The Lost Chronicles

Rippling Waves Cont

 

The notebook was only slightly helpful. It speculated on the sound being brownies or boggarts or tiny winged people or leprechauns or clurichauns, and I only had an idea of what two of those things were. Thankfully it also denounced several theories. But it didn’t tell us what it was, or what to do.

 

By the time I was placing the last pins in my bun the thing in the attic was making a riot like yesterday. Resisting the urge to go and try to smack it again with the broom, Natasha and I headed out for the library.

 

It was just as empty as the first time around, only now the librarian girl had a working computer. She was on Facebook. As the door closed without a sound she looked over at us, surprised. “You guys are back.”

 

“Well my cousin never installed a Wi-Fi modem, so this and cable TV are our forms of summer entertainment,” I said. “Hope you don’t mind. We won’t take anything out.”

 

She shrugged. “Would hardly matter if you do. People barely come in here, it’ll be nice having some regulars. Your cousin?”

 

“Yeah, I’m Avalon Cook,” I told her. “We’re staying in that big old place my cousin inherited a couple years ago from some old, dead person I’m related to only through marriage.”

 

“That explains why you guys are still around. Well, enjoy the books.”

 

We headed over to the mythology and folklore section and started pulling out books on the plausible theorized creatures.

 

A number of hours I wasn’t sure of later and we seemed to have gone through everything dealing with miniature people and gnomes. I stuffed the last book on the shelf, making a face. Natasha was scribbling out a picture of . . . it looked like a Lord of the Rings dwarf, but I think she meant it to be a gnome.

 

“That was a waste of time,” I muttered. “The best I got is offering it milk.”

Natasha glanced over at me. “You are not putting a bowl of milk out in the attic and then leaving it there overnight. That will stink.”

 

“I know. Maybe I can substitute it for acorns.”

 

“Acorns?”

 

“These are all forest-y things. Maybe it’ll like acorns. Though I don’t know where I’d find them this time of year . . .”

 

“Uh . . .” Natasha closed her sketchbook. “Let’s just go. We haven’t found anything. Maybe it’s just a rat in the walls or something normal.”

 

“Because it’ll be something normal after the ghost,” I said to myself as Natasha packed up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

 

We said good-bye to the librarian, who was still on social media, and then spent the next little while wandering around town. We borrowed some ‘free’ Wi-Fi to check our phones for any important messages, though we only had a few minutes so we weren’t caught.

 

Back at the house we saw Mrs McKraken going around the grounds with a wheelbarrow and loppers and a shovel. It looked like one of the shovels we’d used to dig Avira’s grave. Such fun memories.

 

I unlocked the front door and we went inside to have our ears immediately greeted with that annoying skittering sound magnified by times ten. Natasha looked like she was ready to bolt out the door. I snatched up the broom and brandished the bristles. “Alright, show yourself! Or I’m giving you a mouthful of straw. If you have a mouth.”

 

The hall fell quiet and I moved cautiously into the kitchen. I looked around and caught a glimpse of a slight shadow in the corner. Just as I focused on it, the shadow dart on, accompanied by that sound once again.

 

I automatically dropped the broom and lunged at it. I fully expected to miss or have my hands pass through it, so I was about as surprised at the creature when I managed to catch it. Behind me I heard Natasha squeak as I started wrestling with an extremely strong and determined miniature creature.

 

“Stop that!” I shouted. “You’re a pest!”

 

“Am not, am not, am not!” a high-pitched voice exclaimed. I was so shocked I froze and stared at the thing in my hands. “I made a deal with the owner a hundred and fifty years ago! They may be dead, but their bargain still holds!”

 

Picture a tiny, thin man with green skin, pointed ears, sharp teeth, and potentially absent clothing, and that’s what I was suddenly holding in my hands. My mouth worked for a second. “Bargain? What bargain? And what’s with the noise?”

 

The little man glared at me. “I made a deal. I could keep the shrooms in the attic. Now we need them, but they’re not there! They were moved! You moved them!”

 

“The attic’s been completely empty,” Natasha muttered.

 

I thought for a second. “Not when my cousin got the place,” I said. “There was a ton of stuff in there. And . . .” Right then I was regretting not paying much attention to family conversations. “I think he mentioned finding a box of something he thought was organic. Apparently when he opened it, it was really stinky, so he threw it out.”

 

The little man wailed in my hands.

 

“I think those are the . . . shrooms he mentioned,” Natasha said.

 

“Obviously,” I said. “But they’re long gone now.”

 

The little man looked like he was trying to keep his head from exploding. “No good! No good! The emergency stache is all we have for the coming of age ceremony! It takes twenty years to dry shrooms! For my nephew this works, but my niece will not have a proper drowning!”

 

“Coming of age?”

 

"Drowning?” Leave it to Natasha to focus on the part with horrifying moral implications.

 

“Yes, yes. Coming of age drowning ceremony. Fine for my nephew in three days. Not good for my niece in a few years. No shrooms is bad. I need them. The deal was made to me, it shouldn’t have been broken even if the old man died. Who works like that?”

 

“Humans,” I said. “The goblins from Harry Potter. Probably most sentient beings.” I gave the little man a hard look. “The point is – stay outta my house. My cousin’s house. Whatever. And what’s this about a drowning?”

 

“Standard nokken procedure. None of your business.” Then the little thing vanished. Literally vanished; one minute I was holding it, the next it was gone. That annoying skittering sound started up again, but before I could pinpoint it, it was gone.

 

I looked furiously around. “That little – what did he say?”

 

“No . . . nokken procedure? What does that mean?” Natasha said.

 

“I have no idea, but I can tell you one thing. If it wasn’t so late, I’d say go back to the library and look up this ‘nokken’ term. But we don’t have time for that, and I don’t like this drowning talk. So tomorrow, let’s check out the lake.”

 

Natasha folded her arms. “If something in there is going to drown me, I’m not going swimming.”

 

“We’ll check it out before we go into the lake. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe these things live in the creek or something. Though that makes the memory of dredging bones more terrifying,” I said.

 

“I can’t decide if I hate or like this town,” Natasha decided. I gave her one of my grins that could’ve meant anything. She knew better than to argue with me.