The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

registered that Elsa’s poor mobility had been miraculously cured, as there was no sign of her walking stick, yet her feet were carrying her at a fair rate of knots. Emerging from the shed, she returned with a pitchfork held out in front of her.
    The colour drained from Cal’s face. “Hey, where are you going with that?” he asked.
    Meli found herself reaching out and placing a restraining hand on his arm, just in case he intended to step forward to try to take the weapon away. She was worried what Elsa might do if he tried.
    “Elsa. Elsa,” Meli spoke calmly and firmly. “What’s wrong? Is there someone in your home?” Drawing themselves into her wacky world seemed to penetrate her skull.
    “Yea, he’s in there and I’m gonna get him out.” She was still advancing on the farmhouse, head down and thrust forward, the rust patches on the blunt looking prongs glinting like her eyes, hungry for blood.
    “Wait Elsa, let Cal go in and take a look for you.”
    Cal turned and gaped at her, his eyeballs bulging as he fixed her with a fierce glare. “What?” he mouthed. He looked none too pleased.
    “Cal, we can’t let Else go in. What if someone is in there? She could get hurt.”
    Cal’s eyebrows catapulted to the top of his head. “She could get hurt. What about me?”
    Meli nudged him sharply with her elbow. “You’ll be fine, go on, in you go.”
    “Here, you’d better take this,” Elsa held out the pitchfork, her black eyes never leaving the doorway. Casting Meli a look which clearly indicated that at least someone was concerned for his safety, he took it and slowly advanced on the door. Meli heard him begin to splutter as he went in.
    “Don’t forget Quassi’s in there,” she whispered loudly, suddenly having visions of Cal pining the poor dog to a door.
    Meli stood at arms length from Elsa, listening intently for any sounds of violent struggling in the farmhouse, one eye on the gloomy hallway, the other on the old woman.
    Elsa began pacing, muttering in low tones. Meli couldn’t understand one word of what she was saying, although there was something vaguely familiar about a couple of words. She glanced at her watch. How long had Cal been gone for? Two, maybe three minutes? She jumped when she heard sounds from inside. Crashing and banging. She advanced on the door.
    “Cal?” She called inside, placing her hand over her mouth and trying not to inhale. “Are you alright?”
    Scrapping claws preceded the departure of Quassi as he ejected himself from the house as though the hounds of hell were hard on his heels. Distancing himself, he turned and pressing his tummy to the ground, he lay panting, gazing intently passed where the two women stood, and into the passageway where the dense, tortured shadows were regrouping. Within seconds, Cal appeared in the doorway, face like thunder. “There’s no one in there,” he snapped. Leaning the pitchfork against the outside wall he stormed away. His complexion was tainted a distinct shade of olive green.
    With a final glance at Elsa, Meli ran after him. “But what about Elsa?”
    “There’s no one in there I told you.” Cal’s expression was a mix of bruised and angry shadows and grime, and there was a nest of cobwebs crowning his head like a dusty, old doyley. Meli decided not to mention any of this. Although Meli’s legs were longer than her husband’s, she had to practically run to keep up with his spurious strides. As soon as they were indoors Cal set off for the bathroom. She hoped for Cassie’s sake that she wasn’t still in there. Listening, Meli heard the door creak open and then slam, followed by the sound of running taps.
    “What’s up with dad?” David appeared on the stairs. The twins didn’t miss a thing.
    “He’s in a right foul mood, and he’s wearing a cobweb cap,” George’s grinning face appeared over his brother’s shoulder.
    “Nothing, he’s fine,” Meli told them with a false smile. “Best just give him a wide berth for a while.”

Chapter 13

    Impatient, eager to hear all about Cal ’s adventure, Meli forced herself to carry on with the comparatively tedious task of cutting up a cauliflower and putting it on to boil, to accompany the cremated chicken and the black crusted roast spuds, while listening to all the sounds of movement from above. When Cal jogged down the stairs, some twenty minutes later, he looked a bit more human, his skin scrubbed to a shiny pink. Whistling softly through his teeth, he