Dont go out, love
What was that you were doing, dear? Mother asked, eyes wide as Emily slipped back from her walk.
The girl glanced at the mirror; a strand of spiderweb clung to her hair. She pulled off her jeans, and an acorn rolled from a pocket. Emily scooped it up and hurried to her bedroom, tucking the nut beneath her pillow.
Off to wash up, darlingDads due home soon and well have supper, Mother called from the kitchen.
Emily plunged into the bath, appetite forgotten.
Been glued to my phonebad. Went for a strollbad again, she muttered gloomily.
Mother, hearing the thought, shouted from the kitchen, When you promenade politely, you dont get tangled in webs!
Emily filled the tub, poured in foam, and let the water swirl. The logic held: wandering the streets alone was dull, especially after shed overheard two old ladies in the queue at the corner shop.
Mrs. Wilkinson, that house on the cornertheres something eerie about it again! one whispered, her voice hushed with intrigue. The word corner lingered oddly in the air. The other ladys reply was lost when the shop assistant rang up Emilys groceries and handed her the receipt, turning to the woman ahead.
We should tell the constabulary! the assistant murmured.
Emily thought the shop assistant must be a local, aware of the rumours.
Police? What can they do about a haunted house? a voice crackled behind her.
She gathered her purchases, left the shop, and paused on the doorstep. The women inside were gesticulating wildly, their conversation a blur of haunted house talk. Emily snortedhow quaint, in the twentyfirst century, for people to whisper about ghosts. She brushed the words from her mind.
That evening she stepped onto her balcony. The flat was newly built; the neighboring tower blocks, two hundred metres away, were about thirty years old, with a shop at ground level where the old ladies still chattered about spectres. Around Emilys block the landscaping was unfinished, yet her windows faced a broad strip of mature trees, and the distant rumble of construction on the new highrise was barely audible.
The trees had not been planted for a park as once planned; a redevelopment had knocked some down, erected the tower where Emilys parents now lived, and left a few lofty poplars to separate the new homes from ancient stone cottages slated for demolitionthough the cottages were preserved for their heritage value behind a tall fence.
From above the canopy, Emily could just make out the roofs of the old house. Perhaps it was an estate before the revolution, she mused, recalling the shop gossip. Maybe something spooky lives theresurely not up in the towers.
She imagined a witchs broom perched on the roof, a grin forming on her lips.
Emily, dinners ready! Mother called.
After eating, they watched a film, chatted with Father, and soon argued about school. Parents wanted to move her to the nearest academy to avoid the long bus ride; Emily clung to her old school where friends awaited, fearing a lonely summer alone.
The new school will have friends too, and you can sleep in later, Mother urged, but Emily whined until they finally tucked her into bed, promising to think it over.
Before sleep, she slipped onto the balcony again, eyes drifting to the dark treetops. Suddenly a glint flickered in the shadowsonce, twice, three timesexactly where the old roofs had shown themselves in daylight, as if someone were sending a signal. She strained to see, but the darkness thickened, swallowing the sparks.
Emily, time for bed!
Im going, Mum, she whispered, staying a few minutes longer, though nothing else appeared.
Morning found Emily awake while her parents were already at work. She sighedanother long day ahead. No friends were in town; some were at the seaside, others with grandparents. The move had robbed her of a seaside holiday, leaving her again alone.
She grimaced, ate breakfast, and stepped onto the balcony, wondering what to do. The tower blocks held no appeal; the wellkept streets were far, and shed seen nothing new there. Then the shop memory returned: Haunted housewhy not check it out?
She pulled on her jeans, dug out her old trainers, and, nearly dancing, rolled down the stairs of her twentiethfloor flat. The lift was out of order, but that didnt bother her. She slipped out of the building and darted toward the trees.
You heading somewhere, love? a voice called. Emily turned. Behind her stood an old woman, bent like a witch from the stories.
Emily froze, then shook her head, watching the figure. The woman seemed to grow younger before her eyes.
Less listening to the old ladies at the shop, Emily thought.
Where are you off to? the woman repeated.
Just out for a walk! Emily replied sharply. Is that a crime?
Her parents had warned her never to talk to strangers, fearing they might lead her away, but Emily was five, not a fledgling. She wasnt keen on making new acquaintances anyway.
Just mind you dont get lost, the woman said, eyeing her oddly.
Lost? Emily echoed, puzzled by the word.
I wont be lost, she declared, and set off along a narrow path.
The woman watched her go, a faint smile on her lips. Emily walked five metres, then turnedno one was there. She brushed the encounter from her mind and pressed on.
The trees closed in from all sides. She looked right, then left; the orderly rows of hedges shed seen from her balcony were gone, replaced by a chaotic thicket. The path that had seemed straight ahead was now blocked by trunks. It felt as if the forest were swallowing her. She turned back, walked a few steps, and the path reappeared, coaxing her toward the house.
She recalled the shop chatter, snorted at the idea of haunted things, and pushed deeper into the thicket. The trail narrowed, almost a footpath, as if no one had trod it for years.
Two minutes later a massive fallen tree lay across the waya towering baobab-like beast. Climbing over was impossible; dense brambles flanked the route, forming an impenetrable wall.
What now? Turn back? she wondered, hearing a phantom voice urging her backward.
No, I dont believe in ghosts, she muttered, especially in daylight.
She lay on her stomach, wriggling under the trunk, feeling stuck, then burst free, shaking leafdust from her clothes.
A sharp voice rang out, Persistently stubborn girl
Emily looked up; the same old woman from before stood there, a massive black cat curled at her feet.
Emily blinked, then rubbed her eyes. The woman and the cat remained.
Hello, she said, bewildered.
The cat gave her a disapproving glance. Stubborn, it declared.
Emily stared, baffledcats never speak, only in stories. The woman smiled, as if amused by Emilys thoughts.
The cat loomed, a giant Maine Coonsized beast, though without tufted ears, more like a gargantuan house cat. It yawned, flashing enormous fangs, bristled, and hissed. Emily felt no fear; after all, it was just a cat.
She reached out, scratching its head. The cat recoiled, then hissed again.
Scary? it asked. Emily shook her headno.
Its disappointing youre not frightened, the cat muttered, glancing at the woman.
What now? it asked, its voice a rumble.
Emily watched the odd pair, imagining they were conversing. The cat leapt at a tree, clawing furiously. Anger seemed to flare, and Emily felt a pang of guiltshe hadnt harmed it.
Fine, be angry, she said, Ill be on my way.
The cat stopped, eyes narrowing.
Are you not scared at all?
Emily chuckled, Not a drop!
The cats snarls softened, and it nuzzled her cheek. She stroked its massive head.
May I scratch your neck? the cat whispered.
Emily obliged, rubbing the cats thick fur.
Lets go! the cat announced, nudging her forward.
She turned, but the woman was nowhere.
The house is near, the cat said, nudging her along a path that suddenly widened. Trees no longer tangled, branches parting to let them pass.
Ahead, a low fence of fivemetre logs rose, tops sharpened like a fortress.
Filming a movie here? Emily asked.
The cat sneered, Bored. It trotted along the fence.
After a few steps, it halted.
Enter.
Emily gasped as the logs melted away like mist. She followed, and the fence reappeared behind her. She touched one; it felt like an ancient oak. Near the base lay another acorn, which she slipped into her pocket.
Where do I go now? she wondered, eyeing the cat.
Its complicated, the cat replied, looking puzzled.
Fine, Ill follow you, Emily said, determined.
The courtyard they entered was dim, as if dusk lingered forever, yet Emily felt no alarm. The cat led her to a tall porch and flung open a door, spilling bright light. She stepped after it, hesitating at the thresholdshe should have expected wonder, yet the door was a single massive plank, carved with intricate patterns.
She brushed the wood, crossed the threshold, and entered a spacious chamber.
Bedroom? a voice whispered in her mind.
The room glowed without lamps; candles flickered on high candlesticks, their flames dancing. In the centre stood a sturdy oak table, surrounded by carved benches. Everythingfrom walls to furniturewas etched with delicate designs.
Do you like it, love? a short, bearded old man asked, appearing from the shadows.
Its wonderful! Emily exclaimed.
The cat, perched nearby, purred, Not lying.
The old man nodded.
Dont be cross, dear. Sit down.
Emily eased onto a bench, the table empty. When she glanced again, dishes appeared, laden with unfamiliar berries and pastries.
Help yourself, the old man offered.
Emily placed a slice of pie before her. The cat snatched a whole tart, devouring it in a single gulp. She tasted her piece; the berries were sweet, the pastry crumbly. She sipped from a tall goblet, feeling completely satisfied.
More? the cat asked, but Emily shook her head.
Thank you, Im full.
The old man smiled, Youre brave, not greedy, kind-hearted. I have a gift for youask for anything.
Emily paused. She had long dreamed of a kitten; her parents had promised one once the new flat was ready, but the move and renovations delayed it.
A kitten, please, she said softly.
Just a kitten? No exotic jewels, silk dresses, or magic mirrors? the old man teased.
Emily laughed, No, thank you.
Very well, a kitten for you, he declared to the cat, see you later, Baxton.
The cat finished its feast, leapt from the table, and flung open the door.
Emily stepped through, turned to say goodbye, but the room had vanished. She stood on a bright path, rows of trees behind her, and saw her house in the distance. The cat was gone.
What was that? she whispered, A dream?
She tasted the lingering sweetness of the goblets drink, reached into her pocket, and found the acorn.
She sighed, pocketed the nut, and walked home.
Later, a knock sounded at the front door. Emily rushed from the bathroom, thrilled. Dads back! she sang, wrapping a robe around herself.
My dear, look what Ive brought! her father announced, holding out a ginger kitten, fur as orange as autumn leaves.
Ill call him Baxton! Emily declared, cuddling the new pet.
She spent the evening feeding and playing with Baxton, who seemed to belong there already, exploring every room, licking his bowl clean.
When bedtime came, the kitten leapt onto her pillow and purred loudly.
Goodnight, love, her mother whispered as the bedroom door shut.
The kittens humming lulled Emily to sleep, and a soft voice drifted through the darkness:
Dont lose the acorn
