Read Online The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell) by D.M. Andrews - Free Book Online
Authors: D.M. Andrews
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the book from school, just like the one in the Glass — and it was in the Westhrop’s back garden!
As if in response to Thomas’s horror the serpent lifted its large head and flicked out its tongue, tasting its onlooker’s fear. It paused as if to determine Thomas’s whereabouts and then lifted its body up on its hind legs as far as it would go so that the snouted head rose up level with Thomas. The moon struck the creature’s face as it turned toward him, and Thomas stood frozen to the spot, not daring to move. Its eyes were just like those of the serpent in the Glass; jet-black vertical slits in pools of brilliant green — and they were looking directly through the hole at Thomas…
Thomas awoke with a start. His hand throbbed. He tried to clench it and discovered he couldn’t: he still held the Glass. He pulled his hand out from under the covers, half expecting the globe to be on fire. It wasn’t. In fact, it felt cool. He looked about. No moonlight spilled into the room. It was utterly dark. Thomas reached for the light and let out a sigh of relief when its glow filled the loft, dim though it was. Had it been a dream? It seemed so real. But he was in bed. Yes, he was in bed so it must have been a dream. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but take a peek through the hole in the roof lining before he went back to sleep. It was too dark to see anything outside of course. It always was.
Putting the Glass carefully down next to his bag of marbles by the bed, Thomas switched off the light and got back under the covers. But he couldn’t sleep for some time. The image of the serpent kept on coming back into his head, clear and vivid. Eventually, after what seemed like many hours, Thomas drifted back to sleep. There were no more dreams that night.
— CHAPTER FIVE —
Stanwell Clear
Jonathan Westhrop had bought his wife a new coat, quite an expensive one by the look of it. She liked it a lot. Thomas could tell. There was an excitement in her eyes every time she cast her eyes over it. Although the early September weather was still quite warm, Mrs Westhrop had brought the unseasonal coat with her. It lay neatly between Jessica and Thomas on the back seat of the car, and they were under strict instructions not to touch it. Every now and again Mrs Westhrop glanced back at the coat and smiled.
Mr Westhrop whistled a slightly off-key classical piece of music as he drove. He only ever whistled when he was happy about something. ‘Well, this’ll be your last trip in this old car. I’m having a new one delivered next weekend.’
A new car? Mr Westhrop had owned the green Morris Minor since before Thomas could remember. Mr Westhrop had been buying a few things of late. Several more gnomes had appeared in the garden one afternoon (each with a garish lick of paint, of course), and a few extra pot plants on the same day. Then there was the new computer. Mr Westhrop had finally upgraded to one with a flat screen. And last week he’d purchased a new, even larger, aquarium along with several brightly coloured exotic fish to fill it. The fruits of this spending spree, however, hadn’t touched Thomas or Jessica. Nothing was bought for, and no money was given to, them.
Thomas wasn’t at all sure that the Westhrops should be so happy on the day they were saying goodbye to their only daughter — if not him — until Christmas. But perhaps he had no right to judge; after all, he felt happy in his own way too. He could taste freedom for the first time in his life; he was finally being released from Jags’ collar and all the doggy (and human!) duties that entailed. No, he wouldn’t miss number six, Birch Tree Close.
Less than an hour later the four of them stood in the concourse of King’s Cross Station. Jessica and Thomas, with two suitcases and two bags on the floor between them, cast their eyes eagerly about the several hundred people who stood around them staring up at the large, orange text flickering across the departures
As if in response to Thomas’s horror the serpent lifted its large head and flicked out its tongue, tasting its onlooker’s fear. It paused as if to determine Thomas’s whereabouts and then lifted its body up on its hind legs as far as it would go so that the snouted head rose up level with Thomas. The moon struck the creature’s face as it turned toward him, and Thomas stood frozen to the spot, not daring to move. Its eyes were just like those of the serpent in the Glass; jet-black vertical slits in pools of brilliant green — and they were looking directly through the hole at Thomas…
Thomas awoke with a start. His hand throbbed. He tried to clench it and discovered he couldn’t: he still held the Glass. He pulled his hand out from under the covers, half expecting the globe to be on fire. It wasn’t. In fact, it felt cool. He looked about. No moonlight spilled into the room. It was utterly dark. Thomas reached for the light and let out a sigh of relief when its glow filled the loft, dim though it was. Had it been a dream? It seemed so real. But he was in bed. Yes, he was in bed so it must have been a dream. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but take a peek through the hole in the roof lining before he went back to sleep. It was too dark to see anything outside of course. It always was.
Putting the Glass carefully down next to his bag of marbles by the bed, Thomas switched off the light and got back under the covers. But he couldn’t sleep for some time. The image of the serpent kept on coming back into his head, clear and vivid. Eventually, after what seemed like many hours, Thomas drifted back to sleep. There were no more dreams that night.
— CHAPTER FIVE —
Stanwell Clear
Jonathan Westhrop had bought his wife a new coat, quite an expensive one by the look of it. She liked it a lot. Thomas could tell. There was an excitement in her eyes every time she cast her eyes over it. Although the early September weather was still quite warm, Mrs Westhrop had brought the unseasonal coat with her. It lay neatly between Jessica and Thomas on the back seat of the car, and they were under strict instructions not to touch it. Every now and again Mrs Westhrop glanced back at the coat and smiled.
Mr Westhrop whistled a slightly off-key classical piece of music as he drove. He only ever whistled when he was happy about something. ‘Well, this’ll be your last trip in this old car. I’m having a new one delivered next weekend.’
A new car? Mr Westhrop had owned the green Morris Minor since before Thomas could remember. Mr Westhrop had been buying a few things of late. Several more gnomes had appeared in the garden one afternoon (each with a garish lick of paint, of course), and a few extra pot plants on the same day. Then there was the new computer. Mr Westhrop had finally upgraded to one with a flat screen. And last week he’d purchased a new, even larger, aquarium along with several brightly coloured exotic fish to fill it. The fruits of this spending spree, however, hadn’t touched Thomas or Jessica. Nothing was bought for, and no money was given to, them.
Thomas wasn’t at all sure that the Westhrops should be so happy on the day they were saying goodbye to their only daughter — if not him — until Christmas. But perhaps he had no right to judge; after all, he felt happy in his own way too. He could taste freedom for the first time in his life; he was finally being released from Jags’ collar and all the doggy (and human!) duties that entailed. No, he wouldn’t miss number six, Birch Tree Close.
Less than an hour later the four of them stood in the concourse of King’s Cross Station. Jessica and Thomas, with two suitcases and two bags on the floor between them, cast their eyes eagerly about the several hundred people who stood around them staring up at the large, orange text flickering across the departures
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