Mr Gum and the Power Crystals (3 page)

But where was that light leading her? Further along the Lamonic River she went and further still, further than the children of the town were ever allowed to venture. Until rounding a wide bend in the riverbank, Polly came upon a place she had never before seen. Here the bushes grew thick and wild. Here the trees crowded gloomily overhead. And here, half-hidden among
the weeds was a rickety wooden bridge like the one in that famous fairy tale,
The Troll Who Wanted To Eat Some Goats.
A rickety wooden bridge that led across the water towards –

‘A windmill,' whispered Polly in fascination. ‘There really is a windmill in Lamonic Bibber!'

Yes, there it stood, silhouetted against the starry velvet night. Perhaps it had once been a jolly sight, pointing towards the sky like a lovely wooden ice cream as children and tulips danced around it doing their games. But no longer. Its red paint was peeling and faded. The wooden boards
had rotted away in places, leaving dark gaping holes where I bet you anything there were rats. And the whole thing leaned lopsidedly towards the river, as if beckoning Polly to come closer. But Polly didn't want to come closer. The more she stared at the windmill the less she liked it.

Over the bridge now, Polly!
the stones whispered eagerly.
Just a few more steps and then we'll be there!

‘
No way, things of clay!
' Polly told them with as much strength as she could muster.
‘
I'm not a-goin' anywhere near that old spooker, so unlucky, you lose! I'm a-goin' homes right now!
'

But you know what dreams are like – sometimes you just can't control your own two feet, or your own zero feet if you are dreaming about being a snake. Before she knew it, Polly was gliding across the rickety wooden bridge, straight for the windmill. Its broken doorway gaped darkly ahead, as if it wished to swallow her up for a
midnight feast. And then Polly saw the most awful thing of all . . .

Because high up in that windmill a face appeared at the window, a face that Polly knew only too well. A horrifying face with a big red beard, a face with two angry bloodshot eyes . . .

‘MR GUM AGAIN!' shrieked Polly in utter terror. ‘IT'S MR GUM AN' THAT CAN'T MEAN
NOTHIN' BUT EVILS!'

But her feet were still moving forward. With mounting horror she felt herself take a step towards the windmill. Then another.

Then another.

‘NOOOOOO!'
cried Polly, starting awake. Her heart was pounding and for one frightful moment she thought she was in the windmill's
building-y clutches – but no. She was lying in her own bed, safe as a rectangle.

‘Thank the Forces of Good,' she panted. ‘It was all just a bad dreamer what wasn't real whatsonever, so shut up if you say it was!'

But that's when Polly saw that she was holding the stones in her hand.

‘No,' she moaned. ‘No, it can't be! I locked 'em up in my jewellery box 'fore I wents to bed!'

Trembling, she threw back the covers – and
there was all the evidence she needed. Her bare feet were filthy with grass and mud from the riverside. Her ankle smelt like a badger. And she was wearing a souvenir T-shirt she'd never seen before:

‘So it wasn't no proper normal nightmare after all,' said Polly thoughtfully as dawn crept across the sky outside her window. ‘There's some peculiar stuff a-goin' on round here, an' I intends to get to the bottom of it or my name's not Jammy Grammy Lammy F'Huppa F'Huppa Berlin Stereo Eo Eo Lebb C'Yepp Nermonica Le Straypek De Grespin De Crespin De Spespin De Vespin De Whoop De Loop De Brunkle Merry Christmas Lenoir!'

L
ater that morning Polly was eating a bowl of her favourite breakfast cereal, ‘Baron von Tubblewobble's
Crunchy Little Leopards'
. Good golly, Miss Molly, she was tired! She'd spent half the night watching the stones to make sure they
didn't get up to any more of their tricks. There they sat now on the kitchen table, one pink, one white, but both of them evil through and through. Polly was quite sure of it.

‘Oh, I does wish Friday O'Leary was here,'
she yawned. ‘He'd know just what to do. But he's off in Spainland on his honeymoonin's with Mrs Lovely.'

Yes, it was true. With Friday away there was no one that Polly could turn to for help. No one, that is, except –

Suddenly she jumped up from her seat like a lucky pineapple who's just won the National Lottery.

‘OLD GRANNY!' cried Polly, spitting a mouthful of
Crunchy Little Leopards
all over the kitchen floor in her excitement. ‘She's been alive for ages, nearly forever in fact! She's bound to know stuff 'bout mysterious no-good stones from the Olden Days!'

‘We're free!' laughed the
Crunchy Little Leopards,
even though they were only made of wheat. And out the front door they ran.

Well, Polly didn't waste another moment. Packing the stones into their little bag, she set off for Old Granny's house immediately. It was a beautiful morning and with each step she took,
Polly's bad dream seemed less and less real.

The sun smiled down upon her, the squirrels waved their little paws as she passed and a postman was attacked by hundreds of
Crunchy Little Leopards
who pounced on him and ran off down the road with his hat.

‘Ah,' said Polly. ‘Everythin's back to normal. An' here I am at last at Old Granny's house. But that's funny,' she frowned, taking a closer look. ‘This doesn't look nothin' like Old Granny's
house. For a start, it's a lot more river-y. An' also I can't help but notice there's a tumbledown windmill here instead of Old Granny's house.'

Oops!
the stones seemed to whisper innocently.
We must have led you in totally the wrong direction and come to the windmill by mistake. Oh, well. Now we're here, we may as well go inside.

And then Polly realised that the stones had done it again, even when she was awake! They definitely had strange powers – and they were
growing stronger all the time. And even worse, the windmill was still there. It wasn't just in dreams. There it was, just as real as you or me, especially me.

‘Stones, you are the worst little crafters what I ever met!' scolded Polly. ‘You done tricked me into comin' here an' I hates your spooky windmill, I hates it!'

And with a mighty effort of will, she turned around and started back towards town.

A
s soon as Polly started back towards town, the stones seemed to cry out louder than ever inside her head.

Hey,
said the pink stone.
I've just had a great idea. Let's all turn around and go back to the windmill!

Yes, let's!
said the white stone.
Turn around, turn around, Polly!