The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

out her bedroom window the next morning, Meli was confronted by a grey coated day, where wind and rain lashed the contours of the landscape, beating at the pane, writhing in pearly strings and translucent serpent-shaped creatures, like magnified cells on a slide under a microscope. She gave a shuddering sigh. It was pretty grim, and it looked as if the rain was in for the day. The boys would probably be bored stiff. Still, they had their new computer game; hopefully that would help, and Cassie would probably be off to town on the bus, regardless of the weather.
    She had puzzled all night about the mysterious disappearance of her purse, and all the other things. She sincerely hoped that none of the kids had stolen the money. That was too terrible to contemplate, and she tried to push aside that particular nagging thought. Her concern was eased by all the other things that had gone, things that the kids would have no interest in. Down below she spied Quassi, his image distorted through the obscured glass. Turning, she shot down the stairs. The door was open. Surely Cal had closed it when he left for work? From the doorway she called Quassi, but he was already out of sight. She pushed the door shut. He’d be back. Wandering through to the kitchen, she filled up the kettle and plugged it in ready for her morning cuppa.
    While she waited for it to boil she battled with the bin liner, trying to extract it from the bin in one piece. As she prodded and poked and tugged at it, she was struck by the image of Mrs. Barber extricating herself from her nylon overall in much the same way, a feat that defied the laws of physics: like how could you possibly get one and a half pints into, or in this case, out of a one pint jug? Eventually though, she was the winner, and up popped the plastic liner, minus one handle. In the hall, she slipped on one of Cal’s jackets over her dressing gown, before hurrying across to the dustbin in the pounding rain. She stench that rose up and hit her when she lifted the lid, knocked her backwards. It was similar to the smell in the boys room, only much, much stronger. Holding her breath, ignoring the rain, she forced herself to root around in the rubbish. Near the bottom was a plastic bag. She knew she had not put it there. Pulling it out she dropped it on the ground and sank down beside it, the hems of her dressing gown and nightie washing in a puddle. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she tore an opening in the top.
    Out tumbled wet sawdust, what looked like seeds and some tiny flakes of chocolate. Only on closer inspection, she realised that the flakes looked more like mouse droppings. Why was there sawdust and mouse droppings in the bin? Bemused, she spent a moment scanning the evidence, blinking as ran began to dribble through her lashes and into her eyes. When no answer was forthcoming, she gathered up as much of the bag together as she could, and tossed it back in the bin. As she scooted back into the dry, she was conscious that Elsa was standing out in the pouring rain watching her, her head buried beneath the sopping, drooping brim of a straw hat, and wearing a knitted shawl of many colours. It was strange how you could get used to being stalked.
    Rubbing the worst of the rain from herself onto a towel, she finished making herself a cup of tea and then stood by the French doors sipping it, oblivious to the muddied water pitter-pattering from the puddle soaked hems of her night clothes as they hung above her ankles. Suddenly the obvious hit her. The boys must have mice in their room. Meli recalled their request for a pet, her refusal, and their acceptance of this without the usual long faces and moping. How stupid she was. On swift feet, she was up the stairs in record time. The boys were up and in various states of dress.
    “Okay, where are they?” she demanded, assuming they would have at least one each. They both looked at her blankly. “I know you’ve got mice in here. Where are they?” She began hunting around the room, peering under the bed, yanking open drawers and cupboards, throwing socks, papers, anything which could be concealing a horrible little rodent or two. Nothing, until she came to the desk. Pulling at a cupboard door, she found it locked. Stooping down she put her ear to the side. She couldn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean a thing.
    “Open up,” she commanded, straightening and glaring at the boys.
    David and George traded fretful looks. “I told you