Free The Monster of Shiversands Cove by Emma Fischel Page A

Perfect!’
    Â 

    Â 
    Dad was right. It
was
perfect. But that made me feel even more glum, because it
was
perfect, except for one thing.
    No Rory.
    So I glared at the pale blue cottage at the far end of the cove. The one Rory should be been staying in, but wasn’t.
    â€˜We had plans for this holiday,’ I said. ‘Big plans.’ Which we did: digging plans, snorkelling plans, all sorts of plans.
    â€˜And if Rory were here, then Amy would be too,’ I said. ‘So Magnus could do all his fairy chat with Amy, instead of me.’
    Amy is Rory’s sister: another four-year-old fairy fanatic.
    I felt my shoulders droop. ‘And Rory said we could train Bagel to do the high jump this holiday,’ I said. ‘But
now
, instead of Rory and his dog, I am stuck with Magnus and his hamster. And the hamster is an idiot, and it bites. So . . .’
    I blinked. There was something out there, far out at sea, swimming behind the island.
    I tugged on Dad’s sleeve. ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘What’s that?’
    Dad looked. ‘What’s what?’ he said.
    â€˜It’s gone now, behind the island,’ I said. ‘But there was something there, something big, something greeny-grey.’
    Just then, I heard a gasp from the car seat and a small piping voice.
    â€˜Daddy, Stan,’ it said. ‘I am
absolutely
ready to go fairy hunting!’
    Magnus was awake: beaming out of the car window and struggling with the straps of his car seat. ‘Stan, Help me, help me,’ he said. ‘Get me out!’
    I opened the car door and undid the straps. Magnus scrambled out, eyes all shiny as he stared at the sea. He clasped his hands together. ‘Oh, I do hope I find a fairy! And if I do find a fairy, I must let Fairy Fenella know!’
    I groaned; I just couldn’t help it. Not Fairy Fenella.
Again
. I heard a
lot
about Fairy Fenella in the car: too much, in fact.
    â€˜Magnus,’ I snapped. ‘Fairy Fenella is
not
a real fairy.’
    Magnus just tittered and patted my hand. ‘Stan,’ he said, ‘you are such a silly. Fairy Fenella
is
a real fairy.’
    â€˜She is
not
,’ I said. ‘She’s . . .’
    â€˜
Stan
,’ said Dad.
    Dad can get a lot of meaning into a ‘Stan’, and this ‘Stan’ was a warning. Say any more about Fairy Fenella being some grown-up idiot who thinks it’s funny to prance around on TV, filling little kids’ heads with nonsense about day-to-day life as a fairy, and magic eyes, and all that stuff, and you are in Big Trouble.
    Even though it was the truth.
    * * *
    Inside, Shiversands Cottage was all higgledy-piggledy: full of sloping floors and small dark rooms filled with big dark shadows. It was very old, very dark and a bit spooky. Which I liked.
    The sitting room was darkest and spookiest of all. I pushed open the door and walked in. It had two narrow windows, a sloping floor and two saggy old sofas. There were shelves crammed full of old books, and pictures everywhere: old black and white photos of stormy seas, of huge waves crashing over big black rocks, and of olden days people in olden days clothes, standing by olden days boats.
    Over the fireplace was a big dark painting. It was some kind of sea monster, rearing up over a boat at night. An ugly sort of sea monster,looming out of the waves and the gloom. Its head was arched back, its eyes were popping, and its snout was open, as though it was roaring.
    Excellent!
    Up the narrow, creaking stairs there were three rooms: a bathroom and two bedrooms. The one straight ahead had a nameplate on the door, which said:
    CAPTAIN’S CABIN
    Then, there were three small steps up to another room, with a sign, which said:
    CREW’S CABIN
    Crew’s cabin was small but cosy. It had two beds, one for me and one for Magnus, with a big porthole-shaped window between them. I stared out of it and down the long, sloping back