Читать книгу The Gargoyle at the Gates - Philippa Dowding - Страница 12

First Toronto, Now This

Christopher spent that night far away from his window, trying not to look into the park down below. He didn’t know what happened in that park, but he did know one thing: he wasn’t going back in there.

There was something, or maybe several somethings, hiding in the bushes. Last he checked, bushes didn’t talk, and apples didn’t just fling themselves off trees at people.

At least not so you felt like target practice.

It was creepy. He wasn’t sure about this new city at the best of times. When his mom and dad had gathered the family together to tell them they were leaving Vancouver and moving to Toronto, he wasn’t all that excited about it. He loved Vancouver. He had friends there, it was home.

Everything was different in Toronto. And now he discovered that strange voices spoke in the bushes in Toronto city parks. And not just parks far away in some other part of the city. He heard them in his park, right next door to his house.

He had a sleepless night, tossing and turning. He kept dreaming that something in the park was howling at the moon. Once he heard a whack as something small and hard — an apple? — banged into his bedroom window. He dug his head as deeply as he could under his pillow, but the howling continued all night long.

The next morning, when he had to walk past the park gates on his way to school, he kept his eyes down and did not look inside. It was raining, and the gargoyles were spitting water onto the sidewalk, something he didn’t remember from the day before. He didn’t look up and smile at the gargoyles. He’d never look at them or the park again as far as he was concerned. Claire smiled in surprise when Christopher took her hand as they walked past the gates and didn’t let go until they got to his school.

In class that afternoon, Christopher was paired up with Katherine to write a one-page article about their neighbourhood. It was supposed to help all the kids find out who lived closest to them.

The topic was: What I love most about my part of the city.

Christopher scratched his nose and fiddled with his pencil as Katherine started writing. He eventually blurted out, “I don’t really know the neighbourhood very well, since I’ve only lived there for a few weeks, so it’s not really fair … to you.”

“It’s okay,” Katherine said, scribbling furiously. “I don’t really live in that part of town either. I just visit Candles by Daye in the afternoon after school.”

“What are you writing then?” Christopher asked.

“I’m writing about the public library a few doors down from Candles by Daye. It’s tiny, but it has a great rooftop garden, with a miniature apple tree and a goldfish pond, and flowers.”

“Yeah, I saw it last week. It is nice,” Christopher said half-heartedly.

Katherine considered for a moment. “Well, there must be something you like?”

“I like my bedroom. It’s a turret at the top of the house.”

Katherine shook her head. “No good. It can’t be about anything inside your house. Has to be outside.”

They both fell silent. “I don’t mind the park in the ravine, that’s nice. It’s got trees and my dog likes it. That’s okay, I guess,” he finally said.

Katherine wrote that down. “We need a little more. Anything else you like? Think!”

Christopher shrugged. “I can tell you what I don’t like: that creepy little park next to my house, it’s haunted or something.” Katherine jerked her head up and gasped. She dropped her pencil at the same time, too, which surprised Christopher. He jumped up, banged his knee on the bottom of the desk, and started hopping up and down. The teacher came over and asked what was going on.

“Nothing. Sorry, I dropped my pencil,” Katherine said. Christopher’s eyes were watering, so all he could do was nod.

When the teacher was gone, Katherine stood up and faced Christopher. The classroom was busy with kids talking and chattering, so no one noticed.

She stood over him. “Listen, Christopher Canning or C.C. or whatever you want to be called, that park is off limits. Just don’t go in there, okay? It’s not safe for … you. You’re right. It’s … haunted … or something. So just stay out!” Katherine was talking in a low whisper, but for some reason, Christopher was very afraid of her. There was something urgent and upsetting in her tone. Her fists were clenched on her hips, and she looked menacing. He glanced over and saw the teacher coming their way again.

He nodded quickly. “Okay … yeah, okay, Katherine, no problem. The park is off-limits, I get it. Don’t worry, I won’t be going back in there, not after last night. It’s okay.”

Katherine saw the teacher heading their way too and dragged Christopher down into the seat beside her. The teacher veered away to another noisy group. Katherine finished writing in silence, handed the paper in to the teacher, then went back to her own desk. She didn’t look at Christopher again, and she wasn’t at the streetcar stop after school.

Christopher stood at the stop by himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Katherine had said the park was haunted. Haunted. Or something. She seemed almost panicked that he was going to go back in there, but Christopher definitely didn’t get the feeling she was worried about him. No. She was worried about something else.

What could it be?

She said it was “off limits” and to “stay out.”

But why?