wendy!” Ben said.
I had knocked him down to his knees and left a big crack in his bike helmet. He shook his head and rubbed his neck. “You could’ve killed me!” he said.
The top step creaked behind me and I whirled around, ready to swing again. Werling threw up his arms defensively and said, “I give up!”
“What are you doing in the basement?” I shouted, keeping the pan raised. I was so relieved I could hug the both of them. But I was angry, too. I kept the pan raised. If the horse could turn into Cathal, he might turn into Ben or Werling. It was a crazy thought, but guess who felt crazy?
“Friends!” Werling shouted and backed down a few steps. “Friends!”
Ben rubbed his neck and rolled it around, then pulled off his helmet and examined it. “Werling, look! Didn’t I tell you the soft shell design would break away and absorb a tremendous impact? Brilliant design.” The helmet was cracked into three pieces and only the mesh fabric cover held it together.
“But now you have to buy a new one,” Werling replied.
“Yes, but better a new helmet than a new head.”
Only Ben would admire his helmet’s design after I nearly cracked his head open. It had to be the real Ben. I lowered the skillet. “I’m so happy to see you.”
Ben shook his busted helmet. “You have an unusual way of showing it. What’s going on? Why did you hit me?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Are you happy to see me, too?” Werling asked, and smiled hopefully.
I said, “Let me write you, okay?” Actually, I would have been happy to see my brother, Tyrone. And he is a total jerk.
I waved them in and took a good, long look down in the basement. They went to the breakfast table. I sat with them, and they listened to me try to explain what had just happened at the front door. As I finished, Ben nodded and didn’t seem surprised.
“So, none of this is out of
the ordinary?” I asked, as the old anger at Ben returned. “Just another day?” I had half a mind to pick up the pan and take another swing.
Ben looked at Werling and then at me. “It borders on the unusual.”
Werling nodded.
“Borders on the . . .” I took a breath and got a grip. “Okay,” I said through clenched teeth. “And the exploding front door?”
“Special home security,” he said. “The chain is electrically charged. You can be thankful it worked.”
“Yeah. Right. I have just one question. Who is Cathal? Is he a magician? Who were those dog things with him? And what about the Shriner twins? And now that I think of it, how did you get in the basement?”
“That’s five questions,” Werling stated.
“And what is Werling doing here?” I asked, picking up the pan and pointing at him.
“Six questions,” Werling corrected, but apologetically, leaning away from me and eyeing my pan.
“It’s a long story and I’m not totally steady yet,” Ben said as he stood and checked his balance. He leaned against the counter. “I think I’ll sit down again.” He rolled his shoulders while he rocked his head side to side.
“I’m sorry I hit you.”
Ben waved it off and said, “First of all, Wendy, I want you to know this house is protected and safe from beings like Cathal.”
“Beings like Cathal?” I asked in amazement.
“The horse you described at the door. What did we figure Cathal is, Werling? A kelpie?”
“Definitely a kelpie.” Werling nodded.
“Wait a minute. A kelpie is a mythical creature,” I said. “Or a dog. Isn’t it?”
“Very good.” Werling smiled and nodded with approval. “Ben, you have most definitely underestimated your cousin.”
Ben twisted his mouth up to one side, something he did a lot when he was trying to figure something out, then said, “Yes, a Kelpie with a capital K is an Australian sheep dog. But what you described was a kelpie, small k, commonly called a water horse. In myths, they inhabit bodies of water and drown people, then eat them.”
“What!” I shouted. If Ben hadn’t looked so serious, I’d have said he was pulling my chain. “You’re talking about, like, a monster out of a fairytale?”
“Or the thing you saw on our doorstep,” Ben said.
Werling held up a hand. “Allow me. In Orkney, a similar mythical creature is called the nuggle, and in Shetland, it’s a shoopiltee, njogel, or the tangi.”
I blinked dully. “Can you cut to the chase?”
Werling sped up. “They appear in Scotland, Ireland, Sweden, Norway . . . just about everywhere in western Europe.”
I twirled my finger to get him moving faster.
Very fast, he said, “Theyassumemanyforms, butmostlyhorses, andlurepeopletotakearide, thendrownthem.” He took a breath. “Mythical and very dangerous.”
“You want to avoid him,” Ben added.
“Fine,” I said. “But how do I know you and Werlybird didn’t cook this up to laugh at me? Maybe it was a video projection or a hologram? That is just the kind of high-tech crap you’re into.”
“To get a laugh?” Ben considered this then asked me, “Do I make jokes? Do you have other examples of my unbridled sense of humor—practical jokes I’ve played on you, for example?”
He had a point. A baked potato has a better sense of humor. “But you’re talking about this water thing like it really exists,” I exclaimed. With Ben and Werling in the kitchen, with all the normal stuff around me, the sunlight shining in, the clock ticking, it got easier and easier to believe I had imagined it. “It can’t be real . . . that thing . . . that water whatjamajiggy.”
“Water horse,” Werling corrected. “Or brook horse in Sweden.”
“Whatever! These are old-time stories, stuff to scare little kids, like Rumpelstiltskin or werewolves or . . .” I hoped they’d laugh and admit they were joking. “This stuff isn’t real.”
Werling and Ben looked at each other again and back at me with straight faces. If they were joking, they were going too far. But neither one smiled.
“Okay. Ha ha, you’ve had your laugh,” I said. “I guess I deserve it for banging you on the head. I’m sorry, but admit it, this is all coming from that Dungeons and Dragons stuff you play, right?”
Ben massaged his neck and raised his eyebrows, mouth scrunched up. Werling shrugged and shook his head. I got the feeling I didn’t pass some test.
Ben said, “Okay, Wendy. You’re right. It’s all fairytales. It might be caused by something you ate for lunch. Don’t worry about it.” He got up. “Come on, Werling. We’ve got work to do.”
Werling sighed. “I’m sorry you don’t believe this, Wendy.” Then he said to Ben, “Maybe she needs a little more time?”
“You heard her. We tried.” He wobbled a little but headed for the stairway to his room. “We have to input what we found at the library into HAL.”
“Right,” Werling said, but he was split between following Ben and staying in the kitchen. In his confusion, he put his hand on my arm. “You were very brave. Even if you don’t believe it, it was a dangerous situation.”
They were belittling me! “If you don’t take that hand off me, you’ll know what dangerous is.”
“Sorry.” He snatched his hand back and glanced at Ben, who was going up the steps. “Promise you won’t go outside, at least not by yourself, okay?” Werling said.
He was so sincere that I didn’t go sarcastic on him, and grudgingly nodded. He took off after Ben and the upstairs door slammed.
“Fine,” I said to the ceiling. If they wanted to mess with my mind, I’d just figure this out for myself. There had to be some other explanation for what I saw at the door.
Eight
My Research
My aunt and uncle had a printed Encyclopedia Britannica in their study. They said they would get me a computer for my room, but those old books had to do temporarily. The walls in their study were packed with all kinds of reference books.
I looked up kelpies, small k. It was pretty much what Werling said. There was a story about one kelpie who fell in love with a girl, and he decided to become human. He drank a magic potion and forgot he ever was a kelpie. I could almost hear my mom laughing at that one. It sounded like the story about kissing a frog and expecting a prince. She was not into kissing frogs. “Pick a guy for what he can do for you,” she’d said. “Forget the magic.” My dad, on the other hand, had laughed at her. He was the only one who could soften her up and get her to laugh. One smile and a hug from him, and she’d purr like a kitten. She’d said he was the one frog she kissed and kept. I miss them.
So, kelpies were mythical monsters. About the only monster I knew about, outside of kiddy stories’ vampires and bogeymen, was the loup-garou. My grandma lived in Mississippi and was totally sure this swamp monster lived there. She claimed it killed her dog. My dad said a truck had hit her dog, which sounded more likely since the stupid thing was always running out into the street. But Grandma believed the loup-garou had gotten him.
Standing by the window and reading the heavy volumes of the encyclopedia made my arms tired. I set my stack of books on the desk and turned on the lamp. Its shade had a cool green glow and threw out a circle of warm light. I found a tablet and a pencil on the desk. I plopped down in the chair and made a list of things I knew or needed to check out: Kelpies and Cathal Corkin, twin weirdos with Shriner hats and their ugly dogs, mussels, pearls and pearl fishing, Ally and Jackson of the Department of Natural Resources, and how Werling and Ben magically got in the basement. I circled this last one. It was the easiest place to start.
* * *
The Prestons’ basement was dark and spooky. Three small, dusty windows up near the cobwebby ceiling joists threw a bit of light onto cardboard boxes, old bikes, sleds, and crates of radio and TV parts. An ancient steamer trunk leaned against one cement block wall. The modern, rectangular furnace looked out of place hooked up to a spide
rweb of prehistoric ducts in the middle of the room. Against the far wall stood a new-looking washer and dryer. Next to them was a wooden workbench. I didn’t know much about tools, but this bench looked fully equipped with drills and saws, and regular tools hung on pegboard. A pull-chain light hung from the ceiling, but I left it off.
I stood beside the furnace in the center of the basement and slowly turned, not sure what I was looking for. There weren’t any obvious doors or hatches in the basement walls. If Werling and Ben came in through a window, they hadn’t messed up the dust or cobwebs. The windows didn’t look like they had been touched. There must be a tunnel, I figured, but the entrance was hidden.
A hiss followed by a soft whoosh sent me running for the steps. It was the gas jet under the water heater. I swore, “Jeebus!” Why I felt anxious poking around in the basement was no mystery. Basements are where bogeymen hid. A dragon could creep out of the laundry chute. The way the day had been going, one probably would.
Upstairs, the kitchen door to the basement creaked, and I scrambled for a place to hide. It had to be Ben and Werling. I hid from view behind the furnace.
“I wanted to said goodbye to Wendy,” I heard Werling say.
“I’ll say goodbye for you,” Ben replied. The wooden steps to the basement snapped and groaned as they clomped down. Werling let out a terrific sigh. “Yeah, um, well, maybe I’ll return this afternoon?” He said this with all the hope of a kid angling for a sucker at the doctor’s office.
Bearer of the Pearls Page 3