The Night Gardener (22 page)

A scraping in the shadows startled him. “Who’s there!” he said, scrambling for Courage.

The door swung open to reveal Molly. She was still in her clothes and was clutching a lantern. “Scoot over,” she said. “I’m bunking with you tonight.”

Kip slid his crutch back under the cot. He peered at his sister, who
looked tired and tense. Had something happened to her? “Thought you said the stables was too drafty.”

“They
are
drafty.” She flashed a fake smile. “But I thought you could use some company.”

“I got Gal for company.” He nodded toward the horse, who was standing in the stall, ears twitching, asleep. He looked back at Molly, searching her face in the lamplight. “You sure there ain’t some
other
reason?”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Are you gonna make me beg?”

“Of course not, I just want …” Kip sighed. What
did
he want? For Molly to be honest with him. To tell him the fears that crowded her heart. To tell him that she, too, was scared of this place. He stared up at his sister, at her dark hair and darker eyes. “Molly, look at yourself …” He shook his head, knowing that this wasn’t the time. “You’re standin’ in horse apples.” He pointed to her feet.

Molly leapt back and hurriedly scraped the wet dung from her heel. Kip rolled to the edge of the cot, making a space for her. “Boots off,” he said. He listened as she removed her boots, put out her lamp, and climbed into bed beside him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, an arm around him.

“It’s not like I was sleepin’ anyway,” Kip said. He closed his eyes, trying to quiet his restless mind. He concentrated on the sounds of life around him. Molly’s breathing rose and fell in his ear. Galileo snorted softly behind him. Water dripped from the edge of the roof into the rain barrel. Crickets sang in the grass. Wind rattled in the trees.

“Molls?”

He heard Molly stir behind him. “What is it?”

Kip stared out the window. “Do you think he’s inside there right now?”

Molly shook her head. “Not yet. When he comes, you can feel it. Like when a song goes off-key.”

Kip rolled over to face her. “That’s why you’re sleepin’ out here, ain’t it? You didn’t want to be in there with him.” He eyed the rank squalor of the stables. “I know it’s why I am.”

Molly nodded and released a long breath. “You were smarter’n me, though. You knew it was bad almost right away.”

“Smart’s got nothin’ to do with it. I was scared.” He swallowed. “I’m still scared.” He looked at her face—a paler, sicker version of the sister he loved. He sat up. “I still think we should leave, Molls. Whatever that man’s doin’ to the folks in that house each night, whatever he’s doin’ to
you
… It ain’t good.”

She touched her dark hair. “So you did notice?”

Kip nodded. “Hard not to.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He blinked in the darkness. “I thought you wouldn’t listen. And don’t say it ain’t true, because it is. You looked in a mirror every day for weeks and didn’t see nothin’. If your own eyes canna convince you, what chance do I stand?”

Molly looked like she was about to object but instead sighed. She flopped back down, staring up at the rafters for a long moment.
“Sometimes, while I’m sleepin’,” she said at last, “I think I can feel him in my room, standin’ right over me …”

“You canna try an’ stop him?”

She shook her head. “It’s like I’m trapped inside my dreams, and there’s no way out.” She clenched her jaw. “And then mornin’ comes and everythin’ is bright, and I feel safe again.” She turned to him, and there were tears in her dark eyes. “I just wish I knew what he was doin’ … and I wish I knew why.”

Kip took a deep breath and placed his hand on hers. “Maybe it’s time we found out.”

olly and Kip spent the next day preparing to spy on the night man—a task that mostly involved steeling their nerves and ignoring their common sense. They still weren’t certain how he entered the house each night, and so they decided to wait for him on the lawn. After all the family had gone to bed, Molly met her brother by the woodpile in front of the stables. She brought scarves and hot broth, which they drank in silence as they watched the dark house. “You comfortable?” she asked as Kip adjusted his weight on the logs.

“I could do with a story,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Nothin’ scary, though.”

Molly shook her head. “That’s a tall order. Mother Goose would be scary on a night like this.” The truth was, Molly hadn’t told a proper story for weeks—not to Kip, not to Penny, not even to herself. She had all but lost the desire. There was only one kind of story that interested her now. She reached into her pocket and removed the most recent letter from their parents. “How about a story from Ma an’ Da instead?”

Kip eyed the letter. “What’s the point? You already read it once.” He swatted the end of his crutch at the tall grass. “Readin’ it again won’t bring ’em here any faster.”

Molly tried to decipher his expression. With each new letter, Kip seemed less and less happy to hear from their parents. She wondered what he would say if he knew where the letters really came from. She put the envelope back into her pocket but kept her hand on it. Just touching the paper made her feel better, made her feel safe.

Molly watched the house. Every window was dark but for her window, which gave off a faint yellow glow. She and Kip had placed a candle on the windowsill. She stared at the steady speck of light, thinking of what it would mean if that flame went out. A part of her didn’t want to know what the night man was doing in the house each night. A part of her wanted to forget the whole plan—to crawl back into her warm bed and wake up none the wiser.

Kip sat up. “Do you hear that?”

Molly nodded, her ears prickling. Behind her, the trees had begun to rattle and creak. The grass at their feet rustled as it filled with life. Wind slid through the woods, moving over the lawn, converging on the house. The sky was already dark, but now it went three shades darker. Molly heard shutters clattering, walls groaning. She heard a low moan as the wind whiffled over the chimney tops. She reached out, holding Kip’s hand. “Not yet,” she said, her eyes fixed on the candle at her window—

The tiny flame flickered and then went out.

“He’s in there.” She slid down from the woodpile and lit the lantern, which Kip had removed from Galileo’s cart. The lantern was heavy, but it had flaps that dampened the glow, allowing them to see without being seen.

Molly and Kip rushed toward the house as quickly as the wind would allow. They reached the front door to find it still closed. Molly dimmed the lamp as low as she could without losing the flame. She removed her boots. The stone stoop was ice against her feet. Kip knelt beside her. His boots were off, and he was busy tying an old pillowcase around the foot of his crutch. “Are you sure we should do this?” he said.

“Not a bit.” Molly helped him stand. “Let’s go.”

She put her hand on the knob and opened the front door. Wind howled inside the foyer—and for a moment she was transported back to that first night with the top hat. She stepped across the threshold, Kip at her side. Leaves swirled around them, spinning and swooping in a gentle, almost beautiful dance. She heard the familiar sound from the back of the house—

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

Molly grabbed Kip and pulled him down the hall. She peeked around the corner to see the night man appear at the other end of the
foyer. He was carrying the same watering can they had seen before, but from the way he held it, she could tell it was empty. She watched his feet leave muddy tracks as he slowly mounted the stairs to the upper rooms.

Molly waited until he was around the corner and then crept after him. She slowly climbed the staircase, her eyes trained on the small pool of lamplight at her feet. She tried her best not to make a sound; she didn’t even dare step on a loose board. Kip struggled behind her, keeping one hand on the banister. The cloth around the end of his crutch muffled the sound of his steps somewhat. Molly hoped it would be enough.

She reached the top of the stairs and waited for her brother to catch up. Kip was peering all around him, eyes wide, and she realized that he had never been in this part of the house before. “What’s that room there?” he whispered, pointing behind him at the green door, which was slightly ajar. “The one with the lock?”

“Just a broom closet.” Molly took his hand and pulled him farther down the passage.

Even with the moonlight and her lamp, it was still hard to see. She kept one hand along the wall to steady herself as she led Kip to the back hall, where the bedrooms were. Doors creaked and clattered as wind moved back and forth through the corridor. From every room, she could hear the voices of the Windsor family, each of them caught in his or her own nightmare.

Molly heard Penny inside her room. “Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!” the girl called out in the darkness.

Molly heard footsteps just ahead. She crouched behind a cabinet along the wall. Kip huddled beside her. A shadow darkened Alistair’s doorway, and the night man stepped into the hall. He still had the watering can, only now Molly could hear a light sloshing against the metal sides. He had been filling it. But with
what
?

The night man disappeared inside Master Windsor’s room. “Hold this,” Molly whispered, giving her lamp to Kip. She crouched low and crept toward the room. Kip stayed right behind her, matching her every step. The door was open, and as Molly approached, she could hear Master Windsor muttering and moaning in his sleep.

Molly peered into the room. Moonlight shone in through the window above Master Windsor’s bed. He was thrashing underneath his covers, eyes shut, skin wet with perspiration. “N-n-no!” he pleaded. “D-d-don’t hurt them!”

The night man stood over him, watching him toss and turn. He set down his watering can and reached a long hand into his cloak. He removed something gray and limp. A rag. The man pressed the rag against Bertrand’s face, gently mopping his brow, his neck, his hands. Molly watched, trying to understand what she was seeing.

The night man took the wet rag and held it over the open mouth of his watering can. He wrung the rag in his pale hands, and silver liquid trickled down, slowly filling the can. When the rag was dry, the man returned to Master Windsor and began again. He repeated this ritual over and over—each time filling his can a little bit more.

Molly tried swallowing, but her throat was too dry. She could feel
Kip right beside her, his breath hot against her neck. She did not know what she was seeing, but she knew she did not want to see it. Even more, she did not want
Kip
to see it. She let go of the door frame and slowly inched backward—

Crisk.
She heard a gentle crackling sound as her foot crushed a leaf.

All at once, everything stopped. The house grew silent. The wind ceased. Even the moonlight seemed to disappear. A wave of dread overtook Molly’s whole body as she felt something stir in the darkness. The night man stepped through the doorway, his features hidden in shadow.

He moved toward them.

“P-p-please, sir.” Molly backed away, bowing her head. “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean nothin’ …”

The man took another step toward them, into the light of Kip’s lamp. Molly saw his face, and her voice fell silent. The man’s beard was a tangle of black roots. His skin was as smooth as bone. His mouth was a crooked scar. His cheeks were hollow and long. And his eyes—

Molly stifled a shriek.

The man’s eyes were not eyes at all but two black pits burrowed deep into his skull. He tilted his head, pointing the pits straight at her, watching her with a look of cold curiosity.

Molly stumbled backward, pushing Kip toward the stairs. “Stay away from us!” She groped the top of the cabinet, feeling for something, anything, to ward him off. She took hold of a vase and threw it at his head.

The man, who had moved so slowly before, suddenly snapped to life. He snarled, and a gust of wind rattled down the corridor, knocking her hard against the floor.

“Molls! Get up!” She felt Kip at her arm, trying to pull her up.

She pushed him away. “Kip, run!” Molly rose to her feet, planting herself between her brother and the man. “I won’t let you hurt him,” she said, her voice trembling. “He ain’t done nothin’!”