Dont go out, love Mum said, eyes narrowing as she stared at Emily coming back from her walk.
Where have you been off to? she asked, surprised.
Emily glanced at the mirror; a spiders web clung to her hair. She peeled off her jeans, and an oakacorn tumbled out of a pocket. She snatched it up, slipped it under her pillow, and hurried to her room.
Off to the bathroom, then. Dadll be home soon and well have dinner, Mum called from the kitchen.
Emily dove into the bath, appetite gone.
My phone was buzzing, the walk was miserable, she muttered to herself.
Mum, overhearing, shouted from the kitchen, When you stroll properly, you dont end up tangled in webs!
Emily filled the tub, lathered up. She knew Mum was right, but wandering the streets alone was boring. It got more interesting after she overheard two old ladies queuing at the corner shop.
Mrs. Daven, theres something strange in that house again! whispered one, her voice low and conspiratorial.
Emily didnt catch the reply; the cashier was busy scanning her groceries.
You should tell the police! the woman behind her urged.
Emily thought the cashier must be in on the gossip. What police? They cant do anything about whatever that is! shouted a voice behind her. She stuffed her purchases into a bag and left the shop. On the front step she saw the ladies gesturing wildly, arguing about the same something. She rolled her eyesstill in the 21st century, and they were talking about ghosts. She brushed it from her mind.
That evening she stepped out onto the balcony of her new flat in a freshly built development on the outskirts of Manchester. Across the road stood a row of fivestorey blocks that had been there for about thirty years, complete with a small shop where the gossiping ladies lived. The surrounding garden was still halffinished, but her windows faced a thick line of mature trees, and the rumble of construction on the neighboring tower was barely audible.
The park that was supposed to be here had been scrapped; some trees were felled to make way for houses, including the tower where Emilys parents bought a flat. A few towering poplars still separated the newer homes from a set of very old brick buildings slated for demolitionthough heritage groups had saved them, surrounding them with a high fence.
Peering over the canopy, Emily could just make out the roofs of the ancient houses. Maybe it was an old manor before the war, she mused, recalling the shop talk. Probably something spooky lives thereno way a ghost would settle in a skyscraper.
She imagined the classic English folklore creature, perhaps a witch perched on the roof, and snorted.
Emily, dinners ready! Mum called.
After eating, she watched a film with Dad, then argued about school. Her parents wanted to move her to the nearest secondary school to avoid the long bus ride. Emily preferred her old schoolfriends, familiar faces. Youll make new friends, and you can sleep in later, Mum reasoned, but Emily whined until they finally sent her to bed, promising to think it over.
Before sleeping she slipped back onto the balcony, looking up at the dark treetops. A flicker of light caught her eyeonce, twice, three timesright where shed seen the old roofs earlier, as if someone were signalling. She strained to see, but the darkness swallowed the glint.
Emily, off to bed! Mums voice floated up.
Going, Emily whispered, staying on the balcony a few minutes longer, though she saw nothing.
The next morning she awoke to an empty house; Mum and Dad had already left for work. Another long day, she sighed. Visiting friends was out of the questionmost girls were at the seaside or with grandparents. The move had left her alone again.
After breakfast she lingered on the balcony, bored. The old flats held no appeal, the newly paved streets were far away, and the surrounding garden offered little to explore. Then the shop conversation resurfaced in her mind: something strange. Maybe she should investigate that old house. The fence around it never seemed to have a hole.
She pulled on her jeans, dug out her old trainers, and, halfrunning, jumped from the twentieth floors balcony. The lift was out of order, but she didnt mind. She vaulted over the buildings edge, sprinted around, and headed for the trees.
Youre heading off, love? a voice called. Turning, Emily saw a hunched figurea crone, though her eyes twinkled.
Emily stopped, shaking her head. What are you?
Im just asking where youre off to, the woman replied.
Just out for a walk, Emily snapped, irritated. Everyone says I shouldnt talk to strangers.
The crone chuckled, Just dont get lost, dear.
Emily rolled her eyes at the odd phrasing, then set off down a narrow path. After about five metres she looked backno crone in sight. She pushed the thought aside and kept walking.
The trees crowded in on all sides, making it feel as if the familiar rows of hedges shed seen from her flat had vanished. The path seemed to narrow, disappearing into the underbrush as if no one had trod it for years.
A massive fallen trunk blocked her waya huge, ancient oak. She tried to climb over, but dense brambles flanked the trail, leaving no room to squeeze through.
Turn back? a voice seemed to echo in her head.
No, Emily muttered, I dont believe in ghosts, especially not in daylight.
She lay on her stomach, wriggling under the low branch, then pulled herself free, shaking leaves from her hair.
She heard a dry, teasing voice: Persistent, arent you?
She looked up to see the same crone again, this time accompanied by a gigantic black cat, its fur sleek as midnight.
Hello, Emily stammered, bewildered.
The cat sniffed her, then spoke in a surprisingly polite tone, Persistent, indeed.
Emily blinked; cats didnt talkexcept in stories. The crone smiled, as if approving the cats comment.
The cat padded forward, its tail swaying. What shall we do? it asked, eyes locked on Emily.
The crone shrugged. Lets see, she said, and the cat began scratching at a nearby tree trunk, its claws leaving deep gouges.
Emily, feeling oddly protective, said, Fine, Im not angry. Ill go on.
The cat paused, ears twitching. Youre not scared? it asked.
Not a bit, Emily replied, a mischievous grin forming.
The cats ears flicked, and it purred, Good. It nudged her with its head, urging her onward.
Ahead, a low fence of roughly fivemetre wooden posts rose, their tops pointed like ancient battlements.
Are we filming a movie? Emily asked, halfjoking.
The cat snorted, Boring. It trotted along the fence, stopping to let Emily slip through a gap that seemed to appear where the posts vanished.
She followed, and once through, the fence snapped back into place. She reached out, touching an old post; it felt like solid timber. Near the base lay another oakacorn, which she slipped into her pocket.
What now? she asked the cat, who looked rather confused.
Im not sure, the cat admitted, but lets keep moving.
The courtyard they entered was dim, as if twilight had settled early. A high porch loomed ahead, and the cat leapt onto it, pushing open a door that burst with bright light.
Emily stepped through, the doorway made of a single, massive plank, its surface carved with intricate vines. She gasped at its size, then entered a spacious room.
The room glowed warmly, though no lamps were visible. In the centre stood a long wooden table surrounded by carved benches. Tall candlesticks held numerous candles, their flames flickering gently.
Do you like it, dear? a soft voice asked.
Emily turned to see a short, bearded old man standing in the doorway.
Its wonderful! she exclaimed.
The cat, perched on a bench, meowed, Truthful.
The old man smiled. No lies here.
Emily felt a pang of irritation at the accusation, but shrugged it off. Dont mind me, Im just being honest.
The old man gestured to the table. Sit, have a bite.
Emily slipped onto a bench, noticing the table now laden with plates of unfamiliar pastries and a large tureen of something fragrant. She placed a small slice of cake before herself; the cat, meanwhile, devoured an entire pie in one gulp.
She tasted the cakesweet berries filled the bite, more delicious than anything shed had before. She washed it down with a cup of tea from an ornate wooden mug, feeling completely satisfied.
More? the cat asked.
No, thank you, Emily replied, pushing her plate away.
The old man, pleased, said, Youre generous, not greedy.
Emily glanced out the window; darkness pressed against the glass, as if night had fallen in an instant.
How long have I been here? she whispered, a hint of panic rising. Mum will be worried.
She rose, thanked the old man and the cat, and said, I need to go home. Mum will be anxious.
The old man nodded, Brave, kind, and honest. Ill give you a giftask for anything.
Emily thought of the one thing she truly wanted: a kitten. Her parents had promised a cat once their new flat was ready, but the move and renovations delayed it.
A kitten, please, she said softly.
The old man chuckled, Anything else? Jewels? Silks? A magical mirror?
Emily laughed, No, just the kitten.
The old man smiled, Very well. He turned to the cat, who finished polishing the last crumbs from the table.
Off you go, the cat said, pushing a door open with a paw.
Emily stepped through, only to find herself back on a narrow path lit by moonlight. Beyond a line of trees she could see her own house. She turned, but the cat and the old man were gone.
She rubbed her eyes, wondering if it had all been a dream. A faint taste of that sweet tea lingered, and she felt the oakacorn in her pocket.
She walked home, the early morning air crisp.
Later, a knock sounded at the front door. Emily rushed out of the bathroom, thrilled. Dads home! she said, wrapping a towel around herself.
Her father handed her a tiny orange kitten, its fur as bright as autumn leaves.
Ill call him Buster, Emily declared, eyes shining.
She spent the evening cuddling Buster, feeding him milk and watching him explore the flat. When night fell, the kitten leapt onto her pillow and purred loudly.
Goodnight, love, she whispered.
Goodnight, Mum, her mother answered from the hallway, closing the door.
The kittens soft purr continued, and as Emily drifted to sleep she heard a faint voice in her head: Dont lose the acorn
