Jake and the Giant Hand (5 page)

Death by Post Hole

T
he
post hole Jake and his grandpa just dug was deep. And DARK.

Jake was stuck in the hole, head down. All his weight rested on one hand stretched above his head.

“Help! HELP!” Jake shouted, but the hole swallowed his cries. He was yelling head down into the dark, sandy soil.

Who would hear him?

If he pointed his toes, his feet stuck out a little at the top. He kicked his legs wildly, trying to wriggle back out. But he was too far into the hole to get out that way.

Blood rushed to his head. His heart started to beat faster.

“Okay, stay calm. Breathe. It's okay. Help! Help!”

Jake was about to die head-down in a hole. Every time he struggled, dirt rained down on him, clogging his nose and mouth and eyes. Dirt was filling his ears. He could smell his own breath. He was slowly suffocating.

He felt faint. His eyes were so full of dirt he couldn't see properly. He swallowed and tried to blink dirt out of his eyes.

Then he saw it: something white and ghostly poking through the dirt at the bottom of the hole. He touched it. It was cool, and hard, and smooth.

What IS that? I'm going to die head down in a hole with some creepy white monster!

Suddenly he felt a tug on his leg. Then another. Something was tugging at his pant leg. He braced himself against the wall with his hand and pushed with all his might. He wriggled his back and legs, working himself upward.

Something kept tugging at his pant leg, pulling him. Slowly Jake inched up toward the light.

Who is helping me?

It was Gus!

Gus had grabbed onto Jake's pant leg and slowly tugged and tugged him. Jake could hear the dog grunting and whining. The old hound dog dug in all four paws, and with big jerks was slowly saving him.

Rocks and dirt and tree roots dug into Jake's flesh, his back and arms were scratched. His eyes were bursting, his head was pounding, and every muscle in his body screamed for fresh air.

Gus was a big, strong old dog, and he didn't let go until he saw Jake's face pop out of the hole. Jake rolled onto the grass, gasping, and looked up into the blue sky. Gus's lolling tongue reached down and licked his face. Jake didn't even mind. He threw his arms around the old dog's neck.

“You saved me, Gus,” he breathed into the dog's smelly fur.

Gus barked as Jake's grandpa came up with Maggie in a harness. It was just like the old dog was trying to tell his master that something bad happened to his grandson.

Jake's grandpa patted Gus's head. “Settle down there, old boy. It's just me and Maggie … what the heck…?”

He looked at Jake, who was still gasping. He dropped Maggie's reins and got down on one creaky knee, resting his hand on Jake's shoulder. “Jake! What's wrong? Are you feeling sick again?”

Jake sat up. His face was all scratched and red, and he was gasping for air. He realized he must look really awful, with dirt and leaves all over his face and in his hair.

He stood up shakily and brushed himself off. “I'm okay, Grandpa. Gus saved me. I … I fell into the hole. Gus pulled me out.”

They both looked over at the old dog, who was snapping at flies, normal sized ones, Jake noted. His grandpa took a deep breath and spoke very slowly.

“Jake, I don't know what you're thinking, sticking your head into a post hole! What was so interesting about a post hole? Really, you aren't right in the head sometimes. People have been known to die in post holes.” He picked up Maggie's reins. Maggie was tugging at the grass with her big, chompy horse teeth.

That was the closest Jake ever came to hearing his grandpa get mad at him. He was a little shocked. Was it really that dangerous?

“Well, I was getting away from Gus, and I kind of just fell in. I'm sorry.”

Jake looked down. He felt really bad. His poor grandpa. He should probably try not to die in the next two weeks. His grandpa would be in so much trouble with his mom if anything happened. He'd only been there one day and he'd already been scared to death and almost died in a stupid post hole.

“Sorry, Grandpa. You're right. I'll try to be more careful.” Jake changed the subject. “I saw something down there at the bottom of the hole, though. It was white, a really white stone.”

He waited, but his grandpa was silent. “Aren't you going to say something? Grandpa?”

But it was suddenly like his grandpa couldn't hear him. His whole face changed. He looked completely blank, like a white stone himself. He plunked down on the grass beside Gus and just sat there staring at Jake.

“Grandpa? Are you okay?”

After a long while his grandpa answered him, very quietly. “Jake, go fetch me a drink of water, please.”

Jake nodded and rushed across the field into the kitchen. His heart fell: the water dispenser was empty. He'd used up all the water on the stupid lemonade. He hesitated for a moment. Go to the horse-head pump and take ten minutes to pump out a glass for his grandpa? Or load the water dispenser with a new bottle?

The new bottles were in the basement, in a cold room. They weighed almost as much as he did, and it would take forever for him to get one up the basement stairs and into the dispenser. He might not even be strong enough to load it into the dispenser, even if he
could
get it up the stairs. He'd never done it before.

Jake chose the horse-head pump. He grabbed a plastic cup and ran outside. He pumped, and pumped, and pumped, until finally a cool jet of pure water burst out onto his feet. Some of it got into the cup. He pumped and pumped, until he thought his arms were going to break.

Finally, he pumped a full cup of water. Jake carefully walked around the barn and back to his grandpa with the too-full plastic cup, trying not to spill a drop.

His grandpa gulped down the water then wiped his mouth. He looked better. He managed a squinty smile and got to his feet. He groaned a little as he straightened his knees and picked up Maggie's forgotten reins. Maggie snorted and pulled her head up. Her leather harness squeaked as she stomped her front legs.

“Okay, Jake. Just try to be more careful. No more post holes. Let's take Maggie into town. Ice cream?”

Jake nodded and followed his grandfather and the horse. As he walked past the fateful post hole, he gasped.

It was full of dirt. His grandpa had refilled the hole. He must have done it when Jake went to get him the water. Jake looked at his grandpa's back as he climbed into the cart behind the old horse.

Why did his grandpa
fill in the post hole
? What on earth was DOWN THERE?

Mrs. Cody Isn't Talking

J
ake
and his grandpa took the horse and the cart into town. Maggie clopped slowly along the leafy streets. She held up traffic, but no one seemed to mind. A “Slow Moving Vehicle” sign was on the back of the cart, so people knew to be careful.

The town Jake's grandpa lived near was a sleepy little place most of the time, but in late summer the main street was filled with tourists. People strolled down the pretty boulevard eating homemade ice cream and buying farm antiques. Every afternoon in August, musicians played on the bandstand at the middle of the park.

Today, three men in kilts were playing bagpipes.

The sound made Jake think of drowning cats, but the tourists seemed to like it. Teenagers were sitting on tree boughs; little kids were on their dads' shoulders. Everyone wanted to hear the bagpipes. Jake wasn't sure why. He could remember the men with bagpipes, the tourists strolling along on a pleasant summer afternoon eating ice cream, ever since he was little.

Jake's grandpa slowed Maggie to a stop in front of the town pharmacy. He gave Jake some money and told him to go get them both ice cream. Jake hopped out of the cart and crossed the street.

The ice cream store was next to the library, and both places were really busy on such a hot day. Jake decided that was probably because both places had air conditioning. Jake waited in line and got two ice cream cones, both vanilla. He and his grandpa were exactly the same in some ways. As he walked back past the library with the ice cream, his heart skipped a beat.

A big sign on the library steps said,
100 YEARS OF OUR HISTORY! COME IN TO FIND OUT THE TRUTH BEHIND SOME OF OUR TALLEST TALES
.

Jake looked across the street. His grandpa was sitting in the cart, talking to another old man. Gus sat beside him, too hot to move, and Maggie hung her head in the sun, looking sleepy. They didn't see Jake.

Jake ran up the library steps and poked his head inside. It was quiet, cool, and dark in the library, and it smelled of books. He looked around and spotted a display case near the librarian's desk. It had a sign that read
100 YEARS OF TOWN HISTORY!
There were some photos and books on stands, too. He walked over for a closer look.

There were newspaper clippings and ancient pictures of farmers with old-fashioned farm equipment.

One photo was of a huge pumpkin beside a smiling farmer. The caption read, “Charles Bywater grows 200 lb. pumpkin!” Another photo was of an enormous black horse beside a woman who looked tiny standing next to it. The caption read, “Mrs. Albert Hodges breeds national champion, 18-hand stallion.” Another photo was of an old, stooped man in a long jacket, holding garden shears. “Local Girl Goes Missing in Gardener's Maze,” the headline read.

Wow, this town IS strange.

Then Jake stopped at a story with a photo of a beautiful golden retriever dog beside an old, rich-looking man. The headline read, “Local Man Killed Looking for Dog.”

What a beautiful dog,
Jake thought.

Jake kept scanning, then his eyes stopped at a newspaper clipping that made his heart thump harder.

The headline read, “Mrs. Edwina Fingles Missing, Presumed Dead.” It was dated December 12, 1908. There was a photo of a sad-looking little old lady in a bonnet. Jake read the first paragraph of the story:

Edwina Fingles, 76, has been missing for four days. Her son, Thomas Fingles, contacted local constables after he visited his mother and found the house empty and the back door swinging open. According to her son, Edwina loved the fields and the swampland at the back of the farm. Residents should contact the local constabulary if they see any sign of Mrs. Fingles.

Jake gulped.

Swampland? Little old lady gone missing?

Something touched his shoulder.

Jake screamed.

“Young man, shhh!” said a stern-looking lady. She had a name badge on. It read,
MRS. CODY, LIBRARIAN
.

“You must be Jake McGregor,” she said. “I know your grandparents well. I was best friends with your grandma when we were schoolgirls. I spent a lot of time on your grandpa's farm when I was a young woman. I knew your mom, too, when she was little. How is she?”

“Ummm. Hi, Mrs. Cody. My mom's well, thanks, we live in the city now. Sorry I screamed, but you scared me,” Jake said.

“Yes, scary stuff, isn't it?” Mrs. Cody said, pointing at the newspaper clipping of Edwina Fingles. “Poor Edwina, she was never found. They say she just wandered off and got lost in the …”

Don't say swamp!

“… swamp.”

Jake gulped again and nodded. “Yeah, I heard that story.” Then he thought of something. “But what about the story of the giant hand? That story about the giant corpse hand turning up in a field around here a long time ago?”

Mrs. Cody shifted her weight, crossed her arms, and leaned against the board with the newspaper clippings. She was a big lady, so she blocked the board completely. She looked down at Jake and grew stern again. “That's just a spooky old ghost story, Jake. No one ever said
that
was true.”

She really did look scary. But Jake wasn't satisfied.

“But
you
did, you said it was true, on a ghost walk last year. My friend told me.”

“Well, there are stories, and then there are
stories
, Jake. Do you see a newspaper clipping on the wall about a giant hand?”

Jake looked at the wall, but Mrs. Cody was leaning against pretty much all of the clippings, blocking them from his view, so he couldn't check.

She went on: “Don't you think a giant hand in someone's field might make it into the newspapers? And where would a giant hand come from? Did it fall out of the sky? And where did it go? No, that's just ghost walk scary talk, nothing real about that story. Just put that out of your head.”

Jake was about to protest when Mrs. Cody pointed at his ice cream. She said, “No food allowed in the library, Jake, sorry. You're melting onto the floor. Be sure and say hello to your grandpa for me.”

Mrs. Cody was right. The ice cream was running down Jake's hand. He had no choice but to leave. He thanked the librarian and headed back out into the heat.

He peeked back at her just before he left the cool library for good, and gasped. When she thought no one was looking, Mrs. Cody pulled a newspaper clipping from the board and tucked it into her pocket.

Jake couldn't believe his eyes! What was she hiding?