books, Arthur Rackham trees with twisted trunks and hollows where hobgoblins secreted themselves, and whose upper branches were clouded with fairies.
Already the day had grown so dusky that it was a moment or two before Jessica realized that somebody was standing on the landing-stage. It was a child, a girl of nine or ten, wearing a simple white nightgown with long sleeves, and a white surgical mask that completely covered her nose and mouth. She stood looking at Jessica across the endlessly rippling river, her hair occasionally lifted by the evening wind. She was juggling five differently colored balls, quite nonchalantly, as if she had been juggling all her life.
âYou came,â she whispered, and even though she was so far away Jessica could hear her quite distinctly, almost as if she were right inside her head.
âWho are you?â Jessica called out. âWhat do you want me to do?â
âIâm Phoebe. Iâm supposed to be the naughty one. Iâm the one who teased the cat. Iâm the one who spooned the strawberry jelly into Uncle Richardâs hat.â
âI still donât understand.â
âYou have to find the Stain. You have to wash it away forever.â
âI donât know where it is. I donât even know
what
it is.â
âItâs growing and itâs spreading and soon itâs going to catch us. Three days and three nights, tickety-tock, thatâs all we have left.â
âWhere do I look for it? I just donât know what you want me to do!â
Behind the girl, the sparkling in the fairy-trees grew more intense, and Jessica saw wisps of smoke. The trees werenât sparkling with fairies, they were actually on fire. She could smell burning on the wind, and hear the popping of twigs.
âI have to go,â said the girl. âPlease look for the Stain. Please, or itâs going to take us all, forever. No more juggling. No more games.â Suddenly, she tossed all of her juggling-balls into the air and they werenât juggling-balls at all but brightly colored spots from the laundry-room wallpaper, and they were blown away into the wind and out of sight.
âWhen will I see you again?â asked Jessica.
âMeet me tomorrow by the sea.â
âWhereâs that? How do I get there?â
âThe roses will show you ⦠Now, I have to go. No more time for pepper in the sugar bowl. No more apple-pie beds. No more childhood, not for us.â
Jessica turned around to talk to the roses, but they had all hurried away into the gathering shadows; and when she looked back across the river Phoebe had disappeared too, and the yellow-tiled landing-stage was empty. Jessica was alone on the riverbank in the strangest of worlds, with dark falling fast and the wind howling even more eerily, as if it wasnât a wind at all but the sobbing of people in serious pain.
She left the river behind her and began to climb back uphill, into the stuffy hat-covered forest. It was even gloomier than it had been just a few minutes before, and even more suffocating, and she prayed that she wouldnât get lost. What would happen if you went into the wall and couldnât find out how to get back again? Nobody would ever know you were there, and they would never think of sending a search party into your wallpaper to find you, would they? She tried to keep herself calm, but she began to limp faster, almost breaking into a run, anxious to get out of the woods and back to the top of the hill before it grew totally dark.
At last, panting, she saw the faint violet light of the evening sky through the hat-stands. She slowed down a little, because now she was sure that she was going the right way. As she did so, however, she thought she heard a crackling noise quite close behind her, and off to her left. Probably those horrible roses, following her and trying to frighten her. But then she heard another crackle, and a complicated splintering,
Already the day had grown so dusky that it was a moment or two before Jessica realized that somebody was standing on the landing-stage. It was a child, a girl of nine or ten, wearing a simple white nightgown with long sleeves, and a white surgical mask that completely covered her nose and mouth. She stood looking at Jessica across the endlessly rippling river, her hair occasionally lifted by the evening wind. She was juggling five differently colored balls, quite nonchalantly, as if she had been juggling all her life.
âYou came,â she whispered, and even though she was so far away Jessica could hear her quite distinctly, almost as if she were right inside her head.
âWho are you?â Jessica called out. âWhat do you want me to do?â
âIâm Phoebe. Iâm supposed to be the naughty one. Iâm the one who teased the cat. Iâm the one who spooned the strawberry jelly into Uncle Richardâs hat.â
âI still donât understand.â
âYou have to find the Stain. You have to wash it away forever.â
âI donât know where it is. I donât even know
what
it is.â
âItâs growing and itâs spreading and soon itâs going to catch us. Three days and three nights, tickety-tock, thatâs all we have left.â
âWhere do I look for it? I just donât know what you want me to do!â
Behind the girl, the sparkling in the fairy-trees grew more intense, and Jessica saw wisps of smoke. The trees werenât sparkling with fairies, they were actually on fire. She could smell burning on the wind, and hear the popping of twigs.
âI have to go,â said the girl. âPlease look for the Stain. Please, or itâs going to take us all, forever. No more juggling. No more games.â Suddenly, she tossed all of her juggling-balls into the air and they werenât juggling-balls at all but brightly colored spots from the laundry-room wallpaper, and they were blown away into the wind and out of sight.
âWhen will I see you again?â asked Jessica.
âMeet me tomorrow by the sea.â
âWhereâs that? How do I get there?â
âThe roses will show you ⦠Now, I have to go. No more time for pepper in the sugar bowl. No more apple-pie beds. No more childhood, not for us.â
Jessica turned around to talk to the roses, but they had all hurried away into the gathering shadows; and when she looked back across the river Phoebe had disappeared too, and the yellow-tiled landing-stage was empty. Jessica was alone on the riverbank in the strangest of worlds, with dark falling fast and the wind howling even more eerily, as if it wasnât a wind at all but the sobbing of people in serious pain.
She left the river behind her and began to climb back uphill, into the stuffy hat-covered forest. It was even gloomier than it had been just a few minutes before, and even more suffocating, and she prayed that she wouldnât get lost. What would happen if you went into the wall and couldnât find out how to get back again? Nobody would ever know you were there, and they would never think of sending a search party into your wallpaper to find you, would they? She tried to keep herself calm, but she began to limp faster, almost breaking into a run, anxious to get out of the woods and back to the top of the hill before it grew totally dark.
At last, panting, she saw the faint violet light of the evening sky through the hat-stands. She slowed down a little, because now she was sure that she was going the right way. As she did so, however, she thought she heard a crackling noise quite close behind her, and off to her left. Probably those horrible roses, following her and trying to frighten her. But then she heard another crackle, and a complicated splintering,
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