The Mystery of the Cupboard

The Mystery of the Cupboard

Lynne Reid Banks

Language: English

Pages: 256

ISBN: 0380720132

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

In the fourth book in Bank's acclaimed INDIAN IN THE CUPBOARD saga, Omri and his family move to an old farmhouse, where he finds an ancient notebook that reveals a family secret-and the mysterious origins of his magical cupboard.

Peter Pan: Peter and Wendy and Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens

The Black Stallion Challenged (Black Stallion, Book 17)

Rotten Romans (Horrible Histories)

Trouble in the Tunnel (Thomas & Friends)

The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room

Parrots Over Puerto Rico





















great urge — an urge I’d never had — to cast my own future in the lead. It was my Gift, warning me! If I had heeded, could I have changed anything? That is what tortures me. But I rejected the call. I would not hear it. Exactly one week after I had stolen the earrings, I left my basement rooms to walk through the streets to the shops. I remember every detail of that day: the weather, my clothes, the look of my hand in its old kid glove as I handed over a penny for an evening newspaper. I

He wrote down the address. “He’d be glad of a visitor, I expect. Likes young company, does Tom.” “Is this far from here?” “No! Just up the hill. Five minutes.” Back in the garden, Omri sidled up to Patrick. “Let’s scarper,” he muttered. “He’s not here, but I’ve found out where he is. Not a word to Tony’s dad.” The address was a council house with a neatly kept front garden. The door was ajar. They rang the bell and a not-young woman in an overall answered. “We’d like to see Mr Towsler,

pile. He wore rubber boots and old clothes and had a cigarette end in his mouth. Omri coughed. “Mr Towsler?” The old man turned and stared at them. Omri thought he looked startled. “Who are you?” he asked rather sharply. Omri came to the edge of the vegetable bed and put out his hand. “I’m — my name’s Omri. My family’s moved in to Mistle Hay Farmhouse.” The man looked quite blank for a moment, then a curious expression came over his face. The odd thought flashed through Omri’s mind: He’s

impatiently on the top of it with his fingernail, making a muffled metallic clicking, until his father suddenly said, “I know what it is.” Omri froze. “I must be stupid,” said his father. “The shape alone — I recognize it. It’s that cupboard you wrote the story about. The one Gillon gave you for your birthday two years ago.” Omri’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t have spoken even if he’d had anything useful to say. His father’s profile was frowning. Omri could almost hear his brain ticking away,

working things out. That damned story - The Plastic Indian! Omri’d written the whole thing for a competition, they’d all read it, he’d received a prize for it. It was the story that had triggered a memory in Mr Johnson’s brain and convinced him at last that he had really seen Little Bull and Boone in Patrick’s hand that day… Could the fact that Omri had done something as solemn as putting the cupboard (easily recognizable in its wrapping — he could see that now!) into the bank vault tip his

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