Read Online The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Auxier
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get a better look inside the bag, but he had tied the end shut. “It looks heavy,” she said. “Can I help you with it?”
“N-n-no! I’m p-p-perfectly fine. Wouldn’t want you to, er … strain yourself …” He fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before he managed to fit it into the lock. He secured the green door and mopped his brow with the end of his nightcap. “Goodness!” He covered his mouth, giving a theatrical yawn. “It certainly has been a long day—for you as well, I’d imagine! Perhaps it’s time we turn in.” He said this in a way that led her to understand that “we” really meant “you.”
Much as Molly wanted to see what was inside the bag, she knew it would not happen tonight. “Good night to you, sir,” she said, bowing. She turned and walked down the stairs, her small lamp lighting the darkness.
Molly reached her room to find her brother waiting at the window, looking half-frozen and exhausted. When he asked what had taken her so long, she muttered something about chores and promised to make it up to him with an extra big breakfast the next morning. The two of them undressed and went to bed with scarcely another word—slipping into the rare, comfortable silence of those who know each other even better than they know themselves.
As Kip nestled beside her, Molly kept going over her encounter with Master Windsor in the hall. The man had been so startled to find her outside the door.
More than startled
, she thought to herself as she drifted to sleep—
He had looked afraid.
olly jolted awake in the middle of the night. Her hands were shaking and she was cold with sweat. She swallowed her dry throat, calming herself. She had been having a bad dream, that was all. It was not a new dream; it was the same one she had been having every night since coming to the house. Her mother and father holding her, letting her down into the churning water; Molly screaming for them as they disappeared in the darkness. But every night, the dream got a little worse. Tonight, the swells were as steep as valleys, the lightning was black and gnarled like roots, and her parents’ faces were pale and ghastly.
Molly sat up, letting her eyes adjust to the moonlight. Kip tossed beside her, caught, it seemed, in a bad dream of his own. He let out a frail whimper, recoiling from some unseen horror. Molly thought of waking him, but she knew that bad rest was better than none at all. “Brave now, love,” she whispered to him, brushing the hair from his damp brow.
Molly heard a creaking sound and saw that her bedroom doorhad somehow come open in the night. She peeled back the covers and tiptoed across the cold floor. She gently shut the door and leaned back against it—steadying herself against the dark waves still churning inside her. She tucked a loose curl behind one ear. Her fingers found something dry caught in the tangles of her hair—
It was a dead leaf.
Molly held it up against the window, letting the moonlight shine through its brittle skin. Tiny twisted veins branched out from the center stem—a tree inside a tree. Molly noticed other leaves in her room, scattered across the floor. Blown in through the open door, perhaps?
She was about to return to bed when she felt something at her feet. This was not a leaf. It was wet and cold.
Mud,
she thought. She knelt down, looking at the mark. It was a heavy footprint, similar to the ones Molly had cleaned from the stairs earlier that day. She could tell at once that this print was too large to belong to her brother. She looked across the stone floor and saw more tracks. They went right to the side of her bed. Molly stood, a shiver passing through her body.
Someone else had been inside her room!
At that very moment, a prickling sensation filled her ears. She remained still, listening to the silent house. Somewhere above her she could hear a heavy sound—
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
Footsteps.
Hearing this sound, Molly wanted nothing more than to bury
“N-n-no! I’m p-p-perfectly fine. Wouldn’t want you to, er … strain yourself …” He fumbled with his key, dropping it twice before he managed to fit it into the lock. He secured the green door and mopped his brow with the end of his nightcap. “Goodness!” He covered his mouth, giving a theatrical yawn. “It certainly has been a long day—for you as well, I’d imagine! Perhaps it’s time we turn in.” He said this in a way that led her to understand that “we” really meant “you.”
Much as Molly wanted to see what was inside the bag, she knew it would not happen tonight. “Good night to you, sir,” she said, bowing. She turned and walked down the stairs, her small lamp lighting the darkness.
Molly reached her room to find her brother waiting at the window, looking half-frozen and exhausted. When he asked what had taken her so long, she muttered something about chores and promised to make it up to him with an extra big breakfast the next morning. The two of them undressed and went to bed with scarcely another word—slipping into the rare, comfortable silence of those who know each other even better than they know themselves.
As Kip nestled beside her, Molly kept going over her encounter with Master Windsor in the hall. The man had been so startled to find her outside the door.
More than startled
, she thought to herself as she drifted to sleep—
He had looked afraid.
olly jolted awake in the middle of the night. Her hands were shaking and she was cold with sweat. She swallowed her dry throat, calming herself. She had been having a bad dream, that was all. It was not a new dream; it was the same one she had been having every night since coming to the house. Her mother and father holding her, letting her down into the churning water; Molly screaming for them as they disappeared in the darkness. But every night, the dream got a little worse. Tonight, the swells were as steep as valleys, the lightning was black and gnarled like roots, and her parents’ faces were pale and ghastly.
Molly sat up, letting her eyes adjust to the moonlight. Kip tossed beside her, caught, it seemed, in a bad dream of his own. He let out a frail whimper, recoiling from some unseen horror. Molly thought of waking him, but she knew that bad rest was better than none at all. “Brave now, love,” she whispered to him, brushing the hair from his damp brow.
Molly heard a creaking sound and saw that her bedroom doorhad somehow come open in the night. She peeled back the covers and tiptoed across the cold floor. She gently shut the door and leaned back against it—steadying herself against the dark waves still churning inside her. She tucked a loose curl behind one ear. Her fingers found something dry caught in the tangles of her hair—
It was a dead leaf.
Molly held it up against the window, letting the moonlight shine through its brittle skin. Tiny twisted veins branched out from the center stem—a tree inside a tree. Molly noticed other leaves in her room, scattered across the floor. Blown in through the open door, perhaps?
She was about to return to bed when she felt something at her feet. This was not a leaf. It was wet and cold.
Mud,
she thought. She knelt down, looking at the mark. It was a heavy footprint, similar to the ones Molly had cleaned from the stairs earlier that day. She could tell at once that this print was too large to belong to her brother. She looked across the stone floor and saw more tracks. They went right to the side of her bed. Molly stood, a shiver passing through her body.
Someone else had been inside her room!
At that very moment, a prickling sensation filled her ears. She remained still, listening to the silent house. Somewhere above her she could hear a heavy sound—
THUMP!
THUMP!
THUMP!
Footsteps.
Hearing this sound, Molly wanted nothing more than to bury
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