Chapter Text
Miss Peregrine’s verdict had been clear: I was one of them – a peculiar, she’d said. Not a wight, as Emma had accused (and I still couldn’t blame her for that, couldn’t begrudge her the paranoia, because I could understand that), but something entirely different.
According to the headmistress, I was supposed to be something… special. And now that she’d laid down her expectations, I had no idea how to fulfill them. She expected someone better than me – someone amazing, someone strong. Someone who could pull off amazing feats, just like the rest of the children here, who had some inexplicable power to flaunt and be proud of.
I didn’t have anything. My interests were basic at best, and definitely not something that I could consider special enough to be a ‘peculiar’ ability. I was back to being the weak link – the mediocre one. The one who could never be as good as everyone else, no matter how hard I tried. They all had something special, and I didn’t. That wasn’t something I could work around, not something I could surpass – it was a matter of innate ability. Either you had it, or you didn’t, and I didn't.
I was trying to keep those thoughts out of my head as I washed up for dinner, which I had apparently been invited to (a fact that baffled me, since I had no idea when or how it had happened), but I wasn’t having much success with it. Drying my hands off on the hanging towel, I made my way down the stairs to join the slight influx of children all clamouring for a seat at the table.
For a moment, I just stood there, feeling a bit out of place, before the fancily dressed boy from earlier, the one with the monocle, took pity on me and sat me between himself and Millard, close to the head of the table. I was right across from Fiona, who gave me a nod that was both a polite greeting and an approval as I sat down. Next to her was the boy she’d met in the garden, still wearing his aviator’s goggles and talking animatedly about a plot of flowers around the front of the house. I watched as a bee flew out of his mouth mid-sentence and flew back in only a second later, not fazing the boy at all. Fiona was smiling slightly as she listened to his explanation of how a butterfly bush could improve their pollinator diversity. On the other side of the boy was Olive, still wearing her tiara but giving me curious looks every so often. Next to her was Emma, looking mutinous, and across was the youngest girl, the one with the golden ringlet curls that I’d seen on the front doorstep that morning. Miss Peregrine herself was taking her seat at the head of the table, and by my counts, that left two people missing – Bronwyn, and the mysterious Enoch whose name I’d heard earlier, unless there were other children I hadn't heard about yet.
My wondrances as to where the other two had gone was answered shortly, as Bronwyn came out carrying a few trays of food with ease, followed by a surly-looking boy with a sharp face and a sour look. His overalls were stained with dirt and something that looks slightly damp splattered on the knee and thigh, the stain and fabric both too dark to identify. That’s probably Enoch, then, since he’s the only one I hadn’t actually seen yet.
“Who’s this, then?” Probably Enoch asked immediately as his eyes fell upon me, his expression going even more sour. “He’s new. We get sent another ward or summat?”
Miss Peregrine gave him a stern look. “Manners, Mr. O’Connor. This is Jacob Portman, and he is our guest.”
“Portman?” Mumbled the boy in the goggles. “Fi, is he–”
Fiona nodded before he could finish, and the boy let out a heavy breath. To my right, Millard grimaced.
“Whoff. That’s going to be fun.” He muttered. “Oh, Jacob, you haven’t been properly introduced, have you?”
I shook my head, and all of a sudden, all the children looked interested. Apparently, they didn’t get many chances to introduce themselves to new people – which I supposed made sense, since they lived in a decades old time loop… that knowledge was going to take some getting used to. It felt completely real and yet completely false all at the same time, like my instincts believed it but my logic wouldn’t let it register.
“So,” Millard began, waving his arm around the table, “I think you've seen everyone by now, yes?”
I nodded. “I know you, Emma, Fiona… I saw Bronwyn and Olive earlier, but I don’t see Bronwyn here, and then everyone else, I’m not sure about.”
“He hasn’t quite seen you, Millard,” the smallest girl with the princess curls giggled.
Millard gave a put-upon sigh, but I could see the ghost of a mischievous grin on his translucent face. “So he hasn’t, Claire.”
“I’m Olive Abroholos Elephanta!” Olive chimed in, waving gleefully. “You look just like Abe! You even have his last name, are you related?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, a bit uncomfortably. “Who are the rest of you?”
“Well, my name is Horace Somnusson.” That was the boy in the suit I’d seen on the back steps of the house. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jacob. My peculiarity isn't one I can show off very easily, but I can see the future through dreams – though, it’s not always very clear as to what I’m supposed to be seeing.”
Precognition? Sounded useful. “That’s pretty neat.”
“Oh, I almost forgot! My peculiarity is levitating!” Olive grinned, tugging at a belt that I hadn’t noticed. When I looked closer I realised it was keeping her in the chair, and that the feet of said chair were bolted down. “But you might’ve noticed that already.”
“Levitating seems pretty cool, do you see more interesting stuff from above?” I wondered.
“Actually, yes! I can always tell if someone’s coming when I’m up in the sky, I can see past everything !” She seemed downright ecstatic to have someone ask a question – or perhaps she expected a negative reaction in general. I found myself wondering what exactly these children had gone through before coming here, especially in the past when people were so quick to jump to conclusions, but my attention was quickly stolen away by another introduction.
“Hugh Apiston,” the boy with the aviator’s goggles put in, giving me a wry grin, “and this is Fiona Frauenfeld. I’ve got bees for my peculiarity, and Fi can grow any plant she wants. Flowers and trees love her.”
“Are you the one who did all the hedge topiaries?” I asked. “They’re really amazing, your detail is impressive.”
Fiona nodded, smiling. She looked pleased that her work was being recognized. I wasn’t quite sure what Hugh meant by saying he had bees for his peculiarity, but I figured that more would be revealed later if I could be patient. Though, there was a good chance it had to do with the insect I saw earlier that had come out of his mouth; perhaps that was the reasoning for the mosquito net that he and Fiona were pulling from underneath the table. I could always ask more questions once the introductions were over – assuming they were willing to answer, of course.
“Emma, you’ve already met,” Millard out in, nodding his head towards her. Emma just gave me a moody look and went back to playing with her silverware. “She can make fire and she doesn’t ever get burned, either. And you obviously know mine, it’s pretty easy to notice.”
A snicker went around the table at that.
“I’m Bronwyn Bruntley,” said the biggest girl, dishing out food to the other children. “I can lift ‘most anything – do you want potatoes on your plate, Jacob?”
“Um, sure – thank you.” I took the plate back, with potatoes as promised. “What about you, Claire?”
Claire looked a bit put-out, but she sighed and made grabby hands at Bronwyn, who set a leg of meat on her plate. Turning around, Claire held her hair out of the way and bent backwards, lowering the back of her head to the plate. There were some quiet chewing and slurping sounds for a moment before she brought her head away again, revealing that the bone had been picked clean.
“Claire’s got a backmouth,” Millard explained. “Front one is for talking, back one is for eating. Pretty neat, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. Claire perked up a little, though I noticed that she didn’t get anything added to the plate. It was possible that she was shy about eating around other people.
Enoch huffed, taking a bite of his food before putting in his introduction. “Enoch O’Connor. Reanimation.”
“Reanimation?” I asked. “Like, whole people, or just small stuff?”
“Clay. I make puppets and put hearts in ‘em. I could raise people if I wanted, but it doesn’t work as well and they ask too many questions.” He gave me a leering grin. “Didn’t ruin your appetite, did I? Talking about bloody cow hearts and liv–”
“Oh, shut it, Enoch,” Bronwyn cut him off, grimacing. “That’s such a gross thing to say at dinnertime.”
Miss Peregrine, who had mostly been watching the whole time, nodded her agreement. “Miss Bruntley is right, Mr. O’Conner. Polite persons do not hold discussions of organs at the dinner table.”
Enoch huffed, but he acquiesced, going silent after the slight scolding. Olive was the next to speak up, tilting her head in curiosity.
“What about you, Jacob?” She wondered. “What’s your peculiarity?”
“I’m, uh… I don’t actually know yet,” I mumbled, feeling a bit out of place. Everyone had given such interesting abilities, and now I had nothing to say in return. Somehow, it made me feel guilty, as if I owed them a peculiarity that I didn’t have.
“Well, you must have something, since you got through the loop,” Horace pointed out. “We’ll find it in time. Perhaps I’ll dream about it, and then I can tell you myself.”
“You never dream anything clear, what makes you think you’ll know?” Enoch scoffed. “Could be something dumb for all you know, like–”
“Mr. O’Connor.”
“...sorry, Miss P.”
“Thank you. Now, Jacob, don’t worry about that just yet. We shall deduce your peculiarity in time.” She looked quite sure of it, and she had this odd, matronly aura that somehow implied that she would always know the answer to any question. I found it hard not to believe her.
“If– if it’s not too intrusive, may I ask… what’s your peculiarity, Miss Peregrine?” I was a bit nervous asking such a pointed question, but the headmistress didn’t seem to mind.
She took another sip of her tea before answering. “As my name suggests, I possess the ability to turn into a bird – a peregrine falcon, to be specific. And as all birds do, I also have some measure of influence over the flow of time.”
Horace nodded. “Miss Peregrine is the one who created our loop, and the one who keeps it running,” he explained. “We have to do a sort of reset every night at… what was it, Millard?”
“9:26,” he answered promptly. “Technically, it’s September fourth for a few hours, but, technicalities.”
“Reset… like, to keep the loop going?” I asked.
Bronwyn nods, taking a bite of her bread. “We all go outside with Miss Peregrine and help with the changeover – oh, Miss Peregrine, may we show Jacob?”
“Yes, we’ve got to!” Olive puts in. “He’s a guest, Miss Peregrine, it’s only polite, right?”
Miss Peregrine smiles, both exasperated and indulgent. “I suppose we may show him the reset, if you all wish for him to be present. You must all wear your masks, though, you know the rules.”
A few of the kids spoke at the same time, all putting in their agreeances. It was an odd feeling to be the centre of attention in a positive way – I doubted that it would last long, but for now, it was nice to have them so excited just because of me.
Enoch was the only one who seemed more disgruntled than gleeful about it, but even he agreed in a falsely reluctant tone – I got the feeling that he liked to act surly, even if he didn’t really feel that way. Emma, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word, only watching her dinner with a solemn expression. It seemed like she had other things on her mind, and judging by what she must have overheard in the library while Miss Peregrine and I had been talking… I couldn’t blame her for being a bit preoccupied.
But unfortunately, none of the other kids seemed very focussed on Emma’s low mood, and I was quickly pulled from the table after dinner and brought into the garden by a very enthusiastic Olive and Hugh. Fiona trailed after the latter, looking a bit excited herself, though not quite as overtly.
“You’ll have a lot of fun, I think,” Hugh said, looking oddly mischievous. “Here, Millard, did you bring him a mask?”
“Sure did,” said the translucent boy, handing over a pair of World War II era gas masks. Hugh took them, tucking one under his arm and holding the other out to me. I noticed that Millard had his own and was strapping it on.
“I… have some serious questions about what we’re going to be doing that requires these,” I muttered, strapping the mask on and adjusting it, making sure that it was on correctly. I had found a few exact prop replicas of the WWII gas masks at the library a few years ago and made sure I could put them on perfectly, partially because I'd had nothing better to do, but partially because I had been in my ‘anything could happen’ phase and had wanted to be very prepared for the worst case scenarios.
…Eighth grade had been a strange year. But, anyway.
“Looks like yours is on right,” Millard said, tugging at the sides. “Good job – here, Claire, you need a hand?”
The littlest girl pouted a bit, but nodded. Her mask had been modified to include a piece at the back that would no doubt cover her second mouth, though the downside seemed to be the unwieldiness of the entire contraption. Millard knelt down and adjusted the straps, putting it carefully in place before ruffling her hair.
“There you go, now you’re all safe!” He said. Claire thanked him and hugged his waist, then ran off to talk to Olive, who was being held by Bronwyn as she tied on a pair of clunky shoes. The taller girl set her down on the ground and Olive walked over to meet Claire, her steps plodding and slow as if her shoes were weighing her down.
There’s probably some sort of weight in the soles, I mused. It’s pretty clever of them to make those; now she can walk around without having to worry about floating away.
“All right, is everyone present and accounted for?” Miss Peregrine called, and the children all called out their affirmations, moving to stand in a bit of a gaggle. Once again, I ended up between Horace and Millard – a good place to be, if I did say so myself. “Then, let us begin!”
Above me, I heard the whistling of something flying overhead, high in the sky, and as I looked up, I saw a fleet of German bomber planes, getting closer and closer. My eyes widened, and I looked back and forth between the planes and the children surrounding me, but none of them looked alarmed. Deciding that if they weren’t worried then I probably had no reason to be, I swallowed and did my best to quash the whispers of panic starting in my gut.
And as I watched, staring at the quickly approaching planes, the bombs began to drop, and the children began to sing.
“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, RUN!
Bang, bang, BANG goes the farmer’s gun
He’ll get by without his rabbit pie, so
Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, RUN!”
The tune was perfectly matched to the rhythm of the falling bombs, the query of voices almost gleeful at the excitement of the changeover. Bright tracer bullets flew overhead, leaving lines in the sky as the song ended.
All of the children were applauding now, clapping and cheering as they watched the lights flash and the bombs sound off in the distance. The earth shook beneath my feet, but I managed to stay standing, watching the smoke and sparks up above me without so much as a blink.
A hand took my own and jolted me out of my hypnotized state, and I looked away from the bombs to find Horace pulling me along into the garden. All of the children were gathered beneath an enormous topiary resembling Michaelangelo’s fresco of Adam from the Sistine Chapel. Glancing over to Fiona, she nodded softly as if she knew what I was asking – it had been her who grew it.
Miss Peregrine stood at the foot of the statue, her own gas mask still on and not a hair out of place on her head, counting the children silently as she pointed to each one. I was last among her list, and she gave a pleased nod when she found that we were all present.
All of the children started to look up, so I followed, and my legs nearly buckled with the shock when I saw what everyone was looking up at.
There was a bomb coming right towards us.
It’s going to hit right here, I realised. We’re standing right in its trajectory path.
I was starting to wonder if I’d misjudged the situation – if perhaps the deaths of each of these children were a part of the loop resetting, if it was a cycle of looped reincarnation rather than a turning back of the clock, but it was too late now. Would I be trapped here if I died now, if the bomb killed all of us and the loop resurrected? No, surely not – Emma had left the loop, so I could as well, but what if it was temporary? Would I proceed to relive my own graphic demise if I stayed outside of the loop’s bounds for too long?
The bomb fell, closer and closer, but I couldn’t move. I stood stock-still, awaiting my death, and… it stopped.
The bomb stopped falling, balanced right on the tip of Adam’s outstretched finger.
Everything was frozen, stopped in time like the inside of a photograph. I was still staring in shock when a loud humming filled my ears. A spread of pristine white and heat spread out from the group of peculiars – no, from Miss Peregrine herself – to envelope everything, consuming the garden and everyone in it.