The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

hips, they headed along the landing. The house was totally silent for a moment, then they heard an irregular graunching sound. Straining into the night, Meli couldn’t figure out what it could be. Working their way down the wall of the stairs, they stopped at the bottom. Meli stared around, trying to make out the shapes in the room; the sleeping black hippo was the sofa, the slender neck of the giraffe wearing a broad rimmed hat was the lamp stand. There it was again. Turning, they headed for the passage leading to the front door. Cal stopped so abruptly that Meli collided with him, and was almost catapulted to the floor. He pointed ahead. Staring over his shoulder, Meli made out the sight of Quassi. He was standing up at the door, his head at an unusual angle, making a sound like he was crunching on a brazil nut with his molars. Then there was the unmistakable sound of a click: the sound of the key turning.
    Dropping to the floor, Quassi stared upwards for a moment, and then rising up to his full height again, he clawed at the door handle. They watched in amazement as he opened the door.
    Cal flicked on the light switch, blinding them both momentarily. As vision returned, they were faced with an empty doorway. Quassi might have been out of sight, but he was clearly audible. Outside, his haunting howls filled the night air, sending shivers down the spines of all God fearing creatures.
    Speechless, they exchanged looks, then hurried along the passage and burst through the door. Above them, glowing majestically from the heavens, hung a huge orb of creamy cheese. “I don’t understand how he managed to get out.” Even though Meli had witnessed it with her own eyes, she still couldn’t credit it.
    “I guess this explains the mystery of the open door and the disappearing dog,” Cal grinned down at his wife, his teeth reflected in the moonlight. “Little blighter.” Meli watched as her husband and Quassi played cat and mouse. Eventually though, Cal caught him by the collar, and dragged him indoors. Locking the door behind them, Meli removed the key, and hung it on a coat hook. That would put paid to any more adventures.
    “You naughty dog,” she berated him, restraining him by his collar so she could lean forward and wag a disapproving finger under his nostrils, deciding that she would have to learn those particular three words in German. She had to give him some credit, as he had the decency to stop struggling long enough to lower his head and look shamefaced, although that could have been more because he was upset that his escapades had been put paid to than the telling off. He perked up though as soon as she released him, and tearing across to the window, leaped onto the back of a chair and began pawing frantically at the curtains, desperate to remove the barrier between him and sight of his moon goddess. Catching a glimpse of her nocturnal beauty through a chink in the material, he thrust his nose through and began his ear-splitting howling. Anticipating this very action, Cal had already retrieved a can of extra strong lager from the fridge and was at that moment pouring it into a bowl. Above the racket of his own caterwauling, Quassi’s sensitive hearing detected the sound. Instantly, his head snapped round. As the bowl touched the floor, Quassi’s feet took flight through the air, the moon momentarily forgotten.
    “It’s the only way we’ll keep him quiet for the rest of the night,” Cal reminded Meli as he turned and put the kettle on. By the time they sat down with mugs of tea, dashed with whisky, Quassi had finished and was cleaning his bowl. As he lifted his head, his whole body lurched as a violent belch erupted from his open jaws. Ignoring the impolite behaviour, Cal took Meli’s hand. “At least now we know who has been opening the door and that it wasn’t this Finn.”
    Meli’s female intuition began jangling alarm bells, sensing where this conversation was going. “But what about the things that have gone missing?” She wasn’t so keen to let Finn off the hook.
    Cal glanced to where Quassi’s rear half was visible, caught in the jaws of the curtains as he propped his upper half on the windowsill. “Maybe Quassi is to blame? I wouldn’t put it passed him.”
    Meli followed his gaze, staring at the pesky little dog through baggy, tired eyes. He was lying on the chair now, a picture of pure innocence as he gazed dreamily at the curtained window; you could almost see his halo. Could he