Free Molly Moon & the Monster Music by Georgia Byng Page A

Using her forehead and shoulders she parted them a bit to let some light in. The jacket lay across the unmade bed. Petula could smell the coin inside it. Better still, the harmonica was on the bedside table. Petula put her mouth up to the table, took the instrument, and posted it under the bed. She jumped up onto the duvet and with her paw swiped at the jacket to expose the lining. The coin was in an inner pocket. It was practically breathing. Live as a demon or an evil scorpion, it sat smug and malevolent. What really scared Petula was that she felt sure that it, this horrid entity residing in gold, was aware of her. Her skin prickled and the hair on her neck bristled. Petula shook her ears and head.
    Now as she looked, darkness seemed to swirl about the pocket where the coin was. Was she imagining it? Steeling her nerves, Petula slid her paw into the pocket.
    And then a really weird thing happened. Shecould not touch the coin. She knew it was there, but her paw could not make contact with it. It was as if the coin had a shield that kept it safe from thieves, or certainly from her. No matter how hard she tried, Petula simply could not touch it. She withdrew her paw. She would have to drag the jacket somewhere and hide it. Then Molly wouldn’t be able to find it, and perhaps the coin’s evil influence would wane. Gripping the jacket’s collar with her teeth, Petula began to tug but found the jacket was stuck. It was as if it was staked to the bed.
    Petula was tugging so hard that she didn’t notice a creaking, squeaking noise behind her. When she looked up she nearly yelped in fright. The grandmother in her wheelchair was staring at her. Half certain that she had something to do with the evil coin, too, Petula backed off.
    However, the old lady nodded at Petula encouragingly. Leaning forward in her wheelchair, she dipped her gnarled hand into Molly’s jacket pocket. As Petula watched her arm began to shake and her face to twist as she attempted to close her fingers around the coin. The veins in her scrawny neck stood up as she concentrated on trying to force her hand to close. And then, as though she had received a massive electric shock, she cried out in pain. Her hand shotback toward her and the old woman bent over to nurse it. The coin was still in the pocket.
    At the same moment, they both noticed that Molly stood in the doorway. She was wearing shiny black leather boots, a black velvet miniskirt, and a silver jacket. Her black T-shirt had a skull on it—but not the smiley skull of before. She marched up to the bed and picked up the jacket easily. Putting her hand into the pocket, she retrieved her coin. Petula could practically hear the golden object purr. Molly leaned forward and poked Petula hard. Then, roughly, she brushed her off the bed. Next she grabbed the wheelchair. Smiling with saccharine sweetness, she turned the grandmother to the door and shoved her out of the room.
    Petula sat dazed and confused on the floor. Everything was out of control. She must save the real Molly, but she didn’t know how.
    Suddenly she was afraid of what Molly might do if she discovered her harmonica missing. If she guessed Petula had hidden it, she might be so livid that she would call the dog pound. Petula couldn’t let this happen. In the pound she’d be no use to anyone. With a swipe of her paw she reluctantly retrieved the harmonica from under the bed and left it visible on the floor.
    Molly came back through the door, putting the coin in the pocket of her silver jacket. She studied Petula and picked up her harmonica. Then, as disgusted as she might be by a rat that had fleas all over it, she whispered viciously, “ Get out! ”
    Petula’s ears flattened and, scared to the core, she bolted for the door.
    It was odd, Molly thought as she watched her go. Once she had had warm feelings for Petula, but now she couldn’t care less about her. She had grown up, she supposed—her