Eldritch Manor 3-Book Bundle. Kim Thompson

peered over Willa’s shoulder. “What is she, exactly?”

      “I think she’s a Diplodocus,” Willa announced. Dinah wasn’t exactly like the pictures in the book, not as big for one thing, but it was the closest match she could find. “She’s a plant eater.”

      “Well, that’s a relief,” muttered Belle, squinting at the page. “She’s got the same tiny head as the picture. Not much room for a brain in there.”

      “All the dinosaurs had small brains. Dinah’s neck is so long that if her head was any bigger, she wouldn’t be able to lift it at all,” answered Willa. “As it is she can really only hold her neck horizontally. She can’t lift it up vertically.”

      “Why not?” asked Tengu.

      “Her heart isn’t big enough to pump blood all the way up to her head if she did. That’s probably why she fainted when she did try to lift her head up.” She turned back to the book and read on. “Some scientists think that to lift their heads up high dinosaurs like these would have to have a second heart in their neck to do the job....”

      “That is the silliest thing I ever heard. No wonder the poor bastards died out,” grumbled Robert.

      “Not all of them did,” grinned Willa.

      The dinosaur lifted everyone’s mood for a few days. Forgetting their exhaustion and cloudy sleep, the old folks chatted endlessly about the beast. They speculated on her history and how she had survived for so long. Horace said she must have stayed alive by drinking the green muck growing in the rainwater which collected in the low area around the pool. But since her food intake was so reduced, she had slipped into a kind of hibernation. A long, long hibernation.

      As the next few days slipped by, Dinah showed no signs of wanting to climb out of the pool, preferring to sleep away her days. The novelty of their new pet abated and everyone fell back into a tired funk. Willa was left with the chore of piling up as much greenery — garden clippings, leaves, kitchen food waste — as she could find for Dinah. The dinosaur’s appetite was on the rise since waking. Willa had to spend a couple of hours every day pruning the huge garden and tossing the clippings into a heap. Then she’d give Dinah’s back a scratch with the garden rake. Dinah would slowly lift her head, snuffling and blinking her long-lashed cow-eyes. She’d nod a few times as she looked around, slowly zeroing in on Willa and the pile of branches, then she’d move in and gulp it all down in a few seconds.

      The rest of the time she grazed on whatever she could reach, stripping leaves and bark from branches with alarming efficiency. Willa worried about her devouring all the greenery which kept her shielded from prying Hackett eyes. She also worried about Dinah’s long neck. She hoped the books were right about her not being able to lift her head, because that meant she wouldn’t be able to peek over the fence ... Willa didn’t even want to think about the hysteria that would certainly follow that! As it was she could see that keeping Dinah much longer in their backyard was impossible.

      “What’ll we do with her?” she asked the others, but they were slipping back into sleepy apathy. A shrug from Baz, silence from Horace, a derisive snort from Robert. Only Belle came up with a remotely useful idea.

      “She’s from the water, isn’t she? Throw her in the ocean. Let her fend for herself.”

      “Fine,” countered Willa. “But how do we get a sixty-foot dinosaur from our backyard to the seashore without anyone seeing?”

      Nobody had an answer for that one. Nobody had much of an answer for anything anymore. Exhaustion levels were rising higher and higher. Horace fell asleep face down in his books. Belle stared into space, her eyes glazed over. Baz didn’t cook at all anymore but slept for most of the day, curled up on the carpet in the parlour. Willa had to do everything herself now, making sandwiches and tea for them all, piling up brush for the dinosaur, and cleaning up after everyone. They were constantly spilling things, dropping things, and breaking things by dozing off at inopportune moments. Willa did her best to keep up with the work, when all she wanted to do was go to sleep herself.

      One afternoon, a few days after the discovery of Dinah, Willa took a break from her chores to collapse into an armchair in the parlour. She rubbed her eyes and stared dully at the doll’s house. She could hear Mab humming cheerfully in there, clicking away with her knitting needles. Mab alone seemed immune to the weariness of the household. She kept to herself but buzzed around with her usual energy. Willa’s head hurt as she puzzled over this. Why wasn’t Mab tired? The rest of them hadn’t slept properly since ... since the dinner party with her parents. When she’d accidentally left Mab locked in the dollhouse. Mab was still not talking to her, still mad about that.

      Willa sat up. Her brain cleared a bit and things started falling into place. She rose and opened the dollhouse. Mab scowled at her from the sofa, where she was knitting her silvery scarf.

      “Mab, I need to ask you something.” Mab squinted her eyes into slits, but Willa went on. “None of us are getting any rest when we sleep. I’m not sure why. We sleep and sleep but we’re still tired.”

      Mab rolled her eyes in irritation. “It’s not the sleep, it’s the dreams!” she snapped.

      Willa thought this over. “We’re sleeping but we’re not dreaming. And that’s why we’re so tired?”

      Mab gave her a look. Willa pressed on. “You are the only one in this house who isn’t tired. You’re the only one who’s still dreaming, aren’t you?”

      Mab let out a noncommittal squeak and turned away, clickety-clacking with her knitting needles.

      Willa spoke sharply. “Mab!”

      The fairy turned back, looking like a child who’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Willa softened her tone.

      “Mab, please. Do you know why we’re not dreaming?” Mab dropped her eyes and nodded. “Are you the one who’s causing it?” Another nod. “What are you doing? Can you undo it?” A shrug and Mab turned away again. Willa waited a moment, then quietly closed the dollhouse again. She felt a wave of relief. At least their weariness wasn’t the result of sinister forces. Just a peeved fairy.

      Later that evening Willa gathered everyone in the parlour. She knelt by the dollhouse. “Oh Maa-aab,” she called softly. “May we come in?”

      The clicking needles stopped. Willa waited a moment and opened the dollhouse. Mab looked surprised to see everyone.

      “Mab, I’m so sorry I left you locked up after the dinner party. I promise I won’t ever do it again.” Willa held out the dollhouse’s tiny key and set it gently on the bed.

      Horace cleared his throat gently. “We’re all sorry, Mab. We’re sorry we don’t treat you with the respect you deserve.” Mab looked expectantly at the others, who begrudgingly nodded ... even Belle. Baz produced a small tray filled with tiny cakes and real, Mab-sized teacups and saucers.

      “Sorry, dearie,” Baz smiled as she set the tray carefully inside the dollhouse.

      Mab picked up a teacup, turning it over in her hands. Willa had noticed that Mab drank from thimbles, so she had scoured the stores for a teeny tea service. Mab appreciated it, she could tell, for the little fairy hugged the cup to her chest, sniffling a little and not looking up.

      “Can you forgive us? Can you forgive me?” Willa pleaded.

      Mab wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked up at them all, her eyes glistening. She nodded quickly.

      That night Willa slept. She really slept, and dreamed. The dreams fell from her mind as she opened her eyes to the early morning light, but she felt light and happy. The heavy curtain of exhaustion had lifted. She practically bounced out of bed.

      In the dining room Willa saw a rare and welcome sight. Robert and Belle were chatting amiably over toast and jam. Tengu stopped shovelling down scrambled eggs to wave cheerfully, and Horace nodded and