Free Jake and the Giant Hand by Philippa Dowding

came up out of the ground!”
    â€œSit down, Jake,” his grandfather said quietly. “Calm down. You’ll get yourself all worked up again. A giant hand, son? Where would it have come from? Really? I mean, just think about that.”
    Jake was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath.
    â€œBut the giant flies, Grandpa! The white stone at the bottom of the hole.…” Jake didn’t want to stop, now that his grandpa was at least listening to him.
    â€œMaybe those were cicadas, Jake. It’s cicada season. They have been known to swarm. And the white … stuff … if it exists, maybe it’s chalk.”
    â€œNo. Not cicadas, not chalk! You know it, and I know it. They were FLIES! They’ve been chasing me for days. And it’s BONE!”
    Jake was getting upset now. He could feel himself close to tears. He started shouting.
    â€œWhy won’t you tell me the truth, Grandpa? I know bone when I see it! The Cuthberts have a moose skull outside their new cabin. The bone at the bottom of the hole is just like it — white and grainy and strong!”
    Jake’s eyes were wild and he was leaning on the kitchen table, nose-to-nose with his grandfather. Gus was up on his feet, ready to bark.
    His grandpa sighed and pushed away his dinner plate. “Sit down, Jake. Calm down, for heaven’s sake. It’s true this farm has been in our family for over one hundred years. Strange stories get told and passed down, but you should remember this: they’re stories . No one knows for sure if they happened or not. Like poor old Edwina Fingles wanders off and disappears, and suddenly she becomes the swamp creature. Or a huge old prehistoric tree, or ancient animal bones or something, turn up in a field and someone makes up a story about a giant hand. People have huge imaginations, Jake, especially bored people.”
    â€œBut Grandpa, I went to the library. Mrs. Cody knew who I was. She was nice until I asked her about the giant hand, then I saw her take a clipping from the wall. I know I did. She probably wanted to protect you and hide the truth.”
    His grandpa stayed silent, so Jake went on.
    â€œAnd … and … at the library, Kate and Chris and I found a picture of the farm with the hand. There was a horse-head pump in the background! It has to be here, Grandpa! THE GIANT HAND IS ON THIS FARM!”
    Jake and his grandpa looked at each other for a long time. Jake could hear his heart beating, could hear the farmhouse kitchen clock ticking on the wall … heard a fly buzzing somewhere nearby … time stood still.

    Anything could happen next. Truth or fiction, lies or tall tales, Jake was sure his grandpa was about to tell him something that would change everything.
    He waited. And waited. Finally, his grandfather sighed and rubbed his chin. He looked up at Jake. When he spoke, he suddenly sounded to his grandson like an old, old man.
    â€œI didn’t know about the horse-head pump in the picture.” Jake’s grandpa hesitated, then went on, slowly. “I always hoped that one day this farm would be yours, Jake. I don’t know about a giant hand. I’ve heard the stories, yes. I’ve wondered. There’s no way to know the truth, not for sure. Not unless we dug up the field. And what would be the point?”
    His grandpa looked so old, so tired and sad, that Jake suddenly felt bad. Like maybe he should just forget it and stop bugging his grandpa about the truth.
    Maybe the truth didn’t really matter after all. The story was as good as the truth would ever be or maybe better. If it hurt people to get to the truth, maybe he should just leave it alone.
    Jake would have. At that moment, looking at his tired old grandpa, he would have let it be right then and there. But his grandpa went on quietly, like something needed to be said and now no one could stop him.
    â€œBut there is something you should know, Jake. You may not like