Gertie Milk and the Keeper of Lost Things Read online

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  Copyright © 2017 Simon Van Booy

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  Ebook ISBN 9780448494609

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  “Welcome to your life.

  There’s no turning back. . . .”

  —Tears for Fears

  This book is dedicated to

  for bringing light to dark places . . .

  . . . and to my wife, Christina,

  and our daughter, Madeleine.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Lost on Skuldark

  Chapter 2: The Worst Is Yet to Come

  Chapter 3: Down, Down, Down . . .

  Chapter 4: The Fear That Night Brings

  Chapter 5: Moonberries & Slug Lamps

  Chapter 6: The Cottage of Lost Things

  Chapter 7: A Face in the Mirror

  Chapter 8: What Lives Beneath

  Chapter 9: The Admiral and a Jewel Thief

  Chapter 10: The Garden of Lost Things

  Chapter 11: Gertie Meets the B.D.B.U.

  Chapter 12: Don’t Get Snatched

  Chapter 13: The Sock Drawer

  Chapter 14: The Time Cat

  Chapter 15: The Battle of Trunks and Humps

  Chapter 16: Incense and Elephant-Snout Fish

  Chapter 17: The Earth Is in Their Hands

  Chapter 18: Back to the Time Camels

  Chapter 19: The Big Apple

  Chapter 20: Doll Head

  Chapter 21: The Abandoned City

  Chapter 22: The Frozen Mascot

  Chapter 23: Kolt Disappears

  Chapter 24: The Girl Who Loves Bones

  Chapter 25: The Passage Behind the Painting

  Chapter 26: The Mayfly Catapult

  Chapter 27: A Terrifying Discovery

  Chapter 28: Intruders

  Chapter 29: A Big Moment for Robot Rabbit Boy

  Chapter 30: Evil in the Forest of Moganshan

  Chapter 31: Bone Powder

  Chapter 32: The Final Fight

  Chapter 33: The Ultimate Sacrifice

  Chapter 34: The Crown of Triangles

  Chapter 35: The Meaning of Loyalty

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Lost on Skuldark

  THE GIRL LYING MOTIONLESS on the sand suddenly opened her eyes. The tide had come in and she was drowning. Waves rolled over her face then carried her up the beach, as she gasped with the shock of freezing water. When the girl was able to stand and scramble up some loose stones—away from the incoming tide—panic took over, as she realized very quickly that she did not know where she was or even who she was.

  It was as though the sea had washed away everything about her life, leaving only her body—which trembled with cold, as she stood there in a wet, baggy gown with thin cloth shoes on her feet.

  The girl looked frantically around and wondered if she should call out. Start screaming for help. But there was nobody. She was alone.

  With the absence of sudden danger, the girl calmed a little. Her breath resumed an even pace, and her heart sank back down in her body, where she could no longer feel each thump like a stone against the wall of her chest.

  She collapsed on some dry rocks and looked out to sea. The spot on the beach where she had woken up was now underwater. All around there were boulders covered with slick sea grass, like the wet fur of some once-terrible creature that had not risen for a thousand years.

  Farther out, a white mist unfurled over the dark water like creeping breath.

  There seemed to be no escape. The beach was enclosed by tall cliffs that erupted from the shore and stretched as high as she could see.

  « • • • »

  The girl wondered if she had banged her head, and fingered her scalp for bumps or the jagged edges of a scab. But she didn’t feel like there was anything wrong with her mind. All her thoughts seemed to stick—but behind each question was a darkness from which she could pull nothing.

  She looked carefully at her sopping, ragged gown for any markings or labels sewn into it. That’s how she found out her name was probably Gertie Milk.

  “Strange . . .” she said, rubbing the small letters sewn into the fabric, “I remember milk is something white you can drink, and that Gertie is a girl’s name, but as to how old I am, or where I was born, or why I’m here . . . I could be anybody—or nobody.”

  Her missing memories might have been close, just a few thoughts away, but trying to remember felt like going around a corner that never ended.

  Gertie’s throat was so dry from thirst she felt the sides when she swallowed. But she somehow knew that a person can’t drink seawater, because it’s full of salt, and the taste of it makes you feel sick.

  As the rising tide splashed over her feet, Gertie crawled backward over the stones. The entire beach would soon be deep underwater. She needed a path that would take her up the cliffs to safety.

  It was painful to walk on the loose rocks, but Gertie decided she would rather have bruised feet than drown. When the rolling mist separated over the water, she stopped and stared out to sea for any sign of a ship she might have fallen from.

  I know what a ship is, Gertie thought to herself, and I have language, yet I can’t remember any particular ship, or even the name of the language I’m speaking.

  What felt most strange about losing her memory was that she had no idea how she looked. She’d seen her feet and even taken a few glances at her body under the gown, but the sea was moving too quickly for any kind of reflection. It would be some time before Gertie knew the color of her eyes, the shape of her ears, the angle of her nose, or was able to stare at the curious mark that crept over one side of her face.

  « • • • »

  When the beach came to an end, Gertie clambered onto some dry boulders and looked around for a path that might take her through or over the rocks.

  The fog was now creeping along the stones, as though following her, and the tide was sweeping in faster than ever. With each breaking wave, the water pulled back with such force that Gertie could see small rocks, sand, and shells getting churned into watery fists.

  Then she spotted something long and white, wedged in a crack along the rock face. Gertie shuddered at what she felt sure was a human bone, maybe a leg. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She could feel the pressure of tears in her throat and a pushing behind her eyes.

  But then it occurred to Gertie that she might have ended up on the beach after escaping something even more horrible than bits of a skeleton . . . but what?

  She quickly
scanned the cliff tops for any movement— some hairy, lumbering creature, or a horde of bloodthirsty cannibals.

  If it were an island of cannibals, Gertie decided she would try and convince them she was a witch with amazing, magical powers, only she had forgotten how to use them.

  Then Gertie’s foot knocked something. Loose stones and a dirty white skull went crashing down to the beach, rolling to rest in an upward position as though grinning at her.

  The sound echoed through the cliffs, and Gertie felt dizzy, as though she might tumble down off the rocks herself.

  Then something moved in the fog. The girl with no memory held her breath as her body turned rigid from fear. It was an enormous white bird with bulging yellow eyes, and it was tearing across the beach stones toward her in great, flying strides.

  2

  The Worst Is Yet to Come

  GERTIE SCRAMBLED DOWN THE ROCKS, but there was no use running, and turning her back upon the beast felt like the worst thing to do.

  The bird let out a piercing screech and snapped its cruel beak open and shut.

  Gertie grabbed a handful of stones and stood her ground, shaking with fear but determined to protect herself. Everything was happening so fast that she couldn’t think. If it was time to die, Gertie knew she would go down fighting.

  When the animal was almost upon her, Gertie raised an arm to protect her eyes from its sharp beak. But the bird stopped suddenly just a few yards in front of her. She stared as the creature tilted its head back and forth, as though trying to make up its mind about what Gertie could be.

  “Friend!” she cried, hiding the fistful of stones behind her back. “Not food! Friend!”

  Then, as Gertie backed away slowly, one of her shoes came off. The creature looked at the shoe, then bent forward and prodded the wet cloth with its beak. Gertie continued creeping backward, still with the small, hard stones in her grasp. But then to her utter dread, she noticed, far in the distance, a dozen more birds bounding toward her. The stones would be useless against so many.

  The curious animal in front of her was still playing with the shoe. Poking and prodding with its beak. Then in one motion, it hooked and flung the soggy cloth through the air so that it landed on Gertie’s bare foot with a slap.

  Maybe the bird was trying to help in some way, Gertie thought. Maybe it knew a way off the beach—perhaps she could even ride on its back as they floated over the waves to safety? Its yellow eyes seemed now full of curiosity and shyness.

  Gertie dropped the stones and pulled her shoe on quickly. The creature watched, nodding its head. Thick white fur covered its body, and its wings were so tiny, flight seemed more like an idea than a possibility.

  Gertie knew that her only hope was to make friends with it. And so, cautiously, she reached out her hand. The creature shuffled closer, and when her fingers made contact with the soft fur on its neck the animal cooed and blinked its eyes.

  The other birds arrived and formed a messy line of staring heads behind the first creature, as if awaiting their turn to be petted.

  But Gertie could see the water was still rising. Time was running out. As she stroked the animal’s feeble wing with both hands, she tried to think of a way to ask for help and wondered if she should just pull herself onto its back.

  Then suddenly from somewhere deep in the fog came a steady rattling of beach stones and a long, low hiss. The bird jumped back in fright, its tiny wings flapping like mad. The other birds took off in all directions, squawking and screeching and beating their useless wings. Gertie turned and bolted. After a few breathless steps, she noticed the bird was following her.

  “C’mon!” she cried. “We must get away.”

  When they finally reached the tall cliffs, the hiss and rattle of shifting stones was so close it almost paralyzed Gertie with fear. Then out of the fog it came, right behind them, an enormous head rearing up over Gertie and the white bird.

  It was a head unlike any other, one without a face—just a giant, fleshy ball of holes that sucked in air and hissed it out. At first the head did not appear to be attached to anything, but then the creature turned, sucking and hissing, and Gertie saw its long, ringed body writhing on the stones.

  Without wasting even a second to scream, Gertie turned and moved swiftly over the rock face. If she could just find a foothold, it might be enough to climb out of the giant worm’s reach. When she turned to check on the white bird, it was gone. Then she heard that awful noise again, air whooshing from an eyeless head. She was sure it was sniffing her out—eager to suck her into its long fleshy body, before disappearing back under the sea.

  “Well it’s not going to,” she said determinedly, patting desperately over the rock.

  Then she noticed something—a narrow opening barely large enough for an animal to pass through but her only hope of escape. She wondered if this hole was what the white bird had been trying to help her find.

  Without turning around to check for the monster, Gertie crouched and squeezed herself through the opening and into the mountain. It was just in time, too, for as she tumbled into the darkness, the giant worm head came down with an almighty slap against the rock. Then a furious sucking noise—the hiss of anger at letting its prey escape.

  Gertie’s flood of relief was mixed with concern for her new friend, the white bird. Had it gotten away? She dared not lean out and look.

  A watery choir of drops echoed though the long dark tunnel. Anything could have been waiting to pounce in the silent black that was ahead. But Gertie knew she couldn’t turn back and crawled forward slowly, with only her senses and the hot thumping stone in her chest she now recognized was courage.

  3

  Down, Down, Down . . .

  GERTIE KNEW she had to keep moving, for the cave would soon flood and she’d be trapped in the rising water. Down and down she went through the tunnel. When light from the entrance had dimmed to almost nothing, Gertie stopped to rest and realized there was something in her pocket.

  She plunged her hand into the wet, scratchy gown, and removed a cold, rusty key, with twirly bits in the handle. Although she could barely see it, the key felt like it belonged to a lock in an old door—perhaps in the place she had come from? Her heart fluttered with excitement. Maybe it was even the door to her home? Or was the key even hers? Had she stolen it and become a thief? Won it in an epic sword fight or ax-throwing contest? What if she was a murderer and didn’t know?

  In the dim light she nervously studied the key for any red stains, and was relieved to find only a few faint letters of flowery script that read:

  K.O.L.T.

  Who or what was KOLT? she thought. More than likely a vital part of her getting home,

  After putting the key back in her pocket (and feeling through the fabric to check it was there), Gertie continued down the tunnel until it was so dark she could not see even her own grimy, outstretched hand. It was as though her eyes were closed, and she were moving about inside her own head, searching for the lost memories of who she was, and where she had come from.

  Then the path turned steep, and she began slipping forward toward what she imagined would be some horrible doom. Perhaps another worm, or the worm’s mother with a feeding hole so large you could slide right in and land on her tongue and not even realize—until you were left wondering why the ground had suddenly turned into a wet cushion.

  With hands reaching, Gertie ignored the pain and stiffness in her crouching body.

  When the rock got slimy, she entered a large chamber where somehow there was enough light for her to see the outline of her body in the wet gown. There was also a thunderous crashing, which Gertie decided must have been an underground waterfall.

  Then the tunnel narrowed again, going down into the earth for a long time. Gertie followed it until reaching another cave where her outstretched hands brushed something soft and mushy growing out of the wall. She flung her arms up
in surprise, but slapped against more of the stuff, which hung from the ceiling like a damp, rubbery rash. It was some kind of plant, which glowed when touched and gave off enough light for Gertie to see the path ahead was split two ways.

  She was about to choose the right path when there was a shuddering from her pocket. The key was vibrating. She pulled it out and continued down the right path, but soon the key was shaking so hard that Gertie’s teeth were rattling as she tried to hold on. She wondered if the key was trying to tell her something, and took a few steps backward. The shaking lessened to a buzz.

  When she stepped toward the entrance of the other passage, the vibration was nothing more than a light tremble. Then as Gertie crossed the threshold to the left path, the key went completely still, as though satisfied she had chosen correctly. Gertie decided that it must possess some kind of magical power and was probably trying to get her home. She studied it again and ran her fingers gratefully over the four letters that said K.O.L.T.

  « • • • »

  Soon the path she had chosen with the aid of the key changed from a narrow passage of rock to a tunnel where soft moss grew over the floor and walls. Now, with enough light to see the outline of her whole body again, Gertie realized she must be near the top of the cliff. And after another hundred yards or so there appeared tiny openings to the sky, small explosions of white that blinded her for a few moments after looking at them.

  Gertie imagined the thickness of water in the flooded tunnels behind her. The tide would be in, and the beach she had washed up on just a silent, weightless dream of fish and currents.

  It was a place she would not have survived.

  4

  The Fear That Night Brings

  WHEN THE CLIFF finally released Gertie onto a patch of cool, windswept grass, it was such a relief she did not mind shivering with cold. She gazed up into the deep blue ocean of air, gulping mouthfuls from a chill breeze. Her chattering teeth became laughter.