That was an unexpected

#epicweekend! Who’d have

thought my mega-embarrassing little

sister, Tilly, could be so useful? And

maybe, now even Mum and Dad can

see that me knowing about trains and

stuff is useful, they’ll stop moaning

about homework and obsessions

whenever I want to go down to Burnaby

railway station. Anyway, what about

Mum? My mother’s the world’s expert

on cushions. She makes them and sells

them and teaches people to make them,

in her shop, “Cushions and Crafts”.

She’s probably writing a book called

The History of the Cushion. Me

obsessed? Perleeze!

Our station was closed for years but

it’s being restored now and it’s great.

Seeing the film of ‘The Railway

Children’ set me off, then Aunty Clare

took me on a steam train at Burnaby

and I was hooked by the smell of the

smoke and the sounds and the

excitement. The railway’s called ‘The

Heather Line’ because it runs across the

moors to the sea. Aunty Clare and me,

we’re volunteers, clearing the line for

new track and decorating and raising

money. Everyone at the station is there

because they want to be. Owen, Nisha

and Sam from my class at school are

volunteers as well, which makes it even

better. And the steam engines are

awesome. Some day I’ll get to drive

one.

What happened this weekend began

with Mr Penney. I don’t spend all my

spare time at the station. On Saturdays,

I often help Mr Penney in his second-

hand bookshop next door. I tidy up

after customers and shelve the books in

the right sections, in alphabetical order.

Mr Penney used to teach his tory, but

he’s retired now and runs his shop.

Mum says he was one of the best

teachers at her school. He doesn’t live

over the shop like us. He lives with Mrs

Penney in a bungalow near the Market

Place. She minds the bookshop for him

sometimes.

So, yesterday morning, Mr Penney

put his head round our shop door and

said, ‘Charlotte, would you like to come

to Beckwith’s salerooms with me this

afternoon, if it’s OK with your mum?

At the viewing, I saw a couple of lots

worth bidding for. I’d be glad of a

hand.’

Beckwith’s is only up the hill from

us and I like watching the auctions

there, but I had to tell him I couldn’t.

‘I’ve got to mind Tilly today, Mr

Penney. Dad’s working all weekend,

decorating a doctor’s surgery in time

for it to open on Monday morning.’

‘How about Tilly coming along?’

And Tilly bounced out from under

the counter, shouting, ‘I want to!’

Everyone says she‘s a smaller version

of me, because we both have fair hair

and grey eyes. The difference is, Tilly

never stops talking. Mum said that was

fine, as long as Mr Penney could put up

with us both.

It’s funny watching the bidding at

Beckwith’s salerooms. The auctioneer

tries to get people to pay more money

for the different lots, and some of the

people bidding give signals to show

how high they’ll go, like nodding their

heads or holding up fingers. Mr Penney

waves a rolled-up newspaper. I don’t

know why people want some of the

stuff sold there, like old-fashioned

furniture and ornaments and stacks of

pots. Mr Penney says most of it comes

from house clearances, which seems

sad, when things people loved and were

proud of aren’t wanted any more after

they die, and the house has to be

emptied.

Mr Penney bought one lot of books,

some very battered, which he doesn’t

mind because he repairs them in his

book bindery. Next, he got a mixture of

things stuffed in a cardboard box. There

were old theatre programmes and

magazines and a long cardboard roll

with posters inside. Mr Penney hadn’t

bothered to look at any of that stuff

because he only wanted the books at the

bottom of the box.

Just outside Beckwith’s we passed

two people having what Mum would

call ‘a right ding-dong’. There was this

big, tweedy woman going on at a

smaller man in a cap and raincoat. She

was snarling at him, ‘I said Lot 31, not

Lot 41, you fool!! Can’t you do the

simplest thing?’

The man sounded really ratty. ‘It was

a bad signal. I could hardly hear what

you were saying. You should have been

here yourself.’

Then Tilly said, ‘We bought Lot 31,

didn’t we, Mr Penney? That’s the

cardboard box Charlotte’s carrying, isn’t

it?’

I’d forgotten about it being Lot 31 but

Tilly doesn’t miss a thing. Mr Penney

laughed. ‘Lucky no one else was bidding

or I’d have had to pay more for it.’

The angry woman had overheard and

shot us a daggers look, then stomped

into Beckwith’s, pulling the man with

her.

After we’d put the boxes in the

bookshop storeroom, we went to say

hello to Mrs Penney and she gave us

juice and chocolate brownies in the little

office behind the counter. Then I took

Tilly to the children’s section and when

we’d finished reading, it was nearly five

o’clock. There were two customers in

the shop as we were leaving and Tilly

said, in a very loud voice, ‘I saw you

both outside the salerooms. You,’ and

she pointed at the woman, ‘were

shouting at him,’ pointing at the man.

Well, I hadn’t noticed they were the

same people. Tilly would make a top

spy, except she never knows when to

keep quiet. My ears went all hot and I

was wishing Tilly wasn’t with me. I

shushed her and the woman glowered at

us so hard, I thought flames would

explode from her nose, then she

dragged the man out of the shop.

‘They’d been prowling around for

ages, upstairs and down here,’ said Mrs

Penney. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they

weren’t interested in buying anything.’

* * *

You know when you wake up suddenly

from a deep sleep, feeling scared and

quivery because you think you’ve heard

something? Had I imagined the sound

of glass breaking? The sky was just

getting light. I sat up and pulled back

the curtains. From my bedroom

window I can see straight down into the

yard behind the bookshop. Someone in

a dark, hooded jacket had smashed the

frosted glass panel in the back door and

was putting an arm through the hole.

Without thinking, I hammered on my

bedroom window, then opened it and

yelled, ‘Stop that! I’m calling the

police!’ My heart was thundering away

and I could hardly hear the words. The

burglar looked up, so quickly I couldn’t

see the face properly, then ran for the

yard gate. I shot down our stairs and

out into the alley, but there was no one

around. Then Mum and Dad came

running and Dad rang Mr Penney, who

rang the police, and Sunday became

super-exciting, with our kitchen full of

people drinking tea, all talking at once.

I wasn’t talking. I was thinking.

After the police had gone, saying

there were no fingerprints and no clues

as to the would-be burglar, I said, ‘Mr

Penney, remember those people from

Beckwith’s who Tilly spotted in your

shop afterwards? Suppose they tried to

burgle the shop because there’s

something valuable in Lot 31?’

‘It could all be pure coincidence,

Charlotte,’ said Mum.

‘Let’s find out,’ said Mr Penney.

After the Lot 31 box had been

emptied and we’d inspected everything

else, Mrs Penney pulled the roll of

posters out of the cardboard container

and I peeled the posters away. They

were all for things like garden parties

and jumble sales from years ago.

Except for the last two. They were old

railway posters, advertising places to

go to on holiday by train. There was

one with a picture of Harrogate and one

of Scotland, all hills and lakes. Mr

Penney said he couldn’t see anything to

interest burglars.

‘I can!’ I said.

Everyone looked.

‘I think these railway posters could

be worth a lot of money,’ I told them.

‘Last year, when I was at the Railway

Museum in York with Grandad, a guide

said that some old posters are quite rare

and collectors pay thousands of pounds

for them. Maybe the stroppy people at

the sale were after these, even if they

didn’t try breaking into the shop?’

Then I took the Penneys down to

meet Mr. Novak, the Burnaby

stationmaster, who’s sure I’m right. He

thinks the Harrogate poster is probably

worth a few hundred pounds, but the

one for Scotland could be really

valuable. Isn’t it funny how posters that

were taken for granted years ago, stuck

on walls at railway stations with steam

puffing over them, can be worth so

much now? Mr Penney says if they sell

for a lot of money, he’ll give some to

the Heather Line and some to his

favourite charities, but – as well – he’ll

take us all for a trip on a famous train

called “The Orient Express”, which

will be, like, totally amazing!

Trains: 10; Cushions: 0!

~ T h e e n d ~

THE WOMAN

ON THE MOONA Chinese Myth associated with the

Autumn Harvest Moon

Long ago, in the heavens above

China, the Jade Emperor ruled

over the Earth and skies. He was a

proud and arrogant emperor, who

wanted to rule for ever. He brought

forth ten sons who hung in the sky as

bright, hot suns. Their brilliance

scorched the Earth, burnt the plants,

dried up the waters and caused such

destruction that the people cried for

help. Their cries were heard by the

immortal hunter Houyi; he raced to

Earth from his heavenly home and

forged powerful arrows. Houyi was a

great archer and he shot each of the

suns from the sky, one by one, until

there was just one Sun left in the sky.

The people rejoiced and brought forth

their most beautiful daughter,

Chang’e. They gave her to Houyi as

his reward. Chang’e was a kind and

loving girl, and she brought much

happiness to Houyi.

The Jade Emperor learnt of the

destruction of his nine sons and he

cried a rage so fierce the whole world

shook. He searched for Houyi and

when he found him, he struck him

with his mighty power. Houyi lost his

immortality in an instant. He became

an ordinary man and lived an

ordinary life with the beautiful

Chang’e, but he grew restless. Houyi

longed to regain the power of

immortality. He set off on a long and

difficult quest to discover where he

might find the elixir of life that could

grant him back his immortality. He

walked through forests, climbed the

tallest mountains and followed the

rivers, until he came to the immortal

Queen Mother of the West.

Houyi told the Queen Mother of his

plight and she took pity on him. She

handed him the pill of immortality,

which held within it the elixir of life.

Houyi gratefully accepted the gift, but

the Queen Mother gave Houyi a

warning. The pill was so powerful

that the whole of it would destroy his

life; he should only take half of it, as

half was enough to grant him the

immortality he sought. Overjoyed,

Houyi thanked the woman and

trekked back to his village. He would

give half the pill to Chang’e and he

would have half himself, and in that

way they could stay together forever.

Chang’e was watching for Houyi’s

return and when she saw his weary

body trudging down the track, she ran

to him in great joy. Houyi told her that

he had found the elixir, but that he

was tired and needed to bathe.

Chang’e cleared out Houyi’s travel

bag while he bathed, and the pill fell

out. Thinking it was a herbal

medicine to clear her headache, she

popped it in her mouth and swallowed

it. As soon as the pill was in her

stomach, Chang’e began to float

upwards, her body feather-light.

When Houyi came from the house

and saw Chang’e floating away, he

thought he might bring her down with

his arrows, but he did not want to hurt

his beloved wife. So instead he

watched her float higher and higher,

her clothes billowing around her. She

flew up until she was level with the

Moon, round and bright in the

Autumn sky. She flew no further and

had to land on the Moon. For a while

she lived there on her own, looking

down at the Earth and yearning for

Houyi. Now she has the company of

the Jade Rabbit and the banished

woodcutter, Wu Gang.

The Jade Rabbit was sent to the Moon

as a reward for selflessness, when he

offered his own body as sacrifice to a

hungry immortal. The woodcutter

made a nuisance of himself searching

for the secret to immortality, and was

banished to the Moon by the Jade

Emperor, with instructions that he

could return to Earth when he

chopped down the bay tree that is

planted there. The poor woodcutter

chops down the tree every day, and

every day the tree grows back.

If you look up at the Harvest Moon on

the fifteenth day of the eighth month

in the Chinese lunar calendar, you can

see the shape of the rabbit and the

woodcutter’s tree as shadows on the

Moon’s surface. Perhaps you’ll catch a

glimpse of Chang’e too.

Some people say that Houyi

eventually found another elixir and

he too floated into the sky. But not the

Moon for him, he landed on the Sun

and now Chang’e and Houyi follow

each other across the heavens, forever

joined in immortality.

THE WOMAN

ON THE MOON

The Master’s moustache bristled on his ruddy face. A dark glint of

satisfaction lit his eyes as he heaved Joff off his feet and up the stone stairs. The chilliness of the workhouse cell vanished as they burst into the hall. Heat stung Joff’s face as he watched the sooty orphans at their benches, working over wood and metal.

‘Joff,’ wailed a voice. It was little Leo, clutching an older girl’s apron. At only five years old, he could barely hold a hammer.

‘Say goodbye to your protector, shrimp,’ growled the Master. ‘Joff ain’t coming back.’

Joff felt sick. What was happening? He was in big trouble, that’s for sure. Still, the Master deserved that dead mouse in his teacup – he’d been bullying Leo again.

What would his punishment be this time? wondered Joff. No bread for weeks? Stoking fires for hours? And all to meet the Baron’s demands. The Master continued to drag him towards the front door. Joff hadn’t been outside in two years, not since the last escape attempt. The Master’s dogs had caught him. His leg had never recovered.

‘Back to work,’ barked the Master. ‘The Baron wants them parts!’

Hammering resumed in the workhouse hall as the Master shoved Joff against the wall, before retrieving the ring of keys from his cloak and opening the padlocks.

CLUNK. The last lock. The Master turned the heavy circular handle and heaved open the door. Joff stared at the beautiful greenness before him. Trees. Hills. Air! He inhaled deeply, filling his soot-stained lungs.

‘This’ll teach yer!’ The Master grabbed Joff’s thick hair and yanked his head to face the Baron’s castle.

A sudden surge of adrenalin shot through Joff’s body. His mouth went dry. ‘No. Please Sir, not there. Not the machines. I’ll be good.’

‘Too late, boy,’ scorned the Master.

A little airship was approaching with its four propellers whirring.

‘Get off!’ Joff tried to struggle free, wriggling furiously.

The Master glared. ‘Want my dogs?’

He stopped struggling.

‘Good boy,’ growled the Master, as the boat landed.

The airship’s captain was a thin-lipped young man with a scarred face. He was accompanied by a pale-skinned, red-haired girl. On deck was a massive clockwork key on top of a large, wooden box. It filled half the boat.

‘Is this the lad?’ asked the pilot. The girl turned a little wheel, and a portion of the boat’s side lowered to form a ramp.

‘Aye,’ said the Master. ‘Here ’e is. Be warned, he’s a defiant pup.’

‘Is he now?’ The man sneered, studying Joff silently. Joff held the man’s gaze, trying desperately to keep hold of his courage. The man’s mouth twitched. ‘Oh, I’ll watch him alright,’ he murmured. With one great tug he hauled Joff onto the boat and pushed him down onto the wooden deck. Joff glanced up and caught a look of pity in the girl’s eyes.

‘Three turns, Skyla.’

‘Yes Captain Moran,’ answered the girl. She turned the key.

‘Hurry now,’ grinned the Master. ‘Time waits for no man, eh, Captain?’

The two men laughed. It was a hard, cold sound. Skyla released the key and the propellers began to whir. The boat lifted off the ground and soon the grey-bricked, smoke-belching workhouse became a small dot among the trees.

For the first time, Joff wished to be inside those walls, at a safe distance from the castle, making metal panels and parts for the Baron’s machines. Joff supposed they were used for his ‘experiments’. Four years ago, his own sister, Aileen, had overheard the Master saying the Baron was using the machines to try and cheat someone. She told Joff that night. By the next morning, she’d disappeared. Joff hadn’t thought it possible to miss someone so much.

The airship glided across the sky towards the dark, angular castle. Joff’s heart thumped. How could he get away?

‘Don’t try to escape,’ whispered the girl, Skyla, as if she’d heard his thoughts. ‘The Baron will punish you if you do.’ She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a mess of scars. ‘We have to keep his enemy away.’

‘What enemy?’

‘Silence!’ commanded Captain Moran.

The airship flew over the castle’s outer wall and landed in a large courtyard. The castle itself was a tumble of oddly angled towers. Every window and door was blocked with thick metal panels made by the children in the workhouse. Skyla lowered the boat’s ramp.

‘Come,’ said Captain Moran, marching Joff towards an archway blocked up with a riveted metal door bearing a large wheel. It was just like the Master’s safe where he kept the money sent from the Baron. The Captain proceeded to turn the wheel left and right, forming the combination to unlock the door.

CLUNK!

The Captain pushed Joff into a dark corridor lit by mounted wall lamps. He pulled a large lever; cogs and pulleys chugged overhead and the door clanked shut. Moran frog-marched Joff down the dark passageway until they came to an elevator. The Captain pushed him inside. Skyla pulled the lever twice and the elevator cranked upwards. Eventually it jolted to a stop. The doors opened.

On the other side of the elevator doors was a huge open hall, which might once have been a ballroom, filled with an amazing network of large cogs and pulleys. Joff gasped in wonder as the machinery slowly moved.

‘Your new turner, your Lordship,’ announced Captain Moran.

From behind a column of cogs appeared an impossibly gaunt old man. He wore a black jacket with tails, but his cravat was lopsided and loose. A messy grey mane surrounded his deathly pale face. Joff froze as the Baron walked towards him, staring with wild, darting eyes.

‘You work hard to keep my enemy away,’ he said, suddenly grabbing Joff’s shirt and pulling him close. ‘Or my machines will stretch you. Break you. He must not come.’ His eyes widened. He began to hum softly, and soon the hum became a song:

‘Tick tock, stop the clock. Time waits for one man.’

He released his grip on Joff, laughing. Joff’s heart thumped as the Captain pushed him to a doorway on the right, unlocking the door and throwing him in.

Joff stood open-mouthed. In the middle of the huge room, a massive clock face reached all the way from the high ceiling to the wooden floorboards. Behind the face was a chain of giant cogs and an enormous key mounted in a metal box. Long, horizontal metal rods stuck out from

the key where it met the clock. Pushing on these rods – slowly turning the key anti-clockwise and stopping the clock’s hands from moving – were three of the missing workhouse children.

‘Joff!’ called a boy named Deniel. He looked exhausted. ‘Welcome to the end of your life.’

The door to the clock house slammed shut. Joff dashed towards it but Captain Moran had already turned the key. Joff was trapped. He looked at his frightened friends, noticing with a pang of disappointment that Aileen was not among them. He kicked the door angrily. ‘No!’ Whatever the Baron threatened, whoever this ‘enemy’ was, Joff would discover the truth. He would escape. Even if it cost him everything!

~ E n d o f P a r t O n e ~

Why must Joff and his friends stop the clock from ticking? Why does the Baron feel so threatened? Will Joff ever get out, and will he ever see Aileen again? Find out in Part Two – next month in AQUILA.

After another act of rebellion against his cruel Master, Joff has been kicked out of the workhouse and taken by Captain Moran, a cold and sinister young man, to the Baron’s castle – a dark place of dark tales. Joff has heard that the Baron is determined to keep his enemy at bay, whatever the cost. Now Joff finds himself locked in a room with some of the children who disappeared from the workhouse. But why is the dark-hearted Baron so afraid, and how will Joff escape an inescapable place?

Joff looked at the massive clock face, which filled the torch-lit

room from floorboards to ceiling. Cogs turned behind it, linked to a giant key mounted in a metal box. Horizontal rods protruded from the key. Pushing these, turning the key anti-clockwise, were three workhouse children who had vanished years ago. His sister Aileen . . . was she here somewhere?

“Deniel! What’s going on?” Joff demanded. “We must get out!”

Deniel shook his head. “The Machines catch you. They . . . hurt.”

Joff glanced around the room. A tiny hatch in the stone wall. Metal panels fixed to the windows. No other way out.

“Why are you turning that key?”

“If it stops, the enemy comes,” said a girl called Kirra. “The Baron knows if it slows down. He comes . . . the Machines . . .”

“You’re a Turner now, until you die,” said Deniel. “Help us. We’re one down. Remember Cavin? The Captain took him away today. He collapsed . . . couldn’t go on.”

“No! There must be a way,” said Joff. “Is Aileen here?”

“She’s a Watcher – in a tower, watching for the enemy,” said Kirra.

Joff’s heart leapt. “And who is this enemy the Baron is so desperate to stop?”

“Judgment,” whispered Deniel.

“Judgment?”

“The Baron made some bad choices,” said Kirra. “Now he’s nearing the end of his life, and he’s afraid.”

“Rumour says he did a deal with something evil and powerful,” said Deniel. “Judgment will come for him at midnight, but as long as this clock never reaches midnight, he’s untouchable.”

“His life is stretched. His mind has gone,” said Kirra.

“Joff,” said another girl called Elissa. “We’ve no choice. Please – help us. Turn.”

How could he refuse? He began to turn the key. Occasionally one child slept or ate the bread and water that Captain Moran shoved through the tiny hatch.

“Where’s my sister?” Joff demanded at first, but the Captain with the scarred face never spoke. He just stared at Joff before shutting the hatch.

Days and nights blurred and defeat began to creep icily and steadily into Joff’s mind. The others were right. It was hopeless.

While Elissa slept, the hatch opened and bread was pushed through. For the first time, Joff didn’t meet the Captain’s steely gaze.

“The Master said you were defiant,” the Captain sneered. “But you’re broken already. How disappointing.”

Joff gritted his teeth.

“Oh,” added the Captain, “I regret to inform you – your sister is badly injured. The Machines.”

The hatch slammed shut. Joff’s heart jumped. Aileen! Something inside him woke up. Choice made, he abandoned the key and ran to the door, pummelling it with his fists.

“Aileen!” he yelled.

“Come back!” said Deniel. “We’re slowing down! He’ll come –”

Joff kicked the door.

“No!”

“The Machines!” pleaded Kirra.

“No!” said Joff. “We’re getting out! This place is poison. I’m finding Aileen.”

Anger rising, shoulders heaving, he looked at his friends.

Nothing.

“Who’s with me?” he shouted.

Deniel stepped away from the key and went to Joff. In the hall next door a distant alarm bell rang. Kirra followed and quickly woke Elissa.

The door flew open and in came the Baron.

“Tick, tock!” sang the Baron, his voice wavering with rage. He pulled behind him a strange machine mounted on four wheels and with a trailing chain. With nervous energy, he slammed the door behind him but Joff saw it bounce off the chain and stay ajar. The Baron pumped up and down on a lever and the machine sprang into action.

Elissa hid behind Deniel. The Baron brandished a pincer attached to a cord on the machine. He moved towards Joff. “Stop – the – CLOCK!”

Panic gripped Joff as he stared at the wide-eyed Baron. He glanced at the clock. The minute hand was almost touching 12, almost. . . .

“Go!” Joff yelled, pointing at the door. “Find Aileen! Find the others!”

The three children ran.

The Baron leapt at Joff, roaring. “TICK! TOCK!” The pincer tips sparked in front of Joff’s face.

“STOP – THE – ”

Bells rang. The Baron froze.

“The Watchers!” he screamed. “They see him!”

The Baron’s pincers clattered to the floor. Joff jumped at a loud grinding noise. It was coming from a metal panel that covered the outside of one of the windows. Suddenly he saw it fly backwards, attached to a kind of steel concertina arm. The arm had shot out of an airship. It sailed up to the window, its four little propellers whirring round. Captain Moran was at the helm, the boy, Cavin, and the girl, Skyla, were beside him.

“I’m saved!” shrieked the Baron, as he dashed toward the window.

“No,” said the Captain. A grim smile split his scarred face. The Baron stopped dead, confusion and fear on his face. “Time’s running out, your Lordship.” He looked at Joff. “Come on, get in!”

Joff hesitated for just a split-second before clambering out of the window. And as Joff’s feet touched the boat, the clock began to chime. The Baron covered his ears and sank to his knees, wailing.

“Time waits for no man, Baron,” the Captain said coldly, and with a whirring noise the boat slowly moved away.

“I – I don’t understand,” ventured Joff.

“I was twelve when the Master sent me here,” said the Captain. “I put cockroaches in his bed. Ten years I turned that key. I’d been strong but my friends were frightened. I couldn’t take the Baron down alone. He thought he’d conquered me, secured power over me. The Machines . . .” The Captain touched his scarred face. “But fear doesn’t buy friends. It just breeds enemies. Over the years, I let him give me responsibility. I could wait.” He looked at Joff. “Then the Master sent you. He warned me of your defiance. I saw it in your eyes. And I knew soon the clock would chime, and then my time would also come.”

The clock chimed on.

Air suddenly rushed around them. Joff edged closer to the Captain.

“Time’s up,” murmured the Captain.

Above them a black cloak twisted and spiralled chaotically through the sky. Was it wrapped round a faceless figure? Joff wasn’t sure. Then, on the eleventh chime, the cloak shot through the only open window in the castle.

The twelfth chime struck.

There was silence.

Joff froze, wordless. The Captain looked away, and steered the boat towards a crenellated tower. He scanned all the missing workhouse children huddled at the top. Then he saw.

“Aileen!” cried Joff. “She’s . . . not hurt!”

“No,” said the Captain. “But you were breaking. I needed whatever ammunition I had. You love your sister.” The coldness in his eyes melted momentarily. “I know. I had one. Once.”

The children clambered aboard and Aileen rushed to hug Joff. Skyla stood by the clockwork key. Joff heard the Captain say, “Three turns, Skyla. We’ve got one more visit to make.”

And as the boat sailed towards the workhouse, Joff smiled – for the first time in ages.

~ T h e E n d ~

S H A D O W S T A L K E Rby Laurence Raphael Brothers

I stretched out all four paws and

meowed. The boy reached for me

and –

Do it! said the voice in my head, Tear

him to shreds!

I let him pet me on the belly instead.

After a minute I heard his mother

calling. He took his hand back

unscathed, and went away.

You’re a disgrace to the Legion,

Chimlin.

Come on, Fee, I replied. I’m just a

Siamese, not a leopard like you. I

couldn’t do more than scratch him.

Anyway, I like the way he pets.

Grrr! You’re still a Feline Cadet. Have

some self-respect!

Fee is my teacher and superior officer

in the Legion of Cats. I think she was

kidding about hurting the human

child. She mostly stays in my head

because she’s between lives right now

and it’s a lot easier for her that way.

Our jaguar seers foretold a

moonshadow attack here, which was

why she was assigned to me, but so

far we hadn’t seen any.

After dinner – chicken-flavoured bits

with a slice of sardine, yum! – I

played with my fuzzy green mouse

for a while. Fee grumbled about it

being undignified, but she’s the one

who said I had to practise my

pouncing, and I knew she liked the

thing’s smell as much as I did, even if

she was too proud to admit it.

She woke me just before midnight.

Moonshadows like to drain heat from

human children, so I had to stand

guard in the boy’s room. But tonight

the door was closed and I couldn’t get

in.

This is what you get for biting his toes,

said Fee.

I thought they were mice. I swear.

Ha. You say that now.

Remember? I asked. They were poking

out from under the blanket.

Not much like mice, though, said Fee.

I’m just a kitten! I’ve never seen real

mice before. You could have warned

me.

I assumed you meant to punish him for

unlawful petting.

Fee!

Well, she said, we still have to get in

there. Maybe through a window?

I’ve got a better way.

I scratched at the door. ‘I’m dying out

here,’ I meowed. ‘Dying!’

Pitiful, said Fee. Profoundly

embarrassing.

Maybe next life I’ll be a leopard and

I’ll bust doors down. Till then . . .

The door opened and the child stood

there in his pyjamas, rubbing his

eyes. I mewed pathetically. How

demeaning, said Fee. But he let us in

and we snuggled together till he fell

asleep. I wanted to rest there in his

warmth all night, but Fee made me

wriggle out of his arms.

Time to defend our world, she said.

* * *

The thin scrap of darkness had a

feline form. I think the war started

because of that: they took our shapes.

The moonshadow floated down a

shaft of moonlight from the window

towards the sleeping human child.

Fee hissed. Kill it!

It really was an excellent pounce,

even if I do say so myself. My claws

shredded the moonshadow’s skin and

I felt a stab of coldness in my paws.

The creature unravelled into smoky

threads of darkness, which faded

leaving nothing behind.

Nice work, said Fee. But look out!

Three more moonshadows drifted into

the room.

Remember your training, said Fee.

You’ll be fine.

I yowled and leapt, slashing the first

moonshadow to ribbons. The second

darted at me and missed; I tore it in

half but the third one landed on my

back. I felt the bitter chill and I

whirled around and tore it loose. It

flopped to the floor and I ripped it

apart.

More are coming, said Fee.

Moonshadows were wriggling

through the window, oozing through

the ceiling. I saw the boy waking up,

but with a human’s night vision he

probably had no idea what was going

on. Then the whole room got very

cold. Something big was approaching.

There are too many, said Fee. I’m

going to materialise. I’ll take the big

one. You fight the others.

No! Don’t! You could lose all your

lives at once!

Duty calls, she said, and a big tawny

leopard stood over me.

The next minute was a blur of leaping

and slashing. All the moonshadows

went straight for the boy, and that let

me attack them from behind. I didn’t

let a single one pass, though my paws

felt frozen through by the time I was

done. I heard Fee fighting elsewhere

in the room, but I didn’t have time to

look until I’d dispatched the last of

them.

A moonshadow as big as a prehistoric

sabre-toothed cat was unravelling on

the floor, disintegrating into

streamers of smoke where Fee had cut

it to pieces, but a dozen smaller ones

were wrapped around her. There was

a thud and Fee’s body fell to the floor.

I rushed over to her side, and started

pulling the icy cold creatures away,

but my paws were so numb I couldn’t

do a good job. And then I sensed

something moving behind me. I

whirled, but it was only the boy. He

bent over Fee, and I could see his

clever pink fingers working to peel

back the moonshadows from her

body. As soon as he peeled one away I

slashed it, and in a minute we’d

destroyed them all. But still the

leopard lay motionless.

Fee! I wailed. The boy put his hand

on her icy fur. He tried to pick her up,

but she was too heavy, so he lay down

beside her and wrapped her in his

arms. I didn’t understand why at first,

but then I saw the ice was melting.

Mrghl? What’s this? Fee’s mind-

speech! Ugh! He’s all over me!

I was worried there for a moment,

Fee’s a leopard after all.

Don’t hurt him! I said. He’s warming

you up!

What? What? Oh. . . .

It took me a minute to realise what

the sound was, because I’d never

heard her do it before. But at last I

realised: Fee was purring.

~ T H E E N D ~

What Lies BeneathBy Amy Sparkes

dCharlotte found the book and

pulled it from her father’s

bookcase. What Lies Beneath by

William Anderson. Her father’s book

was a passionate argument for a

magical world that somehow existed

alongside our own. It was a world

largely hidden from view, except for

rare moments, when strange incidents

would remind people of its existence.

Such events were always explained

away, and the book was considered the

rants of a madman.

But this hadn’t stopped William

Anderson.

Since the death of Charlotte’s

mother four years ago, he’d thrown

himself into his work – devoting all

his time to exploring this otherworld.

Charlotte hardly saw him, although

every bedtime he would read her a

story about the magic that existed right

under her nose. He’d always finish

with the same words: “Once you have

been touched by magic, you are never

the same again.”

When he said goodnight, Charlotte

saw sadness in his eyes but he’d whirl

away to search for creatures that

thrived in darkness. Creatures. She

turned to chapter twelve, her favourite

chapter. In the forest her father had

seen . . . things. Fleeting glimpses of

creatures unknown to this world.

Charlotte stroked her father’s pencil

sketches. She wished she could go

alongside him, to see them with her

own eyes.

“Charlotte?”

Instinctively, Charlotte hid the

book behind her back as she twisted

round towards the doorway.

“Miss Rendell is waiting in the

library,” her father said, buttoning his

coat.

“Father, let me come with you,”

Charlotte pleaded.

Her father sighed. “Charlotte, you’re

a young lady.”

“I’m not as fragile as you think!”

Charlotte burst out.

Her father pulled on his gloves.

“Your place is here, where you are

safe.”

Charlotte sighed. Why couldn’t he

see the real Charlotte – the one that

longed to explore the wild Scottish

lands?

“Study well.” Her father nodded and

disappeared.

Charlotte snapped the book shut and

put it back. She gazed out of the open,

lead-latticed window.

“Miss Charlotte?” called a distant

voice. Miss Rendell’s footsteps

creaked on the floorboards.

No. Not today. Not ever again! As if

something inside her had snapped,

Charlotte ran to the window and

half-climbed, half-tumbled out,

landing on the tufty grass below. She

scooped up her petticoats and ran –

somewhere, anywhere, away from

embroidery.

Adventure called.

Charlotte’s throat ached as she

flopped against the tree trunk. She had

seen this pine forest from her window

when she was supposed to be studying

Latin. She sighed. Miss Rendell would

enjoy reporting her absence. Charlotte

was in big trouble. But if only he

understood her –

There was a loud flapping noise.

Charlotte looked up. A flash of orange

and crimson feathers. What was that?

Golden eagle? No, too big. And the

wrong colour. She walked quietly, the

soft pine needles springy under her

feet. She heard more flapping.

For the first time in her life,

Charlotte felt truly alive. Blood

pumped through her. Her eyes

absorbed every detail they could. She

crept onwards, hardly breathing. Then

she heard it: a strange, eerie call. It

was unlike anything she’d ever heard

before. The forest blurred into

insignificance. It was calling her,

strengthening her – speaking to the

girl with a heart longing for adventure

and truth. Tears welled up as she

listened. She couldn’t return to the

house and be who her father wanted

her to be. She couldn’t. . . .

The song ended. The features of the

forest began to sharpen again. She had

to find that bird! There was a

swooping flurry of crimson ahead.

Charlotte’s heart leapt.

“Wait!” she called and began to

sprint. Her dress snagged on a branch.

She stumbled over an exposed root,

and yet on she ran, her eyes fixed on

the bird, with a desperation she’d never

known before.

She failed to notice the drop. The

ground disappeared beneath her.

Searing pain shot through her ankle.

The world no longer made sense as, at

an unthinkable speed, she tumbled

down and down. She heard a thud – or

did she feel it? Blackness came.

* * *

Charlotte opened her eyes. Her head

throbbed. She touched her forehead

and saw blood on her hand. She tried

to move, but dizziness overwhelmed

her. She closed her eyes. Her ankle

was probably broken. No one would

know where to find her. She was alone.

A rush of cool air stirred beside her.

Charlotte opened her eyes again and

gasped. Beside her perched the bird,

more like a swan than an eagle. Its

long, golden tail trailed behind it. The

creature tilted its crimson head to one

side, staring at Charlotte with black,

beady eyes. Charlotte stared back,

breathing quickly, not daring to look

away.

The creature opened its golden beak

a fraction and cooed a gentle, soothing

sound. It leaned over Charlotte and a

single tear rolled down its feathered

face and landed on the gash on her

head. Charlotte held her breath.

Immediately, a comforting warmth

spread through her body, from the

head down. The dizziness and pain

melted away.

“You did that?” Charlotte touched

her head. “What – what are you?”

The bird cooed softly again then

stretched out its huge wings. Before

Charlotte could move, the creature

gently scooped her up in its golden

talons and took to the sky.

Charlotte’s heart leapt as they

soared above the trees, laughing in

astonishment as the wild breeze swept

through her hair. Moments later, the

bird landed beside the open study

window.

“Thank you,” said Charlotte.

“But how – how could you carry

me?” The bird dipped its head, then

flew away. Charlotte watched the

crimson dot disappear in the distance.

“You’d make a very fine friend for

somebody,” she murmured, then she

scrambled back through the window.

Miss Rendell’s fury over Charlotte’s

ruined dress and her disappearance

was wasted. Charlotte’s mind was no

longer in the room. And it never would

be again. It was on the bird.

At bedtime, her father arrived

clutching a book. Charlotte’s heart

thumped. She would tell him the truth,

even if he locked her up. She could not

be the house-tamed daughter he

wanted.

He nestled on the side of her bed.

“Father – ”

But she stopped as he opened the

book and showed her a picture. “The

Legend of the Phoenix,” he read, then

looked at Charlotte. “I saw something

amazing in the sky this morning,

above the forest. I think sometimes

you can live with someone for years

and not truly know them.”

Charlotte stared at him. The air

seemed to vanish from the room.

“I’ve been so busy with my work,

I’ve failed to realise the magic

that lies beneath, unfolding before my

eyes.” He took Charlotte’s hand and

looked at her searchingly.

Charlotte smiled and a tear trickled

down her cheek. “You know what they

say, Father. Once you’ve been touched

by magic . . .”

“. . . you’re never the same again,”

whispered her father. “Miss Rendell

will be leaving in the morning. I think

it’s high time I had an assistant.”

And somewhere over the mountains,

a phoenix sang.

~ T h e e n d ~

A Birthday Wishby Avantika Taneja

Part One

‘Shoes off,’ instructed Mama. Atalia sighed and tossed off her

red jelly sandals. The soles were coming off so that they flapped when she walked, as if they were snapping crocodiles. Her toes poked out over the edge now that they were too small. There was no chance of getting new sandals this year.

Atalia stood up as straight as she could, trying to think tall thoughts.

Mama took a book from Atalia’s desk and placed it on Atalia’s head. It was her favourite: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Atalia held it in place while Mama rolled out the measuring tape from her sewing kit. Mama still smelled of freshly baked bread, even though they hardly had any anymore. Carefully, Mama marked a line on the wall, just above 120 centimetres. Next to it, she wrote in neat handwriting: Atalia, age 11.

‘One metre, twenty,’ she announced. Atalia turned around to examine the mark, squinting. ‘One twenty and a quarter,’ she corrected.

She was only a little bit taller than last year, but inside she felt years older.

Still, she still loved the ritual of marking how time passed with her height marks on her bedroom wall. Just like the rings of a tree. It was the only thing that felt the same as last year’s birthday.

She traced her finger along the plaster, now bumpy with age, up to her brother Nev’s latest height mark: age 19. It towered above hers – she couldn’t even touch it on her tiptoes. He had had a rapid growth spurt in the past year, and his big curly mass of hair seemed to make him even taller. She wondered if he would come home today.

Ever since the revolution began, he was Outside all the time, at secret meetings and demonstrations. And now the Syrian revolution had morphed into an ugly war and almost everything had changed.

Mama had gone to the kitchen. But there would be no cake, no party, no feast and no Latifa on her birthday. Latifa was Atalia’s best friend in the whole world. Well, she had been until she had left Aleppo without any warning. Atalia hadn’t heard from her ever since.

She pressed the power button on her phone and it lit into life. It was a waste of precious battery, but maybe, just maybe, today would be the day she heard from Latifa. Atalia rubbed her half-heart best friend pendant that still clung around her neck, a 10th birthday present from Latifa.

There would be no presents this year. And no kitchen table groaning with Mama’s famous stuffed peppers and grilled kebabs and biryani and mounds and mounds of pastries from the souk, the labyrinth-like market in the Old City of Aleppo. But worst of all, there would be no cake to make a birthday wish on.

Instead, there was just enough plain water to make tea and some stale bread. Perhaps, as a treat, she would get a prized lump of sugar in her tea today.

Atalia sighed and dragged her snapping sandalled feet to the kitchen.

* * *

In the kitchen, Mama put some stale bread out on the table and served the hot amber-coloured tea into small glasses for Baba and Atalia. Atalia kept looking at the doorway, hoping Nev would appear.

‘Here, pet, a sugar lump to sweeten your tea.’ Mama plopped a lump into her glass and Atalia watched it dissolve and send little tiny bubbles to the surface. ‘Shall we sing?’ Mama said cheerfully.

Atalia mustered up the effort to put on a smile, but she shook her head. She knew Mama was trying so hard. But with no cake and no birthday wish, there was no point singing.

Baba’s spoon clinked against the glass as he stirred his tea, even though there was no sugar in his. He just did it automatically. He gave Atalia’s arm a squeeze, and she forced a smile back at him.

Just then, she heard the key turn in the lock. Atalia perked up. The door slammed and she heard some sweary muttering. Nev was home!

Nev burst into the kitchen, bringing in all the smells from Outside. He placed a paper bag on the table and a real live freshly-baked smell rose up and warmed Atalia’s insides right to the edges of her fingers and toes.

‘Nev, where did you get the fresh bread?’ she demanded. She wanted to ask so many other questions about where he had been and if it was safe, but she didn’t dare.

‘I have my ways,’ he grinned at her. ‘Now let’s tuck in before it’s not fresh anymore. Or worse, before someone comes and loots it from us,’ he laughed.

No one else could see what was so funny.

‘Oh, c’mon, I’m just joking. We’re safe here in this part of the city. For now…’

Atalia saw Mama shoot a glare in Nev’s direction.

‘Here, little one.’ Nev rustled in the bag and took out a whole pillow of fluffy, fresh flatbread and flung it onto the table in front of Atalia, like it was a frisbee. Atalia breathed in deeply the aroma of happier times. Her mouth watered.

‘Wait!’ He motioned Atalia to stop. He grabbed a thick candle from the tool drawer. The candles had burned down low in the last year, working hard against the frequent power cuts. Nev pressed the candle firmly into the bread pillow.

‘Nev!’ Mama scolded, but with a smile in her voice. ‘You’ll drip wax on the bread.’

Nev pulled out a lighter and lit the bread candle. ‘C’mon, make a wish little one.’

Atalia stared at the flickering candle and thought her heart would explode with happiness. Her very own birthday bread! Now she could make a wish.

But this one was going to be harder than ever.

She closed her eyes. Her mind whirred with possibility.

She couldn’t waste a birthday wish, she could only choose one. But she had to choose between a wish for herself and a wish for the world. Should she wish for something real that could definitely come true? Or should she take a chance for something bigger that needed a little bit of magic to actually happen?

Atalia wondered if she could wish Latifa back to Aleppo. She thought of her 10th birthday wish, which seemed a little silly now, wishing that she could visit Narnia and meet Lucy from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

It was on that birthday, one whole year ago, that she had learned about the brave teenagers who painted the anti-government graffiti that started the revolution. She wondered what would have gone differently if they hadn’t been arrested, and the protests hadn’t started, and the government hadn’t silenced people’s voices . . . and the war hadn’t started . . .

She took a deep breath. This year she would make a wish for herself and for the world. She opened her eyes, exhaled and snuffed out the candle, wishing hard inside her head.

What did Atalia wish for? Will she ever hear from Latifa? Will her birthday wish ever come true? Turn to page 40 to find out.

‘I wish the world was like Narnia, a place where children are in

charge . . .’ Atalia wished inside her head, as she snuffed out her birthday bread candle.

It was the brave teenagers that made the anti-government graffiti – people like Nev who were Outside, making things better – who should be in charge. She didn’t use her birthday wish for it, but she also wished she could be more like them. But she was a girl and only 11 and she was stuck on the Inside.

Mama, Baba and Nev were all clapping and singing, ‘Happy birthday dear Ataliaaaa’ and shook her out of her thoughts.

Atalia smiled out loud. Her birthday was a little bit special now. She sipped on her sugary tea and then they all tucked into the freshly-baked birthday bread, still warm from the world, tearing off big pillowy chunks with their hands.

Atalia giggled silently. It would have been funny if they ate birthday cake that way. Latifa would have found that hysterical.

She glanced at her phone and it stared up at her blankly. Still no word from Latifa. Life was draining out of the battery and she didn’t know when the electricity would next be on to recharge it.

‘Mama, can I use your phone to text Latifa?’ Atalia pleaded. She knew they could not afford credit for her

own phone, but she thought Mama might make an exception for her birthday.

Mama and Baba glanced at each other. Atalia sighed. She knew what that meant. Her heart felt a little bit emptier, even though her belly was full of bread.

Then, just as she was about to give up on the whole thing, her phone beeped. A notification popped up from Latifa.

At last! Atalia squealed, grabbed her phone and ran upstairs to her room.

Fingers working as fast as they could, she pushed in her passcode to open the message:

‘Tali, we r in Istanbul. Baba made us come. Baba said keep it secret. Mama sez not to use credit. My heart hurts for you and Aleppo. Happy birthday. Teefa xoxo’

Istanbul! So Latifa was in another country now. Did that mean she wasn’t coming back?

Atalia rubbed her half-heart best friend pendant from Latifa, as tears pricked behind her eyes. The pendant had become shinier and less bumpy with all her rubbing. The letters were now fading.

Atalia slumped against the wall and slid down until she was sitting L-shaped. She knew it wasn’t Latifa’s fault. She didn’t have a choice. Her father had been worried ever since school had closed and had threatened to send Latifa and her mother and brother away. But why hadn’t Teefa texted earlier? Why hadn’t she said more?

She desperately wanted to text Latifa back, but Mama would never allow it.

Atalia’s shoulders slumped. She looked around her room and wondered if she would be able to stay in it forever. Would she ever have to leave Aleppo?

Her gaze settled on her height marks on the wall, imprinted. Every year on every birthday, like little historical inscriptions. Other than making a wish, it was her favourite birthday ritual. It was almost as if the wall was a museum of memories, of every year, of every birthday. She had been in this house 11 years, since the day she was born.

Atalia suddenly felt the impulse to draw more things, to imprint more memories into the walls of the house. She ran and grabbed a black crayon from the toy basket and her fingers danced almost as if they had a mind of their own, etching from her memory the shapes of the world Outside, from how she remembered

A Birthday Wishby Avantika Taneja

Part Two

it. She knew Mama would be cross, but it was almost as if she was in a trance.

First, she drew an outline of the shimmering, towering minaret of the Great Mosque that used to stand tall in the beating heart of the Old City of Aleppo, reaching deep into the sky. She drew it as tall as she could reach, remembering how when she stood underneath it, it looked like the tip could touch the stars.

Then she drew the medieval walls of the fortress perched on top of the hill behind it, that looked like the top of a volcano had been cut off and a castle put in its place. On the horizon, she added domed mosques and a row of tiny, lego-like houses and the steeple of the Assyrian church they used to go to on Sundays, crowned with a cross. To the west, she drew the big, squiggly maze of the main souk, the main marketplace.

She ran to get the rest of the crayon set. She coloured in her outlines with the colours of Aleppo, with multi-coloured mounds of red and orange and yellow spices dotting the market. She remembered when her and Mama used to shop

there, holding hands and dodging the donkeys and honking minivans groaning under their loads, heading for the giant mounds. Pastries on display: pistachio baklava piled on bird’s nest pastries piled on date cookies piled on small cakes drenched in honey syrup.

Atalia’s taste buds tingled. She put the crayons down and considered her masterpiece. The citadel looked like a fairy-tale castle, like something out of Narnia.

She remembered her birthday wish. It would never come true, she knew. Maybe she should have wished for Latifa to be home. She rubbed her half-heart pendant again.

All of a sudden, she felt her heart swelling as it filled up with a big idea.

She grabbed a crayon and again her fingers danced. If children were in charge, she thought, then pastries would be lining the street, not just the market stalls.

Spilling out of the maze-like souk and onto the streets, she drew giant mounds of delicious baklavas bursting with green pistachio and delicious pink and orange cakes dripping with golden honey and pyramids of bird’s nest pastries cocooning their nutty insides.

With the yellow crayon, she drew a constellation above the towering minaret, so that it really did touch the stars.

Atalia stretched out on the carpet. She imagined growing up and up, year after year, until she too could reach the top of the minaret, and touch the stars.

She smiled. Her heart felt full now, just like her belly. This was her Aleppo, the Aleppo of her imagination.

And now it was imprinted onto the walls of the house like her very own form of graffiti.

~ T h e E n d ~

What have I done! Shaking, Lizzy

slammed the cubicle door behind her,

turned on the tap and let water fill the

dirty sink. The pipes in the disused toilet

block screeched their disapproval as the

water belched out in stops and starts.

It had been an excellent plan, even by

Lizzy’s standards. Wait for their rivals’

– the Boxhill Blaggards – final practice

session the day before the big Roller

Derby grudge match. Sneak into their HQ

– The Costa del Coffee on the new high

street. Swipe the Blaggards’ flag – their

prized possession – from its place on the

wall, skate down the road and plant it

between the ginormous granite buttocks

of Sir Francis Drake, the big statue on the

main roundabout into town.

If only Bobby had been looking instead

of messing around on her phone. She

would definitely have seen Phil coming

and made the signal.

Instead he’d caught Lizzy with the flag

and raced after her, knocking over a table

and sending cups and saucers – and Lizzy

– flying across the pavement. Lizzy

scrambled back onto her skates and shot

off down a side alley towards the park.

Phil’s top jammer, Death-by-Darius, gave

chase until Lizzy reached the edge of

Blaggards’ territory, and then he’d just

disappeared. Gone to get the others, no

doubt.

Lizzy stared at herself in the pock-

marked mirror; serious brown eyes.

Haughty high forehead. Red hair tied up

in a messy, too-tight ponytail and skin

itchy with sunburn. She bent down to

examine her shins – tattered and

bleeding. Her skates –

battered. Dammit! It’d be

months before she

could get a new

pair.

There came an

urgent

pounding on

the door,

‘Lizzy? Lizzy

are you in

there? Let me

in!’

‘Go away Bobs!’ Lizzy shouted through the

thick glass pane. ‘Go home – go quickly,

and take the underpass. A storm’s coming

in and you’ll only make it worse if you

stay.’ Lizzy splashed her face with the cold

water, as if that might somehow erase the

disastrous events of the last ten minutes.

No such luck.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ announced

Bobby. ‘What’s a little bit of rain? And if

Phil and his butchers turn up and drag me

off… if they pull off my legs and use them

as toothpicks… if they gouge out my

kidneys with their big fat fingers and

gobble them up like chicken nuggets, it’ll

be all your fau…’

The cubicle door clicked open. A

sunburned arm grabbed hold of Bobby’s

t-shirt and yanked her inside, locking it

behind her. Lizzy crouched down to look

under the door.

No one there. Not yet. Give it time.

‘See?’ Bobby laughed just as she always did

– nothing was serious to Bobby, nothing

that wasn’t food-related, anyway. ‘You do

care. I knew it!’ Bobby flung her gangly

arms around her best friend. A reluctant

smile grazed Lizzy’s lips. ‘You’re a class A

spanner, Bobs. You could be halfway home

by now. Now they’re going to get both of

us!’ warned Lizzy. ‘They’ll be here any

second.’

CRACK. Lightning glanced off the cool

white floor tiles. Lizzy closed her eyes and

began to count, just as her mother had

taught her: 1 potato. 2 potato. 3 potato.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the

distance. Three miles away, but growing

closer. Perhaps, if it got here before Phil,

they might have a chance to escape

before…

Before what?

‘I heard they put a year seven’s eye out

once,’ said Bobby, nonchalantly. ‘Ms

Gilbert had to ease it back in with a bent

paper clip.’

‘Helpful, Bobs. Really helpful,’ replied

Lizzy sarcastically, rubbing her temples.

Think.

A bit reckless, to sneak into a rival team’s

hideout and steal their flag. Completely

necessary though. They started it, and

anyway, if you let a putrid boil like Phil

take liberties you might as well hang up

your skates for good. You don’t survive

on this estate by letting people take the…

‘Lizzy!’ Bobby had taken off her skates

and was standing on the toilet seat,

peeking out of the tiny window in the

direction of the the park gates, ‘I think

you’d better take a look at this.’

‘What is it?’

‘Blaggards.’

‘How many?’

‘All of them.’

Bobby was right, they were all there:

Darius. Cobra Khan. Eddie Cutioner.

Ultraviolet. And right at the front –

holding a large and heavy-looking

Rounders bat – Phil ’Emup: the biggest,

scariest, meanest skater East Sussex

Junior Roller Derby had ever seen.

‘BLUNDERBESS!’ shrieked Ultraviolet,

the smallest and scrappiest member of the

Blaggards’ team; she was short, yes, but

evil, with eyes like tiny chewed up bits of

bus ticket – dull grey and squinting.

‘SURRENDER THE FLAG, you

snivelling maggots. Or get ready to pay.’

‘Remind me why we did this again?’

asked Bobby through gritted teeth.

‘Shut up!’ yelled Lizzy, ‘and help me

think. How do we get out of here alive?’

Bobby shrugged, ‘you’re the team

captain. Time to do what a captain does.

Give them a rousing speech or

something.’

‘Fat lot of use you are,’ tutted Lizzy

under her breath but loud enough for

Bobby to hear. Bobby gave a wounded

look. ‘Sorry,’ sulked Bobby. ‘I had to

check my phone. It was my nan. She’s in

hospital. She slipped again.’

What have I done!

Dammit!

pair.

‘Whatever,’ barked Lizzy, ‘I’ve had it up

to here with you. If you’d only…’

FLASH! More lightning. 1 Potato. 2

Potato. Thunder rumbled, closer this time.

Another bright flash – and in that flash

– the beginnings of an idea.

‘Lizzy. Do you have shoes in your bag?’

wondered Bobby, looking up at the

darkening sky.

‘Yeah, of course. Why?’ asked Lizzy.

‘Put them on,’ commanded Bobby,

climbing down from the toilet seat,

unfastening her kit bag and pulling out a

pair of busted-up trainers. ‘I think I know

what to do.’

The clouds moved in and the rain began

to fall. First there came a few huge

swollen drops. Outside, Ultraviolet

frowned and tugged the back of her

t-shirt up to cover her hair. Very quickly,

almost as if someone had pulled on a

lever, the shower became a downpour and

the downpour became a deluge. Eddie

shifted his weight from one foot to the

other and looked at Phil for instructions.

‘Hold your ground,’ growled Phil, his

beady eyes narrowing.

Eddie was just about to tell Phil where to

stick it when Lizzy came darting out of

the toilet block into the pouring rain –

arms out and yelling like a giant wide-

grinning multi-coloured bird. ‘Oi. You!’

she sang, dancing and wiggling her

backside at Ultraviolet, Khan and Eddie

Cutioner. ‘Bet you can’t catch me!’

She weaved in and out. Dancing between

them, teasing until Khan lurched forward

to grab her, but the heavy rain had

already turned the grass underfoot into

something more like a swamp. The mud

clogged his wheels and he fell face-first,

tripping over Ultraviolet and Eddie

Cutioner as he tumbled.

‘What’d you do that for?’ shouted Eddie

as he went to punch Khan hard in the

ribs. Khan dodged Eddie’s fist and

instead he hit Ultraviolet smack in the

ear. With one free hand, Ultraviolet

grabbed Lizzy’s leg and pulled her,

screaming, into the mêlée. Phil turned to

find them all embroiled in a writhing

tangle of muddy limbs.

‘ENOUGH!’ came a shout from above.

Everything stopped, dead.

Bobby had climbed out of the cubicle

window and onto the roof of the toilet

block. She stood there. Feet apart. The

Blaggards’ flag poised, ready to snap

with a twitch of her wrists. She had a

weird look on her face. Lizzy hadn’t ever

seen it before: Was it determination or…

could it be… anger?

‘Enough!’ Bobby commanded again,

quieter this time. ‘I’ve had a gutful of all

this fighting. So it’s all going to end. You

understand? Right here. Right now. Put

down your weapons and let Lizzy… I

mean Blunderbess, go…

Or the flag gets it!’

Phil had frozen, he stared open-mouthed

at Bobby. Slowly, Eddie removed his

fingers from Ultraviolet’s nostrils and

Voilet unwrapped her legs from around

Lizzy’s neck. Lizzy climbed to her feet

and took a step towards Phil. Gingerly,

Phil ’Emup held out his hand.

‘Now shake,’ commanded Bobby.

Reluctantly, Lizzy took it.

* * *

‘I didn’t realise’, said Lizzy later, as they

walked home over the bridge and towards

the park gates. ‘You know… about your

nan.’

‘You were too busy trying to stick it to

Phil,’ Bobby said, her eyes fixed on the

pavement in front of them. ‘I just wanted

the fighting to stop. Right now I’ve got

bigger fish to fry.’

‘Like visiting your nan?’ answered Lizzy.

She wasn’t quite ready to say sorry.

Almost but not quite.

‘Yeah,’ said Bobby. ‘That, and winning

the league, obviously.’

THE GAMEBy Amy Sparkes

Part 1

It was the day of the Hunt; the one

day of the year when the Wood

Demon allowed a child to enter her

wood and try to claim back what she

had stolen. But no-one had ever

found Megan. Every year, the seeking

child returned empty-handed. And

haunted. For the child who drew the

short straw and entered the wood to

play the Wood Demon’s game, life

was never the same again. The

children returned but they were

changed. Afraid. They wouldn’t

speak of their experiences.

I stood in front of the wood and let

the short straw drop from my hand.

The outer trees were like barriers,

their branches touching each other.

After that, the wood’s darkness

seemed endless. The task was mine,

whether I wanted it or not. Trying to

ignore my mother’s sobs and the

murmurs of the crowd, I took a deep

breath and stepped into the wood.

It felt like someone had stolen the

air. My mother’s wails vanished

instantly. It was still and quiet. Too

quiet. Perhaps time was frozen here,

or didn’t exist. Slowly, I moved

forwards. Would I see the Wood

Demon? Would she destroy me? She

was like an angry storm, I’d been

told. She used to come and terrorise

the village at night. Her branch-like

arms flattened barns and scattered

herds. Then one night, her wooden

hand smashed a window and stole

Megan.

Every attempt to enter the wood had

failed – the trees were like guardians,

coming alive at the Wood Demon’s

whim, apart from that one day of the

year, when she stilled the trees and a

child could enter.

Above me, high branches tangled

together like a huge net overhead.

Then my eyes were drawn to a

wooden box, nestled in some roots. I

walked towards it. Was this a trap?

Should I open it? I needed to know

what was inside. I crouched down

and slowly prised open the lid. I

edged back, unsure. Nothing

happened. There was just parchment

inside. I took it out and read it:

NEVER LOOK BACKWARDS

FOR YOU MAY FIND

THINGS LOOK VERY DIFFERENT

WHEN SEEN FROM BEHIND

I froze. My heart speeding. Look

behind? I’d been worrying about

what was ahead, I hadn’t glanced

backwards at all. What would I see? I

replaced the parchment, closed the

lid and stood up. Fine – I would just

resist every temptation to look

behind. I walked on, searching for

any sign of Megan. Yet all the time,

the thought pricked at my mind,

calling me. Look behind you. What’s

behind you? I tried to ignore it but

pressure built up within me until I

felt I’d explode if I didn’t look.

I peered over my shoulder. The

scream stuck in my throat. Giant

wolves creeping towards me! For a

moment, my legs couldn’t move.

Then – panic. I ran blindly, heading

deeper into the forest, hardly seeing

where I was going until, chest aching,

I paused behind a wide tree,

desperately dragging air into my

lungs.

I tried to calm down. Tried to think.

The wolves hadn’t chased me or

overtaken me. Were they still stalking

quietly behind, waiting to pounce? Or

were they a trick? Should I check? I

shook my head, trying to repel the

thought. I had to focus. Megan.

I saw another box balanced on a low

branch. Opening it might be a bad

idea, but then it could be a clue. I

couldn’t risk missing that, so I

opened it and took the parchment.

YOU WILL FALL

THEN YOU WILL FAIL.

Fall? I would stay on the ground,

and remind myself that whatever

this wood threw at me, I could not

physically fall. A cold gust of wind

swept from behind me, catching

me off-balance and nudging me

forwards. A cold breeze in this

airless forest? I hated myself for it,

but I had to see.

I looked behind.

Just a few metres away, the forest

was crumbling and disappearing into

blackness. And from this nothingness

blew the cold air. I panicked and

began to run – then made myself

stop. Fear stabbed me but I took a

deep breath. I would not fall, I would

not fail. I closed my eyes, repeating

those words until the cold wind died

down.

Right. Focus. Megan. Focus. Megan. But

then my fingers brushed the smooth

trunk on my right and a splintering

sound split the silence. I jumped and

looked sideways at the trunk.

Angular letters were appearing in the

bark.

GIVE. UP.

My stomach lurched. Who – or what

– was writing the words? They must

be right behind me. But I mustn’t

look backwards.

NO. HOPE.

Rustling to my left. All the trees from

here to the forest’s edge were arching

over, forming a tunnel. My heart

ached as I saw my mother at the end,

smiling and reaching for me. Was

this how the other children had

returned? Was this my only chance

to escape? Would something worse

happen if I stayed?

GO.

I could go home – free of this evil

place.

OR. STAY.

FOREVER.

What was carving the letters? I had

to know. I tore my eyes away from

the tunnel. With a growing sense of

dread, I slowly turned around.

An axe was embedded in the trunk…

held by a skeleton, draped in brown

cloth. The skeleton turned its hooded

skull towards me. I screamed and ran

down the tunnel, towards my

mother. I didn’t care if she was real or

not. I couldn’t do this. I’d failed.

Failed Megan, failed the village,

failed myself.

“Come, my darling,” called my

mother, her arms outstretched.

I reached for her, too. I was nearly

safe.

“Come home!” she pleaded.

Then I stopped. For a split second, I

imagined Megan’s mother standing

there, pleading. “Come home, Megan,

come home.”

I felt like the skeleton’s axe had split

my heart. How could I leave? But how

could I stay in this awful place? The

more my mother pleaded with me,

the more I heard Megan’s mother

instead.

“No. Not yet. I’m sorry,” I said,

shakily. “I’ll come home soon. I

promise.”

My mother’s face turned angry as a

winter storm. Then suddenly she

dissolved into black smoke that

hurtled through me like an icy wind

and back into the wood. The Wood

Demon was angry. Or was she afraid?

I began to run back towards the

wood. The tree tunnel was collapsing

around me; splintering trunks and

crashing branches missing me by

inches.

I stepped back into the

woodland. The skeleton had gone but

the words remained.

STAY. FOREVER.

That was the risk I would take. I

wouldn’t abandon Megan. I would

find her and save her. The Wood

Demon’s game would not defeat me. I

hoped. I took a deep breath and

walked on.

~ End of Part One ~

Will Libby get out of the forest alive?

Will she beat the Wood Demon at her

own game and reunite Megan with her

family? Find out next month in Part 2 of

The Game.

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Part 2It’s the day of The Hunt and

Libby has drawn the short

straw. It’s her turn to enter the

wood in the attempt to rescue

Megan, the young girl who had

been stolen by the Wood Demon

years before. Will Libby succeed

and reunite Megan with her

family; or will she return, like

all the others before her,

empty-handed except for the nightmares

that will haunt her forever more?

The old rhyme echoed in my mind.

I don’t think anyone in the village

knew exactly what it meant, except it

spoke of a terrible thing. The Wood

Demon was a half-forgotten story to

scare us. “Behave yourself or the

Wood Demon will get you,” Mother

would say.

Then one day the Wood Demon

stopped being a story. Barns were

flattened, roofs smashed. It was as if

she was searching wildly for

something. Finally she found it:

Megan.

Megan and I had been friends. She

was brave and daring. No one knew

why the Wood Demon took her. Since

that day, the trees had been strangely

wakened, like bark-encrusted

guardians. They wouldn’t allow

anyone to enter except for one day a

year – Hunt Day. Then a child was

allowed in to search. But no one ever

found Megan.

Now here I was. Walking slowly

through this terrifying place with no

idea where I was headed. This wood

was evil. Tricking my mind, deceiving

my senses. The Wood Demon was

playing a twisted game. I wanted to

run away but the thought of Megan

spurred me on. I was her only chance

this year. I couldn’t let her down.

A cold breeze came towards me. What

was happening now? I had to be brave.

The treetops leaned closer. The wood

darkened. The Wood Demon’s net was

closing in. My heart thumped. The

breeze became stronger, colder and I

shivered. I looked left but with a

sudden swish, the trees lowered their

branches and formed a barrier. I

looked right. The trees on that side

did the same.

I was trapped. There was only one way

to go: back. I remembered the message

in the box when I entered the wood.

Never look backwards for you will find

Things look very different when seen

from behind.

The Wood Demon was playing games

again. Slowly, I looked behind. A black

cloud of bats appeared. I watched in

horror as they transformed

into black arrowheads –

flying straight for my head! I

stumbled backwards and felt

the rough bark at my back.

And before I could move

again, two arm-like branches

clamped over my chest.

I wriggled, yelled, pounded

the branches but the tree’s

grip tightened. The arrow-

bats sped closer but I would not close

my eyes. I would not give in to fear.

“Do you see?” I yelled. “I will not be

afraid! I will not play your game!”

The arrow-bats came within inches of

me…then turned to black smoke,

melting into the air. I realised the grasp

of the tree had frozen and I quickly

wriggled out of its grip.

What should I do now? I looked around.

Nearby was the widest tree in the wood

and it captivated me. Its smooth bark

was flecked with black, as if it had been

struck by lightning, but had absorbed

the power rather than been weakened

by it.

I knew this was the centre of the Wood

Demon’s world. Without knowing, I’d

been walking towards the tree since I

entered the wood.

Now I stood beside the tree. A strange

energy surrounded it, beautiful and

terrible, attracting me. I circled the tree,

without meaning to, my eyes fixed on

the bark.

The Wood Demon had drawn me here

so this tree must be the final battle in

her game. Then, as I circled the trunk,

I noticed a word carved into the

smooth bark: MEGAN.

Megan! I was so close! There must be

another clue – what had I missed?

Something glinted at the tree’s roots. I

picked it up – a little flint hand-knife

from the village! Megan must have

brought it with her and carved her

name on the trunk.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. I

needed to be brave for my friend. So I

clasped the flint knife in my sweating

hand and pressed it to the trunk.

As soon as the connection was made,

my feet stopped moving. Something

new was beginning. And so I began to

write with a sense of dread:

L.

From the distance came drumming…

I.

Making its way to the centre, where I

stood…

B.

Branches beating on bark…

B.

The trees were calling.

With a shaking hand, I carved the

final letter…

Y.

Beware the Demon of the Wood

The distant sound of drumming

For when the Tree begins to split

The Demon is a-coming.

There was a deafening crack. The

ground beneath my feet shook for a

moment. The flint fell from my hand.

I watched as the mighty trunk split

from top to bottom. From this split

came a blinding white light. I shielded

my eyes and could see two forms

stepping out of the tree’s heart:

Megan and, towering behind her, the

Wood Demon.

Her body was like a slender but

twisted tree, with powerful, root-like

legs. Two twisting branches were her

arms. Her head was more human,

although streaks of bark reached her

cheekbones and her eyes flashed like

lightning.

“You played well,” she hissed in a voice

like a thousand swishing leaves. “Here

is your prize.” She swept her arm

forward and Megan landed beside me.

“Libby, you shouldn’t have written on

the trunk!” she cried. “I’m so sorry!”

The Wood Demon’s eyes flashed and a

terrible smile crept over her face. My

stomach jolted.

“And the game goes on,” she hissed.

Her wooden hand grasped my wrist.

She pulled me towards the tree. I

didn’t fight – the tree was calling me.

My game had ended…

I was dreamily aware of a giant tree

closing around me.

Suddenly, the demon gave a heart-

piercing shriek. Her grip on my wrist

weakened. Something pulled my other

arm away from the mesmerising light.

There was a thud of wood against

wood and the light vanished. I found

myself laying on the ground, in front

of the tree. Megan stood beside me,

the flint knife in her hand. I looked at

the trunk. It was closed and now bore

the carved word DEMON. She was

trapped.

“I entered the wood for a dare all those

years ago,” whispered Megan. “I never

thought I’d awaken the Wood Demon!

She’d slept for so long, her power was

still weak so I escaped but she claimed

me that night. I started this.”

“It’s over now,” I said. “No one in the

village will enter the wood again.

Then she can’t ever return. Let’s go

home.”

And on the Wood Demon slept.

* * *

The traveller child skipped through

the forest as his family searched for

firewood. He stood at the tree and

stroked the ancient carvings in the

bark. A flint knife on the ground

caught his eye. He picked it up…

Deep inside the tree, something

smiled.

~ T h e E n d ~

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It had been three months, two days

and seventeen hours since Alec’s

mum had died. And he knew this

because he’d been marking off the

days on his special Into Space calendar.

You see, Alec wanted to make sure

that he would never forget his mum,

and he tried to do as many things as

possible that would remind him of

her. He’d drink hot chocolate with lots

of tiny marshmallows floating on the

top. He’d stare up at the bright stars

at night. He’d walk across the kitchen

in slow motion and pretend that he’d

just landed on a strange planet, and

he’d shake the snowglobe that she’d

bought him really fast, then watch all

the bits of fake snow fall. But most of

all, Alec would go and visit the

museum.

It was here that Alec felt that his mum

was with him the most. The museum

had been their ‘special place’, the place

that they would go to every Saturday,

and they would walk around quietly

and whisper secret stories. Alec and

his mum would imagine all the

magical things that could happen in

the museum at night. But now that

his mum was gone, Alec felt like the

museum wasn’t magic any more. It

was like she’d taken that with her.

On this particular Saturday, Alec had

packed his favourite rucksack with

sweets and comics and toys. He put a

photograph of his mum inside his

rucksack, and he crept along the shiny

floor. His trainers made this loud

squeaking sound, and Alec tried to lift

each foot carefully so that he wouldn’t

make too much noise. Everything in

the museum was very quiet, and the

huge display cabinets made Alec feel

really small. Alec walked under the

bones of a giant dinosaur that were

hanging from the top of the roof, and

he could almost hear his mum. She

was tiptoeing alongside him, and he

could hear her say, ‘What stories shall

we make up today? What magic do

you want to happen?’

Alec walked up to a display cabinet

that looked like the North Pole, and

he pressed his face against the glass.

The museum smelled like the inside

of their attic, or dust that had

gathered underneath the couch. Alec

looked inside at the polar bear that

was positioned on a mound of fake

snow. All the times he had been here

with his mum, it had been different

– they’d imagined that the polar bear

had moved. But now, Alec just felt

really sad. The polar bear was dead,

and that made him feel a bit weird as

well. Alec kicked the bottom of the

display cabinet and he could feel the

sadness creeping up inside him.

‘Maybe this place isn’t so special,’ he

said. ‘Maybe it only felt like that

because mum made it that way.’

Alec tried his hardest not to cry, but

as the tears started to fall down his

face, he saw a flash of white out of the

corner of his eye. Alec turned his head

quickly, and he saw that the polar

bear had moved. The bear walked up

to the glass and pressed its nose

against it, right where Alec’s hand had

been. And even though it didn’t speak,

Alec knew that it remembered him.

Alec wiped his eyes and looked around

the museum, trying to see if anyone

else had noticed. But the only people

that were around him were adults,

and they were all too busy staring at

other display cabinets or looking at

their phones. Alec smiled, he liked

that he had been the only one who

had seen the polar bear move.

* * *

The next day, Alec went back to the

museum. He knew that polar bears

liked fish, and so he packed two tins

of tuna inside his special rucksack.

Alec walked up to the North Pole

display cabinet and he pressed his face

against the cold glass.

‘I’ve brought you some food,’ he

whispered, his breath fogging up the

glass.

But this time, the bear didn’t move.

Alec’s heart sank deep in his chest.

What if he’d imagined it? What if the

polar bear would never move again?

Alec closed his eyes, and he willed the

bear to come to life. With every bone

in his body, he wished that it would

just put its head against the glass, like

it had done the last time. Alec opened

his left eye, and then his right, and

sure enough the polar bear was there.

It had pressed its paw against the

glass, and Alec heard it growl softly.

Alec knew that he needed to get inside

the display cabinet, and so he fiddled

inside his rucksack until he found just

the right thing.

‘Aha!’ he said, pulling out a metal

paper clip.

Then Alec walked around to a small

door at the back of the cabinet, and

jiggled the paper clip in the lock until

the door clicked open. Alec crept

inside, on his hands and knees, and sat

down on the fake snow. It reminded

him of playing games in the

kitchen with his mum – of

sitting inside a cloth den, and

pretending to be hidden in an igloo.

But most of all, it reminded him of her

snowglobe. Maybe this is what it was

like, to be trapped inside another

world. Alec pulled the tins of tuna out

of his bag, then tugged at the ring pull

on the top. He laughed noisily as the

bear ate them quickly and he buried

his hands in its thick fur.

‘Are you really happy here?’ Alec said.

The bear just growled, and Alec

thought of his mum. Surely, she

couldn’t be happy away from him and

Dad, just like the polar bear couldn’t

be happy here. So that night, as Alec

looked up at the stars out of his

bedroom window, he decided that he

would save the polar bear. He would

go on a secret mission and break the

polar bear out. And that night, as Alec

closed his eyes, he went to sleep

happy for the first time in ages.

On the morning of the breakout, Alec

made sure to double check everything

in his special rucksack. He’d packed

some rope, a torch, extra tins of tuna,

a map he’d drawn of the museum, his

mum’s snowglobe and a snack in case

he got hungry. Just before closing

time, Alec went into the toilets and he

hid inside one of the cubicles. He

waited there until everyone else had

gone, and the museum was in

darkness. Once the museum was

eerily silent, he flicked on his torch

and he used it to guide him to the

North Pole display. Alec picked the

lock, just like he’d done the day

before.

‘Come on,’ Alec said to the bear.

‘You’re going to come and live with

me.’

The bear, moving slowly and heavily,

followed Alec out. Alec walked

towards the emergency fire door and

pressed down on the large, metal bar.

The door swung open, and the

museum alarms began to screech

loudly around them. Alec covered his

ears with his hands, and in the

distance he could hear the pounding

of footsteps, and see the flicker of

torches.

‘Quick!’ Alec shouted, over the noise,

and the two ran out into the night.

Alec and the bear did not stop

running until they were safely on his

street. The polar bear nuzzled at

Alec’s rucksack. He knew that the

bear was hungry. Alec and the polar

bear crept inside his house and up the

stairs to his room. Alec opened

another tin of tuna, and pulled the

snowglobe out of his bag. Alec began

to shake the globe really fast, and he

watched as all the little bits of fake

snow fell to the ground. His mum had

told him that she would always be

with him, and Alec finally knew what

she meant. The polar bear curled up

on the floor beside his bed, and Alec

looked over towards his Into Space

calendar on the wall. It had been

three months, five days and fifteen

hours since Alec’s mum had died, but

he didn’t feel so worried any more. He

didn’t need to try so hard to

remember her, because her magic

would always be with him – it would

always be inside him. She was there,

and she was real, and maybe that’s

why the polar bear had come to life.

~ T h e E n d ~

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