When Mason sees a painting come alive in an art museum he is thrust into an unexpended adventure. With a fierce beast on his tail, Mason must navigate unfamiliar landscapes and pass through one door after another as he searches for the girl with the golden hair and his way home.
When Mason sees a painting come alive in an art museum he is thrust into an unexpended adventure. With a fierce beast on his tail, Mason must navigate unfamiliar landscapes and pass through one door after another as he searches for the girl with the golden hair and his way home.
The Girl with the Golden Hair
Chapter 1
There was once a boy named Mason who was staring down the barrel of a long, hot, boring summer. His mother always seemed to be working, but at least he normally had his friends. They would ride bikes together or play ball or race each other to see who was the fastest. But this year was going to be different.Â
As summer break approached, Mason learned that all his friends were going to go away to summer camp. He pleaded with his mother, but she repeatedly told him he could not go. Every morning he would beg her, but his motherâs answer was always the same.
âIâm sorry, son, but we just canât afford that right now,â she would say.Â
âBut if they are at camp, whoâs gonna ride bikes with me around town?â
Masonâs mother was busy packing her bag for work, as she did every morning. âWhile I am gone, I want you to stay in the house.âÂ
âBut Mom!!!â Mason whined. âWhat am I supposed to do all day?âÂ
âMaybe you could color or read some exciting books.â Mason did not look at his mother; he just stared at the floor. âOr maybe you could have an adventure in the backyard.âÂ
âMom, the backyard is not an adventure,â Mason pouted, â. . . and books are not exciting.â
âWell, you will just have to find something to do here while Iâm at work. Itâs not safe for you to be running all around town by yourself. What if something happened to you?â
âIâm not scared . . .â Mason protested in the toughest voice he could muster.Â
âWhen I get back from work maybe we can go do something together.âÂ
âBut youâre always working!â
Masonâs mother turned and gently grabbed him by the shoulders. âNo leaving the house or backyard until I get home. Understood?â She kissed his forehead before heading out the door. âI love you,â she shouted as the door swung closed. Mason rolled his eyes as he stood alone in the empty house.Â
Mason passed the hours by drawing, watching TV, or tossing a ball into the air in the backyard.Â
Late into the afternoon, from the backyard Mason heard the front door open and close again. He knew his mother must be home, but he did not run inside to greet her. Instead, he continued throwing the ball and thinking about how this was going to be his whole summer.Â
It wasnât until he heard his mother calling for him that he turned to go inside. Mason spun around, tossing the ball to the ground. He watched it bounce a few times before rolling under a large bush that sat against their fence. Mason heard a strange high-pitched noise as the branches and limbs began to violently shake from side to side. Masonâs heart began to race as he took several steps backward. He wanted to turn, to run inside, but he could not make himself turn away from the frantic shaking of the leaves. The vibrant blur of brown and green, combined with the high-pitched cries, was both mesmerizing and terrifying. He screamed as a large rock caught the back of his shoe, causing him to fall hard to the ground. His mother rushed out the door to kneel by his side. âWhatâs wrong, honey?â Mason never looked away from the bush; he slowly lifted his still-shaking arm, drawing his motherâs attention to the unnerving sight.Â
Masonâs mother let out a chuckle as a small gray squirrel jumped out from among the green foliage. It looked around only briefly before scampering off and up a nearby tree. âAre you OK?â his mother asked.Â
âYeah !â he said as he tried to slow his pounding heart by taking several deep slow breaths. Masonâs mother gently wiped the tears from his face.Â
âSo what did you do today?â she asked.
âNothing . . .â Mason said defiantly as he retrieved his ball from under the bush. His arms and legs were still a little shaky, but he was more embarrassed than scared at the moment.Â
âWell, what would you like to do now? We can go somewhere or do something. Where would you like to go?âÂ
âI donât know,â he answered as he tossed his ball in the air and caught it again.Â
His mother thought for a moment. âOK, letâs go to the museum.â
âBut Mom . . . I donât wanna be stuck inside all summer.â
âCome on, itâs not all summer and itâll be fun; you always used to love the museum,â she said. âBesides, I thought you said you wanted to do something exciting.â
âSure, it was OKÂ last time, but I was just a little kid back then.â Mason rolled his eyes. âAnd the museum is not exciting. Itâs boring. Probably even more boring than reading books.â
His mother reached out and caught the ball out of the air. âIâll make you a deal; you come with me to the museum and afterward we can get some ice cream.â
âOK,â Mason said reluctantly. His mother knew he would never turn down ice cream and at least this was better than just sitting at home.Â
The museum looked much the same as it had during his last visit. The great gray and brown pillars towered over the entryway. Sure, they were tall, but Mason had remembered them being much bigger during his last visit.Â
As they walked through the large wooden doors, his mother grabbed a folded map off the shelf just inside. âAre you excited?â she exclaimed as she unfolded the map. âWhere do you want to start first?â Mason did not look up at her. He instead scanned the room, thinking of how much more impressed he was with the expansive corridor when he was younger.Â
âHow about the Hall of Armor? That was always your favorite.â Mason shrugged his shoulders as his mother grabbed his hand and sighed. âOK, we will make our way over there first, then we will go to the Asian art exhibits.â Mason knew that just like the rest of the building, the Hall of Armor was most likely not going to be as impressive as it had been last time.
They walked past dozens of beautiful paintings of landscapes on their way to the hall , taking time to stop at each one. While he thought the colors of some of the paintings were pretty, none of them really excited him. None could even hold his attention for more than a few seconds. He would glance at each one briefly before he would shift his attention from the painting on the wall to the people silently strolling down the hallway.Â
After the landscape gallery, they entered a long hallway with a series of exceptionally large paintings lining one side and a large clock set atop of a stone pillar across from them. Mason and his mother came upon one particular painting in the hallway. Mason was not sure why, but he knew this painting was somehow unusual. The scene depicted a small girl of only eight or nine . She was sitting in a tree swing, surrounded by a grassy field on a sunny summer day. The scene was not so different from many of the other painting they had passed but Mason could not look away. He stood perfectly still trying to figure out what was so odd about this one.
Masonâs mother let go of her sonâs hand as she walked down the hall to continue browsing the large paintings. Mason continued staring at the image of the little girl so long he could swear that he saw the blades of grass start to sway.Â
The little girlâs vibrant golden hair and white sundress began to move, ever so subtly. Mason stared bright eyed as he watched the girl slowly swing back and forth in the painting. âHi,â the girl said, looking down at Mason as she swung. Panic welled up inside him. He began to scream uncontrollably. People throughout the hallway were staring at him, but he could not help it. âMom!â he screamed repeatedly as he took off down the hallway, pushing through small crowds of people to get to his mother, who was standing in front of a large portrait. He grabbed her and dragged her by the arm back to the painting.Â
To his astonishment, his mother did not scream. She wasnât even startled by the odd painting. Mason looked back to the piece of art hung on the wall to see that it was indeed no longer moving. Mason reached out to touch the painting, almost through instinct, when the museum attendant, a large, stocky gentleman, yelled, âNo touching the art!!!â from across the room.
Masonâs mother grabbed her sonâs hand just inches from the painting. She turned to the large man. âIâm sorry, he wonât do it again.â The big man let out a loud sigh before he stepped back to stand against the wall. âYes, dear, this is a very beautiful painting, and I am glad that you found one that you like.âÂ
âBut Mom, she . . . the painting, it . . . it moved.âÂ
Masonâs mother stared closely at the painting for a moment before grabbing her son by the arm and leading him further down the hallway. âMom, I want to stay here. I want to keep looking. It moved. I know it moved.â Mason pulled in protest, trying to free himself or slow his mother, but it was no use. âThere is finally something interesting in this old building,â he cried while being pulled down the hallway.
 âThere is still so much to see in here. We need to keep going if we are going to see it all tonight,â she said as she continued dragging him down the stone corridor.Â
Once they had turned the corner at the end of the hallway and walked through a set of large wooden doors, the two walked into the Hall of Armor. This had been Masonâs favorite area in the whole museum last time and if he had not just seen a painting move, he was sure it still would be. This was not like the rest of the building; this was just as impressive and mesmerizing as he remembered.Â
His mother finally let go of her sonâs arm as he ventured over to stare at a suit made of polished metal. High above the room, an open glass ceiling allowed the light to freely flow in. The polished silver-tipped spears and shields gleamed as the light hit them, casting the room in a reflected shimmering haze that flooded over everything and made every exhibit in the great hall glow. Mason instinctively headed toward the brilliant glowing displays, entranced by the ornate detail of the silvers and golds. His solitary footsteps echoed throughout the empty hall as he moved.
Masonâs mother, unlike her son, was not as impressed by the expansive gallery. âMason, if you want to stay in this hallway for a while, you can. Iâm going to visit some other paintings, but Iâll be back.â
âOK, Mom,â Mason agreed without looking away from the suspended collection of colored metals.
âDonât leave this room, OK? I will be back in an hour or so, and you had better be right here.â She did not wait for a response. She knew how much her son loved the shiny metal of the swords and shields.Â
As Mason watched his mother walk through the large doors at the opposite end of the room, Masonâs mind again wandered back to the painting in the hallway and the girl with the shiny gold hair. He tried to push her from his mind, but as he looked over the glimmery metal of the shields and the gold-handled hilt of the swords, his mind continued to drift back to the hallway.Â
He waited another moment, to be sure his mother was not coming back in to check on him, then Mason quickly turned and ran back through the doors she had dragged him through just moments ago. He made his way through the small groups of people by weaving between them as they stopped to admire paintings along the hallway. Mason slid to a complete stop in front of the painting with the little girl.Â
Mason looked up expectantly at the painting, clearly anticipating its movement, but to his dismay, it was just a painting. He cautiously moved closer to the artwork, studying the motion of the brushstrokes, the curvature of the designs in the massive frame.Â
It was clear that people were watching Mason from the corner of their eyes, as he leaned close to the picture and whispered, âHello? Are you there?âÂ
Still the painting did not move, and people again went about their business, moving further down the hallway. Had he imagined it? He was so sure that the little girl spoke to him, but could that just be his mind playing tricks on him? A frown creased his face as he slid his hands into his pockets, still staring at the painting.Â
Just as Mason had begun to allow himself to believe he had imagined the whole experience, slowly the grass began swaying and the girlâs swing began to move. âThis was real!!! You . . . You were real!!â Mason said in an exaggerated whisper.Â
âOf course, I am real. Just as real as you are anyway.â
âIâm sorry . . . I didnât mean . . .â Masonâs words trailed off as he tried to casually scan the room for others that might be watching. âWhy couldnât my mom see you?â Mason asked while trying to catch his breath.
âIâve been here a long time,â the little girl replied, âand I have never met anyone who can see me the way you can.â Mason cautiously sat on the floor in front of the painting.Â
âPeople canât see you? I mean, they canât see you move?âÂ
âIn all honesty, I have never even been able to speak with anyone outside the painting before.â
âWow!â Mason exclaimed. âSo where are you from?â
âMy painting was drawn in a small town in Italy.âÂ
âOK, but where were you from before you were in the picture? How did you even get in there?â
The little girl snapped into place and all movement in the picture stopped. The sudden jolt made Mason flinch as he ducked his head and shoulders forward to see a tall man and woman pass. Neither of them bothered to look down at Mason; both were focused on the perfectly still painting.
After the couple moved past the painting, the grass again began to sway as the little girl kicked her legs in the swing. âI canât remember. All I can remember is this painting and sitting on a wall in my makerâs shop. I have spent years watching people walk by and stare at me.â
âThat sounds awful.â Mason shifted uncomfortably as he looked around for signs that anyone else would be coming by that might cause her to freeze in her painting.
âNo, not really. The people are interesting enough, but I do wish they hadnât put me in this stuffy hallway.âÂ
Mason looked up and down the busy corridor. âWhatâs wrong with this place? It gets lots of visitors.â Off to one side Mason caught sight of the stocky figure of the museum attendant. He was talking to a family of four, but it was clear that he was watching Mason out of the corner of his eye.
âYes, but I canât talk to most people, so it can be quite boring. At my last spot, I was hung near an exit door. From there I could see the birds fluttering around outside. I could watch rain or snow or leaves fall from the trees. On certain days, I would watch as the wind blew down the hallway, ruffling dresses and knocking off hats. The best thing in the world is when I imagine that warm summer breeze can actually reach me in this painting. I can almost feel the warmth of the sunlight as my hair falls back over my shoulders and when the soft wind hits it. I think thatâs what I miss the most. Watching the wind and imagining what it must feel like when the sunlight and the breeze hit your face.â
âWhy did they move you?â
The little girl pointed to the sign at the side of the frame that read: âMariaâs Summer Dayâ Traveling Exhibit.Â
âIt was just my time to move on, I guess.â
âThatâs terrible,â Mason replied in earnest.Â
âItâs nothing new; I have moved hundreds of times. At first, I didnât like the halls of the museums much, but theyâre not so bad once you get used to them. I do still wish for that feeling again though. If I could, I would jump out of this frame and run outside, even if it were for just a moment.âÂ
âCan you? Leave the painting, I mean?â
âI think so. Iâve heard a rumor that the muses in the Greek gallery used to do that all the time, but from what I heard, someone has to agree to hold the place in the painting until the subject returns. As you can imagine, not many people would be willing to do that, even if I were able to ask them.â
The painting again froze as a young couple with a small child stopped in the hallway to look at it. As they walked past, Mason leaned close to the painting and whispered, âItâs OK, theyâre gone.â With that, the grass again began to sway.Â
âSo, if I were to agree to take your place, you would come right back? I mean, I wonât get stuck in the painting, will I?â Mason asked.Â
âWould you really do that for me? I mean, no, of course you wouldnât get stuck, and yes, I will be right back.â The little girl leapt from the swing to stand barefoot on the grass of the painting. âI can finally go outside and see the sun. Oh, this is a dream come true. I get to feel the breeze as it floats through my hair and see birds . . . and talk to people!âÂ
Masonâs head was spinning. He stretched his neck in either direction just to ensure that he did not see his mother coming down the hallway to lecture him about leaving the armor gallery. But, if she could speak to Maria, she would definitely understand. Anyway, Maria will be right back, and his mother wouldnât even notice.Â
The little girl then sat down on the grass as Mason remained on the hard tile floor. While people were occasionally glancing at the young boy sitting in the hallway, it was apparent that no one else could see the little girl in the painting leave her swing.
âClose your eyes and whisper âI agree.ââÂ
âIs that it?âÂ
âWell, you have to imagine yourself here, inside this painting. I think thatâs how it works, at least thatâs what Iâve been told.âÂ
Mason looked up to see the museum attendant coming down the hall, staring right at him. Worry welled up inside him, thinking about the man calling his mother and telling her that he had left the armor gallery. His pounding heart quickened, but Mason let out a heavy sigh when he saw the man turn mid-stride, on his way toward the painting. Someone must have called to him from just outside the room.Â
Once he was gone, Mason took a deep breath as he turned back to the painting. It had occurred to him to get up and run back to the gallery to avoid the trouble he knew he would get into once the man came back, but he simply couldnât leave without at least trying this. He didnât really believe it would work, but then again, this morning he would not have believed that he would be talking to a painting.
The little boy did as he was instructed. He stared at the painting and began to close one of his eyes. He allowed the other to stay open so as to be able to see what would happen next.Â
âIt wonât work unless you really believe!â Mason heard Maria say softly. Mason conceded and forced both eyes shut.Â
He did his best to focus on the painting, but his heart was beating so hard that he had trouble focusing on anything at first. He was thinking about his mother and the museum attendant coming back. âJust concentrate on your breathing,â he heard Maria whisper.Â
After a moment of sitting there with his eyes closed, Mason could slowly hear the echoing sounds of the hallway fade from his mind. The beat of his heart had slowed to a point where Mason was no longer thinking about hearing it in between each breath. Instead, he imagined the grass of the open field, the feel of the swing as he sat on it, the birds chirping, and the bright sun overhead, warming his arms and legs with its joyous rays.
Mason was brought out of his thoughts by a faint sensation that something had brushed across his cheek. He kept his eyes closed trying to again focus on the painting, but he felt it again, and again . . . Mason raised his hand to brush his check where he felt the sensation, only to feel something soft and moving.Â
Masonâs eyes snapped open to see a field filled with tall grass. Each blade waved back and forth, giving the illusion of a gentle breeze, like the kind the little girl talked about, but he felt no wind. No air movement of any kind. Masonâs eyes darted quickly around the scene before snapping forward to peer through a large window-like frame that hung suspended in the air in front of him. Through the frame he saw a little girl in a white dress sitting on the floor in front of him. She stared back at him with her eyes wide open and her mouth agape. She reached her hands out to her sides as she felt the cold hard tile that had seemed to replace her soft grass field.Â
âIt worked! It really worked!â the little girl shouted hysterically, jumping to her feet.Â
The story starts with a young boy called Mason who is worried about having to suffer through a boring summer. Little does he know that an adventure like no other is just around the corner.
When accompanying his mother to the museum, Mason gets fixated by a painting that appears to come alive. The girl with the golden hair in the painting tells him that heâs the first real person sheâd been able to interact with, and asks him to switch places with her so she could get a taste of the real world. Mason sympathizes with her and agrees, only to end up getting lost as he passes from one painting to the next with a beast chasing after him.
While the story could have benefited from exploring more characters and perhaps a different title, it is quite entertaining as we get to explore different worlds with Mason, showing us that no matter how pretty or scary a place looks, what matters is the people who share it with us and their intentions towards us. It also passes on the message that not everyone has our best interest at heart and that things are rarely as they appear to be.
The story is fast paced and intriguing, bound to have kids turning the pages.