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Chapter Seven
The Black Cat
Abigail sat up on her bed, rubbed her eyes and looked at the snow globe that was still standing on her bedside table.
The fake snow inside had now settled like sediment on the bottom, and the pale, oval shape of Henry Shadow’s face was clearly visible in the downstairs window. He seemed to be peering up at Abigail with sad, hollow eyes.
Abigail stroked the bottom of chin with her fingertips, thinking furiously. Where had the boy come from? Who were his parents? How long had he been imprisoned inside the snow globe? And what was the significance of the four-leaf clover?
There was an authentic mystery here and Abigail was determined to solve it.
She padded across her bedroom and sat down at her desk. After switching on her laptop, she typed the name ‘Henry Shadow’ in the textbox on the screen, but nothing of any interest popped up. She scanned the website of her local newspaper, but there were no stories or reports of missing children in her town, and no mention at all of anybody called ‘Henry Shadow’.
Abigail switched off her computer. She would have to go outside and talk to her neighbours instead, make door-to-door enquiries like a detective in a television show. If she could find out where Henry’s parents lived, she might be able to solve part of the puzzle.
“I’ll be back, Henry,” she whispered to the boy in the snow globe. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
And she quickly ran down the stairs and left the house.
Martha Pitt, the girl from down the road, was still playing hopscotch on the pavement outside.
“You ought to wrap up warm, Abigail,” she said, pointing at Abigail’s light cotton dress. “I watched the weather forecast on the television earlier. There’s a spell of cold weather on its way. Very cold.” She stared at Abigail with eyes as round as jam-jar lids. “There could even be snow.”
Abigail frowned. “Snow?” she replied. “But that’s impossible. It’s the middle of the summer holidays.”
“Nothing is impossible, Abigail, only unexplained,” Martha said, rather mysteriously, and then boggled at Abigail with her huge, saucer-shaped eyes. “How’s your friend, by the way? The boy in the snow globe. Have you seen him?”
“Yes,” Abigail replied. “His name is Henry. Henry Shadow. Have you heard of him? I’m trying to find his parents.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Martha replied, apologetically, then suddenly peered over Abigail’s shoulder and pointed a finger. “But I think I might have seen his cat.”
Puzzled, Abigail wheeled round.
Further along the street, sitting on a wall and grooming itself was a large, black cat. It paused for a moment, turned its head and surveyed Abigail with its huge, sunshine-yellow eyes. It was almost as if it recognised her. Then it leaped off the wall and sashayed along the pavement towards the end of the street.
Abigail felt a quiver of excitement. “Do you think it’s Henry’s cat?” she asked.
“Probably,” Martha answered. “After all, there are no such things as coincidences, Abigail, only patterns in the chaos of life.”
Abigail wasn’t too sure what Martha was talking about, but had no time to ask. She was already jogging down the street towards the cat. It glanced back at her for a moment and then vanished around the corner.
Abigail followed quickly.
The area of town beyond Abigail’s street was a labyrinth of tumbledown alleyways, side streets and cul-de-sacs. The cat always remained some distance ahead, but every now and then it would shuffle to a standstill, turn its head and regard Abigail with its bright yellow eyes. It was as if it were encouraging her to follow. Eventually, the cat stopped in front of a small house, then hauled itself up onto the narrow ledge of a downstairs windowsill and immediately went to sleep.
Feeling nervous, Abigail stood in front of the house and looked up and down the street. Her heartbeat accelerated with excitement.
A battered, old sign attached to a nearby wall announced in large, black letters that the street she was standing on was called Clover Leaf Road. What’s more, a shiny, solid brass number had been screwed to the front door of the house. It was the number four.
“Number Four Clover Leaf Road,” Abigail said with a gasp. “So that’s what Henry was trying to remember. It wasn’t a lucky charm or a pendant at all. It was something much more important. He was trying to remember where he lived. He was trying to remember his parents’ address!”
Quivering with excitement, Abigail reached out and pressed her fingertip against the doorbell.
There was a pause, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps and the noise of a door latch sliding back. Very slowly, the door creaked open and a boy appeared on the doorstep, blinking in the bright sunshine.
Abigail stood as still as a statue and stared in shock.
It was Henry Shadow, the boy from the snow globe.
To be continued...
