Byng, Georgia - Molly Moon & the Morphing Mystery

“Oh, no, no, no, Miss Hunroe.”

“Hmm. Well, we’ll see.”

Miss Speal nodded. “So what are we going to do today, Miss Hunroe? I’ve cooked a delicious fowl stew for lunch. You—you won’t be disappointed, I promise you.”

Ignoring her, Miss Hunroe leaned forward and switched on the radio.

The radio crackled. An American voice became audible. “Yes, it is terrible,” the voice was saying. “The hurricane has caused complete chaos. People have had to leave their homes and stay the night in shelters. Train services are down, traffic has been disrupted. Ordinary folk can’t go about their business. But emergency services are doing the best they can, and the army is working flat out to help fix things.”

Miss Hunroe turned the volume down. “Miami,” she said. “The little hurricane we gave them yesterday obviously worked. Hope it’s wiped out those horrid theme parks. What an eyesore those roller coasters are!”

Miss Speal agreed, nodding and twitching at the same time. “Hee hee hee.”

“Hmm. Miss Speal?”

“Yes!”

“I want to talk to you about the blue stone.”

Miss Speal’s smile dropped. “What about it?” she asked, starting to wring her hands.

“I want you to give it to me for safekeeping,” Miss Hunroe said, looking her straight in the eye. Miss Speal shook her head.

“Don’t make me, Miss Hunroe. I can’t. I need it, you see.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I do. It’s become a part of me.”

“You may keep it for today. But tonight I want to find it in the gold box beside my bed. Is that clear?”

“Y-y-yes, Miss Hunroe.”

“And Miss Speal?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want you wearing clothes that smell of mothballs anymore. Is that clear?”

Half a mile away, Miss Teriyaki and Miss Oakkton crouched down low in the bushes. Both were in camouflage shirts and khaki shorts, though Miss Oakkton’s were many sizes bigger than Miss Teriyaki’s. On the ground beside them was a burlap bag. A dead rabbit’s foot poked out of it. Miss Oakkton gripped the horn handle of a sharp steel knife, while Miss Teriyaki held a bamboo pipe up to her lips. Four fat guinea pigs stood in the shade of a tree, nibbling at the grass on the other side of a clearing in front of them.

“I’ll get the orange one,” Miss Oakkton decided, quietly raising her knife and taking aim.

“I’ll get the brown one, then,” Miss Teriyaki said. Her nose wrinkled. Then she sniffed the air. “Miss Oakkton, have you done a—a hmm. You know.”

“Sorry,” Miss Oakkton apologized. “It was that bean soup Miss Speal served us last night. It’s given me a bit of an upset tummy.” As she spoke, the eggy smell drifted over to where the guinea pigs were. All four of the creatures lifted their furry heads and sniffed at the air. Then the orange guinea pig gave a terrified squeak. The others joined in, and in a cacophony of squeaks, they were gone.

“You slab of rotton sushi!” Miss Teriyaki hissed. “Please control your—your butt next time, Miss Oakkton.”

Miss Oakkton lifted her head proudly. “I thought it smelled rarzer good.”

At dawn, Molly woke to the sound of Petula’s clawed paws clipping across the wooden floor. Molly drifted back to sleep. She woke a few hours later. The sun was still coming up. She drank some water and sat up to see Cappuccino the monkey sitting on her windowsill.

“Good morning, Cappuccino. How are you?” Molly asked. The monkey nodded and then turned to look into the forest. He began to chatter.

“Sorry, I don’t understand you,” she said, getting out of bed. Then she went outside. Bas was already dressed, stirring a saucepan on an outdoor fire. A kettle sat beside it.

“Porridge?” he asked. Just then Cappuccino began to shriek and jump up and down, pointing into the bushes.

Something was moving in the undergrowth behind Bas. The leaves swayed and rustled as if something was crouching there, ready to pounce.

“Bas!” Molly called. “Watch out!”

Bas snatched a stick from the fire. Its end was smoldering. “Where?”

Then, in answer, the thing in the bushes let out a cry. A human cry.

“Molly, it’s me, Malcolm!”

Moments later, with Cappuccino watching, Molly and Bas were helping Malcolm up the stairs to the hut. Malcolm’s injuries looked worryingly bad. He had a nasty gash in his calf, and his ankle was swollen and raw and pink. His face was scratched as though someone had rubbed it with thorns.

“I landed in a huge spiky plant. That was after I hit a tree and tumbled through it,” Malcolm mumbled as they laid him down on the veranda daybed.

“Bas’ll sort you out,” Molly said. “He knows exactly what plants can help you.” Her head spun as a thought occurred to her. “Did you see the others?”

“No,” Malcolm croaked. “I don’t know where they are.”

Molly’s heart sank.

“Bas, can you fix this?” Malcolm gasped with a look of desperation in his eyes. “My calf looks like it’s going gangrenous. I don’t really want to have my leg chopped off.”

“Gangrenous? What’s that?” Molly asked. Bas wrinkled his nose as he inspected Malcolm’s bloody wound.

“It’s when an untreated infected wound goes bad,” he explained, “because the swelling, which is something Malcolm’s got very badly in his ankle, has stopped the blood flow. So the white blood cells that normally fight the infection can’t get there.”

“Can you help him?” Molly whispered.

“Luckily for you, Malcolm,” said Bas, licking his lips as though he was really excited, “I have some special little friends that can help you. I began cultivating them yesterday as part of an experiment.”

With that, Bas hurried off to his hut. Molly took Malcolm’s hand.

“How did you find me?”

“The tracking device…it’s in my pocket. I’ve been crawling day and night. I knew I had to get to you. Had a feeling you’d have been lucky.” Malcolm smiled.

“I’m very glad to see you, Malcolm. You flew that plane brilliantly, by the way.”

Malcolm grinned. “It was a bit hairy.” Then he frowned. “I wonder what happened to the others.” Molly shook her head.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

The door of Bas’s hut swung open again. Armed with all sorts of medical supplies, he hurried back to them. As he passed the fire, he picked up the kettle off it. “Perfect timing,” he said. “Just boiled.”

Molly sat on a chair beside Bas and watched. First of all, he washed his hands in the rainwater tap. Then he disinfected them with some medical alcohol that smelled sharp. Next, he set to work on Malcolm’s leg. He took wads of cotton gauze, and using first hot water and then the alcohol, he cleaned Malcolm’s gash. Malcolm winced and bit his lip. Then, when the wound was clean, Bas lifted a shallow plastic container out of his bag.

“What’s that?” Malcolm asked, worried. Bas nodded.

“This is going to surprise you.” He peeled back the lid of the container. To Malcolm and Molly’s horror, there in the container was a mass of little white maggots.

“Maggots!” Malcolm gasped. “They’ll eat me alive!”

Molly’s tongue stuck out as she felt sick.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Bas assured them both. “Maggots are brilliant with gangrene. You see, they like to eat rotten flesh. They don’t eat good healthy flesh. So, what we do is put them on your wound, and the little fellows will eke out all the nasty gangrenous stuff and the bad bacteria and then, when their work is done, I will put them back in their container to, erm, well, to digest!”

“You’re joking,” Malcolm said, his eyes wide. “They’re revolting.”