Judy and the Beast Page 2

  It took me a little while to find my voice. “Why don’t you try staying home with Mrs. Hardwell and learning embroidery?” I snapped.

  He made a growling sound and hurried past me to catch up with Dad.

  We stopped at the second-floor landing. A long hall with a deep purple carpet stretched in front of us. More tall portraits of unhappy-looking men and women lined the walls. Tiny lamps shaped like torches flickered all the way down the hall.

  “It’s like a movie set,” I said to Dad.

  He scratched his head. “Not really. I installed all these lamps. It didn’t remind me of a movie.”

  He stopped at an open door halfway down the long hall. “This is my room,” he told me. “Why don’t you take that one?” He pointed to the doorway right across the hall.

  I started toward it, but he grabbed my arm to stop me. “I know you like to wander around and explore new places,” he said. “But we should talk about Baker Grendel before you do that.”

  I blinked. “Talk about him?”

  Dad nodded. “There are some things you should know.”

  My room felt more cheerful than the rest of the house. For one thing, the walls were white, not some dark, drab color. Since I’m an artist, color is very important to me.

  I think I’m more sensitive to color than most people. If I had to live here, all the dark walls and carpet and furniture would totally bring me down.

  Also, my room had two tall windows with no drapes or curtains. The sun was lowering behind the trees, and amber light washed into the room. That cheered me up a lot.

  I peered down from the window. My room must have been at the back of the mansion. I could see rolling lawns of tall grass and behind them a thick forest, tangled trees shimmering in the dying sunlight.

  The king-sized bed had a tall headboard, six big pillows, and was covered in a lacy pink quilt. A light-wood dresser stood against one wall beside a small desk.

  I tried my phone, but, of course, it didn’t work. I had a feeling there wouldn’t be cell service this high up the mountain. Did Hilda and Baker Grendel have landlines? Computers? Internet?

  A knock on the door made me spin around. A short bald man in a dark suit stood in the hall holding the canvas supply bag. He had a sad face with dark circles around his eyes. He was a little stooped over, and the suit sagged on him.

  “My name is Harvard, miss,” he said. “I brought up your things.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. I took the bag from him.

  “We haven’t seen you here before,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No. It’s my first time.”

  He narrowed his sad, watery eyes at me. “Be careful, miss,” he said, his chin quivering. “Be careful.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I didn’t know what to say. And then I said, “What should I be careful about?” He turned around and left without answering me.

  For a long moment, I stood there staring at the empty doorway. “Strange,” I muttered. “Seriously strange.”

  It didn’t take long to unpack the bag. I didn’t bring much. Some sweaters and slacks and my winter parka. And, of course, I squeezed my easel and paints into the bag.

  I set the easel up beside the windows. I’ve never painted any landscapes. But I imagined the back lawn with the forest behind it would be interesting to paint.

  My stomach growled. I was starting to get a little hungry.

  I looked for Dad across the hall, but he wasn’t in his room. I stopped at Ira’s room, too, but he wasn’t there.

  I decided they must have gone downstairs.

  The smooth, wooden banister was cool under my hand as I followed the curving stairs down. I tried to ignore the stern, unpleasant faces staring at me from the paintings on the walls.

  I walked past the suit of armor and stepped into the dark front room. “Dad? Ira?” My voice echoed off the walls.

  I knew they wouldn’t go eat without me. I thought maybe they were somewhere with Hilda.

  But which way to go?

  Hallways stretched at both sides of the room. I gazed from one to the other. I had never been in a house with two wings before.

  Just pick one, Judy, I told myself. Maybe you’ll run into them.

  I chose the hall at the other end, away from the curving stairway. This hall appeared to stretch for miles. It was as dimly lit as the other, with dark green walls and an even darker carpet.

  I wanted to shout for Dad and Ira. But then I thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea.

  I had passed several rooms, the doors all closed, when I stopped. I sniffed the air. I smelled the pleasant aroma of food.

  It came from the room on my left. I turned to the closed door. Was this Baker Grendel’s private dining room?

  Probably. The aroma of food floated over me.

  I stepped up close to the door. I jumped when I heard a noise.

  An animal growl.

  Inside the room.

  I pressed my ear against the wood. And heard loud snarls. A deep animal growl. Wet gulping sounds.

  Slurp slurrrp slurrrp chomp!

  I pictured a big animal, snarling and growling and devouring its dinner.

  But how could that be?

  What was going on in there?

  Back home, I didn’t believe my dad when he told me about a wild beast that was on the loose up here. I didn’t believe him then, and I didn’t believe him now.

  What a laugh.

  As I said, Dad is the worst liar on earth. His cheeks turn bright pink when he makes up stories like that. And he can’t look you in the face. He’d be a terrible poker player. He always gives away everything he’s thinking.

  But how to explain the disgusting sounds I was hearing in the dining room?

  Could it really be Baker Grendel eating like that? Was that why he ate alone in a private dining room?

  I knew I should turn around, go back down the hall, and find Dad and Ira. But I was frozen there by the door, listening to the chomping and growling.

  I had to know who or what was making that noise. I had to see with my own eyes.

  My hand trembled as I grabbed the doorknob. I started to turn it …

  But my hand flew off and I let out a scream as the door swung open in my face.

  “Hey—!” I cried.

  The heavy door shot open with such force it sent me stumbling backward. I hit the wall. Struggled to catch my breath. And stared at the big, wild-haired man in the doorway.

  His dark eyes blinked several times. I think he was as startled as I was.

  His wiry white hair spiked up from his head in all directions, as if he’d been struck by lightning. He held a white linen napkin in one hand and used it to mop the orange sauce from his long white beard. He also had orange and brown food stains on the front of his baggy white shirt.

  “I-I-I—” I stammered.

  He was a giant, so wide he filled the doorway. He gave his beard one final wipe with the napkin, then narrowed his eyes at me. “I thought I heard someone outside the door,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly, and seemed to come from deep in his bulging chest.

  “Y-yes,” I stammered. I could feel my face go hot and knew I was blushing. “I-I—”

  “You must be Judy,” he boomed. “My wife told me about you.”

  I nodded. “Yes. I wanted to come with my dad this year,” I said, finally finding my voice.

  He covered his mouth with the napkin and burped loudly. “I’m just finishing my dinner,” he said.

  So that really was him devouring his food like a wild animal?

  “I’d invite you in,” he continued, “but I prefer to dine alone. I’ll come greet you and your family after you have your dinner with Hilda.”

  I opened my mouth to answer. But he closed the door before I could get a sound out.

  I stood there for a long moment with my back against the wall. My thoughts were spinning through my head. I kept picturing the splotches of orange sauce in his white beard. His hair so wild and unbrushe
d. His dark eyes studying me.

  Dad said that Baker was weird. He wasn’t kidding about that!

  Finally, I turned and made my way to the front of the house. I found Ira standing at the bottom of the stairs beneath the elk head. I trotted up to him. “Ira, listen to me—” I started.

  “Where were you?” he asked. “Dad and I were looking for you.”

  I pointed to the other hall. “Down there. I was at Baker Grendel’s private dining room. I-I couldn’t believe it.”

  Ira frowned at me. “You’re not supposed to go in that wing.”

  “He was eating his dinner,” I said, ignoring Ira’s words. “It sounded like a wild animal was in there.” I had to take a breath. “It … it sounded like a tiger devouring a live pig or something.”

  To my surprise, Ira tossed his head back and laughed.

  “Huh?” I cried. “What’s so funny?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said.

  “This old mansion took twenty years to build,” Baker said. “Can you imagine the builders carrying the limestone up to the mountaintop, stone by stone?”

  He grabbed a handful of red grapes from the bowl on the table beside him and stuffed them into his mouth. Juice ran down his beard as he chewed.

  “Bringing the lumber up here must have also been a nearly impossible task,” Dad said.

  Baker nodded. “Some of the lumber came from the trees in the forest. But most of it had to be carried here.”

  We were sitting in a den after dinner. Baker filled a wide armchair. He kept reaching for the grapes beside the chair.

  Hilda sat across from him, tilting up and down gently in a tall wooden rocker. Dad, Ira, and I were seated together, facing them on a long couch. The couch was so deep, my feet didn’t touch the floor.

  A fire crackled and danced in a wide stone fireplace. I could hear gusts of wind rattling the tall windows across from it.

  The walls were covered with trophies of animal horns. Elk horns maybe.

  Hilda saw me staring up at the horns. “Baker’s grandfather was quite the hunter,” she said, smiling at her husband. “Those antlers are from elks he bagged.”

  I pictured the animals all running free in the mountain forest. And I shuddered at the thought of how they were killed.

  “I try to keep my ancestors alive here in this house,” Baker said. “Judy, I’m sure you noticed their portraits on the walls in the front?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Nice.” Awkward. I didn’t know what to say.

  Baker spit out a grape pit. “They weren’t exactly a fun bunch,” he said, snickering. He turned to Dad. “I feel this place has to be rebuilt every year. Every spring, there’s a lot to repair and maintain.” He sighed. “As I’m sure Hilda told you, this year, there was even storm damage on the roof.”

  “I am pleased to help out every spring,” Dad said. He tapped Ira’s knee. “And I have Ira to act as an assistant.”

  Ira smiled but didn’t say a word. He and I had been silent the whole time.

  Why does Ira like to come here? I asked myself. The old house is definitely creepy. And Baker and Hilda aren’t exactly a fun couple.

  “Would anyone like a cup of tea?” Hilda asked, starting to rise from her rocking chair. “I can feel a cold draft from the windows.”

  Baker raised a hand. “Make it a tall mug. Those little teacups are too small for me.”

  When Hilda left the room, he turned to me. “I have to talk to you, Judy,” he rumbled in his gravelly voice. “It’s your first time here, so there are some things I’d like to tell you.”

  I nodded. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner—” I started.

  He raised a hand. “No problem. You don’t know the rules.” He motioned to the den door. “I really like to keep that wing of the house to myself,” he said. “It’s where I do my work and where I go to think and be alone.”

  “Sorry—” I said again.

  “I want you to enjoy my shabby old castle up here,” he boomed. “But please keep out of that wing. I really need to keep it private.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  What’s the big deal anyway?

  “Judy likes to explore,” Ira chimed in. “Sometimes she goes on long hikes for miles, and Dad and I have to go search for her.”

  “That’s not true!” I cried. “I don’t get lost. I just like to keep going. Besides, how can you get lost in Sulphur Falls? The whole town is about as big as the back lawn here.”

  “That brings me to my second rule,” Baker said. He shoved a bunch of grapes into his mouth and chewed. “It’s okay to explore the grounds,” he said after swallowing loudly. “But if you go into the forest, don’t stray from the path.”

  “I’ll bet there’s awesome wildlife in the forest,” I said. “I’d love to see—”

  “Please listen to what I’m saying,” Baker interrupted. “Yes, the forest wildlife is interesting. But don’t go off on your own, Judy, and don’t go off the path.”

  He leaned toward me and his smile faded. His dark eyes grew cold. “There are many dangers,” he said. “Many dangers. I couldn’t be more serious. Many dangers.”

  I stared back at him, at his intense expression, his dark eyes burning into mine.

  Was he trying to scare me?

  I fell asleep quickly. I think the mountain air plus all the tension made me sleepy. I was in the middle of a disturbing dream. I was inside the canvas bag, bouncing in the wagon, and I couldn’t get out. The top of the bag was sealed, and I couldn’t find an opening no matter how hard I struggled.

  I woke up with a short cry. I sat up straight, instantly alert.

  Noises outside the windows rose over the steady rush of the wind. Thumps and low cries.

  Shaking off the frightening dream, I darted to the window and peered down. It was the middle of the night. Almost total darkness. No moon or stars.

  I pressed my hot forehead against the glass and squinted hard. Was that an animal standing so still in the grass? Through the glass, I could hear heavy rustling, like someone pushing through the long row of bushes that bordered the mansion.

  But I couldn’t see anything. I stepped back from the window. Half asleep, I turned and rushed out the bedroom door. I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I am impulsive. I act first, then think later. That’s what I’m about.

  I just had to see what was making those sounds.

  My bare feet tapped the hall carpet as I ran to the stairs. The house was dark except for a dim yellow light at the side of the kitchen door.

  I fiddled with the locks, fumbling as I turned them one way, then the other. I burst outside into the cold darkness. The wind ruffled my long nightshirt. The chill air forced me totally awake.

  The ground was cold and hard with patches of hardened snow dotting the tall grass. Wrapping my arms around me, I turned and ran past the row of low bushes.

  My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. And came to rest on the animal I had seen from my bedroom window. A tall rabbit, standing upright, long ears straight up above its head. Still and stiff as a statue.

  Rabbits freeze like that when they’re frightened, I knew.

  But what was frightening this rabbit?

  I didn’t have long to find out.

  I heard the thunder of heavy footsteps. The wind changed, as if disturbed by something big coming toward me. Even the darkness appeared to shift.

  I dropped back as an enormous creature burst out from the low bushes. A black shadow rumbling over the tall grass. So dark I could only see its movement, not the creature itself.

  I could hear its heavy breathing, louder than the thud of its footsteps, as it leaped forward on all fours. Its black fur gleamed like a dark light. Its big head was down. I couldn’t see its eyes.

  The Beast … the Beast …

  I held my breath. My legs trembled. My whole body shuddered as the creature heaved right past me. I felt the cold wind off its back. An earthy aroma brushed over me.

  The big animal was on
ly a few feet away when the rabbit finally turned. It lowered its front paws to the grass and darted ahead, running in a straight line.

  The creature thundered after it, a black blur. It rounded the corner of the house and vanished from my sight.

  I finally allowed myself to breathe. Was I whistling? Yes. It took me a few seconds to realize I had started to do my usual whistling. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop it.

  And heard a shrill squeal.

  A cry of pain cut off instantly.

  The big creature had captured its prey.

  Silence now. So quiet I could actually hear the rapid pounding of my heart.

  Another cold shudder shook my body. My legs trembled so hard, I thought I would fall.

  The Beast … the Beast …

  I had seen it. It was real.

  And now I heard its heavy, plodding footsteps again.

  It was coming back. Coming for me.

  It must have heard my whistling. Or else, it smelled me.

  I pictured the rabbit standing frozen for too long. And once again, I heard its final squeal in my ears.

  I forced my trembling legs to move. I spun away from the sound of the running footsteps and took off. My bare feet slipped in the dew-wet grass.

  I caught my balance and, gasping with each breath, ran to the kitchen door.

  The creature was coming. The creature was close behind. I could hear it. I could feel its heaviness. I didn’t have to turn around and see it.

  I burst into the warmth of the kitchen and slammed the door behind me. Then I stood there with my back against the door, panting like an animal … panting like the Beast.

  The rabbit’s death squeal repeated in my ears.

  That could have been me.

  It took a long while for my breathing to return to normal. My bare feet were cold and wet against the tile of the kitchen floor. I pushed down my windblown hair with both hands.

  “I have to wake up Dad,” I murmured to myself. “I have to tell him he was right. There is a beast up here. We can’t stay here.”

  I crept through the kitchen, into the hall. The house was completely dark, as dark as the back lawn. A loud click made me jump. I realized it was just the fridge clicking on in the kitchen behind me.