The Train Station: Chapter 3

Jingle looked back at Gary and Beach, who were still peering anxiously round the door. "It's safe, I think.  Come on and have a look.'

Accordingly the two came near and looked at the rock where Jingle pointed.  It looked about normal (not turned bright blue or glowing as Gary had rather hoped.)  Beach noticed something, however. "It's at a funny angle, isn't it?" 

"That's what I thought," Jingle nodded.  The rock which had been flat was now tilted up at a forty five degree angle (abouts) sloping down into the ground.  The pan and bottle were perched precariously, ready to slide down.  Beach grabbed them and thrust the bottle hastily into Jingle's arms, as though she was still uncertain of its nontoxicity.  Jingle stared at it. "Oh. . .well, that's too bad.  It's spilt itself."

The bottle was indeed quite empty.  Beach and Gary offered sympathetic looks.

"It could be worse-- at least we have the bottle." said Gary.

"You can tell your Ma it's our fault," said Beach graciously. "after all, if we hadn't come along you might have put the cork on properly."

"Yeah, thanks." Jingle managed a weak smile. "Maybe we can scoop a little back in."

They looked at the rock and felt around in the grass but they couldn't find the merest smudge of the yellow liquid.  Jingle was having a hard time trying not to worry about what ma would say.  Spilled a whole bottle . . .

Gary sat down on the rock, idly kicking the grass below. "Who'd've known it'd soak into the ground so fast?"

"Well, it was liquid and all," said Jingle, kneeling beside the rock and peering under the raised portion. "There ought've been some on the rock at least, though.  Say, what's this?"  Her apprehension pertaining to the empty bottle vanished in an instant, as she pushed her head and shoulders farther under the rock.

"What?" Gary leapt off the rock and attempted to get a better view.  Beach, who had been carrying the pan back inside, paused and looked back curiously.

"It's a hole.  Goes straight down." Jingle's muffled voice issued forth.

Gary pushed impatiently at the rock. "Let's move this.  I want to see too."

Jingle withdrew herself and pulled at the rock, but it was much too heavy and hurt her fingers.  Beach set the pan back on the doorstep and ran to help.  Eventually, they got it a little to one side.

Underneath there was a very rocky and claustrophobic hole that looked as close to a real cave as they had ever hoped to lay eyes on.  Gary took a step forward, balancing carefully on the edge. "Wow, Jingle, I never knew this was here!"

"Me neither!" Jingle stared in awe. "I wonder if it keeps going."

"It probably ends.  They all do."  Even still, Gary was peering hopefully down. "It doesn't go down far but we might be able to fit down that way."  He pointed down at an opening at the bottom, very small and dark.  

Beach took one look and skipped backwards. "That's dangerous.  Step away from that edge, Gary."

"Come on, it's not far." Gary tried to lower his foot cautiously down a step.  

Jingle nearly bust with excitement. "Maybe we had a cave under my house all the while!"

Beach crossed her arms. "None of you are going in that hole.  How'm I supposed to explain to Ma when both of you get broken legs?" 

Jingle looked down at the tempting crevice. "We might have just a tiny look, Beach."

She hesitated, then frowned. "Then you'll want another look, then another--"

"I won't!" promised Gary eagerly.  Jingle, however, saw truth in Beach's argument.  What, after all, was the use of seeing a cave and not entering it?

"It's Jingle's cave.  What does she think?" Gary turned hopefully to Jingle, who glanced at Beach.

"Surely it wouldn't be that bad. . ."

"How are you supposed to get out once you get in?  Besides, what would your Ma think?"

Thar was Jingle's weak point, they knew.  Ma would never climb down a cave.  She hadn't told them not to, however.

"I think," began Jingle, wishing fervently that Beach would stop giving her that look.  Jingle had already disappointed Ma countless times by being a bad housekeeper.  Then she had spilt a whole bottle, wasted it, thinking it was flour.  But O! how interesting the little crevice seemed!

Gary on the other hand seemed to take her hesitation as consent and scrambled down, clutching the protruding rock and peering into the crevice.

"Hey!" said Beach. "She didn't say yes!  Come out---there's nothing down there."

"But there is; Jingle, you won't believe this."

"What is it?" Beach and Jingle both asked, rushing to look down at him.

"It's that yellow stuff. . . no it isn't. . . yes it is!  I see it!  If I could step down a little I might could get at it.  How'd it end up here?"

"I don't know."  Beach tried to look uninterested, but seeing Gary at the bottom, unhurt, encouraged her inner adventure.  Jingle knew from past experiences that Beach did have a good lot of the stuff.

"Here.  I'll throw you the bottle." Jingle leaned forward eagerly.

"Bad idea!" squeaked Beach, closing her eyes and waiting for the crash of breaking glass.  Thankfully Gary somehow managed to catch hold of it.

"Got it!" He wedged himself further into the crevice and extended a hand inside.

"O bother, it all soaked in or something."

"All of it?" wailed Jingle, visions of at least some glowy liquid in the bottle fading away.

"Yup.  It was here a minute ago, I promise."

Then he seemed to be staring at something further down the crevice.  Excitement colored his voice. "I think this place goes somewhere.  It can't be very long but still. . . Come down, it's easy.  We can explore!"

Jingle sat and dangled her legs over the hole, clinging to the rock like Gary had done.  

Beach stepped back and looked disapproving. "I happen to know all the stories where people get lost in caves.  It always happens."

"It's not the sort of cave to get lost in, Beach, really---you'd be able to see the exit anyhow." Gary tried to sound convincing but Beach stayed where she was.  Jingle, wanting to at least have a look at her cave, dropped into the hole, scraping both knees and bruising her palm in the process.  She hardly noticed these minor inconveniences, however.  "Oo.  It is a cave, Beach!"

"That means dangerous." said Beach stonily, retreating towards the house.

"There's something down there," said Gary, craning his neck to see down the crevice.

"What sort of thingy?" Jingle tried to look but saw only more rocks.

"I'm not sure. . ."

"Is it living?' Jingle asked cautiously, ready to bolt.

"No.  I don't think it is, at least."

"The bread's done!" Beach hollered down at them, waving the now cooled loaf over the hole. "Who wants lunch?"

"Me!" Jingle suddenly found that she was hungry enough to abandon the caving process, but Gary remained glued to the crevice.

Suddenly Beach's voice came again. "Actually I'm coming down too.  Look out.  We can eat in here."

There was a swishing sound and a waft of bread-scented air, and Beach was standing beside them, gripping the bread tightly.  Both Gary and Jingle stared.

"The neighbor's goat's out," Beach explained, pointing upwards with her free hand.  They knew which one she meant; a great ferocious one that seemed to enjoy whacking anyone and everything with her huge horns.  

It was a wonder that Beach didn't think to eat the bread in the house, but as it turned out, it was a very good thing that they had her (and the bread) with them.