Never go out, children
And where have you been roaming? my mum asked, eyes widening as I trudged back from my walk.
I stared at the mirror. A spiders web clung to my hair. I ripped off my jeans and a small acorn clattered out of the pocket. I scooped it up, darted to my room and slipped the nut under my pillow.
Off you go, wash upDadll be home soon and well have dinner, Mum called from the kitchen.
I plunged into the bathroom, appetite gone.
Spent too much time on the phonebad, then went outbad again, I muttered gloomily.
Mum, hearing my thoughts, shouted from the kitchen, If you stroll properly, you wont end up tangled in a web!
I filled the tub, lathered up. She was right, I thought, but wandering the streets alone wasnt much fun anyway. Especially after overhearing two older ladies in the shop queue.
Mrs. Perkins, theres something strange in that house again! one whispered, her voice low and conspiratorial.
The word that hung in the air, heavy with intrigue. I didnt catch the replymy attention was snagged by the cashier, who handed me the receipt and muttered to the lady behind me, We should tell the police!
Police? What can they do about a bogeyman? a voice behind me scoffed.
I packed my groceries, stepped out of the shop and paused on the step. The two women were gesticulating wildly, their chatter about the bogeyman echoing absurdly in the 21st century. I brushed it off and headed home.
That evening I slipped onto the balcony of our newly built flat. The fivestorey blocks a couple of hundred metres away were about thirty years old, their groundfloor shops still buzzing. Our blocks surrounding land was still a mess of halffinished landscaping, but my bedroom windows faced a wide belt of mature trees, and the constant roar of construction trucks from the neighbouring tower was barely audible.
These trees werent part of a park as originally planned; the scheme had been altered, some were felled to make way for housesincluding the tower my parents bought a flat in. A few towering poplars still stood, separating the newer dwellings from some very old buildings slated for demolition but saved for their historic value, now fenced off.
From above the treetops I could just make out the roofs of the ancient house. Maybe its an old manor, preindustrial era, I mused. The shop conversation resurfaced in my head. Probably the bogeymans up to something thereno way a spirit would live in a tower. I imagined the classic English witch, perhaps the crone of local legend, perched on the roof, and snorted a laugh.
Mum, dinners ready! she called.
We ate, watched a film, argued a bit. Mum wanted to transfer me to the nearest school to avoid the long bus ride, but I begged to stay at my old school where all my friends were. Youll make new friends, and youll be able to sleep in later, Mum argued. I wailed until she finally promised to think about it and sent me to bed.
Before sleep I returned to the balcony, eyes drawn to the dark canopy of trees. Something glimmered in the gloomonce, twice, three timesright where the old roofs lay, as if a signal flickered. I strained to see, but the darkness thickened and the lights vanished.
Emily, time for bed!
Im going, Mum, I replied, lingering a few minutes longer, though I saw nothing.
The next morning I awoke to an empty house; Mum and Dad had already left for work. Another long day stretched ahead. Visiting friends was impossiblenone of them were in town; they were at the seaside or staying with grandparents. My move had left me stranded, alone again.
After breakfast I stood on the balcony, wondering what to do. The old fivestorey blocks held no appeal; the wellkept streets were far off and Id seen nothing of interest there. Then the shop gossip popped up again: Bogeyman. Maybe I should check that old house? A fence without gaps cant exist, after all.
I wasnt sure the story really meant the ancient manor, but I was fed up being cooped up. I pulled on my jeans, dug out my wornout trainers and, almost dancing, flung myself down the stairwell. The lift was out of order, but I didnt mind. I burst out of the building and ran toward the trees.
You where you off to, girl? a croaky voice called. I turned. Standing behind me was the crone from my imagination.
I froze, then shook my head, looking again at the old woman. She seemed to shrink before my eyes, becoming younger with each blink. I ought to listen to fewer old ladies at the shop, I thought.
Where are you heading, love? she repeated.
Just out for a stroll! I snapped. Whats the problem?
Id always been warned not to talk to strangers; Mum said they might lead me astray. At five years old that sounded absurd, but I was never comfortable with new people.
You can go, just dont get lost, she said, eyeing me oddly.
Lost? I whispered to myself.
I wont get lost, I declared, and set off down the narrow path. The crone watched me, a faint smile curving her lips.
After a few metres I looked backno one there. I shoved the memory of her aside and kept walking. The trees seemed to close in, a dense hedge where previously Id seen neat rows of saplings protecting houses from the wind. No rows now, just an impenetrable thicket.
I turned right, then left, bewildered. The path Id thought was straight was now blocked by trunks. It felt as if the forest itself was swallowing the way.
Bloody nuisance, I muttered, recalling the shop talk. I laughed at the idea of a bogeyman and pressed deeper. The trail narrowed to a single track, as if nobody had trod it for years.
Two minutes later a massive fallen tree blocked my waya huge, ancient oak, its roots sprawling like a banyan. I tried to climb over, but the surrounding brambles formed a wall on either side, thick enough that even a slender child couldnt squeeze through.
Turn back? a voice seemed to echo in my head, urging retreat.
Not a chance, I told myself, I dont believe in bogeymen, especially in daylight.
I curled onto my stomach, wriggling under the low branch that dangled over the path. For a heartbeat I thought I was stuck, then tugged myself free, shaking leaves from my shoulders.
A low, gruff voice called, Persistent little thing I looked up to see the crone again, this time accompanied by a huge black cat, its fur like midnight oil.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes. Both were still there.
Hello, I stammered, unsure whether to be polite or terrified.
The cats eyes narrowed, and it growled, Persistent.
I laughed at the absurditycats never speak, after all. The crone smirked, as if enjoying my confusion.
The cat, massive as a small horse, stretched and let out a low rumble. I reached out and patted its head; it flinched, then settled, purring louder than any ordinary feline.
Scary? it asked, whiskers twitching. I shook my head.
Its alright, I said, Im not scared.
The cats ears twitched, and it said, Very well, lets go.
He nudged me with his massive body, guiding me toward a narrow wooden fence made of stacked logs, each about five metres tall, their tops sharpened.
Its a fort, I whispered, halfjoking.
The film set? I asked the cat.
He snorted, Bored. He trotted along the fence, and I followed. After a few steps the logs seemed to melt away, revealing a gap. I huffed, but the cat slipped through and I scrambled after him. The fence reappeared behind us. I touched one of the logs; it was solid oak. Near its base lay another acorn, which I slipped into my pocket.
Ill show you the way out, the cat murmured, looking puzzled.
We emerged into a dimly lit courtyard, the sky a perpetual twilight. The cat leapt onto a high platform, pushed open a heavy door, and a flood of light poured out. I stepped after him, heart pounding, and the doorastonishingly simplewas just a single massive plank, carved with intricate patterns.
Beyond it lay a spacious room, bright yet unlit by lamps. The walls, table, and benches were all richly carved wood. Tall candlesticks held dozens of flickering candles.
Do you like it, love? a small voice asked. Turning, I saw an elderly man with a long, white beard.
Its wonderful! I exclaimed.
The cat, perched beside him, purred, Not lying.
The old man nodded. Dont be shy, sit down.
I brushed my hand over the carved bench and took a seat. The table was empty at first, then filled with plates of unfamiliar pies and tarts.
Help yourself, the old man offered.
I placed a slice of pie before me; the cat snatched a whole tart and devoured it in one gulp. The pie was sweet, filled with berries Id never seen, and I washed it down with a cup of tea that seemed to glow.
More? the cat asked. I shook my head.
Thank you, Im full, I said.
The old man smiled, Brave, not greedy, kindwhat would you wish for?
I thought of the kitten Id always wanted. My parents had promised one once the new flat was ready, but the move and renovation kept us waiting.
A kitten, please, I whispered.
He chuckled, Nothing else? No exotic gems, fancy dresses, magical mirrors?
I laughed, No, thank you.
He raised his hand, and the cat leapt onto the table, rubbing its head against my cheek. Good lad, he said to the cat.
He opened the heavy door, and I stepped through, expecting to be back on the balcony. Instead I found myself on a quiet lane, bathed in soft light. Beyond a line of trees, my flat came into view. The cat was gone, and I turned, bewildered.
Was that a dream? I muttered, tasting the lingering sweetness of the tea on my lips. I reached into my pocket and felt the acorn, warm from the nights adventure.
I sighed and walked home.
The front door rang; I hurried out of the bath, thrilled to hear Dads voice. I toweldried, slipped on a robe, and opened the door.
Sweetheart, look what Ive got! Dad announced, holding out a ginger kitten, its fur the colour of autumn leaves.
My name will be Pippin! I declared, cradling him.
The rest of the evening was spent cuddling Pippin, who behaved as if hed always belonged in our flat, exploring every room, sipping milk with gusto. When bedtime came, he leapt onto my pillow and purred loudly.
Goodnight, love, Mum whispered as she closed the bedroom door.
Pippins soft purrs lulled me toward sleep, and in the quiet I heard a faint voice, Dont lose the acorn
