Dont go out, kids
And where have you been dashing off to? my wife asked, eyes on our daughter, Poppy, as she slipped her shoes off after a walk.
Poppy glanced at the bathroom mirror. A strand of cobweb clung to her hair. She tugged off her jeans, and an acorn tumbled from a pocket. She scooped it up, hurried to her room, and tucked the nut under her pillow.
Off you go, wash up, your dadll be home soon and well have dinner said my wife.
Poppy dove into the shower, her appetite gone. Im glued to my phone thats bad. Im out walking thats bad too, she muttered gloomily.
My wife, hearing her thoughts, called from the kitchen, When you stroll about town, you dont come back tangled in spiderwebs!
Poppy filled the tub, added some bubblewash. She knew her mum was right, but wandering the streets alone was dull. Especially after shed overheard two old ladies in the queue at the corner shop.
Mrs. Bennett, theres been something strange in that house down the lane! whispered one, her voice low and conspiratorial.
The word that seemed to hang in the air with a peculiar weight. The other lady replied, but Poppy didnt catch it; she was distracted by the cashier. The girl at the till rang up the groceries, handed over the receipt, and whispered to the lady behind her, We should call the police!
Poppy realised the cashier was a local and knew the gossip.
No way! What can the police do about a whatever that is? shouted a voice from behind Poppy.
She packed the shopping into a bag and left the shop. On the step she glanced back and saw the women gesturing wildly, still chattering about the thing. Poppy snorted spooks in the 21st century, she thought, and shook it off.
That evening she stepped onto the balcony of our newly built semidetached house. The neighbouring fivestorey blocks, a couple of decades old, housed a tiny shopping arcade where the old ladies liked to stand and gossip. The area around our home was still waiting for proper landscaping, but the windows faced a line of mature trees, muffling the rumble of construction on the other side of the road.
The park planned for this plot had never been finished; some trees were felled for houses, including the tower block where my wife and I bought our flat. A few towering poplars still separated the new homes from a set of very old, listed buildings that were slated for demolition but then saved for their heritage value. They were now surrounded by a high fence.
Poppy peered over the treetops, barely making out the roofs of the ancient houses.
Maybe its an old manor from before the war, she mused.
She recalled the shop talk. Probably some sort of spook lives there, she laughed. Cant be in the highrise flats.
The first thing that came to mind was a witch. She imagined a broom parked on a roof and giggled.
Poppy, dinners ready! called my wife.
After dinner, Poppy watched a film and chatted with me. A debate followed about school. We wanted to move her to the nearest secondary school to avoid the long bus ride. Poppy wanted to stay at her old school where all her friends were; she didnt like being the only one left behind in summer.
The new school will have friends too, and youll get to sleep in later, my wife argued, but Poppy whined until we finally sent her to bed, promising to think about it.
Before she fell asleep, she stepped onto the balcony again, looked up at the dark canopy of leaves, and thought she saw a glint three times over the spot where the old roofs had been. Something seemed to be signalling her.
She tried to focus, but the night grew black again and the flashes vanished.
Poppy, time for bed!
Im going, Mum, she replied.
She lay awake for a few minutes, then convinced herself shed imagined it all.
The next morning she awoke to find us already at work. Another long day, she sighed. Visiting friends was impossible most of her mates were on holiday at the seaside or staying with grandparents, and she had just moved. She was left alone again.
After breakfast she stepped onto the balcony, wondering what to do. The fivestorey blocks held no appeal; the nicely paved streets were still a distance away, and shed seen nothing new there.
Then the shop gossip resurfaced in her mind. Spooks, she muttered, maybe I should check that old house. A fence, after all, cant be without a gap.
Not entirely convinced it was a manor, but fed up of staying indoors, she pulled on her jeans, dug up an old pair of trainers, and, halfdancing, slipped down the stairwell from the twentieth floor. The lift was out of order, but she didnt mind.
She burst out of the building, raced past the front garden, and headed toward the trees.
Where are you off to, love? a voice called.
She turned. Standing behind her was a hunched old woman, wrinkled like a witch from the stories.
Poppy froze, then shook her head, trying to see the woman clearly. The old lady seemed to grow younger right before her eyes.
Fewer old women in the shop, thats what you need, Poppy thought.
Where are you heading? the woman repeated.
Im just out for a walk! Poppy snapped back. What, cant I?
I never liked strangers, and my wife always warned her not to stray too far. What if someone tries to take you? shed say, though at five years old that seemed a bit much. Poppy wasnt great at making new friends either.
Its fine, just dont get lost, love the woman said, eyeing her oddly.
Love? What kind of word is that? Poppy wondered.
I wont get lost, Poppy replied, and set off down the narrow path.
The woman watched her go, a faint smile on her lips.
After about five metres, Poppy looked back the woman was gone. She pushed the thought aside and kept moving.
The trees closed in on all sides. She turned right, then left. It was odd the rows of trees that had seemed like a tidy hedge from the balcony were now an impenetrable thicket. No straight lane in sight.
She turned back; the path shed taken was now blocked by trunks. She felt herself vanishing as the woods seemed to swallow her. She turned again, walked a few steps, and the path reappeared, as if urging her toward a house.
Typical, she muttered, recalling the shop talk about spooks. Well, Im not scared of any ghost, day or night.
She lay on her stomach, trying to squeeze through a low gap between a massive fallen tree it looked like a giant baobab. The surrounding bushes formed walls, thick enough that she, not exactly stout, could not slip through.
Where did these huge trees come from? Turn back? she heard in her head, a voice urging her to retreat.
She decided against it. No, Im not buying into any ghost stories, she declared, even though she was alone.
She pressed her body under the low hanging trunk, feeling stuck for a moment, then wriggled free, shaking leaves from her hair.
A harsh voice called, Stubborn girl It was the same old woman from earlier, now standing nearby with a huge black cat at her side.
Poppy blinked, rubbed her eyes. The woman and the cat were still there.
Hello, Poppy said, bewildered.
The cat gave her a disapproving glance.
Stubborn, it purred.
Poppy blinked again. Cats dont talk, she thought, but here it was.
The woman smiled, as if shed heard Poppys inner comment.
The cat, massive as a small dog, lumbered closer. It resembled a giant tabby, not a mystical beast, but its size was startling.
He arched his back, hissed, and stared straight at her. Poppy felt no fear; after all, he was just a cat.
She reached out, stroked his head. He backed away, hissing again.
Scary? he asked. She shook her head. He seemed a little disappointed.
He glanced at the woman.
What now? he asked.
Poppy watched the odd pair, convinced they were conversing. The cat leapt at a tree, clawing furiously. He seemed angry, and Poppy felt a pang of guilt. She hadnt done anything wrong.
She said, Fine, be angry if you must, but Im going.
The cat stopped gnawing at the bark, looked at her sideways.
Not scared at all? he hissed.
Poppy laughed. Not a drop of fear, she replied, teasing him.
He relaxed, rubbing his massive head against her.
Want a scratch behind the ear? he murmured, closing his eyes.
She obliged, and he purred loudly.
Lets go! the cat announced, nudging her forward.
She glanced around and realized the woman had vanished.
The cat led her down a path that straightened out, the trees no longer closing in.
Soon they reached a low fence made of thick logs, five metres high and pointed at the top.
Fortress, isnt it? Poppy said.
Filming a movie? the cat snorted.
He prowled along the fence, then stopped.
Come in.
Poppy hesitated. The logs before her seemed to melt away as the cat slipped through a gap. She followed, and the fence reappeared behind her. She touched one of the logs it was just an old tree trunk. Near its base lay another acorn, which she slipped into her pocket.
She turned to the cat.
Im lost. Can you help? she asked.
Im not sure I can, the cat admitted, looking puzzled.
Poppy, curious now, stepped toward him. Where are we? she asked.
The cat led her through a dimly lit courtyard, the light strange, as if it were evening in the middle of the day. He pushed open a massive wooden door, its surface carved with intricate patterns.
She stepped inside and found herself in a spacious room, lit by hundreds of candles in tall candelabras. No electric lights, just warm flames.
Like it, love? a short, bearded old gentleman asked from a nearby bench.
Absolutely! Poppy exclaimed.
The cat, perched beside him, meowed, Hes not lying.
The old man nodded.
No lies here.
Poppy felt a little indignant at the accusation, but she was honest enough.
Sit down, love, have a bite, the old man said, gesturing to a long table set with plates of unfamiliar dishes.
Poppy placed a slice of cake on a small plate. The cat snatched a whole pastry and devoured it in one gulp.
She tasted her cake; it was filled with berries shed never seen, but it was delicious. She washed it down with something from a tall, ornamented goblet and felt completely satisfied.
More, please? the cat offered.
She shook her head.
Thank you, thats enough! she replied.
The old man smiled.
She glanced out a window; darkness lay beyond, as if night had fallen the instant she entered.
How long have I been here? she thought, panic rising. Mum must be worried!
She stood, thanked the hosts, and said, I need to go home. My mum will be anxious.
The old man said, Brave, generous, kind. Ill give you a gift. Ask for anything.
Poppy hesitated. Shed always wanted a kitten. Her parents had promised one once their new flat was ready, but the move and renovations kept them waiting.
Id like a kitten, she said softly.
Just that? No exotic jewels, silk dresses, or magic mirrors? the old man teased.
She laughed.
No, thank you. Thats all I need.
Very well, a kitten you shall have, he declared to the cat, who was still licking his paws. The cat stretched, then opened the heavy door.
Poppy stepped through, turned to say goodbye, but the room was gone.
She found herself on a narrow path, the light bright, and beyond a line of trees she could see her house.
She turned, but the cat was gone. She shook her head.
Was that a dream? she wondered, tasting the lingering sweetness of the drink shed sipped.
She reached into her pocket and felt the acorn.
She sighed and headed home.
Later, the front doorbell rang. She hurried out of the bath, thinking, Dads back. She wrapped a towel around herself, slipped on a robe.
Sweetheart, look what Ive got! my husband said, holding up a ginger kitten as orange as autumn leaves.
Poppy squealed, Ill call him Baxter!
She spent the whole evening cuddling the kitten, feeding him, and letting him explore every corner of the flat. When bedtime came, the kitten leapt onto her pillow and purred loudly.
Goodnight, love! she whispered.
Goodnight, Mum! I called out as the bedroom door shut.
The kittens purrs filled the room as she drifted off, and in the quiet she heard a faint voice: Dont lose the acorn
