The Crooked Cove

The little house sat at the edge of a beach, right where the sand turned to grass. Every evening a fog rolled in from the sea, thick as porridge. In that town, everybody knew the fog kept whatever you left in it until morning.

Olivia lived in that house, and she loved brushing her teeth. She liked the minty foam. She liked counting to a hundred. Best of all, she liked brushing on the back step, where she could hear the waves.

Tonight, though, her toothbrush was gone. She had set it on the sand wall to chase a shell, and now the fog had swallowed the wall.

"Teeth, Olivia!" called Mum from inside.

"I'm coming! I just have to find my brush!"

Olivia put on her sneakers and walked straight into the fog. She found a stick. She found a bucket. She did not find the wall. She turned around and walked the other way, and found a rock. She wasn't sure which way was the way back.

Then she heard it. Clack-clack. Clack-clack.

Something small was coming, and it was dragging something long. It was a crab, and in his claws was her toothbrush.

"That's mine," said Olivia.

"I found it," said the crab, whose name was Pip. "My shell is all gummy with seaweed. This is the best scrubber I've ever seen. I'm not giving it back."

Olivia thought hard. She still needed a toothbrush. Pip still needed a scrubber.

"Wait here," she said. "Don't move."

She followed the clack-clack of her own sneakers and the yellow glow of the porch light, and ran up the steps. In the bathroom drawer was the spare brush, the blue one from the dentist. She ran back out.

"Here," she said. "A trade. A new scrubber for you. My old one for me."

Pip took the blue brush. Scritch, scritch, scritch went his shell.

On the back step, Olivia brushed round and round, up and down, all the way to a hundred. Out in the fog, the scritching went on, round and round, up and down, until the last bubble of foam was gone.