tropical beaches and enormous cruise ships.
Fabulous Fiji!
they read.
Sail Away to Paradise!
Then the house straightened and set off again, striding swiftly onward. And Bella sat and watched the night stream by â row after row of slumbering houses, street after street of quiet blue dark. She watched until she couldnât watch any more. There was something about the gentle swaying of the house, the soft sighing of the wood, that waslike a lullaby. After a time, her eyes became heavy, and sleep slipped over her like a blanket.
In the morning, she woke up in the window. She stretched her arms and blinked in the sunlight. Then she grabbed the periscope and lowered it outside again.
The legs were gone. Or not gone, but hidden? She smiled as she imagined the house lowering itself into the yard. Crossing its legs? Folding them neatly beneath itself? Wriggling and jiggling down into the grass until it was in the exact right spot.
Except not quite.
It was the smallest strangeness this time. The path was almost lined up â almost but not quite. And there was a little too much tree in her window â an extra branch, a few too many leaves. It was such a small strangeness that you wouldnât notice it unless you were looking. Unless you were keeping an eye on things.
The house went out that night too, and the one after. It went out every night, wandering the silent streets â up and down, here and there. Through parks, and past shops, sometimes stopping to sit on the grass, or look in the windows. And always, at each corner it came to, pausing to turn this way and that before moving on.
Sometimes Bella stayed awake, waiting for the house to rise to its feet, and sometimes she tried to but couldnât.
Sometimes she woke up in the window, and sometimes in her bed.
Always, she looked for small strangenesses â a little extra sky, a flattened flower or two, the veranda sloping oddly downward.
Mum and Dad didnât seem to notice the strangenesses. And they never woke up when the house was moving.
Perhaps, Bella thought, that was the biggest strangeness. Or perhaps it wasnât a strangeness at all.
Perhaps it made the most perfect sort of sense. Because if they did wake up, they wouldnât sit in the window, quietly watching. They would run around, flapping their arms and saying, âOh, no! What are we going to do?â
When there was nothing to be done and no need to do it.
Nothing, that is, except fit your back into the windowâs perfect curve and enjoy the ride.
On Tuesday, Bella smiled as she followed Mum and Dad down the hall. She could hardly wait to tell Grandad about the house. She had thought about calling but she didnât want to talk on the phone. She wanted to sit across the table and see Grandadâs face when she told him â about the legs and the toes, about the wandering and the strangenesses.
Was there a strangeness today? She had woken late and hurried to breakfast without checking her window, and the curtains down here were closed.
She would see soon enough, anyway.Just ahead, Dad was opening the front door, stepping out onto the veranda.
As the door swung, she saw a clump of leaves, a thick branch. The big gum tree? But it didnât have branches this low down ⦠and its leaves were different, too. They were long and thin but these looked small and feathery.
Maybe this was a different tree? Maybe the house had spun itself around and this was one of the trees in their backyard?
Bellaâs heart raced. If the house was facing the wrong way, surely even Mum and Dad wouldnât be able to help noticing?
âWhat on earth â¦?â Dad said. âWhoa!â
Mum came to a sudden stop in front of Bella, blocking the doorway. Bella couldnât see past, but she could hear Dad outside. He was making the strangest sound. It was the kind of sound you make when youâre balancing on the edge of something, spinning your arms like a windmill
Fabulous Fiji!
they read.
Sail Away to Paradise!
Then the house straightened and set off again, striding swiftly onward. And Bella sat and watched the night stream by â row after row of slumbering houses, street after street of quiet blue dark. She watched until she couldnât watch any more. There was something about the gentle swaying of the house, the soft sighing of the wood, that waslike a lullaby. After a time, her eyes became heavy, and sleep slipped over her like a blanket.
In the morning, she woke up in the window. She stretched her arms and blinked in the sunlight. Then she grabbed the periscope and lowered it outside again.
The legs were gone. Or not gone, but hidden? She smiled as she imagined the house lowering itself into the yard. Crossing its legs? Folding them neatly beneath itself? Wriggling and jiggling down into the grass until it was in the exact right spot.
Except not quite.
It was the smallest strangeness this time. The path was almost lined up â almost but not quite. And there was a little too much tree in her window â an extra branch, a few too many leaves. It was such a small strangeness that you wouldnât notice it unless you were looking. Unless you were keeping an eye on things.
The house went out that night too, and the one after. It went out every night, wandering the silent streets â up and down, here and there. Through parks, and past shops, sometimes stopping to sit on the grass, or look in the windows. And always, at each corner it came to, pausing to turn this way and that before moving on.
Sometimes Bella stayed awake, waiting for the house to rise to its feet, and sometimes she tried to but couldnât.
Sometimes she woke up in the window, and sometimes in her bed.
Always, she looked for small strangenesses â a little extra sky, a flattened flower or two, the veranda sloping oddly downward.
Mum and Dad didnât seem to notice the strangenesses. And they never woke up when the house was moving.
Perhaps, Bella thought, that was the biggest strangeness. Or perhaps it wasnât a strangeness at all.
Perhaps it made the most perfect sort of sense. Because if they did wake up, they wouldnât sit in the window, quietly watching. They would run around, flapping their arms and saying, âOh, no! What are we going to do?â
When there was nothing to be done and no need to do it.
Nothing, that is, except fit your back into the windowâs perfect curve and enjoy the ride.
On Tuesday, Bella smiled as she followed Mum and Dad down the hall. She could hardly wait to tell Grandad about the house. She had thought about calling but she didnât want to talk on the phone. She wanted to sit across the table and see Grandadâs face when she told him â about the legs and the toes, about the wandering and the strangenesses.
Was there a strangeness today? She had woken late and hurried to breakfast without checking her window, and the curtains down here were closed.
She would see soon enough, anyway.Just ahead, Dad was opening the front door, stepping out onto the veranda.
As the door swung, she saw a clump of leaves, a thick branch. The big gum tree? But it didnât have branches this low down ⦠and its leaves were different, too. They were long and thin but these looked small and feathery.
Maybe this was a different tree? Maybe the house had spun itself around and this was one of the trees in their backyard?
Bellaâs heart raced. If the house was facing the wrong way, surely even Mum and Dad wouldnât be able to help noticing?
âWhat on earth â¦?â Dad said. âWhoa!â
Mum came to a sudden stop in front of Bella, blocking the doorway. Bella couldnât see past, but she could hear Dad outside. He was making the strangest sound. It was the kind of sound you make when youâre balancing on the edge of something, spinning your arms like a windmill
Similar Books
The Apprentice Starship Engineer: Book One The Link
Daniel Hanks
The Dead Women of Juarez
Sam Hawken
The Night Charter
Sam Hawken
The Vertical Gardening Guidebook
Tom Corson-Knowles
Dark of the Moon
Rachel Hawthorne
The Texan
Joan Johnston
Jamie-5
Kathi S. Barton
Dark Wolf
Christine Feehan
Mind Magic
Eileen Wilks
Explosive Alliance
Catherine Mann