The Mysteries of Brambly Hollow

the boys necks. “Its SS, he’s on the assault course.”
    “Who’s SS?” He asked, turning the page.
    By now SS was hanging by his claws from a length of washing line. Meli laughed, and began to clap her hands quietly when he drew himself up the steep incline like an artful trapeze artiste. Reaching the top, he perched on the small underbelly of an upturned terracotta flower pot, taking a moment to preen his whiskers before sitting back on his haunches and measuring the gap. With ease he leaped six foot onto the final platform to claim his prize.
    “Oh, Cal, you missed it.”
    With a resigned sigh, Cal rose to his feet, paper still clutched in his hand as he came to stand by her side. Meli’s feet physically left the floor when there was a mighty boom that made the glass judder, and, as they watched the little squirrel was catapulted across the garden as though struck with a mighty blow from a baseball bat. Meli’s hands flew to her lips as she gasped, at the same moment the newspaper fell slowly and scattered in loose sheets around her feet. The couple exchanged horrified looks before racing outside.
    Poor SS had been ripped almost in two. Unable to look, Meli turned away, her lunch launching itself up into her gullet like a thick, lumpy porrige, before she somehow managed to gulp it back down, leaving an awful, acidic taste in her mouth. Alertly, Cal’s eyes darted around them. Where had the shot come from? Where were the boys? Were they in danger?
    To her own discernment, Meli felt tears bubbling into her eyes. How stupid, it was only a flea ridden squirrel after all. “What are we going to do?” Through damp lashes she looked beseechingly at her husband.
    “We’re going to find the boys,” he replied briskly.
    Blood drained from beneath the skin on her face, leaving it a chalky white. If there was someone out there with a gun (or maybe a rifle?); the boys could be in danger. Instantly they were off across the garden. Despite his size, Cal vaulted over the fence with the ease of Red Rum, pausing to steady Meli as she struggled to scramble over in her heels. As soon as her feet touched terra-firma, Cal’s large hand grabbed hers and they hurried down towards the farmhouse, avoiding the numerous and offensive, smelly green and brown mounds, courtesy of the cows. Breathlessly they spied the farmhouse ahead of them. They didn’t bother to knock on the door, but carried on round into the yard. Elsa’s Transit was parked in its usual place. As they dashed passed, Meli’s eyes flicked inside. The plate with the bread and pickled onion was still there, only now the bread had the appearance of flock wallpaper, in vulgar shades of green and mauve, its edges curled, the onion shrivelled. She grimaced.
    “David, George,” Cal’s bass voice echoed around them. As usual the yard was totally silent. It was an uncanny silence, threatening and broody, where no sane beast or bird of the air ventured. Breaking into a run they passed down the alley formed between the low buildings, only stopping when they reached the gate, beyond which the cows were grazing in the field. Stepping up onto the lower bar of the gate, Meli and Cal desperately scanned the valley. There was no sign of them.
    “Maybe they went down to the church?” Cal suggested, his eyes still boring into the distance as though he could scan every blade of grass for signs of scuffles or bloodshed. Stiffly, Meli’s head shook. Her gut instinct told her that that wasn’t the case. She could feel their presence, somewhere close by, she just couldn’t see them.
    “Hi dad.” Cal fell from his perch when he was tapped on the arm. Regaining his balance, he spun round. There were the two boys with a tongue wagging Quassi.
    “What are you doing down here?” David asked, switching his blue eyes between his parents questioningly.
    Meli could have sworn blind that at that moment she actually felt a dozen hairs turn grey. She wanted to scoop her children into both arms and crush them to her chest, but valiantly restrained herself, not wanting the boys to know how scared she had been for them; after all, as far as they were concerned they had simply been out searching for Quassi, not penetrating enemy lines. “We just thought we would take a little walk, and see if you had found Quassi,” Meli told them, patting Quassi’s head when he thrust his wet nose against her leg.
    A shiver shot up her spine, like a pellet of iced water, at the same time that the