_Trapped_
Jack and Molly clutched hold of each other tightly, while a feeling of
despair rushed over them. How foolish, how very foolish, they had been
to trust the girl! What awful thing could be going to happen to them
now? they wondered. The whispered conversation between the two at the
end of the passage ended in a loud burst of laughter and giggling; then
the girl turned toward them and beckoned.
“Come on,” she said, “and the quicker the better it will be for you....
No nonsense now,” as the children did not move.
“How dare you!” Jack managed to say. “Open this door and let us out at
once. You—you mean sneak!” His voice was shaky, but very determined.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” said the girl. “You’ve _got_ to obey now—so you
might just as well come—unless you’d like me to fetch you both?”
“Heh! Heh!” laughed the figure behind her. “I’d like to see you fetch
them—that I would!”
The laughter and the nameless threat underlying the words gave the
children a creepy sensation all up and down their spines.
“Oh, let’s go before she _fetches_ us,” cried Molly, and went forward,
dragging Jack by the hand.
“That’s sense,” said the girl, and made room for them to pass out of
the passage into the firelight.
They found themselves in a round, cave-like room, which was lit up by
the dancing flames of a log fire. Afterward Jack and Molly could not
remember seeing any furniture in the room—nothing but the fire and a
stone-arched fireplace. They could not recall seeing any windows, but
they remembered the floor, which was made of cobbles, because it was
hard to walk on. The room appeared to have no ceiling, or else a very
high one, at any rate no ceiling was visible; overhead all was drifting
smoke and black gloom, like the entrance to a railway tunnel.
“Let’s have a look at the pretty dears,” said the figure beside the
girl, moving forward, and Jack and Molly stood face to face with the
ugliest old woman they had ever seen, in fact, had ever even imagined.
Her clay-coloured face was a mass of deep wrinkles; her narrow, sunken
eyes looked like two restless black beads, darting from side to side,
as if to escape from the two slits of eyelids which imprisoned them.
Her nose and chin curved towards each other, after the fashion of
nut-crackers, and her otherwise toothless mouth had one long yellow
fang always visible. A bright crimson scarf was wound round her head,
like a turban, from which long wisps of jet black hair escaped and hung
about her face.
As the children looked at her, she did a terrifying thing (which they
quickly discovered was a constant habit of hers). The old woman’s
restless beady eyes became suddenly still, and she fixed upon the
children in turn a piercing stare, gradually opening her eyes wider and
wider and wider until they became two big round black balls encircled
by saucers of white—great, staring, still eyes ... then suddenly the
lids snapped over them, and they were once more little darting black
beads.
“Heh! Heh! Heh!” laughed the old woman. “What a surprise for yer,
duckies, wasn’t it, now?” And she thrust her face close to the children
and leered unpleasantly. “Stoopid little baggages!” she added. “Far
for better you’d stopped at home—meddlin’ in what don’t concern you.
But we’ll soon learn you to come a-meddlin’.” She turned to the girl
behind her. “All right,” she said in an undertone. “I’d know ’em again.
I’ve had a good look. When’s _he_ coming?”
“In about an hour, I expect,” answered the girl. Then she dropped her
voice and started whispering again.
The two children gazed into each other’s frightened white faces, and a
little sob escaped from Molly.
“Eh?” said the old woman. “What you say, ducky?... Nothing?... All
right. Come along then, my pretties, come along and wait in the
drorin’-room. His Excellency the Grey Pumpkin is not at home just at
present, but he won’t be long; oh, dear no, he won’t be long. Step this
way in the drorin’-room. He’ll be _pleased_ to see yer. Heh! Heh!”
Molly glanced despairingly at the girl in green, the girl who had been
so friendly a short time before when they were outside in the lane.
Molly held out her hands appealingly—but the girl only laughed.
“Oh have you no pity?” cried Molly. “Do, _do_ let us go. He’ll never
know—the Pumpkin need never know. And—and if there is anything we can
do for you, I’m sure my brother and I will be only too pleased....”
“Would you even give up the search—and go straight back home?” asked
the girl sharply.
Here, then, was their chance of escape. If they would promise—Molly
looked at Jack. What would the Pumpkin do to Jack—to her—when he
came? She shuddered. Then she thought of Old Nancy, and the King, and
Glan, and she knew that what the girl asked of them was impossible. She
and Jack exchanged glances again. They had decided. They would take
their chance.
“Would you promise?” asked the girl.
“No,” answered Jack and Molly together.
“Hurry up and push them in, then, mother.” The girl turned away,
dismissing the subject immediately.
The old woman, chuckling to herself, opened a door in the wall (which
the children had not noticed before) and told them to follow her to
the “drorin’-room” unless they wanted to be “fetched” there. So they
followed her.
It was pitch dark on the other side of the door, and the old woman
called out to the girl in green to hold a light for them, which she
did, standing in the doorway holding a flickering taper above her
head. Jack and Molly followed the old woman along a short passage,
down a flight of stone steps to a door at the bottom. She took a key
from her pocket, and calling to the girl in green again, telling her
to hold the light at the top of the steps, she fumbled at the lock,
opened the door, and then, without more ado, she pushed Jack and Molly
inside, and slammed the door on them. They heard her lock the door,
then go shuffling up the steps, grumbling to herself. Then another door
banged—and all was silent.
Jack and Molly were in absolute darkness, and could not see an inch in
front of them. They dared not move, but stood still clinging hold of
each other.
“Oh, Jack, why _did_ we trust her?” sobbed Molly.
“How were we to know ... she seemed so decent ... the sneak!” said
Jack. “Oh, can’t we _do_ anything, Molly?”
It was dreadful, just standing in the dark—waiting. They talked in
low tones to each other for a while, wondering how long it would be
before the Pumpkin arrived. Neither of them dared to speak of what he
might do when he came. If—if anything happened to them, would any one
miss them, and come in search of them——
And then Molly remembered.
“Jack!” she cried. “The matches! Old Nancy’s matches!”
“Why ever didn’t we think of them before?” exclaimed Jack.
Now was the time to use them, undoubtedly; for if ever there was a dark
place where some light was needed.... Jack and Molly were fumbling
eagerly in their satchels.
“Be careful, Jack,” said Molly. “Don’t drop any. Have you got yours
yet? I have. Now I’ll strike one—and see what happens.”
Jack was still searching his satchel for his box of matches. Meanwhile
Molly took a match out of her box and struck it.
The children were not quite sure what they had expected to happen, but
they felt vaguely disappointed to see just an ordinary little flare of
light spring out of the darkness. Just an ordinary little flickering
match. Anyway, they could now see what sort of a place they were shut
up in. It was a kind of underground cellar, small and square and high
roofed, and except for a few old boxes in one corner, empty. The walls
were damp and mouldy, the floor broken and uneven, and the place seemed
full of cobwebs.
And then they realized that it was not quite an ordinary match. It
burnt longer, and, strange to say, the rays from it were concentrating
all in one direction—like a long thin streak of light—pointing. Jack
and Molly quickly sensed this. But what was the light pointing at? The
flame was directed straight toward the boxes in the corner.
The children crossed the cellar and examined the boxes. They looked
like wooden sugar boxes; there were three of them; and they were all
empty. Jack pulled them away from the wall, but there was nothing
behind them.
Then Molly’s match flickered—and went out.
“Here, I’ll light one,” said Jack. “I’ve got mine now.”
So Jack lit one. Just the usual match flare at first, but as soon as
it burned up the light gathered together all on one side of the match
as it were, a long streak pointing in the exactly opposite direction
to where the boxes were, right over on the other side of the cellar.
For a moment Jack doubted, wondering whether it was a sort of joke on
him. But he and Molly followed the light quickly, and saw that it was
concentrated on a spot, high up on the wall, near the roof.
“Look! quick!” said Molly. “There’s an iron ring or handle or something
up there.”
“But how can we reach it?” began Jack.
And then they remembered what the first match had shown them, and
hastily dragging the boxes across the floor, piled them one on top of
the other underneath the ring in the wall. Then Jack’s match went out.
Both children were now tremendously excited; and fearful lest the
Pumpkin should come before they had finished their investigations, they
moved as rapidly as possible. Molly lit the next match, while Jack
clambered up to the top of the boxes. Her light pointed straight at the
iron ring.
“It’s a ring all right!” cried Jack. “But, oh, Moll, I can’t quite
reach it! Whatever shall we do?”
As the match pointed steadily at the ring, and offered no further
suggestions, Molly climbed up to the top of the boxes too. Jack’s
remark was only too true; the ring was just out of reach, try as they
would to touch it.
“I believe I could reach it if you could lift me up, Jack,” said Molly.
“Right-o!” said Jack. And then Molly’s match went out.
As it would be too difficult to hold a match while trying to reach the
ring, and as Molly said she remembered just where the ring was on the
wall, it was decided to pull the ring if possible, and then light a
match, and see what had happened.
So Jack lifted Molly up, and after groping about on the wall with her
hands for a few seconds, she caught hold of the ring.
“I’ve got it! Keep steady, Jack!” she cried, joyfully, and gave a
vigorous tug at the iron ring. “Something’s given way—it feels as if a
sort of door’s opened. All right, put me down now, Jack, and strike a
match.”
Jack followed her directions, and by the light of the match they saw
that a small square door had opened in the wall above their heads. The
light from the match pointed straight through the opening. It looked
like a narrow, dark tunnel beyond. Jack put his match down on the top
of the boxes to see if it would give them sufficient light from there,
but directly it left his hand it went out, so they decided to try to
get into the tunnel before they lit up again, as it was too difficult
to hold matches while scrambling through the little black opening.
Jack hoisted Molly up first, and she managed to get through the door,
and then she turned and reached down her hand to pull Jack up. It was
rather an ordeal, doing all this in the dark, but at length it was
safely accomplished and they were both inside the tunnel. Once through
the door, although rather cramped, they found there was sufficient room
to stand up, if they bent their heads.
They did not stop to close the door behind them, but, lighting another
match, they scurried along the tunnel as fast as ever they could.
The tunnel twisted and turned a good deal, and then began to slope
gradually upward. Two more matches they were obliged to light before
they came at length to a standstill where the tunnel branched out
in two directions. The light pointed steadily to the left, so they
followed it. Another minute’s rapid walking, and they felt a rush of
cool air, and when their match spluttered and went out, they could see
that the inky darkness was thinning a little way ahead, and so they did
not light another match, but hastened onward toward a glimmer of light
in the distance. As they drew nearer they saw that it was the end of
the tunnel and led out into the open air.
Jack and Molly moved cautiously when they came to the end. They crept
out, and found themselves in the middle of a thick tangle of bushes.
Through the bushes they struggled and forced a way until they at length
came out on to a narrow footpath which threaded its way in and out of a
host of bushes and trees. They began to run as soon as they were on the
footpath, though they did not know where they were or where it would
lead them: but they ran, and continued to run, until they reached a
wider path, and saw that they were on a big open heath. They paused to
regain their breath and take their bearings.
It was night-time, but the moon which sailed overhead in a clear sky
made everything almost as light as day. They were certainly on a heath
of some sort.
“Why, of course,” Jack gasped, very much out of breath, “this must be
the Goblin’s Heath!”