Discovering the Future

Chapter 17- Chapter 7 (Part 1)

Disclaimer: I don't own Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children.

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Morning brought rain and wind and fog, pessimistic weather that made it hard to believe the previous day had been anything more than a strange and wonderful dream. I wolfed down my breakfast and told my dad I was going out. He looked at me like I was nuts.

"In this? To do what?"

"To hang out with--" I started, without thinking. Then, to cover my tracks, I pretended to have a piece of food stuck in my teeth. But it was too late; he'd heard me.

"Hang out with who? Not those rapper hoodlums, I hope."

The only way out of his hole was to dig deeper. "No. You've probably never seen them, they live on the other side of, um, the island, and--"

"Try being more eloquent next time you try to think of an excuse," Horace drawled, unimpressed.

"Really? I didn't think anyone lived over there."

"Yeah, well, just a few people. Like, sheep-tenders and whatnot. Anyway, they're cool--they watch my back while I'm in the house." Friends and safety: two things my dad couldn't possibly object to.

"I want to meet them," he said, trying to look stern. He often put on this face, an imitation of the sensible, no-nonsense dad I think he aspired to be.

"Sure thing. We're meeting up over there, though, so another time."

He nodded and took another bite of his breakfast.

"Be back by dinner," he said.

"Roger Wilco, Dad."

"What's that?" Olive whispered to Claire.

She whispered back, "I don't know."

I practically raced to the bog. As I picked my way through its shifting muck, trying to remember the route of semi-invisible grass islands Emma had used to cross it, I worried that all I would find on the other side was more rain and a ruined house. So it was with great relief that I emerged from the cairn to fins September third, 1940, just as I'd left it: the day warm and sunny and fogless, the sky a dependable blue, clouds forming shapes that seemed comfortingly familiar. Even better, Emma was there waiting for me, sitting on the edge of the mound casting stones into the mound casting stones into the bog. "About time!" she cried, jumping to her feet. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you."

"They are?"

"Ye-es," she said with an impatient eye roll, taking my hand and pulling me after her. I sparked with excitement--not only at her touch, but at the thought of the day that lay ahead, full of endless possibility. Though in a million superficial ways it would be identical to the day before--the same breeze would blow and the same tree limbs would fall--my experience of it would be new. So would the peculiar children's. They were the gods of this strange little heaven, and I was their guest.

"And don't you forget it!" Hugh exclaimed.

We dashed across the bog and through the forest as if late for an appointment. When we reached the house, Emma led me around to the backyard, where a small wooden stage had been erected. Kids were busting in and out of the house, carrying props, buttoning up suit jackets, and zipping into sequined dresses. Warming up was a little orchestra, made up of just an accordion, a battered trombone, and a musical saw that Horace played with a bow.