Free The Monster of Shiversands Cove by Emma Fischel

Chapter One
    Shiversands Cove
    â€˜This holiday is doomed,’ I said. ‘Because Rory should be on this holiday but Rory is
not
.’
    I glared at the back of Dad’s head. Then, I glared out of the car window. I glared at the road, winding along, far above the sea.
    Rory is my very best friend. I was three when I met him. He moved into my street and I spotted him straight away: as soon as he clambered out of his car seat, clutching a big green lollipop.
    Rory spotted me too. He came skipping over, beaming, offered me a lick of the lollipop and that was it. I was Rory’s best friend from then on and he was mine.
    The mums and dads became best friends, too. So for the last four years we have all had holidays together.
    But not this year.
    â€˜I was expecting this holiday to be brilliant, just like the last four,’ I grumbled at the back of Dad’s head. ‘But it will
not
be. Because Rory’s mum and dad have
ruined
things.’
    First, they both got new jobs, two hundred miles away from their old jobs. So, one month and three days ago, Rory had to move.
    Second, moving costs a lot, so Rory’s mum and dad decided there would be no holiday this year. And they cancelled it.
    â€˜Cheer up, Stan,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll still have a good time.’
    â€˜I doubt it,’ I said gloomily. ‘Not with no Rory. Just Magnus.’
    I turned and glared at Magnus.
    Magnus, my brother, is four years old and he’s short and stout, with bobbing golden curls. He was lolling in his car seat next to me, fast asleep, dribbling, twitching and muttering. His big fairy-spotting guide was lying open on his lap.
    â€˜The
whole
first hour of this journey,’ I said to the back of Dad’s head, ‘I had to listen to Magnus telling me about his magic eyes.’
    Yes. Magic eyes.
    Magic eyes, so Magnus told me, are something all little kids have. Special eyes: eyes that can see fairies, and elves, and little pixies, and all sorts. Magnus also told me that a little kid who
does
see a fairy, or whatever, will keep hold of those magic eyes and be able to see fairies forever and
ever
. Even as a grown-up . . .
    As if!
    â€˜The
second
hour,’ I said, ‘I had to listen to Magnus telling me
all
his fairy-hunting plans for this holiday.’
    On and on and
on
Magnus went and I could
not
shut him up. Even when I stuck my headphones on, he kept pulling them off to chat more.
    â€˜The
third
hour,’ I said, ‘Magnus showed me pictures in his fairy-spotting guide. And he spent fifteen whole minutes explaining,
not
that I wanted to know, how seaside fairies have special waterproof wings so that they can splash and play in the waves without their wings getting waterlogged. And now, Magnus is
finally
asleep but, judging by all the dribbling and muttering, he is
dreaming
about fairies!’
    I slumped down in my seat, glum as anything.
    â€˜Almost there,’ Dad said cheerily. Then, the car slowed down and turned left, down a very narrow lane, winding towards the sea.
    The sea got closer and closer and then, right below us, I could see it.
    Shiversands Cove.
    It was small and sandy, with big black rocks at both ends, and jagged cliffs stretching up and away above them. There were cottages, two of them, clinging to the slope behind the beach: a pale blue cottage the far end and right ahead of us, a white one.
    Shiversands Cottage. Our holiday home.
    * * *
    Shiversands Cottage was old and crooked. It was leaning a bit to one side and all painted white, with a black wooden frame. It had lots of little windows with diamond-shaped panes.
    I got out of the car and stood with Dad. He stretched and looked around, then gave a big happy sniff. ‘Sea air,’ he said. ‘A beach. Cliffs.’
    Then he pointed out to sea, to a small island, linked by a rickety bridge from the edge of our cove. ‘And look,’ he said, ‘there. An island to explore.