Dont go out, love
Where did you end up? my wife asked, eyes wide as Emily trotted back from her walk.
The girl glanced at the mirror; a spiders web clung to her hair. She ripped off her jeans, and an acorn tumbled from a pocket. Emily scooped it up and darted to her room, slipping the nut under her pillow.
Off to wash up, dear, Fatherll be home soon and well have dinner, her mother called.
Emily plunged into the bathroom, appetite gone. Im glued to my phonebad. Im out walkingbad again, she muttered gloomily.
Her mother, hearing the thoughts, shouted from the kitchen, When you stroll properly, you dont come back with cobwebs!
Emily filled the tub, lathered up, and thought her mum was right. Still, wandering the streets alone was dull, especially after overhearing two old ladies in the queue at the corner shop.
Mrs. Whitaker, theres something strange in that house again! whispered one, her tone thick with intrigue.
The second lady replied, but Emily didnt catch it; she was distracted by the cashier. The woman rang up the groceries, handed over the receipt, and said to the lady in front, We really ought to call the police.
Police? What can they do about a ghost? boomed a voice behind Emily.
She packed her bags and left the shop. On the step she saw the two women gesturing wildly, discussing something unseen. Emily rolled her eyesghosts, really, in the twentyfirst century?and pushed the conversation from her mind.
That evening she stepped onto the balcony of the new terraced house that her parents had just bought in a leafy suburb of Manchester. The nearest fivestorey blocks, a couple of hundred metres away, were about thirty years old, with a corner shop where the elderly women liked to gossip about the oddities in the neighbourhood. The garden around Emilys house was still halffinished, but the windows faced a broad row of tall trees, and the rumble of construction on the neighbouring tower block was barely audible.
The area had once been slated for a park, then replanned. Some trees were felled for housing, including the tower where Emilys parents lived. A few mature poplars remained, separating the new homes from a cluster of very old cottages that were slated for demolitionuntil heritage officers declared them historically significant and fenced them off.
Peering over the canopy, Emily caught the roofs of a centuriesold manor. Maybe it was an estate before the war, she mused.
She remembered the shop conversation. Probably a spirit has moved inwont settle in a tower block. She imagined the classic English witch, perhaps a crone who might park a cauldron on a roof. She let out a soft laugh.
Emily, dinners ready! her mother called.
After supper, a film, and a chat with her father, the couple argued about school. They wanted to transfer her to a nearer academy to avoid the long bus ride, but Emily wanted to stay at her old school where all her friends were. Youll make new mates, and youll get to sleep in later, her mother argued. Emily whined until they sent her off to bed, promising to think about it.
Before sleep she slipped back onto the balcony, eyes drawn to the dark treetops. A glint caught her eyeonce, twice, three timesright where shed seen the old roofs earlier, as if someone were flashing a signal. She strained to see, but the darkness thickened and the twinkles vanished.
Emily, off to bed! her mother shouted.
Im going, Emily replied, lingering a few minutes longer, though she saw nothing.
The next morning she awoke to an empty house; her parents had already left for work. Another long day, she sighed. No friends were in townsome were at the seaside, others at grandparentsand shed just moved, so there was no sea to escape to.
After breakfast she stood on the balcony again, wondering what to do. The nearby fivestorey blocks held no appeal, and the newly paved streets were still a distance away. Then the shop gossip resurfaced in her mind: Spirits. Maybe she should visit that old manor? She pulled on her jeans, dug out her old trainers, and, almost dancing, ran down the stairwell the lift was out of order, but she didnt mind.
She dashed out, looped the building, and headed toward the trees.
You where going, love? a voice called.
She turned. Standing behind her was an elderly woman, cloaked in a tattered shawlEmily halfexpected a witch.
Wherere you off to? the woman repeated.
Just for a walk, Emily snapped back, and whats wrong with that?
The woman, whom Emily guessed might be a local gossip, warned, Dont get lost, dear.
Emily shrugged, I wont. and set off down the narrow path.
The trees closed in on all sides. From the balcony shed seen tidy rows of hedges; here the rows were gone, the undergrowth tangled. She turned back; the path behind her was blocked by trunks, as if the forest itself were shifting.
She recalled the shops whisper, Dont go there. and laughed at the thought of a ghost haunting an old manor. Still, she pressed on, the path narrowing to a thin trail that seemed never to have been trodden.
A massive baobablike tree fell across the way, its trunk huge. She tried to climb over, but thick brambles flanked the trail on both sides, forming an impenetrable wall.
Turn back, a voice seemed to echo in her head. Turn back, turn back.
No way, Emily decided. I dont believe in spirits, day or night. She folded onto her stomach, slithering under the fallen trunk. For a heartbeat she thought shed gotten stuck, then wriggled free, shaking leaves from her hair.
A gruff voice called, Stubborn girl
She lifted her gaze and there stood the old woman again, this time with a massive black cat at her side, its fur as dark as midnight and eyes gleaming.
Hello, Emily stammered, bewildered.
The cat sniffed her, then said in a low growl, Stubborn.
Emily rubbed her eyes. Cats didnt talk, she thought. Yet the cat lifted its head, ears twitching.
The woman chuckled. Youve got a keen eye for nonsense, dont you?
The cat swished its tail, hissing, Scared?
Emily shook her head. Not at all.
The cat seemed to sigh in disappointment, then turned to the woman. What do we do now?
They stood there as if discussing a plan. The cat leapt onto a nearby trunk, claws scraping the bark. Emily sensed anger, but the woman only watched.
Fine, be angry, Emily said, but Im leaving.
The cat flicked its ear, Not scared?
Emily teased, Not a drop of fear.
The cats eyes widened, then it settled and nudged her with its head. Good lad, it murmured.
Where are we? Emily asked, looking around.
The house, the cat replied, nudging her forward.
A low wooden fence rose before them, made of fivemetre logs, pointed at the top.
Fortress, Emily thought, are we on a film set?
The cat snorted. Move along, it said, weaving along the fence.
A few steps later it halted. Enter.
Emily hesitated, then saw the logs part like a doorway. She reached out, feeling the rough bark, and found an acorn lying at the base. She slipped it into her pocket.
Come on, the cat urged.
They stepped through the opening into a dim courtyard. The air was cool, and a faint glow seeped from a doorway ahead. The cat brushed past, pushing the door wide. A single wooden plank formed the entrance, thick with intricate carvings.
Emily crossed the threshold into a spacious room. A parlour, she thought.
The room was brightly lit, though no lamps were visible. Wooden walls, a polished table in the centre, and benches around it were all handcarved. Tall candlesticks held many flickering candles.
A short, bearded gentleman seated himself at the table.
Like it, love? he asked.
Its wonderful! Emily exclaimed.
The cat, perched on the bench, mewed, Hes not lying.
The old man nodded. He never lies.
Emily, feeling a little insulted, replied, Im not lying, I really like it.
Dont be cross, dear, have a seat, the man said.
She ran her fingers over the carved bench and sat; the table was empty. The cat and the old man took the opposite bench. When Emily looked again, plates and dishes appeared, laden with an assortment of food.
Help yourself, the old man offered.
Emily set a slice of unknown berry pie on a small plate. The cat snatched a whole pie and devoured it in one gulp. Emily tasted her piece; it was delicious, the berries unlike any shed known. She washed it down with a goblet of something sweet and felt completely satisfied.
More? the cat asked. Emily shook her head.
Thank you, that was enough, she said.
Not greedy, the old man commented.
Emily glanced out the window; darkness lay beyond. How long have I been here? she wondered, a hint of panic rising. Mum must be worried!
She rose, thanked them politely, and said, I must be home now. Mum will be anxious.
The old man smiled, Brave, not greedy, kind. Ill give you a gift. Ask for anything.
Emily thought of her secret wish: a kitten. Her parents had promised one once the new flat was ready, but the move and renovations delayed things.
A kitten, please, she whispered.
The old man chuckled, Nothing else? No precious stones, no fancy dresses, no enchanted mirrors?
Emily laughed, No, thank you. Just the kitten.
Very well, the man said, turning to the cat. Take her, Baun.
The cat finished its last bite, leapt from the table, and opened the door with a soft push.
Emily stepped through, but the parlour vanished. She found herself on a path lit by the moon, the trees parting to reveal her own street. She turned, expecting the cat, but it was gone.
What was that? she muttered, tasting the lingering sweetness of the cup. She reached into her pocket; the acorn was still there.
Emily sighed and walked home.
A knock at the front door made her drop the towel shed been drying off with. Dads back, she said, wrapping the towel around herself.
Her father entered, holding a ginger kitten, its fur as orange as autumn leaves.
This little one is yours, he said, handing her the kitten.
Emily beamed. Ill call him Baun!
She spent the evening caring for Baun, feeding it, and watching it curl up on her pillow, purring loudly. When bedtime came, the kitten nestled against her cheek and purred a soft lullaby.
Good night, love, she whispered.
The bedroom door clicked shut. The kitten continued its gentle rumble.
Emily drifted off, and in her halfdream she heard a faint voice: Dont lose the acorn
