The Boggart and the Monster by Susan Cooper Page A

Maconochie stood up, tall and silent under the low ceiling of the trailer, and Jessup, Emily and Tommy looked at him with sudden misgiving. But he nodded his head slowly.
    â€œYes,”
he said.
“We saw it clear enough on the screens, the big body and the long neck and the wee head. Just for a few moments, mind, and only on the screens. But it was good and clear.”
    There was a pause, and then Axel Kalling let out a sudden shrill cackle of laughter. They all stared at him. His bright eyes glittered at them from the neat little figure sitting doll-like in the tall chair.
    â€œThis is shy Worm!”
he said merrily.
“He does not want picture to be taken! He remove himself from your machine!”
    Harold snapped the tape out of its slot, with an angry click.
“It’s a technical failure, Axel, and I apologize more than I can tell you. We’ll see if there’s some way of fixing it.”
He thrust the tape at Chuck, with a cold glare, and Chuck pushed his way sullenly out of the trailer.
    But Axel was still cackling.
“No no, is quite fine, do not worry, Harold! I am
happy
with shy Worm, I was shy too in my youth days!”
He stood up, patting Harold on the arm and beaming around the small room.
“I shall go happy back to Stockholm now, and you will creep up on Worm one day when he is not looking, and take picture then. And he cannot then take himself off your screen if he does not know that he is there. Yes?”
    Harold moaned softly.
“Oh Axel, please — this is a solid prehistoric survivor, not a creature from outer space. Wait for Chuck to fix the tape — I want you to see the evidence.”
    But Axel Kalling was on his feet.
“No problems, Harold! You are doing wonderful, I am very pleased.”
He marched briskly over the carpeted floor of the trailer to the doorway, calling in musical Swedish to the driver of the long black car that stood waiting in the parking lot. As the car door opened, he glanced back over his shoulder and beamed at them.
    â€œGood-bye, little Emily!”
he called.
“Watch for Worm, and my sister will send you llama!”
    He disappeared inside the car, and it slid away.
    â€œHe probably means that,”
Harold said. He rubbed his head ruefully.
“Oh Lord, what a disaster. I guess we were just in too much of a hurry to get those pictures on tape. Chuck must have blown it somehow. Wiped them off by accident. I can’t
believe
this happened!”
    Emily said diffidently,
“D’you think maybe . . . Mr. Kalling might be right, about it not wanting to be photographed?”
    Harold Pindle looked at her indulgently, and laughed. He straightened his back, and his face began to brighten with new determination.
“Come on, Emily honey, get real — we’ve
seen
this beast now, we know it exists. It’s in that loch, and there’s no way it can escape the Kalling-Pindle survey. Soon as I possibly can I’m going to put Sydney and Adelaide down there to comb every inch of Loch Ness — every square inch of the bottom, with sonar boats checking all the water above it. We’re on our way!”
    He beamed around at them all, as they looked at him with assorted degrees of misgiving and dismay.
    â€œStick around, kids! You’re in on the last great search, the one that’ll really find the Monster. We’re going to make history!”

SEVEN
    A NGUS C AMERON swallowed the last bite of his cheese-and-tomato sandwich. He was sitting in the railway station cafe in the town of Fort William, having called in at the station to pick up a new timetable. When he was not away chasing a story he drove to Fort William once a week, in his elderly but reliable little van, to pick up any extra supplies his wife needed for the Port Appin store.
    He stood up, and took his empty plate to the counter.
“Cup of tea, please, Marge.”
    â€œWith milk and two sugar,”
said Marge,
“and a chocolate