Free Lost Places by Carla Jablonski Page A

That voice. She’d never heard a sound that chilled her more. She forced herself to turn around. Her blood ran even colder as she gazed at the tall, ancient woman glaring down at her.
    â€œI am your governess, child,” the woman said, sounding like a Halloween wind. She had a voice of decay, of darkness, of chills, and hostility. “My name is Vuall. But you will address me as miss.” A knitting basket dangled from the woman’s scrawny arm.
    Molly didn’t want the woman to know how unnerved she felt. Better to stand up to her right from the start. Make her back off. “You don’t look like much of a ‘miss’ to me,” Molly retorted, “you stringy old cow.”
    The woman’s skull-like face creased with even more wrinkles, as if Molly had made a bad, and unfunny, joke. “Oho! Sauce from such a soft-skinned little rabbit.” She tapped her long, bony fingertips together, making a clicking sound as she did. Does she have any flesh on her? Molly wondered. She also noticed, with a growing sense ofdread, that the dinosaurs had all vanished. Were they afraid of Vuall? Or was Vuall so powerful and dangerous that she didn’t need dinosaurs to help her? Neither thought was very reassuring.
    â€œDo you know what a governess is, my pretty?” Vuall said.
    â€œOnly from the movies. They take care of snotty, pampered rich kids.” Molly placed her hands on her hips, holding her ground. “Which I am not!” This eight-foot skeleton isn’t going to scare me.
    The old crone didn’t seem fazed at all by Molly’s defiance. She spoke calmly, almost as if she were bored. “Movies are not real.” Vuall sniffed. “Now I suggest you prepare yourself, Miss O’Reilly. You are about to learn.”
    Molly narrowed her eyes and jutted out her chin. “Yeah? Try and make me.”
    Vuall reached into her knitting basket and pulled out what looked like a nasty pair of gardening shears. Moving astonishingly quickly, Vuall picked up Crimple and slid his neck between the blades of the shears. It all happened before Molly could move.
    â€œNo!” Molly cried. “Don’t hurt him!”
    Crimple seemed too terrified to scream. He shut his eyes, and Molly could see his tiny wooden chest rising and falling rapidly with his short, shallow breaths.
    â€œLet him go!” Molly demanded.
    Vuall stared down her long nose at Molly. “Your plea is quite indelicately phrased. Far too forceful for a proper young lady.” She began to squeeze the handles of the shears. Crimple went limp.
    â€œOkay, teach me!” Molly pleaded. “Tell me the correct way to save him!”
    Vuall paused and pondered for a moment. “You might try saying something like this: ‘If you please, miss, do relent. I shan’t disobey ever again. You have my word on it.’ Then, perhaps, I won’t dull my shears on your woody little friend.”
    Molly could feel tears of frustration and fury spring into her eyes. She hated to give in to the rotten crone, but she could not allow Vuall to hurt Crimple. Even if that meant throwing aside her pride and anger.
    â€œPlease, miss,” Molly said in the softest voice she could manage. “Please do relent. I shan’t disobey ever again.” She stopped and cleared her throat; she felt as if her meek words were gagging her. She crossed her fingers behind her back before continuing. “You have my word on it.” She gazed straight into Vuall’s skull-like face, mustering an innocent expression. That’s right, eyes wide and cowlike, Molly told herself. That’s what she wants from me.
    â€œThat is much better, child. Perhaps you are not quite the hopeless case you appear to be.” She placed Crimple on the floor.
    He scurried behind Molly’s legs and clung to them. She could feel him shaking. “Oh, thank you, Molly, my dear,” he gasped.
    Molly knelt down, even