Pools

By S.K. Holder

One day, Lark and her friend Shelley, visit their neighbour, Ms Trowper, to fetch their ball from her garden. Ms Trowper is not her usual cheery self. She has a pool of water in her attic. She is convinced it is some kind of magic portal. She wants Lark and Shelley to see what's in it. The girls decide Ms Trowper is bonkers and make a hasty retreat.

 

Later that night, Lark's mum insists she saw Lark's brother, Fin, and his 'sensible' friend, Mat, disappear through a hole in the garden. It makes no sense. Fin and Mat are on a camping trip and are not due home for days.

 

Troubled by this strange turn of events, the two friends return to Ms Trowper's house. They revisit the hole in Ms Trowper's attic and get sucked through the pool of water into another dimension: Craggthorn, where they are given a very important assignment. If they fail, a powerful spell will bind them to Craggthorn forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. K. Holder
• Release date: Mar 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9780993293702

Book preview

POOLS

S. K. HOLDER

Copyright © 2023 S. K. HOLDER

Published by S. K. HOLDER

All Rights Reserved

This edition is based on a revised reset edition first published in 2015

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

www.skholder.com

Table of Contents

1 Ball Fetching

2 Squillionaires

3 Mudslide

4 Whistling

5 The Other Pool

6 Jeepy Creepy

7 Don’t Look Back

8 Professor Gordell

9 The Assignment

10 Guilt

11 The Great Eye

12 Groundwork

13 Cracking the Code

14 The Briefcase Carrier

15 Train to Ravensworth

16 Bobby Buck Comics and Games

17 Plan A

18 Family Night

19 Summer School Project

20 Cute

21 Mud

22 Worthless Gold

23 Bonjour, I Spy You

24 Plan B

25 Trouble

26 Chores

27 Pool Investigative Emergency

28 Bad Karma

29 Protection

30 The Message

31 The Disgusting Incident

32 Like Dust in a Vacuum

33 Compelling Evidence

34 Nowhere to Run

35 The Wrecked Café

36 Entrapment

37 Einstein Moment

38 The Big Event

39 A Competition

40 Gall

41 Genie Release Day

42 A Reward

43 New Beginnings

1 Ball Fetching

MS TROWPER LIVED IN a lemon-coloured house. It was separated from its neighbours by an unusually high brick wall on one side and a manicured hedge on the other. If you stood on the opposite side of the street, you could see the roof of her house and her two top windows. And when you reached the front gate, you could see the door peeking from between the overgrown hedge.

Shelley and I had a habit of bouncing our ball down the street on the way to and from the park. Sometimes, we’d throw it. Occasionally, it went off course and we’d have to go after it. 

One hot day in July, the inevitable happened. It was bound to happen. Our ball went right over Ms Trowper’s wall and we had to go and fetch it.

‘You go first,’ said Shelley, goading me up Ms Trowper’s gravel path with her big brown eyes.

Shelley had a pug nose, teeny tiny hands and feet, and a mouth that can fit a whole grapefruit. We share a deep bond. I liked to think of her as my blood sister. We had known each other all our lives. 

‘No!’

‘Please.’ She pouted and puffed out her cheeks.

Shelley could be very persuasive when she wanted to be. She looked like a puppy dog. She wore her corkscrew hair in bunches that reminded me of puppy dog ears.

‘No. Why do I have to go first? I’m always fetching the ball.’ 

To be honest, I wasn’t bothered about who went first. There was nothing scary about Ms Trowper. Everybody liked her. It’s just that Shelley and I liked to be dramatic.

‘You’re more approachable,’ said Shelley, by which time we were halfway up Mrs Trowper’s garden path.

We couldn’t see the ball from where we were standing. It wouldn’t have made a difference if we had. Mum says that if ever our ball goes into someone else’s garden, we shouldn’t wade in and retrieve it, we should knock on their door and politely ask for it back. 

We were both wearing our bright orange t-shirts with three big glittering balloons on the front. I spilled cherry cola down the front of mine and Shelley had a tear in hers from when she accidentally got it hooked on a fishing rod at Birchmere Lake. I stopped walking when I realised Shelley had fallen behind.

I tucked my hair under the baseball cap I ‘borrowed’ from my fourteen-year-old brother, Fin. I was planning on putting it back later. I emptied a packet of pink bubblegum snaps into my mouth. The bubblegum crackled and popped, just the way I liked it.

‘It’s getting late. My mum said I need to be home by seven. It’s nearly seven now.’ She glanced at her Cannibal watch. Ever since her dad had brought her the latest pink Cannibal cuff watch with the diamante studded face, she’d become obsessed with the time. To display the watch effectively, she had freed her left wrist of five charm bracelets. She now had eight bracelets jingling from her right.

‘I have to get the ball. It’s Fin’s. He’ll go ballistic, if I don’t.’

I had a flashing image of Fin pounding me into the ground with his fist. He didn’t like me touching his stuff.  Fortunately, time was on my side. Fin had gone camping in Buttersworth woods. He wouldn’t be home for days.

I continued up the path and paused in front of the green door.

Shelley crossed her arms and shrugged. ‘Hurry up then. Knock.’

I rang the doorbell. When I didn’t hear a buzz, I rapped the gold-painted knocker, took two steps back and waited.

‘Come on,’ I mouthed to Shelley, who was dawdling behind me.

She clutched her stomach. ‘I want to go to the loo.’ 

I rolled my eyes. ‘You went before we left the park.’

‘I want to go again. And look I’ve got sunburn.’ She showed me her brown arms, which were about three shades lighter than mine. She liked to put on tons of suntan lotion, even when there was no sun, for UV protection. Her mum, who worked in a beauty salon, talked a lot about UV protection.

‘You should have worn your sunhat.’

She scowled. ‘I can’t wear a sunhat with these jeans, can I?’

She started biting her nails and I began to hum. I knocked on the door again and then hummed some more. I thought I heard Ms Trowper pottering around inside.

We were exchanging our should-we-stay-or-should-we-go-looks when Ms Trowper finally opened the door.

Ms Trowper had nettle-coloured eyes, and the ends of her auburn hair were flicked up, so it looked as if she had two giant tick marks attached to each side of her head. She usually wore cherry red lipstick, knee-length flowing dresses and poker-high heels.

Shelley’s mouth dropped open. Ms Trowper wasn’t wearing cherry red lip stick. She was wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt that looked as if a baby had thrown up on it. As for her hair, it was a tangled mess.

I gawped at her like a clueless tourist. ‘Afternoon, Ms Trowper. Our ball went into your front garden. May we get it back please?’

‘Come in,’ she said.

‘We only wanted to get our ball,’ said Shelley.

‘No, you have to come in,’ Ms Trowper insisted.

We followed her inside. It was the first time she had ever invited us into her home.

Shelley kept jabbing me in the shoulder with her finger. I sensed she was having a mini panic attack. It had definitely gone seven.

There were lots of pictures hanging in the hallway. Some of the picture frames were silver, some red wood, some gold, others pink, but all the frames held the same picture - a pool of water. 

By the time we reached Ms Trowper’s living room, Shelley had nudged me twice in the back. I turned to look at her pouting, puffy face.

‘We should go,’ she mouthed. 

Ms Trowper’s living room had two large comfy green sofas, and a glass coffee table in which I could see my reflection. She had blinds at her windows and an electric fireplace with pebbles in it.  

She shut the living room door. ‘Have a seat girls.’

Shelley and I sat with our hands in our laps.

‘We can’t stay,’ I said. ‘Our parents are expecting us home.’ 

‘No, no,’ Ms Trowper muttered under her breath. She went to the window and peered through the blinds.

She was behaving rather oddly. She always seemed so together when we saw her out on the street.

‘Are you all right, Ms Trowper?’ asked Shelley.

‘Yes girls, I’m fine,’ she replied, digging her fingers into her bird-nest hairdo. I thought she might pull out an egg or something. She strode up and down the living room playing with her hair and running her hands down her legs. I wondered what was making her fret so much. She finally stopped walking and turned to face us. ‘Do you want a drink? I have cola or orange juice.’

‘No thank you,’ Shelley and I chorused.

With resolve, I rose from the sofa. ‘I’m sorry Ms Trowper, we have to get going. If it’s all right with you, we can look for our ball tomorrow.’

‘Yes’, said Shelley. She also got up, or should I say jumped up. ‘It probably went into a rosebush or something. We can get it ourselves. You won’t even have to come to the door.’

‘I’m sorry girls,’ she said. ‘Please stay. There’s something I must talk to you about. If I can just show you something.’

‘Does it have something to do with puddles?’ said Shelley. She turned towards the door. I knew she was thinking about making a run for it.

Ms Trowper frowned. ‘Not exactly. If you can come with me to the attic, I’ll show you.’

Shelley rushed to the living room door and yanked it open. ‘We have to go. We’ll get in trouble if we’re late. Come on Lark,’ she said in an extra high-pitched voice. She nodded at me.

I didn’t move. I wanted to see what was in the attic. Attics always have interesting things in them. It occurred to me that Ms Trowper had a bunch of old things she wanted to give Shelley and I. Things we could take to an antiques roadshow and sell for squillions.  

‘If your parents knew you were assisting me,’ said Ms Trowper, ‘they wouldn’t be mad at all. I’ll explain everything to them if you want, and then we’ll get your ball. How’s that sound?’ She gave a strained smile.

‘Okay,’ I said. I didn’t need much convincing. ‘I’m sure they won’t mind.’

‘If it’s not dangerous,’ said Shelley, ‘I suppose we can help you with whatever it is.’

‘Let’s go up then,’ said Ms Trowper, without confirming whether it was dangerous or not.

2 Squillionaires

MS TROWPER CLOPPED up the two flights of stairs, leading up to the attic, in her wooden heels. 

A ladder descended from the attic’s open hatch.

‘I’ll go up first,’ she said, grasping the sides of the ladder. ‘Then I’ll help you two up.’

As Ms Trowper climbed the ladder, one of her sandals flew off. It narrowly missed my head.

She didn’t call us straight away. We heard her rummaging about for a while. Finally, she poked her head out of the hatch and extended her arm. ‘Come on up.’

I went first. My heart was pounding with excitement. We were going to be rich! By the time I reached the top of the ladder and stepped into the attic, my stomach was doing somersaults. I had a good look around. The beams looked fairly new considering it was an old house. There wasn’t that much to see: a few yellow and green boxes stacked in one corner and a rusty old bike with its chain hanging off. I wasn’t going to be a squillionaire overnight selling that. 

In the middle of the attic was a dusty black screen. It reminded me of an office partition I had seen in school. It was too high for me to see over. I noticed a stool in front of the screen.

‘Stand on the stool,’ said Ms Trowper. 

Shelley stood by the hatch hugging herself and shivering like jelly on a plate. It seemed Ms Trowper’s flawlessness didn’t stretch as far as the attic. It had all the warmth of a steel door. 

‘I need to know if you see anything?’ said Ms Trowper. ‘Behind the screen?’

‘Like what?’ I asked.

‘Please get on the stool,’ urged Ms Trowper.

I felt a bit sorry for her. She had red rims under her eyes and her nose was red and blotchy. She looked as if she had been crying. I didn’t want her to start crying again. I turned to Shelley. ‘Come and hold the stool, Shel.’

Shelley held the three-legged stool firmly with both hands. I climbed on it and peered over the top of the screen.

I saw the wooden planked floor and more boxes stacked against the attic window. I twisted my body to Ms Trowper. ‘There’s nothing there,’ I informed her. ‘Only boxes.’ I was disappointed and relieved at the same time.

‘Oh,’ said Ms Trowper. She limped forward. ‘You can’t see anything?’

‘No,’ I repeated. I was fed up. I wanted to go home. ‘If it was a mouse you saw, you need to call pest control. They’ll take care of it.’

‘It wasn’t a mouse,’ said Ms Trowper. ‘Shelley, you look.’

Shelley and I exchanged looks of our own. I jumped from the stool, and she climbed on. I took my turn holding the stool in place.

Shelley gasped and craned her neck. Her head disappeared over the screen. ‘I see something.’

Ms Trowper fiddled with the chain of red beads around her neck. ‘What do you see?’  

‘A pool of water.’ Shelley gazed at the ceiling. ‘I can’t see where the leak’s coming from. Do you want me to get a bucket?’

‘I didn’t see any water,’ I said, not wanting to believe her.

‘Well, it’s there now.’ She brought her head up from behind the screen.

‘Big deal, a leak,’ I whispered to her.

Shelley chuckled.

‘I won’t be needing a bucket,’ said Ms Trowper. ‘You can get down now Shelley. Thank you. I think we should go back downstairs before it gets any bigger.’

‘YOU NEED A PLUMBER,’ I said. 

‘My dad knows a good one,’ Shelley offered. ‘I’ll get the number for you.’

Ms Trowper pushed her foot into her stray sandal. ‘No plumber is going to sort this mess out. I was hoping you girls could help me.’ 

I gave a sympathetic nod and glanced once more at the pool pictures dotting her hallway.

If this was her idea of a ‘quick fix’ to cover up the horrible bumpy green and pink wallpaper left behind by the previous owner, then she had it all wrong. Ms Trowper had moved to Montesworth Hill last year. It was a long time to go without redecorating. She needed help that much was obvious. Mum had lots of back issues of Home Design magazine. I vowed to drop a few copies off to her the next day.

Shelley yawned like a walrus. ‘What are these pictures of exactly?’ 

‘A magic portal like the one you saw in the attic.’

‘That was a pool of water, Ms Trowper.’ Shelley spoke in the same voice she used when she was having a conversation with Mrs Eardsley, the deaf old lady at number 25: loudly and slowly.

‘I know it looks like a harmless pool of water,’ said Ms Trowper, ‘but it vanishes for a while then reappears. I dropped my umbrella into it last month. I never saw it again.’

Of course, we didn’t believe her. We thought she was mad.

‘I’ve only ever seen the portal up in the attic,’ said Ms Trowper. ‘Yesterday, funnily enough, I saw one in your parents’ front garden Lark. I thought I should warn you. You see, I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out what was down there. Two weeks ago, I tried to jump in, and it vanished. I haven’t seen it since. I’m afraid I frightened it away. But Shelley, you saw it again today, didn’t you? I thought maybe you could see what was down there.’

Shelley started squealing with laughter and I started laughing too.

Ms Trowper made a tutting noise. ‘Girls, please listen to me.’

We were already shoving each other out of the front door.

Tears ran down Shelley’s cheeks and I was bent double with laughter. It seemed funny at the time.

We laughed all the way home. We completely forgot about our ball, buried somewhere in Ms Trowper’s garden.

3 Mudslide

THE FIRST I KNEW SOMETHING was wrong was when I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of mum shrieking and dad yelling at the top of his voice.

I ran to the kitchen where all the racket was coming from. Mum’s eyes were as red as her nail polish and her cheeks were wet with tears. 

‘He’s not out there, Ange,’ yelled dad. ‘How many more times?’ His eyes bulged from their sockets. ‘What do you want me to do? Dig up the garden? He’s not there and neither is Mat.’

‘Fin’s not answering his phone!’ shrieked mum. ‘We should call Mat’s parents to see if he’s arrived home. That’s if they’re still there. I know they’re meant to be going on holiday.’

Dad took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before saying, ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning’

‘What’s going on?’ I said. Dad didn’t yell that often not unless someone was trying his patience, which in this case was mum.

Mum started sobbing. I put my arm around her and led her to a chair.

‘She thinks she saw Fin and Mat,’ said dad, nodding at the kitchen window, right there in the garden.’

‘I know what I saw!’ Mum reached for a quilted kitchen towel to blow her nose. Dad went to give her a hug. She pushed him away.

He gave a loud sigh. ‘You’re missing him that’s all.’ He leaned in for another hug and sneaked me a wink.

Mum bounded up from the chair like a kangaroo, rolling up the sleeves of her pink dressing gown. ‘Don’t patronise me.’ 

‘They’re not due back until next week,’ said dad. 

‘I don’t care what you say,’ said mum. ‘They were in the garden, and something swallowed them. I’ve heard of this sort of thing happening before. Years ago, a whole village disappeared overnight.’

‘Mum,’ I interrupted, ‘that was a landslide. It had been raining for weeks.’

‘Yes, thank you, Loppy. I do know what a landslide is.’

My name isn’t really Loppy, it’s a pet name my mum gave me. No one else calls me Loppy.  Everyone calls me by my real name Lark, or sometimes they call me Barry. My surname’s Barrington.  

‘But it’s not been raining,’ said dad woefully. He sagged into a chair. He had huge boat-shaped bags under his eyes. His pyjama top was poking out from under his blue jumper. His Miracle Hair Growth cap, which was basically a swimming cap with holes in it, was pulled down over his ears. 

‘I’m going out there to look,’ said mum. She took a lantern-sized torch from the kitchen drawer and switched it on.

I covered my eyes, dazed by the sudden brightness. ‘Mum!’ 

She opened the patio doors and stomped out into the garden.

‘Did you ring the campsite manager?’ I asked dad, watching mum from the window as she swivelled the huge torch from left to right, lighting up the entire street.

‘Yes. I got his answering machine. If Fin was coming home early, he would have called or Mat would have called, you know how sensible he is.’ He shook his head. ‘Disappeared into a giant pool in the ground, I ask you.’

A pool? That was weird. I joined mum in the garden. 

She was busy scouring the flowerbeds. The rollers in her hair had started to come loose. Her dressing gown had been blown open by the early morning breeze, revealing her lilac nightdress, which had the words ‘Huggy Bunny’ emblazoned on it along with a full-scale bunny rabbit with a bow around its neck. It was her favourite nightgown. I had brought it for her out of my allowance when I was ten. 

‘Mum,