Dont go out, love I heard my wife call as I tucked my daughter into bed.
Where have you been rambling off to? she asked, eyeing Mabel on her return from a walk.
Mabel stared at the mirror; a cobweb clung to her hair. She peeled off her jeans, and an acorn slipped from a pocket. She pocketed it, shuffled to her room, and tucked the nut under her pillow.
Off to wash up, dear, Dads coming home soon and well have dinner, her mother said.
Mabel bolted into the bathroom, appetite gone. I spend all my time glued to the phone thats bad. And now Im out walking thats bad too, she muttered gloomily.
From the kitchen came her mothers voice, as if shed heard the thoughts: When you stroll nicely down the street, you wont get tangled in webs!
Mabel filled the tub, the water frothing. In truth, the mother was right nothing interesting in wandering the streets alone. Still, the boredom gnawed at her, especially after shed overheard two women in the shop queue.
Mrs. Davies, theres trouble in that house again! whispered one, her tone oddly hushed.
Mabel didnt catch the reply; the shop assistant was busy scanning her groceries. Better report it to the police, the attendant said to the woman behind Mabel.
Police? What can they do about whatevers haunting that place? someone shouted from behind her.
Mabel packed her bag and left the shop. On the doorstep she saw the two women gesturing wildly. She rolled her eyes haunted, really? and let the chatter drift away.
That evening she stepped out onto the balcony of their newly built semidetached house. The neighbouring fivestorey blocks, a good two hundred metres away, were about thirty years old, with a corner shop where the old ladies liked to gossip about ghosts. The grounds around Mabels home were still halffinished, but her flat windows faced a line of mature trees, and the roar of construction on the nearby tower block was barely audible.
The trees werent part of a park the space had once been slated for one, then replanned. Some trees were felled to make way for houses, including the tower block where Mabels parents now lived. A few towering poplars still stood, separating the new homes from an older cluster of buildings slated for demolition, though heritage officials had fenced them off for preservation.
From her balcony Mabel caught a glimpse of the ancient roofs beyond the trees. Perhaps this was an old manor before the war, she mused. The shop conversation resurfaced in her mind. Probably just some nonsense, ghosts wont move into a highrise.
She imagined a classic witch perched on the roof, a grin spreading across her face.
Come down, love, dinners ready, her mother called.
They ate, watched a film, and later argued. Her parents wanted to transfer her to the nearby primary school to avoid the long bus ride. Mabel preferred the old school where her friends were; she hated being the only one left behind in summer.
The new school will have friends too, and youll get more sleep, her mother pleaded, but Mabel whined until they finally sent her off to bed, promising to think it over.
Before sleeping she slipped back onto the balcony, eyes drifting to the dark treetops. Something glittered in the gloom a flash, then another, then a third right where the old roofs lay. It seemed like a signal. She squinted, but the darkness swallowed the lights.
Time for bed, Mabel, her mother said.
Im going, Mabel replied, lingering a few minutes longer, though she saw nothing.
Morning found her alone; her parents had left for work. She sighed, another long day ahead. No friends were in town some were at the seaside, others with grandparents; shed missed the move and now faced another solitary day.
After breakfast she stepped onto the balcony again, wondering what to do. The fivestorey blocks held no appeal, and the newly paved streets were far away. Then the shops gossip about ghosts nudged her memory. Perhaps she should investigate that old house? She pulled on her jeans, dug out her battered trainers, and, almost dancing, leapt from the twentiethfloor balcony. The lift was out of order, but she didnt mind.
She ran around the block, heading toward the trees.
You heading somewhere, love? a voice called.
She turned an elderly woman stood there, eyes twinkling.
Who are you? Mabel asked, startled.
The woman smiled, her face seeming to smooth as she spoke. Where are you off to?
Just out for a walk, Mabel replied curtly. Isnt that a bit dangerous?
Youre right to be wary, but dont get lost, dear.
Mabel muttered, What a strange way to call a girl dear, and set off down the narrow path.
The trees closed in on all sides. She looked right, then left the orderly rows shed seen from the balcony were gone, replaced by a tangled thicket. The path she thought was straight now vanished behind a wall of branches. She turned back, walked a few metres, and the trail reappeared, as if coaxing her home.
She recalled the shop womens teasing, laughed at the notion of a haunting, and pushed deeper into the thicket. The path narrowed into a barely visible track, as if nobody had trod it for years.
Two minutes later a massive fallen trunk blocked her way a gigantic baobablike tree. She tried to climb over, but dense brambles flanked the track, leaving no gap.
Turn back? a disembodied voice seemed to whisper.
No way, Mabel declared. I dont believe in ghosts, day or night.
She lay on her stomach, slipping beneath the low-hanging branches. For a heartbeat she thought shed gotten stuck, then scrambled out, shaking leaves from her coat.
A gruff voice called, Stubborn girl
She looked up to see the same elderly woman, now accompanied by a massive black cat the size of a small bear.
Hello, Mabel stammered, rubbing her eyes.
The cat flicked an ear, then growled, Stubborn.
Mabel rubbed her eyes again cats dont speak, she thought. The woman smirked, as if amused by the girls bafflement.
The cat, a hulking British Shorthairtype beast, approached, yawned, baring enormous teeth, fur puffed up, and hissed. Yet Mabel felt no fear. She reached out, stroking the cats head. It paused, then hissed again.
Scary? it asked.
No, Mabel replied, shaking her head.
The cat glanced at the woman, then asked, What now?
They seemed to be having a conversation. The cat leapt at a nearby tree, clawing furiously, steam rising from its anger. Mabel felt a pang of guilt she hadnt done anything to it.
Enough, she said, Im leaving.
The cat snarled, Youre not scared?
Not a drop, she retorted, as fiercely as she could. The cats hiss softened, and it nudged her gently with its head.
Want a scratch? it purred.
Mabel scratched the cats neck.
Lets go, the cat declared, pushing her forward.
She glanced around the woman had vanished.
The house is near, the cat said, nudging her forward.
Ahead, a low fence of fivefoot timber logs rose, the tops sharpened.
Fortress, Mabel thought, eyeing the cat.
Filming a movie? the cat sneered.
Onward, it growled, marching along the fence. After a few steps it halted.
Come through.
Mabel stared, then saw a gap where the logs seemed to melt away. She shook her head in disbelief as the cat slipped through, and she followed. On the other side the logs reformed, but she touched one it was solid oak. Near the base lay another acorn, which she slipped into her pocket.
How do we get out? she asked the cat.
Stay put, it replied, eyes wide.
Never mind, Mabel said, curiosity winning, and stepped toward the cat.
They entered a dimly lit courtyard that felt like twilight, though it was still day. The cat led her to a high porch, pushed a door open, and a flood of light poured out. She followed, stepping onto a threshold made of a single, thick plank, its surface carved with intricate patterns.
Beyond the door lay a spacious room, bright despite the lack of lamps. At its centre stood a long table, surrounded by wooden benches, all handcarved. Tall candlesticks held numerous candles, flickering softly.
Do you like it, love? a voice asked. An elderly gentleman with a flowing white beard stepped forward.
Its wonderful! Mabel exclaimed.
The cat, perched beside him, chuckled, He doesnt lie.
The old man nodded. Hes truthful and brave.
Mabel felt a sting of irritation at the suggestion she might be lying, but she answered honestly, I do like it.
Sit, dear, the man said, gesturing to a bench.
She ran her hand over the carved wood and sat. The table, previously bare, now bore plates laden with a variety of dishes.
Help yourself, the old man offered.
Mabel placed a slice of cake on her plate. The cat swiped a whole pudding and devoured it in a single gulp. She tasted the cake it was filled with unfamiliar berries, sweet and fragrant. She washed it down with a draught from a tall goblet and felt completely satisfied.
More? the cat asked.
No, thank you, Mabel replied, feeling full.
The old man smiled, Youre not greedy.
She glanced out the window; darkness pressed against the glass as if night had fallen the instant she entered.
How long have I been here? she thought, panic rising. Mum must be worried!
She rose, thanked them politely, and said, I must go home. Mum will be fretting.
The old man bowed, Brave, kind, and unselfish. Ill grant you a wish, child. Ask for anything.
Mabel hesitated. She had longed for a kitten; her parents had promised one once the new flat was ready, but the move and renovations delayed it.
Id like a kitten, she said softly.
Just that? the old man asked, eyebrows raised. No exotic jewels, fine clothes, or magical mirrors?
Mabel laughed, No, thank you.
Very well, a kitten you shall have, he declared, turning to the cat. Take her to the guest, Baxton.
The cat finished its pudding, leapt off the table, and opened a door for her.
Mabel stepped through, only to find herself back on a familiar path beneath a canopy of trees. Beyond a few rows of trunks she saw her own house. The cat was gone. She turned, puzzled, and whispered, Was that a dream?
She felt the lingering taste of the sweet drink shed sipped from the ornate goblet, and reached into her pocket the acorn was still there.
She sighed, and made her way home.
Later that evening, a knock sounded at the front door. She hurried out of the bath, delighted to hear her fathers voice. She wrapped a towel about herself, slipped on a housecoat, and opened the door.
Look what Ive brought you, love! he announced, holding out a tiny orange kitten, its fur the colour of autumn leaves.
Mabels eyes widened. Ill call her Baxton!
She spent the whole night cradling the kitten, who settled on her pillow, purring loudly.
Good night, Mabel, the kitten seemed to say.
Good night, Mum, she heard her mother call from the hallway as the bedroom door shut.
The kittens soft rumble lured Mabel toward sleep, and a faint voice drifted into her dreams: Dont lose the acorn
