the lamplight. One thing, sheâd keep the ditches free of Weed Inspectors!
On her way home that afternoon, sheâd encountered more of his vile weeds, and other icky kinds as well, some with red spots that oozed like sores, others metallic-grey with knife-sharp leaves that clattered and clinked together. Clumps of them were spreading out of control and wiping out whatever got in their way, and not only greenery, she suspected. Nieve had skirted around them as best as she could, and yet one low, toady plant shot a coiling tendril along the ground as she passed and almost snagged her around the ankle. She stomped on it and took off, giving the rest of them a wider berth.
Before going in the house, sheâd checked under her bedroom window to see if the one that had mysteriously vanished had sprung up again. What she found was even more upsetting. Footprints. They were too large to have been made by Maryâs abductors, who had small thick feet shod in leather boots. And even though the prints were about her size, they werenât hers. Whoever made them hadnât been wearing shoes. Sheâd squatted down, studying the prints with mounting alarm. Bare feet and only four toes on each foot! No mistake, someone, or some thing, had been spying on her, watching her through her bedroom window while sheâd been asleep and defenseless.
Nieve was so annoyed, recalling this discovery, that she was about to give the arm of the couch another good wallop . . . then stopped, her fist suspended above it. Footsteps, outside. Someone was coming up the front walk. Not Becky, with her light, skipping tread. These footsteps fell heavily on the flagstones, heavily enough to crack them. She caught her breath, listening, trying to figure out who it might be. Soon, too soon, her visitor was at the front door, pounding on it, hard. The door rattled and reverberated, sounding as thin as plywood under the fist assaulting it. She slid onto the floor and crouched behind the coffee table.
âTruant Officer. OPEN UP!â
She crouched lower, waiting. When he finds no one home, heâll leave, she thought. Wonât he? Sensibly, she had locked all the doors and windows after her parents left, although he sounded fierce enough, strong enough, to rip the door off its hinges.
The truant officer bellowed, âYOU CANâT HIDE FROM ME!! I KNOW YOUâRE IN THERE AND IâLL GET YOU NO MATTER WHAT!! OPEN UP NOW OR ELSE!!â He started pounding again.
The only thing pounding harder was Nieveâs heart. Sheâd have to make a break for it, get out. Keeping low, she scurried into the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight off the counter, and unlocked the back door. Before slipping out, she reset it so that it would lock behind her. That way he wouldnât guess her escape route. Better yet, he might get the message that no one was home. The second she heard the door click shut behind her, though, she remembered that someone was home. Mr. Mustard Seed. But surely a truant officer wouldnât drag a cat off to school? Not even a truant officer who sounded like a monster? Nieve hesitated. How could she abandon him? She stared hard at the locked door. With the racket and bellowing out front growing even louder, all she could do was think hard, really hard, trying to send her thoughts straight to Mr. Mustard Seed. She implored him to be very quiet and keep hidden.
The flashlightâs narrow beam sliced through the thick darkness as she darted across the backyard and swerved around the pond, which gurgled like a drain when she passed it. Another time she might have stopped to check it out, but not now. She struck out for the wild area behind the house. Unfortunately, there was no choice about the flashlight, a dead giveaway if the truant officer spotted it, the only light for miles bounding away. Her only hope was that by the time he crashed into the house, sheâd be out of sight.
While long grass whispered against
On her way home that afternoon, sheâd encountered more of his vile weeds, and other icky kinds as well, some with red spots that oozed like sores, others metallic-grey with knife-sharp leaves that clattered and clinked together. Clumps of them were spreading out of control and wiping out whatever got in their way, and not only greenery, she suspected. Nieve had skirted around them as best as she could, and yet one low, toady plant shot a coiling tendril along the ground as she passed and almost snagged her around the ankle. She stomped on it and took off, giving the rest of them a wider berth.
Before going in the house, sheâd checked under her bedroom window to see if the one that had mysteriously vanished had sprung up again. What she found was even more upsetting. Footprints. They were too large to have been made by Maryâs abductors, who had small thick feet shod in leather boots. And even though the prints were about her size, they werenât hers. Whoever made them hadnât been wearing shoes. Sheâd squatted down, studying the prints with mounting alarm. Bare feet and only four toes on each foot! No mistake, someone, or some thing, had been spying on her, watching her through her bedroom window while sheâd been asleep and defenseless.
Nieve was so annoyed, recalling this discovery, that she was about to give the arm of the couch another good wallop . . . then stopped, her fist suspended above it. Footsteps, outside. Someone was coming up the front walk. Not Becky, with her light, skipping tread. These footsteps fell heavily on the flagstones, heavily enough to crack them. She caught her breath, listening, trying to figure out who it might be. Soon, too soon, her visitor was at the front door, pounding on it, hard. The door rattled and reverberated, sounding as thin as plywood under the fist assaulting it. She slid onto the floor and crouched behind the coffee table.
âTruant Officer. OPEN UP!â
She crouched lower, waiting. When he finds no one home, heâll leave, she thought. Wonât he? Sensibly, she had locked all the doors and windows after her parents left, although he sounded fierce enough, strong enough, to rip the door off its hinges.
The truant officer bellowed, âYOU CANâT HIDE FROM ME!! I KNOW YOUâRE IN THERE AND IâLL GET YOU NO MATTER WHAT!! OPEN UP NOW OR ELSE!!â He started pounding again.
The only thing pounding harder was Nieveâs heart. Sheâd have to make a break for it, get out. Keeping low, she scurried into the kitchen, grabbed the flashlight off the counter, and unlocked the back door. Before slipping out, she reset it so that it would lock behind her. That way he wouldnât guess her escape route. Better yet, he might get the message that no one was home. The second she heard the door click shut behind her, though, she remembered that someone was home. Mr. Mustard Seed. But surely a truant officer wouldnât drag a cat off to school? Not even a truant officer who sounded like a monster? Nieve hesitated. How could she abandon him? She stared hard at the locked door. With the racket and bellowing out front growing even louder, all she could do was think hard, really hard, trying to send her thoughts straight to Mr. Mustard Seed. She implored him to be very quiet and keep hidden.
The flashlightâs narrow beam sliced through the thick darkness as she darted across the backyard and swerved around the pond, which gurgled like a drain when she passed it. Another time she might have stopped to check it out, but not now. She struck out for the wild area behind the house. Unfortunately, there was no choice about the flashlight, a dead giveaway if the truant officer spotted it, the only light for miles bounding away. Her only hope was that by the time he crashed into the house, sheâd be out of sight.
While long grass whispered against
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