Charlotte and the Humming Hill

Charlotte swings her legs on the doctor's big bed, and the paper crackles under her. She has a plan. Today she is going to hear her own heartbeat.

"Dr. Pim will let me listen," she tells her dad. "Thump-thump. Like a drum."

Outside the window, rain taps the glass. Far away, the hill begins to hum, the way it always does when it rains. Nobody in town thinks that is strange. It is just the hill.

Dr. Pim comes in with a silver listening tube around her neck. "Hello, Charlotte. First I need you to sit still as a stone."

"Still as a stone," says Charlotte.

Dr. Pim puts the cold round end on Charlotte's chest. It feels like an ice cube. Charlotte squeals and wriggles.

"Hmm," says Dr. Pim. "Still as a stone, please."

Charlotte tries. She holds her breath and puffs out her cheeks. But her feet keep kicking, and her shoulders keep jiggling. Dr. Pim shakes her head. "I can't hear anything but wiggles."

Charlotte tries something different. She squeezes her eyes shut and counts to ten very fast. Her tummy gurgles so loudly that Dr. Pim jumps. Dad laughs. Charlotte laughs too, and now she is wigglier than ever.

Then she notices the hill. Hmmmmmm. It is low and soft and slow, and it goes on and on.

Charlotte opens her eyes. She breathes out. She hums along, very quietly, hmmmmmm, and her shoulders go down, and her feet go quiet.

"Ah," whispers Dr. Pim. "There it is."

She slips the listening tube into Charlotte's ears.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It is small and quick and right inside her. Charlotte's mouth makes a round O.

"Still as a stone," she whispers.

Outside, the rain keeps tapping, the hill keeps humming, and her heart keeps drumming along.