Wind howled through the room, dragging crumpled notes into the air. Fig and Stubbs were now holding each other. “Maybe we should run,” said Stubbs.
Fig nodded. “Maybe so.”
But neither man ran. They were transfixed by the thing before them, unable to move, unable to look away.
They watched as a second hand gripped the rim of the knothole. Slowly, impossibly, the Night Gardener pulled his winding torso out of the tree—and unfolded himself until he was standing before them. He teetered for a moment, as if remembering how to stand. A thick smear of black liquid ran down the side of his neck. He studied the axe still clutched in his hand, still dripping with sap.
Molly did not need to stay and see what would happen. The moment she felt her knife break through the final strands of her rope, she was on her feet. She scrambled out the door, grabbing the handle.
“No, wait!” Stubbs cried, running after her.
Molly slammed the door in his face. She broke the key off in the lock. The man pounded against the other side of the door. “Open up! Open up!” A burst of wind shook the door. She heard a violent crash and then screaming. Molly raced down the staircase, knife in hand, the cries ringing out behind her.
“Molly!” Penny shouted.
Molly reached the bottom of the stairs, nearly tumbling over herself, “I told you she’d come!” Kip said as Molly cut him loose.
Another violent gust of wind shook the house, and Molly thought she heard something heavy hit the floor. “That door canna hold long. We have to run. He’ll be after us next.”
Kip massaged his freed wrists. “I have an idea. Stay here and help the family. I can slow him down long enough for everyone else to get away.” He gripped the wall behind him, trying and failing to stand. “I ain’t much good at runnin’ right now … I may need help.”
“I’ll help you,” said a quiet voice behind them.
Molly and Kip turned to see Alistair. “You?” she said, unable to hide her surprise.
The Windsors were all looking at Alistair now, but Alistair kept his eyes on Kip. “It’s my fault you’ve got no crutch.” He lowered his head. “It’s only right that I go with you.”
Constance sat up, clutching her husband’s hands to her breast. “Bertie, you can’t let him. Tell him he can’t go …”
The house shook again. Molly heard one final, bloody scream, and then the room upstairs went silent.
Fig and Stubbs were gone.
Molly ran to Alistair’s side and cut the ropes around his ankles and hands. “You dinna have to do this,” she said.
“I know.” He stood tall. “But I want to.” He went to Kip and threaded one arm under Kip’s shoulder.
There was another burst of wind, and the green door flew off its hinges, crashing down the stairs and landing in front of the family.
Bertrand gasped, clutching his wife’s hand. “It’s him …”
“The night man,” Penny whispered.
The whole family watched in horror as the Gardener stepped into the hall. He stood at the top of the stairs, the axe still in his hand. His cloak was slick with something wet and dark. Molly did not think it was sap.
Alistair backed toward the open front door, Kip supported by his shoulder. “You said he doesn’t like it when you hurt the tree?” Alistair said.
“Aye,” Molly answered.
Alistair grabbed hold of a thick branch growing through the wall beside him. “Then he’ll hate this.” He pulled down on the branch with his full weight. The limb snapped, breaking away from the wall.
The Gardener flinched, dropping the axe. He howled in pain, clutching his hand to his chest.
“Catch as catch can!” Alistair cried as he and Kip disappeared out the front door.
ip staggered down the gravel drive, his arm over Alistair’s shoulder, trying to keep apace. “We need to draw him to the woods on the far side of the island,” he said. “We’ll be safe there.” He knew a place where the tree’s roots had not yet grown—a place where the Night Gardener couldn’t reach them. They only had to get there alive.
A furious howling swept down the drive, nearly knocking him over.
“He’s too fast,” Kip said, gasping. “We’ll never outrun him.”
“We don’t need to.” Alistair veered off the driveway onto the lawn. He let go of Kip, who collapsed to the grass. “I’ll meet you at the woods,” he said and dropped to his knees. Kip watched him disappear behind a nearby hill. Once in the shadows, he was completely hidden from view.
The sky overhead was lit by a harvest moon, which shone bright over the lawn. Kip lay flat on the ground, marshaling his wits. He tried to remember the hours they had spent playing on the lawn. It’s just like hide-and-go-seek, he told himself. Only he knew it wasn’t. This time, getting caught didn’t make you “it”—getting caught made you dead. He closed his eyes, wishing desperately that he had something to hold. Wishing that he had Courage.
Kip heard a howling behind him. He peered over the top of the hill. The Gardener stood in front of the house, searching the grounds. Kip pressed his body to the grass, making himself as flat as possible. Slowly he raised up on one elbow and pulled his body a few inches forward. He did this over and over again until he was one hill closer to his destination.
The crawling hurt—not just his bad leg, but his whole body. He thought of Molly and the Windsors. If he didn’t reach the woods, they were lost. Kip kept an ear to the air, trying to tell the Night Gardener’s location by the sound of the wind.
A shadow slid over his body, and he felt a shiver in the air. He looked up to see the Gardener beside him, his lightless eyes scanning the tree line. Kip stared up at him, afraid to move, afraid to breathe—
Pok!
A rock struck the Night Gardener’s back. He snarled, turning away from Kip.
“Over here!” shouted a voice. Alistair appeared from behind a nearby hill. He blew a raspberry and then disappeared into the grass. The Gardener stormed after him, a cyclone of leaves in his wake.
Kip could hear the Gardener searching the lawn where Alistair had been. He grabbed a rock next to him, pulled himself upright, and threw the rock as hard as he could—
Pok!
It was a perfect shot. The Night Gardener’s hat tumbled from his head. Kip let out a triumphant laugh and then dropped down. By the time the Gardener reached the spot, Kip was already gone.
Pok!
Pok!
Pok!
Pok!
The two boys slowly worked their way along the lawn, throwing rocks as they went. The Gardener raced from hill to hill, enraged, confused. Kip grinned, feeling a thrill that was altogether new to him. He and Alistair were working as a team—doing something that neither of them could have accomplished alone.
Kip saw a row of moonlit trees just ahead. Somehow, impossibly, he had made it! He heard a snarling sound as a gust of wind knocked him backward. He rolled over to see the Gardener racing toward him, his clothes tattered, a halo of angry leaves swirling around him. “Alistair?” Kip called, trying and failing to pick himself up.
Kip saw movement from the corner of his eye. “Run!” Alistair shouted, grabbing hold of his arm. Kip felt his body jerk across the ground as the two of them staggered into the woods.
ind slithered in a circle around the house, sending leaves high into the air. Fig and Stubbs’s horse had run off in the storm, but Galileo was still there, waiting for instructions. “As loyal as you are stubborn,” Molly said, patting his flank. The horse gave a nervous snort, raking the gravel with his hoof.
Molly went back inside to fetch Penny. The girl was not injured, but she was frightened, and she gripped Molly tightly about the neck. Molly lifted her over the side of the wagon. “Watch your feet,” she said, setting the girl onto the wooden bed.
Penny scrambled to her knees and gripped Molly’s hand. “Will Kip and Alistair be safe from the night man?”
Molly stared into her face, wishing she knew how to answer.
She wanted to tell her a story to make her feel better, to make her brave. But there were some things that stories couldn’t do. “The truth is, Miss Penny, I dinna know.” She patted the girl’s hand. “But I wouldn’t worry just yet. Brothers are sneaky.”
Penny nodded sagely. “That’s true.”
An angry gust of air swept past Molly and struck the wagon, nearly toppling Galileo. “Easy, boy,” Molly said, grabbing his tackle. She pulled the hair from her eyes, looking toward the woods. Kip was out there somewhere. And so was the Night Gardener. For a moment, she almost thought she could hear his shouts echoing on the wind. She hoped desperately that she was wrong.
“I have you, my love. Just a few more steps …” Master Windsor appeared in the doorway, holding Constance in his arms. The woman was clinging to his neck, her head on his chest. Her eyes were open and her body heaved with shallow, pained breaths. “I have you,” Bertrand whispered. “I have you.”
Molly pushed aside the canisters of oil to make room in the bed of the wagon. “Sorry, mum. It’s hardly a coach and four.” Master Windsor laid his wife down as one might lay a paper boat on the water.
Molly shut the gate. “We’ll get ’em both to safety, sir, and then wait by the road for Kip and Alistair.” She indicated for him to climb aboard.
Bertrand nodded, but he did not move. His eyes were fixed on the woods—a black mass crested by moonlight. “That thing is after them …,” he said.
“They’ll be fine,” she said as much to herself as to Bertrand. “Kip’s outrun the Gardener before. He knows a special place where the monster canna follow.”
“But they might not reach the safe place,” Bertrand snapped. “Your brother’s lame. Alistair is just a boy …” He ran a shaking hand through his hair, no doubt imagining his only son alone in the darkness. Or was he imagining his parents on a night like this all those years before?
A hollow roar shook the valley. “It’s no use thinkin’ about it, sir. Kip and Alistair bought us some time, and we best take it. They’re on their own now.”
Bertrand fixed his eyes on her. “But what if we could help them? You said the only way to stop this Night Gardener is to kill the tree …”
Molly shook her head. “I don’t know for sure.”
Bertrand reached over the side and seized one of the oil canisters from the bed. “So let’s kill the tree and find out.”
p that way!” Kip called, pointing toward a patch of light in the distance. He and Alistair raced through the moonlit woods, black branches all around them. They were running toward the ancient garden at the edge of the island—the place the Night Gardener could not reach. “If we can just make it to that patch o’ light, we’ll be safe.”
“We’ll make it.” Alistair adjusted his grip around Kip’s side, putting more of Kip’s weight onto his own body. Kip glanced up at the boy, whose face was set with determination.
The Gardener’s howl rang out behind them, and wind struck Kip’s back, knocking him to the ground. Kip cried out as pain wrenched through his side. Branches rattled as the Night Gardener appeared to burst from the shadows behind them. He was not walking slowly as he usually did—he was running, his face lit white by the moon.
“Come on!” Alistair grabbed Kip, pulling him up from the ground. They staggered over rocks and roots. So long as they could still see the glowing light, they had a hope of survival. Kip thought of his sister back at the house. She and the others should be on the wagon by now—almost safe. Kip doubled his speed, his eyes fixed on the shining garden—now less than a hundred feet away.
The wind stopped around them, and Kip could tell their pursuer had slowed his pace. He glanced back to see the Gardener standing with both hands outstretched. The man uttered a low, inhuman moan as he worked the air like a weaver at his loom.
“Why’d he stop?” Alistair said, gasping for breath.
The Night Gardener’s call grew louder. A chill slid up Kip’s spine as he felt the wind change, coming alive. Cold mist lifted from the ground, shivering the treetops as it rose higher and higher into the air.
Kip peered up through the moonlit branches. “The sky,” he said. “It’s changin’ …”
The mist swirled and condensed above the treetops, forming an impenetrable fog that blocked out the stars and covered the moon. Kip looked back at the Night Gardener. In the fading light, he caught a final image of the man’s face, contorted in a tight smile—
And then the woods went dark.
“We gotta keep movin’—now!” Kip grabbed Alistair’s arm, but when he turned towards the garden, he saw nothing but a wall of darkness.
“Which way?” Alistair said, panicked.
Kip scanned the shadows, looking for light to guide them, looking for safety.
The moon had been blotted out.
And with it, their only hope.
olly was wary of Master Windsor’s idea—many people had tried to cut the tree down, and none had succeeded before the Night Gardener could stop them. But she and Master Windsor had something faster than an axe or a saw—thanks to Kip, they had enough oil to set the world ablaze.
Master Windsor set to preparing the tree while Molly led the wagon to safety. She had asked Penny to sit up on the bench with her so that the girl could see how driving worked. When she reached the road at the far end of the bridge, she stopped. “It’s your turn now, Miss Penny.” She handed the reins to the girl, who clutched the leather straps with white-knuckled intensity. “Now, if somethin’ happens—if the fire gets too big or the night man shows up—I want you to snap these reins as hard as you can.” She made a motion. “Just like that.”
Penny nodded.
“You keep snappin’ till your arms feel like they’re gonna fall off—and not a moment before. Can I trust you to do that?”
Penny placed a hand to her heart. “Mummy is my damsel. I will protect her with my very life.”
Molly made an impressed face. “Who’s the hero now?” She squeezed Penny’s hands—Not good-bye, she told herself—and climbed down from the bench.
“Thank you,” said a thin voice in her ear. “For what you’ve done.” It was Mistress Windsor. She was sitting up, a blanket wrapped tight around her frail shoulders.
Molly shook her head. “Don’t thank me, mum. It’s Kip and Alistair who done the brave thing.”
“Not that.” Constance smiled gently. “For what you’ve done to him.” She stared out across the bridge toward the house. In the distance, Molly could see Bertrand in front of the tree, emptying a large canister of oil over the black roots. His coat was off, and his sleeves were rolled up. “For the first time in a long time … I feel as though I have my husband back.” In the dim light, Molly could almost picture a different Bertrand Windsor—strong, determined, the man Constance had fallen in love with all those years before. A howl shuttered through the forest, and heavy clouds slid over the moon, leaving them in darkness.
“Let’s make sure he sticks around.” Molly took a box of matches from the wagon and ran back to the house. When she reached the tree, Bertrand was shaking the final drops from a canister. He threw the empty container onto the lawn.
“That’s the last one,” he said, wiping his hands.
“Then it’s time.” She handed him the box of matches and a stone from the drive.
Bertrand opened the box and removed a single match. “My hands are shaking,” he said.
Molly stared up at the tree, its black branches spreading out like a poison across the moonless sky. “They should be.”
Bertrand took a deep breath. He drew his match against the stone. It burst to life. He held the tiny flame over the roots—
And let the match fall.
ip and Alistair clung to each other, staggering through complete darkness. The two of them were lost beyond all hope. Kip couldn’t even tell where the house was anymore. The Gardener’s windy voice hissed in his ear. Now that the moon had vanished, they had no way to find safe ground. Every direction they ran, i
t seemed like the Night Gardener was waiting for them. Branches rattled around them, clawing at their clothes and face. “I dinna know where to go!” Kip said, panting.
They heard a hiss of wind and leapt backward, changing direction once more. “Why won’t he show himself?” Alistair said, his voice choked with fear.
“He’s havin’ fun with us,” Kip said. He craned his neck, searching for some clue of where to run next. His heart pounded in his ears. “That way!” he said, spotting some light between the trees. He and Alistair ran as fast as they could over rocks and bramble. They broke through into a clearing—
“Wait!” Alistair cried, pulling Kip back.
Kip looked down, realizing only now that he had very nearly run them off the edge of a cliff. He stared at the river rushing beneath him—black and cold.
Kip heard a twig snap. He turned around to see the Night Gardener standing behind them, a grim smile on his face. He had led them to the edge of the water. “We’re cornered,” he said. “It’s him or the river.”
The Gardener took another step closer. He was standing right over them now, a look of amusement in his bottomless eyes. Kip adjusted his footing, feeling the soil crumble away beneath his boots.
The Gardener had scarcely moved when a thundering roar shook the night. He snarled, staggering backward. He swatted at his clothes, collapsing to the ground. Kip could see tiny flames licking at the bottoms of his feet. The flames climbed up his cloak, slowly spreading. Wind howled around the Gardener—but the flames would not go out.
“What … what’s happening to him?” Alistair said. “Why is he burning?”
Kip looked past the Night Gardener toward the house. In the distance he could see a faint orange glow rising up to the sky. “It ain’t him that’s burnin’,” he said. “It’s the tree—they’re trying to kill it!”
The Night Gardener spun around, howling in the direction of the house.