Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

“I think zay must help,” Miss Suzette advised. “Zese children, Miss Hunroe, are not ordinary children. Molly has special abilities, and Micky ez probably gifted, too. After all, zay are twins. With Molly’s gift come special responsibilities. Zis is a critical problem that needs specific solutions. No one can help as Molly can. What is more, if we don’t get Molly’s help, the whole world may suffer the consequences.”

Miss Hunroe’s coin flipped through the air and landed in the palm of her hand. She smacked it onto the back of her left hand.

“Heads you win,” she said.

A hundred and eighty miles away, Petula woke up from a midday sleep. She’d had a nightmare of Molly leaving her all alone in Briersville Park, which was silly, she knew, because apart from Molly and Micky, everyone else—Rocky, Ojas, and the adults—were all there. She shook her head, and her ears and her lips flapped and the sparkling nametag on her collar rattled. But it was odd, she thought, that her sleep had been so undisturbed.

Petula had been out the night before, down on the neighboring farm where her friends the sheepdogs lived. She’d stayed with them until well past midnight. Then she’d trotted home under a starlit sky, barked at the local fox, who she could smell was in the llama field, and she’d gotten back in late. Now she would go and visit everyone and see how they were. It was peculiar, as normally at this time of day she’d hear the butler, Todson, laying tables for lunch. But all was quiet.

So off she trotted from her basket in the pantry, along the corridor to her basket in the hall. There she picked up a small pebble in her mouth and, chewing and sucking it, made her way up the wide hall stairs to the first landing that led to the house’s master bedrooms. Portraits of Molly and Micky’s ancestors looked curiously down, their eyes seemingly fixed on her.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Petula barked at them.

On the second floor, the hundreds of clocks that lined the second floor passage ticked like clockwork crickets. Petula nudged open Primo Cell and Lucy Logan’s bedroom door.

The room was dark, as the curtains were closed. Both Lucy and Primo were sitting in bed. They were leaning back on cushions, staring upward. For a moment Petula thought that perhaps they had bought a very modern new television screen that was set in the ceiling. But as she trotted into the room, she could see that there was nothing on the ceiling. What was more, neither said hello to Petula. She dropped her stone and barked. Primo and Lucy were still. Petula put her front paws up on the side of the bed. She whined at Lucy and pawed at the silk bedspread beside her, but neither of the humans uttered a word. Then Lucy took a sip of water. She didn’t even glance at Petula.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Petula barked again, and then some more, but it was useless. Petula suddenly felt very scared. She’d seen humans in this state before. It was as obvious as an unburied bone, Lucy and Primo were hypnotized. But by who? Petula looked about her to see whether her barking had summoned anyone to the room. Then, turning on her heels, Petula fled.

Panic rushing through her, she bowled along the passage of clocks until she came to the small flight of stairs that led to the children’s quarters. She must let Rocky and Ojas know what had happened and get their help! Her claws slid and scrabbled up the polished wooden steps. Skidding to stop herself, she reached their bedroom. The room was empty. Petula turned and began to run along the corridor to the attic stairs. Her heart lifted as she approached the children’s den. The sound of jingles on the TV escaped through the crack of the closed door. Everything was normal, she thought. Rocky and Ojas were watching TV. But when she pushed the door open, her hopes were dashed. For there in the dark with the curtains shut, reclining in armchairs with glazed expressions on their faces as they gawped at the TV, were Ojas and Rocky.

Petula leaped into Rocky’s lap and barked right into his eyes, but he was like someone half dead. The light from the television screen danced across his brown face. Petula pounced at the TV. An ad was on. Three pots of mustard, each with a smiling face, jigged about in front of a barbecued sausage. This should have seemed funny, but today, as though in some nasty dream, the pots of mustard looked sinister. Petula growled and tried to hit the off switch. Having no success, she attacked the television plug and eventually pulled it out of its socket. Now the room was pitch black except for the light from the passage. Frightened and confused, Petula left that room, too.