Читать книгу The Night Flyer's Handbook 2-Book Bundle - Philippa Dowding - Страница 20

I have a hard time getting to sleep.

Earlier, I looked everywhere for Mr. McGillies, but it was like he disappeared or something. After I fed them tinned tomato soup, I took the twins and Cassie on her leash, all through our neighbourhood, calling for him. We even went down to the shack by the fields where he lives. It’s a place we aren’t supposed to go, but it was daytime and this was important.

We walked through our neighbourhood for so long that the Chrissies started to complain. They were tired. They were bored. Why were we looking for dumb old Mr. McGillies anyway? What’s so important about him? Cassie liked it, though, she needed a long walk.

But you get the picture.

He just wasn’t anywhere, and eventually I had to take the twins home. We sat and watched TV until Mom came home around eight-thirty.

As soon as she came in, I went to bed. To think. Sometimes I have to put the twins to bed, but tonight I just didn’t want to. Mom didn’t make me.

I read. I toss and turn. I worry. I call Jez but she’s asleep and her mom doesn’t want to wake her up. I chew my nails.

Finally, just when I think I’ll never get to sleep …

… I wake up.

It’s really late. It’s so late that it’s actually probably early the next day. It’s bright in my room, because the moon is glowing outside. But that’s not what’s really important. No, what’s more pressing is the fact that my head is gently bump-bumping against my bedroom window.

I wake up floating face down, bumping into my window, like a boat gently bumping into a dock. A float boat.

It’s not all that comfortable bumping head first into the window, actually.

I try rolling over, but my body is quite determined. I’m lying on my stomach, banging into the window like a bee trying its darnedest to get out. My body is getting a little more insistent, and the bumping starts to get more forceful.

So I have no choice but to open the window. The glass banging against my head is hurting me, so I think the screen will be better to bang against.

It is, but only a little. It doesn’t hurt to bang into the screen, but it’s torture of a different kind. I can smell the beautiful spring night. It’s warm and smells like new grass and warming dirt. I hear small creatures rustling around out there. The trees are gently waving in the breeze, calling my name.

My body and soul want out the window. My mind isn’t so convinced. A force is tugging me outside, a force I can’t see, but I sure can feel it. My head starts bulging against the screen and I feel the screen give and tear, just a little. Suddenly I worry that I’m going to break through it, which wouldn’t be good.

Panicky. I don’t want to go soaring outside. Who knows what could happen? I don’t want to fly off into outer space.

I say out loud, “I’ll die if I go out there.”

Then a voice outside my window says clearly, “No. You won’t die, missy.”

I know that voice.

It’s Mr. McGillies.