 
Into the Light

By Kevin Pearson

Copyright 2013 - 2018 Kevin Pearson

Smashwords Edition. Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Katarzyna for Lenora's map and enchanting painting of Lilac Cottage, Devon. It looks so peaceful, I may move in soon! To get in touch with Katarzyna regarding possible art projects, please contact her directly by email.

Katarzyna Waszewska-Adamowska

LABARTE

Email: pracownia.labarte@ gmail.com

For mum, hope you enjoy it.

**Table of Contents**

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

The Spiritual Investigators Supplement

Lenora Summer 2009

Into The Light

Book 1of 3

**Chapter 1**

Rural Shropshire, England. Such a long, hot summer's day saw Abbeyfield road's residents flat out under every cooling shade, lazily sipping icy drinks. Happy young children played relaxing games in golden sand pits, as playmates tipped ice into paddling pools to cool them briefly in the great heat.

Families of birds lined rooftops, stretching shimmering wings like angels, chirping quiet songs in overhanging trees. Chinking bottles were laid outside for the milkman, droning, buzzy fans turned slowly in the thick, muggy air, a ball was lazily thrown against a garage door, and a whining lawnmower idled sluggishly in the distance.

One man oiled his gate, lest it swing open tonight, needlessly disturbing neighbours. Outside number 20, a dog's loud, impatient bark at an impertinent cat quickly morphed to a dry, rasping cough.

A misty haze grew amidst jet black tarmac, dissolving bright, colourful rainbows into the steamy atmosphere. Fresh green leaves sprang restlessly to their feet along the baking road, fuelled by a tiny whirlwind mysteriously spinning dirt to one side, leaving a neat line along the street, then whirling into the deep blue sky at the post box, leaving a wizened old man tottering along unsteadily in her wake. He neatly placed all dirt into a big black bag slung casually over a shoulder.

Just across the road, gleaming sheets billowed in the breeze, flapping tiny wings in vain attempts to escape their captors. Pyjamas unjustly imprisoned between waved bulging arms to and fro, as warm gusts breathed life into them for a few funny seconds.

Soon even the sun drifted off to sleep, sheltering amongst beautiful wispy clouds, allowing her long orange fingers to retreat across darkening blue sky.

At number 16, Pollyanna Fitzgerald gazed out at the strange, funny sights, wondering. Just _what_ _was_ that whirlwind all about?! It had spun along the street once a week this summer, yet no one else seemed to notice.

Today had been long, but terribly exciting for such a curious and clever girl. Today, July 24th 2009 was Polly's tenth birthday. Of course every child's birthday is special, but this one was doubly so for Polly, who'd been planning it for a very long time.

Mum asked what Pollyanna wanted to do when she grew up. Doctor, judge or ballerina? No, Pollyanna only wanted to be an investigator. Nothing else would possibly do!

"A police investigator, dear?"

"No, investigating ghosts, rather than criminals, mum. Mrs Peters is a spiritual expert and has promised to train me up. Helping lost spirits move on and exploring the invisible spiritual world sounds like such fun. She says money doesn't buy happiness, a person's peace of mind is priceless, and in order to get really good at something, it's best to start as young as possible. Then you don't have to constantly play catch up with competitors when older."

Dad happily agreed with the logic, guessing there was an extra secret reason to Polly's choice, which she hadn't shared yet.

"Oh, I see," mum nodded, though she didn't quite then as her poor stomach was playing cruel tricks again.

"I've also learnt people respond more favourably to the slightly older person. Age seems to suggest a certain level of responsibility, inspiring confidence in prospective clientele. Being ten now affords me a distinct advantage in this respect. Meeting a poltergeist is my ultimate goal."

"My word Polly, where do you learn all these words?" gasped mum, always amazed at her large vocabulary.

"I try to read at least one book a week. Mrs Peters says it keeps the brain young, fresh and ready for action."

"Well she'd certainly know. Nearly ninety two now you know," mum mused, quickly adding, "Though she always said her bodies old, not her mind."

Pollyanna nodded favourably and dad winked in tune.

For the next thirty minutes Pollyanna sat entranced by Doctor Who. Mum smiled, thinking what a tremendously good influence Mrs Peters had been for Polly. She thought back, remembering meeting the wonderful lady that beautiful summer's day four years earlier, when they'd arrived to view her house.

A tall, thin woman with flowing grey hair tied neatly in a bun - a remarkably kind face. Rare sparkling eyes hid behind thin, half moon spectacles, immediately instilling a strong sense of trust and reliability. George had thought so too, scratching his thick brown hair, wondering how to shake the nagging guilty feeling at buying a house so obviously loved if the owner really didn't want to leave.

"That's perfectly alright dear," Mrs Peters had piped up, "My daughters have pestered me to move for over a year. Finally I admit I can't quite cope as well as I used to. Arthritis you see?" she said, holding her back as if to confirm it. It was like she'd read his mind George admitted later.

"Now, come closer and let me have a good look at you two. Ah, quite a young couple. Children?" she inquired hopefully, peering down her glasses.

"Yes, we've a four year old daughter reading in the car."

"Reading at four? My, you two have a special one there don't you?" she cried, her lively face lighting up tiny fleeting shadows living in the hallway. At that moment Pollyanna burst through the door brandishing a thick book, announcing it finished. Pollyanna flew up to Mrs Peters, giving her a great big hug. Quite surprising Mum had thought. Polly had always been an affectionate child, though never one to take to strangers so quickly.

The kind lady had proudly shown off her prized collection of vintage hats, one for every day of the week plus spares, then round her immaculately kept home. Everything was spotless and looked brand new, even the antique furniture.

"A clean home is a happy one," Mrs Peters declared, seeing mum admiring the beautifully polished pieces.

"It certainly seems very cosy," mum said, amazed at not seeing a speck of dust.

"See, I told you so!" Mrs Peters crowed in delight, admitting she helped old Tom at the end house keep the road clean every week too. When they arrived back in the kitchen for tea and biscuits, they sat chatting like old friends.

"I can tell you're interested," Mrs Peters said, throwing them an enormous warm, knowing smile. "I always look after my friends," she added mysteriously.

The Fitzgerald's had agreed to buy her home instantly.

"Good, you shall have her at a very reasonable price. I wouldn't dream of selling to anyone else. You are the first family I know I can truly trust to look after her treasures," she whispered, smiling wonderfully again, sounding convinced the house was alive. Mum had wondered if the charming lady had also given her home a name. Mrs Peters leaned forward merrily, "You've made a lady most relieved that her house will be alive again with children's adorable giggles."

8 pm and Doctor Who's screeching music broke mum out of her happy memories. Pollyanna stood up, proudly announcing that five minutes ago she officially turned ten. So bright and early tomorrow morning she'd be opening a junior division of her own investigation agency called: 'Pollyanna's Detection Service' or 'PADS' for short.

Because customers may wish to keep any suspected haunting quiet, the PADS name would assure them that secrecy was guaranteed and that work would be carried out silently and efficiently. Not only that, PADS was a clever reference to Meg, her beautiful black and white puppy who was keen to become a full member, though still only six months old. Mrs Peters had studied the paranormal world for fifty years now, and had kindly promised to help her find her feet. In the meantime she'd keep her fingers crossed for an interesting first client, who could be certain of complete discretion.

"That'll be nice dear," mum said absently, wondering where she'd left her stomach pills. Then the lively little girl stated she was off to bed early, because tomorrow she expected to be inundated with calls for help, for which only a fully refreshed mind would suffice. Waving happily at mum and dad, she dashed upstairs, leaving a blonde blur.

**Chapter 2**

The very next day, the moment sun slowly rose far off on the horizon, Pollyanna knocked loudly on her parent's bedroom door, shouting for dad. Innocent books dropped helplessly to the floor as dad's droopy brown eyes peered round the door. "Is our house burning down, Polly?"

"I should hope not, dad. Today's _the_ day I start looking for my very first client," Pollyanna exclaimed, jumping up and down, "Meg's waiting downstairs and Mrs Peters is here already."

"She finally got my letter. She may stay for a few days, it's complicated, it all depends on her friends. Quick dad. The opening ceremony is an important time for PADS, you promised to help."

"I'll be right down then my pretty little lily pad!"

"See you this afternoon Polly!" mum called weakly.

Five minutes later smiling, tired dad tumbled downstairs, becoming entangled in streamers and tinsel. Dad finally broke free to the wide open front door, strung with three pink ribbons blowing gently in the warm morning breeze. Meg sat there patiently. Pollyanna jumped up and down with excitement. Mrs Peters stood in the corner, so not to take the limelight away from the excited little girl.

"PADS chose you as our master of ceremonies, dad!" Pollyanna announced, granting him a long congratulatory hug and a shiny gold medal, thrusting safety scissors into his hands.

Pollyanna explained each ribbon represented a PADS business member. Mrs Peters was the director at the top. She was lucky enough to be manager. Meg, bless her, was at the bottom just now due to age, but they'd treat her very well. All would receive equal pay.

Dad happily joined the fun. "It's very nice to see you again, Mrs Peters," he said, doing his solemn duty.

As the final ribbon lay helplessly in tatters, everyone ran about the hallway shouting hoorah, bumping into each other. Mum clapped from atop the stairs.

After celebrations cooled Meg collected all soft coloured ribbon, stashing it safely alongside her other squashy treasures in the cupboard under the stairs. Dad said Uncle Roy rang late last night in a terrible state, complaining of strange, scary noises and oddly flickering lights. Finally he'd plucked up the courage to ask dad for help with the electrics.

"Our first case, dad! Quick, we must rush down there while evidence is still fresh. Mrs Peters always says it's amazing how quickly situations can change in the cold light of day."

"I don't know if I can possibly allow that," dad said glumly, then smiling mischievously. "Alright, everyone into the car in ten minutes."

At eight am that warm Saturday morning, the happy party set off on an adventure. As the car left the road Pollyanna became unusually quiet, thinking how lucky she was to have a dad who'd gladly give up spare time helping a daughter live her dreams.

**Chapter 3**

The journey would be one hour's drive deep into the countryside, so dad handed out sandwiches. Mrs Peters saved hers for later. Pollyanna opened a poltergeist survival guide prepared over the last year. Mrs Peters had been a great help, loving discussing ghosts on the phone. PADS were so engrossed in cunning plans, the trip whizzed by. Only tyres crunching over thick gravel stirred their heads to Pemberton Manor where Uncle Roy was gardener.

PADS gasped at the vast manor standing proudly before them. High stone walls invited a maze of green vines to snake skywards, where they skilfully skirted lattice windows. Many reached crumbling chimney pots, wrapping round two weird stone golems living high above. A large crow family had moved in between these odd creatures, carelessly leaving sticks smothered with black, gooey mud to tumble down the roof, spill out of slimy gutters, and pile up in messy heaps on the sprawling lawn far below.

PADS burst out the car, bracing in fresh morning air. Mrs Peters saw a light on upstairs, rushing through the manor's giant front door. Pollyanna was astonished how fast the elderly lady ran. "Er, yeah, amazing at her age," dad agreed, biting his lip, remembering Mrs Peters was old, not disabled.

Meanwhile, Meg had eaten her massive sandwich and was wobbling drunkenly round the drive. Pollyanna grabbed her PADS suitcase, charging into the manor, bumping into Uncle Roy. "How may we help you, sir? As our first client we guarantee complete confidence and satisfaction."

Roy was a tad worried and confused. Dad promised to explain later, winking at the friendly bearded giant, who mumbled his odd tale.

Aunt Mabel and Uncle Roy were house sitting for the Pembertons' who'd gone on a fortnights holiday. They'd slept in a second floor room overlooking the front drive, attracted by its warmth, charming decoration and lavish furnishings. Both enjoyed an amazing sleep the first night, helped by the wonderfully soft mattress and luxurious duvets, which aunt said were perfect for snuggling into.

On the second night Mabel was woken a few times by an odd tapping, but thought it just part of a crazy dream. Roy slept through it all, as it would take a rampaging elephant to wake him.

The third night passed exactly the same as the second, and again with the fourth, only each time sounds grew slightly louder. By the fifth night Mabel was feeling very uncomfortable, sensing someone watching her lie wearily in bed. The unnerving sensation didn't seem evil, more curiosity, though she couldn't be sure - she wasn't used to such strange feelings. Roy left the bedside lamp on, thinking Mabel had been working too hard lately.

That night Roy lay awake to explore the mystery, though not because he suspected the supernatural. Why, he was far too old for such childish fancies! No, he just wanted to find out what was making the strange noises - probably a nocturnal animal or natural sound from a terribly old house. Armed with an everyday explanation, he'd put Mabel's fears to rest.

In the early hours Roy fell asleep, hearing nothing, but Mabel insisted the noise had woken her up again. So the seventh night, Roy drank strong coffee before bed. Tired Mabel quickly fell asleep, oblivious to Roy's cunning plan.

At three thirty am the manor still lay thick with blackness, disturbed only by owls haunting hoots echoing deep in the woods. Under eerie pale moonlight, a low, dull thud slunk out of the creeping darkness.

Roy decided this was warm timbers in the old building cooling after a long day's heat, feeling quite disappointed at such a dull solution. Instantly his eyes grew heavy and a strange weariness crept over him.

Suddenly thuds grew louder and more intense, pounding again and again. Roy's imagination went wild. Was it burglars or broken tree branches crashing into the roof?! His torch had vanished from the nightstand and dim lights flickered in the dark corridor, leaving only thin yellow cracks creeping beneath the shaking door.

Now noises sounded like things being flung against a wall. The eerie sound echoed shrilly through the empty hallways, disappearing downstairs, making the heavy front door shudder and groan.

Luckily the old bed lamp still burned faintly and Roy sighed deeply, praying it was all a terrible nightmare. Deathly silence fell, concentrating fears even further, bringing paralyzing dread. Then the lamp blew out, leaving swirling, gathering darkness. The bedroom door now lay wide open without making a sound and a wild whooshing rushed round the house, stopping outside their room. Although he never saw a thing, he felt someone or _something_ peering in at them.

Furniture shook and creaked, windows rattled and Roy trembled. Bed sheets moved, revealing Mabel shivering in fear, who finally squeaked for help. Instantly the invisible presence left the doorway. Roy bravely carried Mabel downstairs and off to her sister's, where the poor souls been ever since. Uncle had to return here, feeling he owed the Pembertons' a duty of care, spending the past two nights huddled up in a small downstairs room, closest to the front door.

Pollyanna tingled and her heart danced. Was she even still awake?! Still, she must remain professional for the client's sake! Pollyanna assured Roy when PADS solved the mystery the house would be at peace, perking his puffy red face up a little.

Pollyanna's mind whirred faster than ever, rolling facts around, pursing lips, clasping hands beneath her chin. Mrs Peters voice drifted down the long staircase. Pollyanna raced up to the landing, faced with so many tempting options. To the left a small, enclosed staircase wound upwards. Straight ahead a long hallway stretched way off into the distance. Two other rooms lay to the right. Mr Peters called her in the front one overlooking the drive. Her friendly teacher was touching walls in turn, shaking her head.

Mrs Peters handed over a manor map as Pollyanna told her Roy's tale.

"Polly, the energy has departed from here just now. As peak activity seems to be in darkness hours, we'll have our ghost if we return tonight."

"So it's not a poltergeist, dear. You see it takes lots of practice and lots of ethereal energy for a spirit to walk both night and day, and Roy's tale smacks of young, mischievous energy."

"So why did they feel so scared, Mrs P?"

"People with little experience of ghosts often panic. People are often scared by experiences they can't easily explain. You know - fear of the unknown."

"Polly, when I was ten I was terrified that two snakes were about to attack me while I lay defenceless in bed. It wasn't till I bravely lit a candle that I realised they were socks I'd left there earlier."

Pollyanna declared Mrs Peters so silly. Mrs Peters agreed, adding that bringing our fears into the light and confronting them would serve PADS clients' best."

"Right, Polly. Ethereal energy simply means earthly energy which lies all around us. Though invisible and harmless to humans, this matter helps give spirits their form, allowing them certain liberties the living cannot enjoy. Let's quickly tour and plan for tonight."

PADS whirled up the spiral staircase to the beautiful bedroom living at the top. An exquisite painting adorned the door. Sun and moon were represented as forest spirits, dancing in a moonlit glade streaked with a weird orange glow. In the centre a robed elvin piper sat astride a thick tree stump lined by spongy moss. The piper's gnarled face grinned mischievously as he set the musical pace for the rare gathering. Between trees oddly shaped feet, silver eyes blinked towards a glowing rainbow of fairies flitting above a tiny stream. Pollyanna guessed this enchanting scene pictured a rare night in a secret place hidden in those magical woods, feeling urges to discover more.

In this enticing room lay a thin blue carpet, a bed splashed with pink squashed in the corner, and an antique rosewood dressing table, perfect for young girls. An exciting mix of very old dolls and soft toys were sat carefully in a blue velvet bag living beneath an inviting oval window.

Pollyanna gazed over the beautiful countryside far below. For a moment she felt like a princess looking over a magical fairy kingdom. Lively green fields, calming brown enchanted woods, warming yellow flowers dancing in the meadows, and mottled grey hills reaching far into the bright blue sky grew more colourful and alive.

Looking closer brought the wonderful world's inhabitant's springing to life. An enormous brown bird circled hills, speckled fawns nuzzled through tall grass, red squirrels leapt among trees, and rabbit families nibbled lush grass. Strange golden flickers dashed across countryside, brightening everything they touched. Everything looked so peaceful and so incredibly exciting. What she'd give to live here! Mrs Peters smiled, knowing exactly what Pollyanna was thinking and what may be to come. Next they set off down the long corridor on the second floor, where a thick carpet masked their footsteps. Doors on both sides were shut. Mrs Peters cried, 'Onwards ho!'

Shortly after came a dead end, which was an illusion caused by intricate wooden panelling lining the passage and old electric lamps hanging precariously along walls. In fact the corridor carried on further to the right, to an ornate door neatly set into the woodwork. Weird, colourful symbols were skilfully carved into the aging wood, just above a beautiful scene depicting animal musicians.

In the middle panel a pair of exquisitely detailed foxes played delicately stringed violins, allowing their fine crimson coats to ripple in time to the enchanting tune. Perched on the next stand, a delightful otter cub skilfully caressed drums. To her right bees plucked a strangely shimmering harp, releasing magical melodies, and at the end sat a giant seal, gladly providing a deep bass voice via an enormous silver tuba. Out in front swayed an impeccably dressed badger, eyes shining brightly, watching his orchestra develop, admiring each animal playing faultlessly.

Behind the quintet, a magnificent velvet tapestry fluttered and rippled slowly in a southerly breeze, displaying a bewitching scene melding haunting woodland and the tiny beach of an unknown inland sea. The lost cove's glittering shoreline grew intensely realistic when the strange wind's breath whistled downwards, creating the ghostly illusion of a calming tide.

Deep in those ancient woods, soothing whispers from slender young trees danced in half lit shadows, whispering mysterious tales of far off lands, magical incantations and ancient secrets. Nestled between them, just below golden leaf strewn brushwood, mischievous creatures lived in warm, secret dens, though these were exceedingly well hidden. And in gorgeous green valley's yonder, a miraculous magical world awaited the return of a beautiful young fairy princess, and a phantom horseman bore a cryptic seal for a guardian worshipping beneath a gleaming gold dome.

"I sense it has a message!" Pollyanna murmured faintly, still gazing deep into the mysterious tapestry, feeling a strange, indescribable twinge deep down.

Inside the large music room shiny wood panelling crossed the ceiling, wound its way round walls and whirled across the floor. For the enchanting scene on the door to have promised so much, it was so sad finding the love and excitement had gone, leaving only an empty dusty chest in the top corner and dirty rags thick with chalk and age.

An expensive crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room. Directly below sat a thick, circular carpet. Small circular marks were pressed into the wood on the floor behind, which moved sideways, growing fainter.

Mrs Peters pointed at a tiny brown speck on the nearest wall at waist height. It looked just like a small knot naturally present in wood. "What do you make of it, dear?"

"I'm not sure. None of my books mentions anything like this," Pollyanna confessed.

"That's because you're the very first to witness it, Polly. First, we can take the clients word that there's a nightly haunting here."

"Next we'll draw up a plan with as few stages as possible for efficiency. Walk me through the first one, Polly. If you stray I'll nudge you in the right direction."

"Thank you, Mrs P. We found no evidence of a resident spirit in the clients' bedroom. Likewise with the rest of this floor. We may discount downstairs for now because main experiences were reported from this floor only. I felt nothing in uncle's room, yet experienced a twinge outside this one. Then I thought about how the sound of wood being struck can echo through a big house, suggesting occurrences originate in this very room. So our plan should be to come back later with extra equipment."

Pollyanna paced from the wooden knot to the centre of the room. "I'll need to bring a tape measure. There's something else too. This can be so frustrating," she said, puffing cheeks out, cradling her head. Mrs Peters stood quietly, much amused, ever so slightly moving her sparkling eyes towards the floor.

"Oh! We'll need flour, and... if there's any left we can bake our clients a cake afterwards to welcome them home."

"Excellent!" Mrs Peters declared, placing a warming hand on her shoulder. "A marvellous, thoughtful touch. You never cease to amaze me Polly. I'll mark you my star pupil."

"Why thank you!" Pollyanna said, blushing with pride, "But the strange mark on the wall still has me stumped."

"I bet you gain most satisfaction from trying to work out it for yourself first."

"True. I'll answer you tonight."

"Right, downstairs, dad will think I've kidnapped you!"

Further on, the corridor ended in stairs spiralling down to a curvy, cute little laundry room. A full sized clown sat staring back at them from a comfortable corner seat. Mrs Peters suggested he kept the housekeeper company, making sure she did a good job.

Another interesting feature caught Mrs Peters attention. High up to the left of the stairs, a vertical slit ran between a brick where mortar normally lay, allowing a tiny crack of light to sneak through. Ah, this thin shaft probably spun round upstairs underneath the beautiful tower bedroom and out the back of the manor, explaining those exquisitely detailed drawings on the doors. Such striking pieces could never spring purely from an artist's imagination. Their lucky, talented maker had to have seen the scenes first hand to capture them so perfectly.

Mrs Peters knew this home wasn't just visited by ghosts, but decided to let her excitable young friend find that out for herself. It would be such fun hearing her adventures. The kind lady smiled wider when Pollyanna declared she'd never dreamt of a house hiding so many wonderful surprises.

Out there another long corridor ran opposite the main staircase. Three rooms on the left were all locked. At a door under the stairs etched with a suit of silver armour, Mrs Peters remarked only royalty could own such an expensive item.

Dad and Roy were talking quietly near the bottom of the staircase - something about Mrs Peters daughter, Eleanor. Dad swung round in surprise at their quiet approach.

"We thought ghosts had carried you away! Come along then, Polly, I'm done here for the moment. You two have a good time?"

"Yes, thanks. Er, dad, can we come back later tonight? We'll probably only need an hour at the outside. Please?" Pollyanna asked hopefully, throwing a winning smile.

"At the outside, eh?" dad chortled. Roy was equally amused. "Well, you two are in luck. I need different tools, so will have to finish later anyway. This wiring must be older than the house, no wonder it keeps going on and off."

"Brilliant dad. We've ruled out a poltergeist uncle, so tying up a few loose ends should be easy." Roy looked worried again.

"Poltergeist is a German word, meaning noisy spirit. Of course we should never take a translation literally before we've checked it out ourselves. Poltergeist activity is often mischievous, nearly always noisy, sometimes nasty, but most of it can be likened to a petulant young child clamouring for attention. Many other theories hang out there, but it would take too long to express them here," Pollyanna explained.

"I wonder if I'd prefer a petulant child or a noisy ghost?" dad said, nudging Roy, who still looked deeply puzzled. The poor fellow still had a lot on his mind.

PADS climbed into the car, sending Uncle Roy a quick, comforting wave.

**Chapter 4**

Dad drove through the woods as PADS discussed the strange case, before moving onto everyday topics. Dad joked he often wondered how old Meg may be before she got married, suggesting he'd find suitors via pedigree dog shows if she became too choosy.

"How long were you married Mrs Peters?" Pollyanna asked, curious about relationships.

"Fifty three years."

"Wow! So how did you meet Mr Peters?"

"At the local park, Polly. I was walking my dear little Patsy when she took off after a flight of beautiful butterflies. Our park was very big and very busy and Alfred was the only one kind enough to spare his dinner hour helping look for her. Mind you it took a while, but we found her sitting entranced as they flew colourful zig zag patterns across the boating lake. Alfred always used to smile when I said this, but that special day as well as finding Patsy we also found each other."

"Ah, that's _so_ sweet!" Pollyanna cried happily, always pleased by a happy ending.

"Dad, how did you and mum meet and marry?"

"Polly, I asked _thousands_ of girls. In the end mum was the only one who agreed to marry me. Don't ask me why, maybe she was bored."

"Dad, stop it!"

"Okay, I'll tell the truth if you promise not to tell your mother, because she probably still feels a bit embarrassed. There I was, a young lad of nineteen, one hot summer's night in late July, walking home from a cricket match."

"Mum and two excitable friends had watched the match and slyly followed me home. Without so much as a by your leave, your mum rushed up, knelt down, professed undying love, begging me to marry her. Of course me being quite a shy, naive person back then, not the suave, sophisticated social animal you see before you nowadays, it took a lot more persuading than that to accept a marriage offer from an intelligent and pretty girl, so I shrugged the incident off as a silly college prank."

"Erm... however, your mum wasn't easily put off, vowing to make me understand her love was real. Well, the very next day I found her camped out on our front lawn, in a scruffy old tent. She stayed there for six weeks in all weathers, even getting a part time job to pay for camping fuel. I finally took pity on her, agreeing to take her to the cinema, hoping to lose her in the crowds. On the way there we got chatting, when I found her to be most intriguing, as well as cute, clever and thoughtful. The rest is history." Dad sighed in frustration. "I don't think I'll ever get rid of her now anyway, she's learnt my hiding places far too well."

"Yes, _very_ clever dad, we're all sure that's _exactly_ how it happened, although it was quite witty to make a fairy story up so quickly."

"It's quite true Polly, I assure you, only remember not a word to mum or..."

"Yes, mum will feel silly if her deep, dark secret comes out. Honestly, I'm ten, in school, not just crawled into nursery!"

Pollyanna sat laughing over dad's funny ramblings. Mrs Peters whispered in her ear.

"So do you speak to the boy you're going to marry yet? You know who it is already, don't you?"

"Yes, Jamie, but he's a little more childish than me at the moment."

"Oh, all boys like that at your age, you're both still so young. He'll grow up soon and will be perfect for you, I promise," Mrs Peters said, kindly squeezing her hand.

Next it was off to the beach for the afternoon to meet mum and school friends. Mum and dad got deck chairs out the boot. Pollyanna and Mrs Peters walked down to the bustling promenade in front of the beachfront cafe. Meg bravely watched the food hamper leave the car. Her reward was a ball to carry to the beach, which she happily accepted responsibility for.

"Are you staying to build sand castles Mrs Peters?"

"Not today, Polly. I have a very good friend called Janice that I haven't seen in a while whom I promised to visit. She lives in the next town."

"Are you sure? What about your back on the shaky old bus?"

"My back's getting better all the time. Besides..."

"Yes, you're old not disabled!" Pollyanna said, smiling.

"I won't be away too long and shall watch a while from the cafe first, Polly."

Mum and dad sauntered down the hill. Mrs Peters waved them goodbye.

True to her word, Mrs Peters did sit for a while as Pollyanna played happily in the sea. And while she watched, she smiled, fondly recalling hot summer days like these when she was a child long ago. At this very spot she remembered watching ships on the horizon, fascinated as their enormous smoky funnels created crisp new clouds that rose high into the sky, making funny shapes only she could see.

Her smile grew bigger calling to mind how much she worried when they disappeared out of sight, thinking they may have fallen off the end of the world. And as Mrs Peters looked at all the happiness around her, her grin grew larger still, till her infectious good nature radiated outwards. Very soon all the customers were laughing and joking with each other. Even a grumpy old man flashed a quick smirk.

Mrs Peters continued to let memories flow freely, basking in their warm, comforting glow. Ah, everything was still perfect here, just like it used to be! 'twas only the soft ticking of her watch that drew her out of this wonderful bliss. Oh yes, Janice would be waiting for her! It simply wouldn't do to break a promise. A bus pulled up and Mrs Peters swiftly jumped on, cleverly giving a lolly to a young passing child, with a wink and a finger to her lips. Ah, such a happy, bright young child with the imaginative, creative look of an artist.

As the journey continued Mrs Peters felt in harmony with the world, her mind aglow with possibilities. But yet, try as she might, she couldn't quite dismiss the growing, nagging feeling that perhaps she had forgotten something, some tiny little point that hadn't been properly addressed. Still, nothing could be that important and why spoil an otherwise magnificent day? Right now she was off to see her great friend Janice, which was all that truly mattered.

While Mrs Peters bus trundled onwards, mum and dad sat enjoying the sun.

"It's a big shame about Mrs Peters, isn't it?" mum ventured after a time.

"What's that love?" dad asked lazily, trying to steal some sleep.

"You _know_ , George. We _have_ to talk seriously about this soon. We could start by telling Polly how Eleanor rang last month, saying Mrs Peters wouldn't be able to visit for a while. Then we explain how the long train journey tired her out, making her back worse and such."

"Well I'm not surprised, she's nearly 92 you know," dad replied absently.

"George, you know perfectly well what I'm getting at. Maybe we should just grit our teeth and tell Polly all about it. I'm sure she'd understand."

"Yes, Margaret, but look at her," dad said, pointing at the giggling kids racing across the beach, "She has such fun with Mrs Peters and Meg. They've only just started their little investigation agency too. She never knew her gran and still thinks of Mrs Peters as such."

"True, only it seems a little unkind either way. You _do_ understand, don't you George? Oh, it's so terribly hard trying to decide what's best. Even though we don't believe, would it be too much of a stretch to imagine Mrs Peters will tell Polly herself? She had such an amazing way with kids, always knowing exactly the right thing to say and the right time to say it," mum said.

"Some people are lucky to have that sort of mind. Roy says it's a rare gift folk are born with."

"Yes, I suppose I'm fussing over nothing again."

"Probably," dad said, adding, "They'll both be fine, I feel it."

**Chapter 5**

At 6pm the Fitzgerald's were back in the car. Mum said her friend would take her home soon. Dad planned on heading to Pemberton Manor to finish off, though Mrs Peters was running a little late. A rusty, spluttering old bus soon dropped off a very refreshed Mrs Peters, who'd probably sneaked a nap on the way back. Dad politely opened the back door for her. "Thank you George. Sorry I'm late. I'd so much to talk about."

"No problem Mrs Peters," dad said, carefully closing the car door behind. Off the happy party went.

"I had a simply wonderful time with Janice, Polly. We exchanged gifts and revisited old photos and diaries. Those olden days were a real hoot! I shall certainly visit her again if I can," Mrs Peters exclaimed.

"Brilliant. Ah, I'll tell you my theory about the strange swirly mark on the music room later when I've more facts, Mrs P."

"Good. Oh, when dear Janice heard all about you she asked me to give you this beautiful thing." Mrs Peters produced a brightly shining hairclip. Minute ornate designs covered its magnificent silver coating.

"Thank you Mrs Peters, you are so kind. Please thank Janice for me. It looks very old," Pollyanna remarked, slowly turning it over.

"Janice's gran gave it to her long ago, saying to gift it to a young girl who'd treasure it as dearly as she had."

Pollyanna promised to treasure it forever, finally managing to break her magnetic gaze from the item and carefully placing it in a knapsack.

As countryside whizzed by faster and faster, PADS excited talk grew louder. Even Meg joined in, feeling full of energy. Sun had long set when dad rolled up the manor's drive. Pollyanna rushed out the car, frantically checking the front windows. Pemberton Manor looked way more sinister in dark shadows than bright, warm sun. Stone gargoyles perched on pedestals high above peered down menacingly, those adventurous vines wandered more uncertainly and the full moon hid behind a cloud. Even the resident crow family were more subdued, keeping their heads bowed quietly in the background.

So far the only light sprang from the ground floor room where Uncle Roy sat nervously. Suddenly Pollyanna's noticed a tiny glowing flicker in the front bedroom. "It begins!" she shouted, dancing up the steps, budging the front door open.

"The more eyes the better!" Mrs Peters warned lightly. Dad smiled that same old smile, never tiring of seeing the wonderful sight of a child carrying such spirit and enthusiasm for life and her endless mysteries.

Pollyanna told Roy they were back on the case, then PADS gathered in the front bedroom. Mrs Peters had modified dad's old electrical meter to measure spirit energy, which is similar, but can't be read as easily.

"As we can't afford fancy new electromagnetic field reader contraptions, we'll use our instincts and your volt meter we adjusted earlier. It will serve us well during later investigations when these expensive devices can malfunction. What's our next move, Polly?"

"I've inspected walls, especially corners. I've learnt ghosts sometimes hide there, as few people use room corners for anything, but with no success. Overall electrical levels are slightly higher than normal in here, but whatever I saw seems to have gone, or wishes us to think that way."

"So, I'd say the light in the window was just residual energy left over from this morning and the night before. We should move on, checking other rooms in turn. As dogs can detect spiritual energy, Meg can confirm our results," Pollyanna suggested.

Meg rolled on the floor to get the ghosts scent on her fur, then took off yapping at her important task. Girls followed closely. A short time later, Meg led them to the music room, sitting at the door proudly.

Inside Pollyanna measured the room's length and width. If her theory was correct, height wouldn't be an issue. Next, working quickly and quietly, girls sprinkled the floor with flour, leaving only a clear thin strip round the outsides, which they used to exit the room. Padding softly down the corridor, they sat at the top of the stairs planning carefully. Pollyanna wrote notes up to 'Stage 2.'

10 minutes later dad stood waving at the bottom. Pollyanna hurried down to whisper for a minute. Soon girls slipped back to the music room where Meg still sat on duty preparing for stage 3.

To Pollyanna's surprise, the door was locked, so she peered through the keyhole. All lay strangely silent and undisturbed. Even nightly sounds from nearby woods had stopped. A few quiet minutes passed as the girl whispered thoughts to Mrs Peters, then a single thud broke the silence, like a workman splitting a hefty wood chunk. Pollyanna managed to stifle a cry. "The knot's an entry point!"

Pollyanna flew back to the keyhole. In the far right corner, grey mist swirled strange, crazy circles across the room. It quickly massed together, morphing into a small, blurry shape, whose outlines became slightly visible, leaving inside hollow and transparent. The shape disappeared, corridor lights dimmed, flickered, then the door clicked open softly.

Pollyanna sneaked along the wall to where the mysterious mist had formed. Mrs Peters crept in the opposite direction, near the empty chest. Both stood breathless in the shadows. Just as Pollyanna reached the corner, the mist warped and vanished. Tiny footprints appeared in the flour, stopping near the door. Thuds echoed through hazy darkness for what seemed forever. Pollyanna stood transfixed, fearing the tiniest movement may scare the spooky visitor.

Suddenly the noise stopped, but hushed footsteps snuck under the chandelier, dimly turning its lights on. Air grew lighter and Pollyanna finally managed to breathe quieter. Mrs Peters watched proudly. A slightly out of tune musical note pirouetted round the room. Another, then another pierced the darkness. Faint and faltering at first, notes grew more entrancing by the minute.

Chandelier's faint glows highlighted small squares of the lonely player - tiny hints of clothes and tufty hair. Pollyanna almost shouted with glee. This strange, talented soul shouldn't be playing solo in a creaky old manor. Confusion lay hidden in the tune, a rising happiness at the delightful music and a deep underlying loneliness, so Pollyanna stepped forward, desperate to offer comfort.

"Careful, you'll spook him," Mrs Peters whispered. But the spirit jerked in fright, became solid, taking off towards its entry point.

"Hello, I'm Pollyanna," she said gently. A tiny amazed boy stared back. With his escape route cut off, he headed to where Mrs Peters waited patiently. Seeing her, he stopped once more, standing uncertainly near the light again as the lady moved up, calling softly. In the dim glow grew a pale boy, sporting tousled black hair, a thick tweed jacket, matching trousers and fine leather shoes. At once he realised the old lady wasn't a threat, smiling a little as if recognising her.

"Hello my dear," smiled Mrs Peters.

"Hello... gran."

"If you like, dear. Perhaps you'd like to sit down with me under the light and chat?"

He nodded enthusiastically. Mrs Peters sat on the chest in the dimly lit circle and he leapt onto her knee. "What's your name child?"

"Benjamin Dooley."

"I'm Mrs Peters. This little girl is Pollyanna."

Pollyanna crept closer, bursting to get a better look. Benjamin smiled shyly, endearingly gesturing part of an old dance routine.

"My, my child, you're a lively one. I bet your parents called you Ben, Benny or Big Benny the brave," she joked, tickling him mercilessly.

"Yes, they did!" he cried, squirming and giggling in ecstasy.

"How old are you, Benny?"

"Five, I think."

"What school did you go to?" Pollyanna asked.

"None, sick," he answered, rubbing his belly.

"What's your parent's names?" Mrs Peters asked.

"Mama and papa," he declared confidently. "They went away when Benny went to sleep," he added sadly. Then his smile returned. "But you will take me to see them, won't you gran?"

"Of course. That's what we're here for," Mrs Peters cried, just as Meg padded in, keen to get in on the action.

"Good doggy, sit," Benny said eagerly. Meg obeyed, having sensed him all the time. Benny whispered in Mrs Peters ear. "Yes, dear. But first a quick story to help you off to sleep. Then you can tell mama and papa all about it when you wake," Mrs Peters promised, picking a book from inside the chest.

"Such a beautiful sight," sighed Pollyanna, watching dreamily as Benny sat entranced, pointing out pictures and giggling. As the story finished, little eye lids grew weaker and weaker. Soon he fell fast asleep, cuddling deep into Mrs Peters, who laid him down on the carpet, tenderly placing her soft hat beneath his head.

"Goodbye my dear child, sweet dreams young Benjamin," she whispered softly, signalling to Pollyanna and Meg to shield eyes and turn backs. Mrs Peters stood a moment, captivated at the sight of the sleeping child, then drew strange symbols in the air with fine powder. For a second, nothing. Then lights crackled and hummed, their invisible energy whipping flour round like a whirlwind. Weird musical tapping circled walls faster and faster. Lights grew to a blinding white brilliance, popped, then all was still.

"Good work everyone!" Mrs Peters said proudly. PADS took in the cool fresh air and the wonderful sense of happiness, when dad and Roy burst in.

Flour was piled up against walls in a neat line round the outside of the room, apart from the small white footsteps left across the polished wooden floor. On the rug a fading outline remained where Benny had lain minutes earlier.

Pollyanna quickly explained events using language boys would understand. Roy promised to clean up all the mess, shaking Pollyanna's hand. Everyone saw the change in him. He was far more relaxed, and a bright spark glowed in his big blue eyes.

"Right, thanks Roy. Its nine thirty already, high time we got to bed. Polly, you carry Meg before she falls asleep," dad said. Pollyanna promised to write the Pemberton's a full report with future recommendations. Roy waved them off at the front door, beaming brightly.

**Chapter 6**

PADS reviewed the case on the way home, though Meg seemed more interested in the sandwich hiding in Mrs Peters handbag. Pollyanna squirmed on her seat, fearing insomnia tonight if Mrs Peters couldn't answer some questions. Mrs Peters was very happy to help.

Benny's reading book had his name and a date, meaning he'd been in the manor for about 60 years. No wonder he was so lonely. Benny was shy and curious about the strangers in his house and really just wanted someone to play with. The moment Roy and Mabel seemed scared, he left, proving he wasn't a nasty ghost.

Maybe the Pemberton's didn't report any problems to anyone earlier in case folk thought them crazy? Or perhaps they weren't very sensitive to spirits energy and hadn't actually ever sensed it?

The dimming lights, Benny playing invisible instruments and the books appearing in an empty chest was weird, but explainable. You see, using ethereal energy and raw electricity, Benny recreated items precious to him when he was alive. This worked quite like a wish and he'd obviously had plenty of practice.

PADS couldn't see Benny straight away because he occupied a strange space between our world and the complex spiritual world. His shock and confusion at seeing them kept him visible in our world at first. His later trust kept him solid. Mrs Peters said she'd barely even touched the surface of the complicated subject, promising to share more when the time was right.

"Ghost hunting is tiring work, isn't it?" Pollyanna sighed, leaning back. Mrs Peters agreed.

"Why do you keep coming back to see us Mrs P? It's a very long way." Pollyanna asked absently, finishing case notes and slowly slipping into tiredness.

"I thought you'd have worked that out long ago my special little friend," she replied, gently tweaking Pollyanna's nose.

"Have you always loved kids?"

"Ever since I was one myself, when dinosaurs roamed the earth."

"Have your daughters had babies yet?"

"No, but soon. I think a boy will be our first."

"So why do you come back?" Pollyanna pressed, unable to let an interesting answer slip by.

"Many reasons really," Mrs Peters replied dreamily as her mind wandered, thinking back.

"To make sure you're all getting on alright. To visit my old house, sit in my favourite seat while wonderful memories flow around, and to see gorgeous little Meg," she whispered, fluffing fur as the contented pup dropped off to sleep.

"And to feel soft ground beneath my feet, warm sun on my skin, to gaze at beautiful flowers and smell their sweet perfume while visiting Henry in your garden."

"Oh, Henry! Meg loves him. She thinks Henry's her dad. I'm sure he teaches her tricks. Meg always comes up with something different after chasing him round when he's curled up in a ball," Pollyanna giggled. "He's very old. Books say hedgehogs are very lucky to reach ten."

"Henry was old when I met him long ago, Polly. I'll bet my best Sunday hat he's at least twenty."

"Jeez," Pollyanna cried loudly, sitting up and drawing an enormous breath, "How does someone become _that_ old?"

"I like to think it's because they're happy, content and are always making exciting new plans."

Pollyanna liked the sound of that, falling silent, feeling more tired as the long journey continued. Dad stayed quiet too, concentrating on the dark, bendy road. From time to time he glanced in the mirror, smiling at conversation snippets, pleased everyone had fun and Polly would get a good night's sleep.

Eleven thirty pm at No 16 Abbeyfield Road. Peaceful silence was broken by a gentle tapping on the front door. Mum answered, greeted by dad bearing a silly apologetic look as he gazed down at the sleepy girl in his arms.

"George, what do you mean by keeping our daughter out till this time?"

"Sorry mum," dad whispered, "Polly was determined to complete her investigation, which took longer than first thought. I said we could finish another night, but she insisted PADS were almost there. Quitting at such a desperate hour would only serve to show clients a distinct lack of commitment, and that was by no means the type of reputation she wanted to foster at such an early stage in her career."

Mum laughed knowingly. "Alright, you're forgiven. Quick, get her upstairs."

Dad put Pollyanna to bed, then quietly slipped out the room. Mum was waiting in the corridor. "The Pemberton's phoned, thanking you two for helping out. Rose said she's very happy knowing kind people looked after the manor so carefully. They think Polly is such a sweet, conscientious girl and we should be so proud. Mr Pemberton promised to find her a present next week. It's very kind of them to join in her ghostly games."

"Conscientious, eh?" dad said. "I'll remember that and tell her tomorrow, she'll be overjoyed. I'll leave a lolly tonight for all her hard work. Oh, one for Mrs Peters too."

"Don't be so naughty George," mum whispered, "You know Mrs Peters is way too old for such things. Think of her teeth!"

Mum and dad crept downstairs. Pollyanna lay safe in bed, totally exhausted. Before dropping off to sleep, she remembered it was polite to thank friends who'd helped her tonight.

"Thanks mum, thanks dad. Good night and thank you Meg," she mumbled sleepily to the cute, faithful little puppy lying at her feet. Meg was already sound asleep, even more tired than mistress. It's just possible she heard though, as a tiny excited whimper sneaked out.

"Good night Polly," Mrs Peters whispered softly, planting a tender kiss on her cheek, adding affectionately, "See you again soon I hope."

As Pollyanna lay in that funny little stage between waking and the wonderful land of sleep, a soft murmuring welled up from the depths of her heart. It was quiet, so quiet in fact one would need to be very close indeed to hear.

"Good night Mrs Peters. _Thank you for a truly wonderful day_."

"My pleasure Polly, my special little child. Sweet dreams dear," Mrs Peters replied, smiling sweetly. Blissfully happy she'd helped a little girls dream come true, she gladly took her favourite seat near the window.

Indeed Pollyanna's dreams were sweet and of the most endearing nature. Giant talking beach balls, laughter in the warm sun, being chased through sea by rainbow coloured fish with funny painted faces made of ice cream. Slipping out the waves, she found herself in a new home. Posters advertising PADS decorated walls and busy office staff milled round. Mrs Peters lived next door, saving her long trips from Eleanor's.

Most of all she dreamt how proud mum and dad would be at her success, days when Meg grew bigger and even more helpful in an investigation, and the excitement of meeting her first poltergeist. But Pollyanna would remember this thrilling first ghost hunt fondly forever, enjoying the strangest feeling it would always be the sweetest. As these heavenly visions faded away, Pollyanna drifted into a deep, intensely peaceful sleep.

Eleven forty five pm. Mrs Peters sat watching Pollyanna for a while, making sure she was sound asleep and content. Then she silently picked up precious wool and knitting needles from her soft leather suitcase kept in the cupboard behind. Forty years old and still good as new she smiled, holding it up proudly and leaning back in the rocking chair.

Outside the bedroom, way above in the starry sky, the bright full moon sneaked out from behind a cloud, sending brilliant, glittering moonbeams shooting down from the heavens. His gorgeous blue rays danced across meadows far off in the distance, at long last arriving at the tall oak tree in the garden, weirdly lighting up his old, ancient branches and casting strange shadows outside the room.

Just as the clock read twelve, the ghostly blue light pierced the windowpane, continuing right through Mrs Peters strangely flickering body, lighting up the area with a warm, comforting glow and carving tiny little shapes on the cushioned chair below. From the moment the clock struck twelve till its hands passed three, all that could be heard in that peaceful room was the gentle snoring of a tired young girl. But if one were to listen that little bit harder, they might just make out the _click, click, click_ of a kindly old lady's needles knitting yet another baby sized cardigan late into the early hours.

**Chapter 7**

Fierce midday sun reflecting off the bedroom wall woke Pollyanna, warming her soft pink pillow, moving on to sleepy blue eyes. Ah ha! Sunday morning - time to feed Henry his weekly treat! A relaxing country walk with the family lay ahead too. Rushing downstairs singing happily, she missed mum and dad sitting quietly in the TV room.

Pollyanna grabbed chocolate buttons, speeding down the garden to a thick holly bush. Henry's home was marked by two sticks standing either side of a tiny hole. When pushing his way out, the sticks closed the entrance after him with a prickly thorn gate. Henry was very old and very clever.

"Henry, are you in today? Come on out, silly!" Anxious minutes slipped by.

"Henry, I'm sorry I didn't say goodnight. I was far too tired, so dad took me straight to bed and I slept in. Oh, do forgive me, do. I hope we can still be friends. I'll leave your treats outside if you like and come back later if it's more convenient," Pollyanna offered kindly, peering as closely as she dared into his drive, making out a wet, black nose twitching just around a corner. The wily old great granddad didn't want to sulk too long and miss out on these delicacies. One minute later a long, probing snout poked through the entrance, then out popped a walking ball of thorns.

"You're looking well Henry, enjoy," Pollyanna said, offering buttons. Henry sniffed deeply and tucked in. Meg padded out the back door, hoping for a treat too, by politely eyeing the situation. Pollyanna stroked Henry's long, twitching nose. He knew he was lucky having a good friend when times were cold and tough.

Henry felt so good today in the cheering sunshine, he figured some fun was in order, nodding at fluffy Meg. Seconds later a tight prickly ball rolled over the lawn like lightning. Meg chased closely, yapping with joy.

Up, down, side to side, Henry whirled in wide circles, making them smaller and smaller. Soon the clever chap tired of making boring circles, moving on to clever patterns, wondering how long it would take the girls to understand them. A square, triangle, then a tree, representing the outside of his magnificent home.

Pollyanna laughed herself silly at the amazing sight, quickly grabbed flour from the kitchen, sprinkling it over the lawn.

Henry summoned up all his energy, bowed graciously, then drew a massive square, with a cross inside stretching to each corner. He finished by rolling onwards down the middle of his piece and continuing through his door, which closed neatly behind. Like all great performers, he left an adoring audience applauding loudly and begging for more.

Henry knew only really hard work would top that - a nice nap would help think things over. His friend's happy voice drifted down the hallway. "Thank you Henry, that was amazing. Dad will post worms through your letterbox."

Henry grunted happily. Free worms, eh?! Granddad would have laughed till he fell over at such a silly idea! Henry laughed too, falling fast asleep on a thick mossy bed.

Dad popped his head out the kitchen window, to see what all the whooping was about, just missing the final act.

"Dad, look what Henry did!"

"I'm sorry I missed it," he said, "Time for lunch and an exciting river walk."

**Chapter 8**

For the next two weeks Meg, friends and parents kept Pollyanna busy, though she still dearly missed Mrs Peters, whom she hadn't seen since that thrilling Saturday night in late July. So today, August the 8th, found Pollyanna pondering times shared with the kindly lady. Pollyanna would write her a letter soon after finishing homework for the summer holidays.

At tea that night mum announced the Pembertons' had invited them to a party at their Manor on Saturday night, asking them to stay over. Pollyanna thought how nice it would be meeting her first clients in person. And exploring the beautiful manor again would be divine.

Pollyanna rang Mrs Peters to see if she was free that night too. Mum and dad watched sheepishly. Pollyanna thought Mrs Peters must be out visiting, as there was no answer. Dad suggested trying early tomorrow, despite mum's sneaky nudges. Pollyanna didn't notice, she was already planning a diary of the night's events. Mrs Peters loved reading after all.

Pollyanna hardly slept a wink, whispering her hopes and dreams to sleeping Meg, praying to stay in the beautiful tower bedroom. She didn't remember sleeping at all till dad said how loudly she'd been snoring. "Like a herd of seals. I thought the circus had come to town! Your mouth was open so wide, scouts could have set up camp!"

By late afternoon Pollyanna finished her homework. Now she could relax for the holidays and have some real fun! Sadly Mrs Peters still wasn't answering the phone. So, 5 pm Saturday, the Fitzgerald's arrived at Pemberton Manor. A very smart couple introduced themselves as Rose and Gerald Pemberton. Rose's angelic voice hummed, floating towards Meg and Pollyanna, holding them spellbound. Rose gazed back, equally fascinated, declaring Pollyanna the most gorgeous creature she'd ever met - exactly like her daughter Charlotte when younger. Pollyanna giggled. Kids would have lots of fun with Rose around.

Rose laughed, swirling them round and round in a funny dance. Meg snuggled up to Rose's ankles. "Gerald, promise to stop me stealing her," Rose joked. Gerald promised to do just that, leading them down a long corridor to a massive room where a king's feast sat atop an enormous table. Candlelight swathed the room with a delightfully mysterious and exciting glow, and the friendly company were full of lively chat.

Afterwards they played exciting charades in front of a roaring fire. Later Mr Pemberton gave a tour of the house, while Rose spoke of improvements to heating and lighting, without losing the old places charm. The Fitzgerald's gasped at the music room. Inside had been reproduced exactly as pictured on the door, as per PADS recommendations.

"We found everything waiting in the attic, rubbed them down and had the tapestry professionally cleaned," Rose said proudly, feeling the room was much happier now.

"It's beautiful!" mum murmured. Dad said it was almost like being at the mysterious cove.

When the excited group moved downstairs, the glowing tapestry fluttered gently in a secret wind. A tiny water droplet slid off a silver tassel, dissolving on the dry wooden floor. Moments later vague shapes appeared behind each stand, producing enchanting sounds that couldn't be heard by humans.

When the old grandfather clock struck eleven, Rose said mum and dad could take the front bedroom later. Pollyanna bit her fist, holding Meg tightly. She simply couldn't bear it! The clock ticked slower than ever, till Rose said she could have Charlotte's old room at the top of the turret. "Have fun. Remember to talk to the genie," she whispered mysteriously.

Pollyanna settled down for the night in her perfect room, sitting regally at the polished dresser, peering deep into the mirror. Whilst brushing hair she noticed reflections of the bed seemed to be slightly magnified. Other objects almost vanished. At one angle the room seemed to stretch on forever.

Meg nestled into the soft inviting duvet, whining in sheer delight at Pollyanna's sleepy fancies - "I wish I lived here and were a princess for a day." Words tinkled, sounding oddly out of touch with reality, echoing shrilly throughout the deeply relaxing space.

Outside, the night lay dark and still, sprinkled by soft, gentle whispers of the sleepy countryside preparing for a dreamy night's sleep.

Pillows and covers felt like fluffy baby clouds. Pollyanna snuggled in, overwhelmingly safe and content, closing her eyes for a moment, intending to sneak one last look around before sleep, but instantly started snoring. Unlike this morning, snores grew much quieter, more refined, more of a delicate, musical hum.

**Chapter 9**

Pollyanna woke yawning, happily lying in the soft, silky covers comforting warmth. Early sunlight highlighted delightful shapes on the curtains and air hung fresh and cool. Ah, something had changed during the night. Mum tidied at such odd times. Pollyanna sprang out of bed at a sudden thumping rushing from somewhere below stairs. Had Benny returned? This needed investigation before breakfast.

The wardrobe revealed her clothes had been replaced by a striking blue dress. Mum had probably collected her clothes to wash. Rose must have left one of Charlotte's dresses, knowing they'd fit. The outfit dripped perfection, like a dream bridesmaid's dress fawned over in fashion magazines. Slipping into the silk garment, Pollyanna found shoes, bracelet, gold hair band and a matching throw.

Meg tumbled off the bed, choosing a soft ball from the toy bag. Girls flew down the spiral stairs, finding the thumping coming from the kitchen at the bottom of the main stairs. Pollyanna swung the heavy door open, overwhelmed by smelly, herby bread and melted chocolate. A delightfully smoky atmosphere had a different coloured scent lingering on each wispy trail.

Meg went wild at queerly shaped pots and vessels filled with strange, exotic vegetables and odd gloopy, creamy substances that bubbled, bounced and spat as though alive. A large rosy faced woman appeared through the colourful mist, wearing a gleaming apron as well as a friendly smile. "Morning princess," the lady cried gaily, mercilessly pounding a huge slab of dough.

"Morning! And you are?"

The cook appeared flustered, then treated the strange question as a child's game. "Daisy, your head baker, princess."

"I'm Pollyanna. This is my good friend, Meg."

Daisy was very chatty, living to cook and dream up exciting new recipes with exotic ingredients. Pollyanna told of PADS, while Daisy talked of her kind husband and clever pets. Pollyanna said she'd look around till breakfast. Daisy said Phillips would call her when it was ready, promising to make pretty Meg a special pie later. Pollyanna found all bottom floor doors locked. Adults must be chatting outside in the morning sun - through the enormous front door!

After a gigantic effort, our friends stood on the step, blasted by incredibly bright, colourful light. Blinding beams faded quickly. Fuzzy mixed colour burst through, suddenly popping sights into view. Girls gasped. Two gigantic suns sat high in the sky, one burning orange, the other pleasant amber. Ah, a small blue one lived further back in the middle.

A grand paved entrance stretched way off into the distance, flanked by tall green trees shimmering brilliantly in sunlight. Past the long drive, old wooden house tops nudged over a rise. Higher still, a shiny golden spire where folk gave thanks for their happy lives.

Pemberton Manor was now shaped more like a freshly finished palace. Gargoyle's still peered down from the roof, but once stone bodies now shone bright marble, eyes gleaming like precious gems, charged up by the magical suns. The noisy crow family were now doves floating sweet serenades downwards.

Of course, this must be a fabulous dream! The magical forest scene on the bedroom door and the music room's lifelike tapestry... Some strange magic had granted her wish to be a fairy princess for the day! But where was this world? Was it all real? What were the rules? Gardens screamed déjà vu - all so weirdly familiar, yet not, so intensely colourful like a super tuned TV - a magically enhanced version of Pemberton Manor's sprawling grounds. Everything seemed set out so thoughtfully, like each had a purpose or responsibility and moving anything may upset a perfect balance.

Light, glistening mist rose from plants, tracing pretty patterns high into the air, and hazy strobing light flitted amongst fabulous statues. Everything kept growing so intensely beautiful and colourful as suns rose further. Meg ran in circles, yapping happily.

Instead of a manicured lawn to the left, mighty green fields gradually stepped downwards, where the wise, generous king must hold fairs for adoring villagers. Under a blossoming apple tree, a silver sundial read just after 4, 5 and 6 am. Where the third suns light passed left the darkest shadow.

The two visitors wandered through beautiful gardens, skipping between gushing fountains and monuments of brave knights. At the foot of a miniature gold temple, sweet perfumes wobbled their eyes. For the next few minutes, statues sprung to life and talked to each other, flashing silver shapes shone from nearby woods, and orange flames streaked across the sky.

When eyes relaxed again, a glorious yellow flower pulsed and gleamed brilliantly like the noonday sun. Its centre boasted colourful revolving rings rising upwards, growing into a tiny cone. A large bendy creature hovered above it. Crisscrossed stripes blazed down its unfeasibly long body so quickly, hiding where one fantastic colour ended and another began. Pollyanna drew closer as it lifted off sideways. Meg followed, anxious to play, but she lost sight of him as he buzzed through a fountain, humming and dropping colours into the sparkling water. Pollyanna picked the beautiful flower, fitting it neatly through Meg's collar. To her delight, another flower grew in its sister's place. Mrs Peters would love this place.

Pollyanna gazed over the great beauty, vowing to become the fairest ruler of this beautiful kingdom. What to do next? Ah, in order to rule fairly a princess needed to understand how the world worked, so she heading back inside.

Behind western bushes, a tiny blue mist hung low, dropping tiny blue dots. Pollyanna didn't notice it sneaking amongst thinning morning shadows. Only Meg whiffed the bizarre scent, curiously sniffing air.

On a little table where the phone had been sat a silver bell which sung a delicate tune, ending in a fairy tinkle. Phillips, the butler, sprung out a corner seat, allowing a manuscript to float to the floor.

"Yes, princess?" he purred, producing a gleaming smile, which almost met his luminous green eyes. Those pupils were unusually small though, like pin pricks.

"Phillips, I have questions. Now if they seem a trifle strange, pray indulge me," Pollyanna said, smiling sweetly. Like Daisy, Phillips seemed used to playing along with kids games, thinking the princess was pretending be an investigator.

Pollyanna found this was indeed a fairy kingdom named Lenora. Her name was Princess Penelope Montague. The ruler, King Solomon was so popular he'd been voted in every summer for an extraordinarily long time. He was currently far south on a fact finding mission that loyal Phillips couldn't talk about.

Very few people were around today, as most went to market to look for bargains on public holidays. More information on Lenora was kept in the main dining room downstairs.

Phillips unlocked all downstairs rooms, except one under the stairs that had an armour carving on it. This was the king's personal study, but Phillips promised to get the key from the captain of the guard. For his helpful attitude, Pollyanna promised to share some of her toys with his large family. Pollyanna waved regally as Phillips melted into the background, like a lithe young cat.

Pollyanna had no idea how long a day would last here. So after learning the basics, they'd take off on a wild adventure. The large dining room cabinet held many books she'd love to explore later - history, potions, vitality and long life, time spells. Squashed between 'The Shining Temple' and 'Structure of a Modern Magicians Lodge' lay an enormous book named: 'A Study of Lenora and Surrounding Regions from 1652.' Perfect! It floated over to a nearby table, waiting patiently.

On the first page a message asked that all who made additions sign. Three names were written below. Friar S W Monsoon, followed by a very elderly writing style with the initials E B. A child's scribbled signature starting with C lay below.

Inside boasted detailed drawings and an intriguing map. Strangely the next page free for additions seemed empty, apart from a small smudge smeared near the top, which was actually exceedingly small writing. Luckily when focusing on the first line, the paragraph flashed into focus as fast as needed.

The sleepy nearby village boasting the golden temple was named Silverbridge. Villagers were fair, considerate and honest. Friar Monsoon had added that if an honoured visitor found the secret underlying some of their lives, there'd be a gigantic prize. However, this could only be claimed after night fall of their first day.

One interesting entry mentioned suns and stardust. Lenora's three suns worked quite differently from ours. As well as sharing beautiful, relaxing, magical light, they provided warmth by sucking cold away from the planet during the day, blasting it into space at night.

Rising behind the blue sun, Lenora's moon helped in the very early hours by drawing excess moisture from the atmosphere, preventing flooding. Lucky villagers out for a magical moonlit stroll could sometimes find themselves caught in fine, misty curtains raining upwards, creating touching moonbows and spectacular sunrises.

Lenora's stars weren't formed by gas clouds swirling round for millions of years till they heated up to fantastic temperatures, but were actually a living land based creature. 'Remarkable' and 'metamorphosis' had been highlighted, yet the article didn't say how to find them.

Another ancient entry mentioned a mysterious black, basalt door or barrier way off to the north, hidden far beyond the green hills. Interested scholars had to seek a rare, unnamed book currently in the king's possession. Underneath each subject lay oodles of space for explorer's new entries.

Meg yapped impatiently, reminding mistress there was still a kingdom to explore. Pollyanna ran upstairs, slipped her precious silver hairclip on, grabbed two big insect toys from her bedroom. leaving them at Phillips desk. He was waiting patiently outside the front door, expecting her next move.

"You don't want to ride David Collins, do you?" he asked a trifle nervously.

"Er, no, not today, I feel he's a bit young."

"Yes princess, he's very flighty at the moment."

"Isn't he? I don't know what's got into him!" Pollyanna agreed, realising what Phillips meant.

"We've a perfect pair gifted to our king last week," Phillips promised, slipping round back to the stables.

As the morning fully awoke, the garden's colour grew deeper and more beautiful as the suns highlighted a fine ebony carriage drawn by two magnificent black horses snorting smoky clouds. Meg gazed closely, having never seen animals as big. A girl and boy. I bet they're married Pollyanna thought, wondering what to name them.

"Take me to those gorgeous green hills up north, through the enchanted woods," Pollyanna cried. The coach set off smoothly down the golden mile, cantering out massive gates at the end and picking up speed.

**Chapter 10**

As mighty hooves thundered down the dusty track, Meg discovered Daisy had left them breakfast in a carved box under the seat. Cleverly decorated purple pastry strips tasted meaty, sweet and very filling. Pollyanna listed things to try here that would be impossible back home, planning to make the most of the day.

After checking the map earlier, her plans included finding the magical forest clearing hidden in nearby whistling woods, visiting the secret cove on the tapestry and searching for Lenora's secrets. And who was the real Princess Penelope? Why didn't people notice the difference between them? Where was she now?

Ground became more rugged and wild. Horses' hooves weren't even touching earth out here. Pollyanna gleefully wished them down, then up again, making strangely shaped dust clouds billow high into the air. Meg looked back, barking eagerly.

"Meg wants to go faster!" Pollyanna cried. Instantly the horses starred galloping.

"Faster!" she shrieked wildly. Meg grinned widely, her tiny pointy teeth gleaming in the flashing light, reflecting a faint blue mist following from a distance. Little smoky drips fell onto dust, creating miniature craters that bubbled and fizzed deep into soil.

Horses entered the enchanted woods, stopping respectfully at a single whistle. Bright sunlight sneaked beneath gleaming tree tops, dimming to weird, soft twilight. Shimmering blue flames lit up like torches each side of the narrowing path. Mysterious, bouncy light trickled through the thick canopy, slipping down trees, sneaking along branches, diving off leaf crests, fashioning enchanting blue shafts on the forest floor. In the rare places where three rays met, luminescent pools sprung, and strange plants sprouted in these havens, sheltering tiny creatures in magical warmth.

Just ahead, tiny brown spiky mounds sprung into view. Pollyanna thought them hedgehogs till they bounced up and down, floated and vanished. Another shrill musical whistle sung out, then another, bursting trees to life in a rapturous chorus.

Pleasing shivers flew down dreamers spines. Meg span round in circles, fluffing up, whining in delight. Pollyanna smiled dreamily, guessing her precious pup could see much she couldn't in those knotted, crisscrossed branches. These shy creatures seemed just as curious about them too.

As much as Meg loved this beautiful fairy tale place, her mistress loved it more. Here she felt sure of finding the secret moonlit glade, meeting the mischievous, ageless piper, talking with clever woodland fairies and dancing with the sun and moon under twinkling stars.

Horses snorted twice and sounds stopped, allowing them to trot onwards. Trees grew thicker deeper in, most unrecognisable species. Big, small, fat, thin, they grew every way possible. Some stood in perfect families of four, huddled together with members of different age and colouring.

Pollyanna gazed closer, blanking her mind, willing trees to share secrets of the moonlit glade. Faint thoughts entered quicker and quicker. These trees were very clever. Some were even asleep and dreaming strange dreams themselves! But a mischievous wind took their answers and talk ceased.

Presently they arrived at a magnificent red giant towering over the track - possibly the tallest tree ever. When the stallion rumbled a question at him, Pollyanna instantly dubbed him Thunder. Whistling started again softly, dying out when she planned to investigate.

Princesses' carriage trundled onwards up a steep bank. Pollyanna guessed they should break out the woods soon, because their width here was much larger than the length. Horses were intelligent enough to take the shortest route unless told otherwise. Dreamers were still too excited to notice the eerie blue mist now hiding between the carriage wheels.

Soon trees parted to lovely meadows illuminated by late morning sun. Grasses grew tall and strong, swaying lazily in a warming breeze. Miniature deer nibbled luscious flowering plants flitting between tiny bushes. Tiny shimmering rainbows arced over a sparkling stream springing from beneath a gurgling knoll gently nudging the enchanted trees. Her peaceful waters meandered idly alongside the dusty track.

Roused by a faint tinkling, the travellers were treated to a bewitching light display, held under an oak tree off west. His huge branches broke up landscape, revealing a magnificent colourful mix that shot, hovered, span and spat.

Meg leapt off the carriage like a mountain goat when the show ended. Very curious deer like creatures drew close to the odd, excited creature, waiting patiently for inquisitive sniffs. Meg adored the attention so much Pollyanna finally picked her up and set off again, allowing horses' to trot towards the far horizon. Magnificent green hills slowly grew larger and countryside's changing colours brighter and brighter.

**Chapter 11**

Dreamers spotted a very strange character speeding through taller grass. The long, grey, hairy body would be excellent night camouflage. Crushing its body up like a coiled spring jerkily propelled it forward. Six short legs on either side must help with balance and changing direction. Suddenly, other wormy bodies were swooping through sky and flitting through ground, flickering, jumping and vanishing, shooting onwards to some unknown goal.

High noon neared when the carriage struck a dry lake bed, but the green hills were closer now and horses flew across dusty ground quicker than ever.

Just then an enormous bird drifted into view, circling hills in a massive loop. This was the one Pollyanna glimpsed out the manor window last month, without realising the scenes she'd glimpsed were of Lenora.

A small mining village had been struck up just over the lakebed. Friendly folk of Thunder Rock waved at the visitors. Nevertheless, some villagers were very strange characters indeed. Seconds later girls drew near the foot of the green hills, which looked even more magnificent close up.

"Davyd Crusher, mine manager. Please inspect our work, princess," a beady eyed chap said, helping them off the carriage into the bustling town. Meg noticed his thin body was toned like a runner. Davyd smelt different than other folk too. Mistress had the same feeling. This man was hiding something, perhaps without even realising it. This must be part of the friar's competition written in the history book, but as Pollyanna was enjoying the day so much she decided to concentrate on that later. A happy, round lady flew up, cooing over the horses. "That's Clarabelle," Davyd whispered.

"May I feed them a star vegetable, princess? Clarabelle chirped, curtsying. "We'll watch the colourful smoke from their nostrils. They'll happily run all day too."

Pollyanna gladly agreed. Horses accepted a crunchy star each. Thunder's stomach growled like the first rumbling peals before an enormous storm. His wife's hissed like wild fire as blue fingered electric streams charged down her body. Their nostrils poured out white smoke and very strangely shaped forms jetted from the hazy plumes.

Pollyanna saw two looking like rare sheep, some complicated swirling morphing colour and a fascinating fairy orb floating near a beautiful lake cottage. Meg saw weird ones floating around between, granting others power. Everyone gasped when all shapes morphed into a golden temple bursting into sparking showers. Clarabelle admired her work, claimed the princess had been granted a rare prophesy and curtsied again.

"Oh, there's no need for that. I'm a princess, not your better," Pollyanna said, naming the female horse Lightning.

Clarabelle smiled, admiring the princess's brightening hairclip, seeming lost in its mysterious gleam, while dreamers watched a blacksmith work. Suddenly his apron dropped onto hot coals, bursting into flames, setting his flimsy cloth stall alight too. Small fluffy clouds appeared, quenching the growing blaze. A few seconds later the place had dried and a lady brought a fresh covering.

"Marvellous!" the blacksmith cried, continuing work with an energy burst. Clarabelle declared it a blessing. Davyd led visitors up through the bustling settlement, to the base of a steep, rocky hill towering high above. Its endless, rugged face was festooned with fine greenery and flowering plants, hiding tiny ledges where small squeaking animals happily basked the day away.

Davyd invited them into the mine, brushing aside bristling green trails covering the entrance. Girls plunged into the half lit passage. Condensation dripped down tunnel sides, creating minute, steamy puddles and tiny glowing streams at the edges, where invisible creatures lived away from the outer world's blinding brightness.

Meanwhile, villagers missed the tiny blue mist sneaking through the village and hiding near the mine entrance.

Davyd forged ahead, holding a glowing crystal reflecting white light off the ceiling. Meg's yellow flower lit up just as brightly, helping them trek the lonely winding trail deeper into silent darkness. The journey ended abruptly in a glistening, jewel encrusted cavern occupied by welcoming miners. Sparkling rock piles tinged with glowing crystal dotted the dusty, rocky floor.

Instantly ground shook, walls heaved and groaned and the roof sagged. Lights flickered and dimmed and suddenly those freaky twisty worm things poured through solid rock from every direction. "Dagon Worms, stand your ground! Guard a rock pile each. Don't let them get through!" Davyd cried, whisking visitors into action. Worms buzzed like gigantic insects, screeching and squealing randomly too.

Pollyanna circled a nearby sparkly pile. Meg sat atop the biggest one. Lucky the strange buzzy worms weren't dangerous and wouldn't pass through anyone to get to rock. Instead, bendy bodies squirmed over scattered pebbles like lightning, feeding greedily, glowing brighter, whooshing and drifting on strange winds. Many worms went invisible, popping into tiny black pockets appearing in mid air, creating false sink holes in ground, desperately trying to dodge and trick defenders into abandoning crystal piles. Noises changed and a worm pair as big as horses appeared, with spiky fur and three black pits at one end pulsing faster and faster.

"The royals sense our main stash!" Davyd shouted as the new larger worms powered deeper into the mine. Miners flew after them down darkened passages, following excited beeps, finding the worm king and queen whirling crazily round a giant sparkling pile, spoilt for choice. "Ah, it's over!" Davyd cried out in disappointment. But suddenly Pollyanna's hairclip took off spinning against rock, buzzing like an angry bee hive, creating a new mesmerizing tune. Seconds later the gigantic worms almost dozed off, then slunk off through rock, followed faithfully by their swollen group.

Davyd said this unpredictable mass migration happened once a year. If worm royals had gorged on big crystal piles, the entire herd would have fallen asleep here all winter instead of migrating far north. Who knows what would happen to Lenora's ecosystem then? Eating only a little crystal gave worms just enough energy to continue onwards.

Davyd said the creatures were called Dagon Worms because of their original country and in jest at their size. Worms saw in shapes and colours that reflected off objects, making every villager look different, especially at night. Worms ate far stranger things long ago. Clever Sam, Silverbridge's magical healer could tell more. A tiny polished crystal could power a village for a year. No one should touch a worm as skin looks soft, but is actually very abrasive during feeding and breeding season.

Davyd escorted girls back to the mine entrance. Pollyanna tried an old trick of Mrs Peters, keeping an eye shut for one minute to adjust quicker to bright sun. Apparently this worked at nights too. Pollyanna moved outside, blinking the blurry scene into focus when the giant, thundering bird swept over. Villagers almost fell over at the enormous ground quakes. The mighty colossus flew south unbelievably fast over the dry lake.

"I wonder where he's going, princess? He patrols from sunup to sundown, before disappearing into sunset. Some say to eat and roost, others to converse with strange friends' way up north over our hills."

"Well, we'll just have to trust him, Davyd."

Davyd nodded thoughtfully. Meg took off round the corner of the hillside, hidden behind fungus strewn rocks. Mistress found her being blown high up on a small geyser, yapping furiously. She'd sniffed out one blasting out hot air instead of liquid. Davyd said there were rumoured to be larger ones far down the hill side that could support more weight. I bet there's one leading to the summit too, Pollyanna mused thoughtfully, missing a blue light streak among rocks behind.

"Their gusts smell exciting as well, like...morning woods and spring time when blossoms are about to come alive again - the calm, magical quietness when plants seem asleep and dreaming. When we stand and listen patiently, one can sometimes become part of it. And if it allows us to, we can feel its excited hum."

Davyd grinned at the fellow nature lover. "Our whole kingdom's connected underground to these vents. Sam says it's the lands way of keeping in balance. Plenty time for that later though, you're still very young." Heat from below died down, placing Meg on the floor, who squirmed round hoping for one more go.

Pollyanna decided the urge to see these hills was so strong right before she'd even started dreaming, she simply couldn't leave without at least attempting to explore further. Mrs Peters had told her to listen to her instinct more, as our subconscious mind senses far more secrets than the waking one. Hopefully they'd talk with Sam in Silverbridge later as well.

Thunder trotted up. Girls clambered up the thick mane. Meg tucked down behind Pollyanna.

"Thunder, can you speed us to the nearest geyser that supports my weight?" Instantly flashing silver hooves whistled above hot, shifting sands. Ground grew firmer as Thunder jumped jutting rocks, leapt fallen tree trunks, tore through high grass and dove through deep, colourful streams. He dodged stretchy trees, soared through a gushing waterfall, splattering sweet green water and mint flavoured leaves.

Pollyanna stood up, amazed at the beast's unbridled power, quickly tucking down like a champion jockey. Thunder's incredible pace increased, till side vision blurred to grey. Only the horizon was visible now; growing larger by the second. Suddenly magnificent mane shone brightly and Thunder glided to a stop, scarcely out of breath. Riders jumped off, eager to try the nearest geyser.

Meg went first, whizzing upwards, vanishing into the swirling heat haze. Pollyanna stepped onto the geyser, which rocketed her high in the air. Still rolling on the bouncy air above the hill, she spied Meg sitting atop moss rippling like the sea. Soft whispering came from beneath. Sounds faded when Pollyanna somersaulted off to creep closer. Meg smiled proudly, but wouldn't share the experience.

A massive mound ahead proved to be a gigantic nest, lined with thick plants and mosses thoughtfully growing together to keep the shape. Just behind lay an enticing tufty meadow lying atop curious sunburnt mounds like baby molehills. Pollyanna skipped across, lured by flickering movements above them.

Soon gorgeous bubbly light floated round feet, humming faint tunes, slowly spinning and rising above their heads. It felt so exciting being caught in this delicate shower. These fantastic creatures had oodles to share. A bubble grew round intrigued visitors, gently swaying side to side like a soothing cradle. Pollyanna thought many questions.

Suddenly it seemed as if time itself flew by. Girls felt older, wiser, healed and happy, becoming waves of an everlasting conscious energy stream, rising up and up faster and faster through endless planes of existence, then reality clicked back in and girls were themselves again.

Pollyanna giggled, slowly reaching out to shyer bubbles, drawing others in, wondering what gifts others may offer. Pitter pattering broke her concentration and the curious bubbles vanished. Ground rippled in cute little rises like a tiny tide, drifting to a silent rest. Fairy worlds were wondrously strange indeed. And this was only sights girls could currently see.

Further on they frolicked amongst strangely shaped islands strewn amid a dry wavy sea of fluttering flowers and tiny forests changing colour and shape on touch, eventually reaching the far edge of the towering hill, where land dropped away steeply. By some strange twist of fate the geyser had flung them far to the right, not straight up as first thought.

"I wonder how to get down Meg. We were having so much fun we didn't think things through." Meg's sharp eyes made out Davyd standing far below and a long black blur moving towards the village entrance. People strolling through the lower village looked like tiny insects.

Mistress smiled confidently. "Meg, this will be such fun. Hop up." Meg sprung up, clinging onto her back. Pollyanna shrieked triumphantly, jumping off into the welcoming sky, soaring high above the village. Meg stood up, spying tiny animal homes hidden in rocks. Pollyanna shifted her weight, descending, moving left or right and swimming upwards.

Small, morphing insects flew through wispy clouds to greet them. Higher up all was silent, leaving only soundless barks from Meg and whistling air popping ears. After taking in the village, Pollyanna allowed herself to float slowly to the ground near the mine entrance.

"Princess and Meg are blessed! Strange magic's up there," Clarabelle warbled.

"Weightlessness frees your mind and body. Maybe you could organise a game of it now and then," Pollyanna suggested. Davyd wasn't too keen, but Clarabelle was interested in trying it soon.

"Good, I've started off a new hobby, friends!"

Visitors were escorted back to their carriage when Meg ran off into a large pointed tent. Smoke escaped under the flaps, adding a strange, dirtied crown around the top.

Pollyanna found Meg playing inside with a gypsy woman. Pollyanna smiled back at the lady's forced grin, sitting across the table from her in the hazy, purple candlelight.

"I'm Jael from far off Tharl. We've watched you since dawn. My people are suffering. We need your help. You _must_ grant us the key freely."

"Key? How can we help? Is this part of the history book's test?"

"I will have what's mine!" Jael stormed viciously. Suddenly the candle spewed thick pungent smoke everywhere and Pollyanna struggled weakly to her feet, kicking the table over.

Blue, misty blurs traced thorough the dirty smog, waking Meg from a stupor, when a bright yellow joined the swirling colours fighting the evil fog. Pollyanna staggered round drunkenly, Meg barked fiercely and Jael grasped wildly at her prey's hairclip. Blinding silver flashes wiped out the scene and Pollyanna fainted.

**Chapter 12**

Pollyanna woke confused. What just happened? Was she still dreaming? But her normal clothes still hung in the cupboard. That was amazing! The dream had been exactly like reality. The ending didn't make much sense though, she didn't wish that. People were kind and open in her perfect paradise.

The sack filled with toys and dolls still sat by the window, but the soft insect toys she'd left for Phillips had gone. Now that was strange! Even stranger, Meg's beautiful yellow flower friend was still under her collar, shining so brightly it lit her head like a golden halo.

"Ah, I always knew you were a little angel!" Pollyanna crooned, rewarding her with a big hug. Somehow strange magic had allowed them both to experience exactly the same dream! Pollyanna's watch read 8:30 am and ticked away normally, but the alarm had been set at 12 pm, which was very interesting. Hopefully they'd only spent half a day on Lenora so far and there was much more to come in another exciting dream.

Girls burst into the kitchen, amusing the cook. "Hello Polly, I'm Daphne. Rose said you'd be up bright and early," crowed the tall, thin lady. Pollyanna studied her very carefully. Daphne couldn't be more different than Daisy.

"Is your mum called Daisy?"

"No, Geraldine," the lady replied sweetly.

"Really? Right, we'll check the garden just to be sure," Pollyanna declared.

Daphne laughed. Meg sniffed urgently at a corner cupboard. "I wonder who hid that there?" Daphne said, plucking a pie out, handing it to the wide eyed pup, who stored it safely in a grateful belly.

Girls found the garden cold, quiet, and shivering lightly in early morning mist. They rushed inside at the tinkling breakfast bell, hungry after travels and eager to tell all, though adults talked so quickly there wasn't time to tell the story. Finally jolly Mr Pemberton sat back to relax. "How did you find your room, Polly?"

"Wonderful!" she gushed, blurting out everything in an incredibly long sentence.

Mr Pemberton thought it the most remarkable story he'd ever heard, telling dad to write it down lest he forget.

"I wouldn't know where to start," dad admitted sheepishly.

Gerald said to start off slow like Rose and he did with their photography business. When Rose's gran willed her Pemberton Manor 2 years ago, they were worried sick about paying for its upkeep. Early one morning they took a walk in the manor's ancient woods with her gran's old camera, getting lost in dawn's warm mist. Stumbling up a slope, they witnessed an incredibly rare sunrise.

"Dazzling colours bounced off trees, warming our spirits, creating moving shapes, almost like our own shadowy movie. We felt some force or unknown creature was there, but what or for what purpose we didn't know." Gerald took a breath.

"It was like the very first dawn. We were so entranced, thank the lord Rose broke the spell and rattled off a shot before it vanished forever. Atop the hill we dodged sunbeams like little children, sneaked over logs, ending up splashing each other in a forest stream. We licensed the photo, took more rare pictures, and here we are today – four photo shops heavier."

Dad whistled. "Amazing. All that from a bit of luck?"

Gerald nodded wisely, sighing. "Our mysterious world often seems to work that way. We must seize every chance for happiness with both hands, for only when truly happy ourselves can we make others happy too," he followed, clasping hands in mock prayer.

"Amen!" Girls agreed, giggling like schoolgirls at the junior philosopher.

Mr Pemberton promised to show them the amazing picture later. Pollyanna knew it would be wise listening to advice from kind, clever people like him. While Mr Pemberton talked to her parents, Rose confessed much to Pollyanna. Her daughter, Charlotte used to sleep in the tower bedroom, telling similar stories about Lenora. Charlotte loved it so much she slept there right up to her marriage last year.

"Sounds like the room has been waiting ever since for a girl just like you, Polly. She was probably feeling lonely till you arrived."

Rose only slept there once, never experiencing Lenora, but enjoying the most relaxing sleep ever. In the morning she could play the violin perfectly, rather than the avid learner she was before.

"Polly, I realised my special gift in this life is music, while Charlotte and you share intelligence, curiosity and a yearning for special new experiences. I hear Mrs Peters keeps saying how special you are. Sounds like she's pretty special too from what a little bird told me. I'd like to meet her if I may," Rose suggested hopefully.

"She seems very busy, and often says she may run out of time, but I promise to ask."

"Marvellous! We must take special care of these people, Polly. We can learn so much good from them."

Rose wondered what made the bedroom so special. Was it the beautiful door, dresser, mirror, walls or even the hairbrush? Girls hoped to find out some day.

Pollyanna said Meg's beautiful flower looked so fresh and alive. Rose bent closer, feeling golden petals fold gently over her finger. "It's like warm silk!" she gasped.

After breakfast Mr Pemberton produced a new HD video camera to help PADS business grow. Pollyanna's beams lit the hallway and her thanks echoed forever. Rose hugged them all, promising to see everyone soon.

As dad turned the car round, Pollyanna sat high in her seat, turning over the endless possibilities the camera gave PADS. Perhaps she could catch Henry's antics or ghosts? As dad drove under thick trees, Pollyanna's eyes lit up like blazing torches as an idea sprung up high. As her plan became clearer, she glanced back at the sprawling manor, wondering, hoping. Rose was still smiling and waving gaily, her beautiful face and golden hair highlighted in glorious morning sun. Pollyanna smiled sweetly at her new friend. Rose winked just as Pollyanna remembered they'd return in a few months.

**Chapter 13**

A slow Monday evening for the Fitzgerald's in mid August. After tea puzzled Pollyanna sat frowning at the hall telephone. Why wasn't Mrs Peters answering? Dad popped his head into the corridor.

"Still no answer? You'll have to write Polly. Weather's been stormy down there last week, so it's probably caused problems with the lines. Sometimes the smallest thing leaves the system in a right mess."

Pollyanna sadly agreed. Dad pulled a disappointed face, returning to his comfy chair. Two minutes later Pollyanna sidled up. Meg sat near for moral support. Sally Struthers gran had complained of late night scratching in her home, which sounded paranormal. Lately the entire street had been affected. Could dad take PADS there tonight to do some groundwork?

At 8 pm PADS arrived at some tall terraced houses. Pollyanna skipped up the path, leaving dad in the car with a newspaper. Delighted Mrs Struthers explained she didn't get many visitors at nights, what with her being past seventy now. Still quite the joker, chatty Florence was still part of many lively town activities and had lots to say about her late husband, Albert, and other popular issues.

Pollyanna smiled sweetly, sharing most of her points, finally able to ask about the possible ghost problem, but not before Florence showed off her niece's pet goldfish, Fred.

"He doesn't like being called Freddy or Frederick though, because he finds it demeaning and it undermines his self confidence," she revealed, winking mischievously.

Florence talked of her husband again, gazing off into the front garden, lost in a happy dream. "Polly, I can still picture dear Albert out there on darker days, digging over his precious garden. Still, we'll meet again one day. Fancy me worrying about him - he's probably having a whale of a time up there."

"Of _course_ he is," Pollyanna agreed, "Men are _always_ up to something naughty!"

Florence giggled and Pollyanna felt all warm and glowing inside at gaining the kind lady's trust. Whatever happened, she _must_ make dear old Florence her second satisfied client. Mrs Peters had been right saying it paid to be patient and allow folk to tell of troubles in their own time, on their own terms.

Florence explained problems started last month after moving Albert's old things around the attic. What sounded like scratching on wood started almost immediately, though her dicky ear had trouble pinning the noise down. Sounds gradually grew worse, neighbours heard them too, and now it was just as noisy day or night.

Pollyanna felt a little disappointed that Florence had probably disturbed a mouse nest, forcing them to relocate. Clues certainly didn't suggest a ghost, let alone a poltergeist. Every lead was worth checking out once though, if only to give the client peace of mind.

Pollyanna said PADS would examine the attic for uninvited visitors, moving upstairs to prise the stiff attic board open. Torchlight lit the place up like a snowstorm or white hot ash sprinkling from invisible volcanoes. "Only dust, cobwebs and old boxes up here, Florence!"

Good investigator's don't give up easily though, always providing a reasonable explanation for client's fears. The attic's thick wooden floor beams were smothered by smelly, dry, musty dust. It was a treacherous feat gingerly inching over to the old boxes that held nothing important. No tell tale mice paws in dust either.

The only other suspect was the water tank, whose inside workings were very old and rusty. Florence rushed off to run the taps, so the tank would refill quickly. Parts screeched eerily, combining stifled, squeaking, squealing noises.

"Is our mystery solved, Florence?"

"No, my sounds were more of an odd scratching that I hear downstairs too."

Pollyanna scratched her head. This was a puzzle alright. Florence carefully passed squirmy Meg up there, but the pup couldn't sense any spirits either. The second girls left the attic a whining sound blasted out below - scratching, grinding, hollow metallic sounds lasting only seconds.

"That's it! But before it was all the same, the metallic part is new!" Florence said excitedly.

"Very strange. It certainly didn't come from up here though."

Florence showed PADS the rest of the house, saying neighbours weren't building or moving furniture. No further clues were uncovered and the noise wasn't repeated.

When they arrived back in the kitchen, dad knocked on the door, asking if PADS had exorcised all the ghosts yet. Pollyanna said there was something strange going on here and PADS wouldn't leave Florence hanging. She'd try to speak to Mrs Peters again and search the library for possible clues in the old terraces history, promising to return ASAP. Florence was very pleased at the young girl's dedication.

While dad drove, Pollyanna explained the case details. Dad said if it had been mice throwing a wild attic party, they'd always leave smelly little calling cards. Pollyanna quickly covered Meg's ears. "Dad, don't encourage her to be naughty when we've got her house trained!"

Luckily Meg's thoughts were back home with Henry again. When morning sun warmed his achy old bones, he'd grow restless and chatty about the good old days, crooning over his late wife, Henrietta. Meg loved hearing his wild, funny exploits as a young hedgehog. The latest tale told how Henry foiled neighbour's plans to catch and transport him to strange lands, mistakenly thinking he'd raided their bird table.

"You see Meg," he'd croaked wisely, "The silly fellows didn't realise when plotting kidnapping, it's best not to discuss plans in front of the target. Needless to say, I had the last laugh, quickly planning cunning counter measures, which left two foolish criminals face first in a large wet mud pile. At least that's what they _thought_ it was at first," he said, smiling mischievously.

Dad fell quiet, thinking of older memories. "Florence's terrace is quite old, Polly." Dad sighed a touch and his cheery voice croaked a little. "At your age I loved sitting round a campfire with dad, chatting and carrying on. Things were much simpler and happier then - less stressful and urgent."

"We didn't need money or big houses - happy relationships and planning fun days out was what life was all about back then. Days drifted by so slowly we felt they'd last forever and we'd always be together. I remember his war tales from the 1940's, when food and medical supplies were rationed."

"VIP's escaped German bombs in special underground shelters, but ordinary folk ran to underground train stations. Country folk made their own little bunkers by digging out cellars. I wonder if Florence's noises came from a long forgotten bunkers? Who knows what's down there? It doesn't have to be a ghost of course."

"Gee, I never thought of that, dad!"

"The further into history we look, the further into the future we can see is what my old teacher, Mr Jenkins always said. Mind you, he said an awful lot of odd things which I couldn't repeat to a young child and disappeared on a weird foreign holiday soon after, so..."

"Dad, you're rambling again!"

"Just thinking out loud, Polly. Caught Henry's antics on camera yet?"

"No, batteries keep dying at the crucial moment. Can we get a cheap infra red lens for it to film at nights?"

"Anything to help PADS, but those are very expensive. I need all my savings just now to keep the car running and get to the new jobs Mr Pemberton promised me. And if don't keep working, mum will run away with the milkman!"

"Don't worry, when we're famous PADS will buy you a car that doesn't break down all time."

"Thanks sweetie," dad said happily.

**Chapter 14**

Next day dad arrived back from work looking very pleased indeed, handing Pollyanna an infra red device donated by a friendly local business man. It seemed Mrs Peters was right again, saying it's amazing what people share if you're nice to them. Shame Pollyanna hadn't heard from her recently, but she felt confident of news at just the right time.

With the new lens fitted, PADS were ready to revisit Florence's house tonight to test it in darkness. Mum glided into the kitchen, hugging Pollyanna. She gulped some tablets, then stood trembling, hands on the sink.

"Are you okay, mum? You don't look well at all."

"Just an upset stomach, Polly."

"Am I getting a little brother or sister soon? I won't feel jealous or left out."

Mum laughed. "Goodness Polly, we've no plans!"

"Well get well soon, mum. We'll think of you as we investigate Mrs Struthers house. It's a most perplexing mystery."

To Meg's delight Henry shot onto the back lawn. Henry felt great today after feasting on fat slugs last night. Henry's show started with warm up forward rolls, then onto the main event. Had flour been in place, the symbol left would have looked a lot like 'W W.' Henry strutted around, soaking up applause. Meg was surprised Henry had learnt to draw letters. Dad and Pollyanna caught him reflected in the window, disappearing for a long nap. Pollyanna was too late again with flour and the camera.

"We'd love to see his tricks sometime," mum said, going for another lie down.

Nine pm found PADS back at Mrs Struthers house, explaining to Florence about a possible bomb cellar, suggesting noises could be old, rattling pipes. This may explain why sounds had only started recently and why neighbours heard them too, though PADS weren't ruling out ghosts just yet.

Florence knew folk were practical in olden days, though was still surprised uncovering a trapdoor hidden under the stairs. Pollyanna peered into the deep darkness, only just making out an old ladder propped up against the wall. Taking camera and torch, she inched down there, leaving Meg standing guard and Florence peering down anxiously.

When Pollyanna eventually reached the bottom, Meg barked in excitement as her flower glowed dimly. Between the perfectly finished walls, the long dusty room contained only broken chairs, a jar of congealed sweets and smelly empty biscuit packets piled into the corner.

Suddenly a noise rang out further into the cellar, near the ceiling where long circular poles supported the floor above, running under next doors floor too. Faint scratching rang out, yet pipes weren't rattling. Eyes flicked everywhere as Pollyanna's senses heightened. Instantly switching the camera to night vision, she turned clockwise, taking in the odd, fantastic green sheen.

Just then air whooshed past. Weird scratching followed clicking, scampering, tiny feet. Seconds later, two reddish eyes floated inches above the floor, watching, waiting. A mouse? No, a rat. Was it real? Ah, it only had vague outlines, like Benny. Pollyanna's mind raced as fast as her heart and eyes stuck open. The phantom just stared back, studying her intensely, as if learning secrets. Then it sat up, squeaking a challenge that wouldn't be easy!

The ghostly creature ran up the wall near the ladder, burrowing into the pipe, scurrying into the neighbouring cellar. "That's the noise!" Florence cried.

"Back soon!" Pollyanna shouted, plunging headlong into greeny darkness, knowing if she lost the phantom, it may disappear forever. Pollyanna flew after the slippery rat along the long terrace, breaking through crumbly bricks into other cellars, bursting apart little rotten doors, furiously adjusting the camera when the sneaky spirit appeared behind, above, sometimes flashing along ceilings, into floors and popping out soggy boxes. Often camera light caught tiny coloured traces of where it had been, or may be, but the mad chase continued relentlessly.

Darkness's sly tricks made long bunkers seem never-ending and even a young girl's passion couldn't match them forever. Finally freaky green light met a thick brick wall set with a tiny steel door opening into a final room lavishly furnished in war time style.

With her head torch smashed, luckily old matches still lit older candles showing small dusty shelves and dead cardboard boxes stacked against papered walls. An early electric heater was thrust between them and an attractive writing desk sitting invitingly against the far wall. Pollyanna rummaged through the drawers, finding only old pens and dried ink bottles.

Crimson eyes lit in the corner, rallied by rousing squeaks. Dusty shelves dropped one by one and the rat sprung onto the desk, chattering triumphantly. Sometimes pets were only tame with their master, so Pollyanna edged back a little, but that just made squeaks louder. When she moved closer it was obvious this was a giant male, probably hoping for a treat secreted in his master's desk.

Accidentally brushing a hinge opened a hidden section holding an old scroll tied with a beautiful red bow. This was a highly personal letter written by a soldier, Thomas Jeffries, to a friend days before leaving for war in 1940.

'My dearest Georgina. I pray these words find you well. Next week I shall be transported to our front lines. Though it deeply pains my heart, I will be unable to converse with you in person concerning my true feelings before that fateful date. Deepest love wells in my heart, yet each time I feel it overflow enough to share, I draw back, ashamed and afraid as a church mouse, for you have always been my greatest companion, confidante and...'

Deary me, Pollyanna thought, respectfully rolling the message up. Intruding on people's profoundest feelings felt way too rude and inconsiderate. PADS couldn't do it with good conscience. This needed to go to the house owners above. Perhaps they could trace its intended recipient?

The rat's features slowly grew solid, showing a tiny collar bearing the name: 'Timmy.' Tiny metal studs fixed into the leather explained the noisy pipes. Timmy stood up, begging so delightfully. Pollyanna rattled off a few photos.

"Sorry little one, I have no food of any use to you now," Pollyanna said sadly, cautiously tickling him. Timmy dropped flat like a pet dog, encouraging further petting. Timmy had obviously been treated very well by his lucky master all those years ago, still holding fond memories of such times.

"You must go now, Timmy. Thomas will be proud with your loyal service. Time to join furry friends down by the stream. I'll pass this message on," Pollyanna promised sweetly. Timmy squeaked a final thank you, vanishing into brickwork forever.

Pollyanna quickly returned to the ladder where everyone waited eagerly. Pollyanna explained everything, sharing three decent spirit pictures. Florence couldn't make much out without glasses. Dad saw rat's eyes gleaming on one photo. Meg barked happily at them all.

"I've lived here thirty years. Why did noises only start a month ago, Polly?"

Pollyanna didn't know, suggesting Mrs Peters might, promising to pass details on as and when available. Dad said they had to go. When Florence offered money, Pollyanna insisted the experience was payment enough. Perhaps Florence might like to treat her grandchildren instead?

"Bless you child, and bless your beautiful little puppy as well!"

"A blessing will serve PADS best. Thank you for the chance to prove ourselves. Have a pleasant night's sleep every night from now on Florence. Sweet dreams."

"I'm sure I shall. I'll pass this letter to Mr Davis at the end house and give you a top recommendation to everyone." Pollyanna lit up angelically under the swaying lamplight, trembling in ecstasy, singing sweet thank you's all down the path.

Back at home, mum was impressed at Pollyanna's generosity too.

"We're focusing on recommendations at the moment, mum. So far we have one hundred percent customer satisfaction!" Pollyanna breathed proudly.

"Good for you. If only I had such customers, instead of nasty comments from some skinflints I've worked for," moaned dad.

Pollyanna was kept busy during the rest of the week, helping prepare meals for the elderly. On Friday night the family sat round the TV chatting. Dad made up a silly story about work, almost fooling mum. The crunch point came when he described an elderly customer crawling over the office floor like a seasoned sniper. After the usual fun accusations and straight faced denials died down, Meg trotted in, proudly dumping a wet ball at her mistress's feet. Mum shooed her into the kitchen, passing Pollyanna an illustrated envelope from the coffee table. Pollyanna beamed like the sun. "It's from Mrs Peters, I just know it! Her handwriting is always so neat and tidy, like everything she does. Plus, her perfume is unmistakable, always dabbing it in the envelope, so it brightens up posties day when it's raining."

Pollyanna ripped the envelope open, then cradled it like a fragile baby, running upstairs.

"Who do you think it's from, Margaret?"

"Eleanor probably. I wonder if she's told her?" mum said, screwing her face up. "Polly will tell us tomorrow anyway. Nice having a child that doesn't keep secrets."

Blind to parents concerns and deaf to blaring TV downstairs, Pollyanna sat in bed, holding the letter like an ancient item that may disintegrate at any moment. Meg grabbed the pretty envelope, rushing off to hide it in her den cupboard under the stairs. The clever pup wanted to hear Mrs Peters words as well, having recognized the perfume too.

"Hurry up Meg, I can't wait long!" Thirty seconds later Meg sat next to Pollyanna as she read it out.
'Dear Polly and Meg, my sweet young friends.

Sorry you couldn't catch me the past few weeks, I've been awfully busy. I hear PADS is getting along nicely. See, I told you what happens when you apply yourself - it must be one hundred percent commitment or nothing! People require quality not quantity nowadays. Thankfully you've grasped that concept far quicker than most.

I heard tell of your latest adventure, so feel very proud of you two and happy you solved your very first solo case. This is a tremendous achievement. I bet you didn't take payment either, you kind, clever girl. I promise that important decision to see the investigation through regardless of any earlier misgivings will follow you for the rest of your long happy life.

Things here have become a little hectic. There is so much to do, so much to learn. Possibilities are truly endless and there are some tough decisions to make in the future. However, as I told you all those years ago when we first met, I never forget friends and will visit asap, hopefully before our next big case.

Meantime, say hello to everyone for me, especially Henry who I hear has been up to some extraordinary tricks of late. Keep your eye on him, as I feel he will only get more rambunctious over the next few months. Think it over poppet. I suspect the wily old fellow has a very good friend and knows far more than he lets on!

Goodbye for now my special little girl. See you soon I hope!

Lots and lots of love,

Mrs Peters.'

"What do you think of that Meg?" Pollyanna asked, very pleased at the kind words.

"Mrs Peters sounded cryptic at times, didn't she? I wonder how she knew so quickly about our latest case too?" Meg looked puzzled as well, yawned, and settled on the bed.

"Good idea Meg, things will look different in the morning." Pollyanna instantly fell fast asleep, with the precious letter still clasped over her heart.

**Chapter 15**

Two weeks later dad read an article out from the local free paper to the family, idly remarking although the post office was slow at times, this was ridiculous.

"On the 19th of August I was handed a letter found under unusual circumstances by a young local child. Said correspondence had been secreted in an underground bunker beneath Stratford Terrace for around 70 years, tasking me with tracking down either writer or intended recipient."

"After much research, it gave me great pleasure delivering this letter to Miss Georgina Smith, residing at Shady Acres Residential Home. This remarkable case harks back to 1940, when Nazi Germany's relentless march threatened England's future. Miss Georgina, 86, barely 18 years old during WW2 was a childhood friend to the letters author, Thomas Jeffries. I feel honoured that Miss Smith has graciously allowed us to cover this unusual case."

"The letter's heartfelt words cry dearly of a true, natural love existing between them since early youth, speak of deep regrets for not expressing this love earlier, contain a tentative plea for forgiveness and an endearing marriage proposal, including engaging future plans. Sadly that future never came, as Mr Jeffries died during a skirmish soon after."

"Consequently Miss Georgina never heard these sentiments that mean so much to her today. She profusely thanks David Davis of 9 Stratford Terrace, who handed them to us in order to track her down, whilst expressing a sincere wish to thank the young girl in person for having the incredible presence of mind to pass them on. We hope to have more on this story next week, including an interview with the girl in question."

Pollyanna remained speechless for three long minutes, looking around to check whether she was dreaming and for tell tale signs of jiggery pokery.

"Dad, did you make this up? Because if you did, I won't be mad if you tell me now."

"Polly, I like a joke, but I'm hardly likely to make that up off the top of my head am I?" he laughed, expecting a furious cushion barrage any second.

"Wow! This is amazing. Imagine publicity generated!" Pollyanna squealed, spinning Meg round and round, flying off to PADS office to write a full report, taking Meg along to learn in case of staff illness.

"Gerald Pemberton was right. It's amazing how much fortunes can change from one small choice," dad remarked.

"Yes, George. PADS has taken off faster than I imagined. Good for her. Although it's funny how Polly talks about Mrs Peters, Meg and Henry as if they understood everything she says."

"Kids nowadays have so much more stimulating imaginative material than when we were young. Books, internet, TV, films. John's daughter was raving about a lucid cheese dreams report in teenage magazines last week. Where does it all stop?"

"It seems it doesn't, which is good for keen learners."

"True. Though Henry is becoming more of a character by the minute. Did you see the strange marks he left on the lawn?"

"Did you see him make them, dear? Perhaps it was Polly and Meg having fun."

"Not yet, but Polly will catch him on camera soon."

"Well I'd like to see that if she does," mum mused, getting of the chair and heading to the kitchen.

"I'll take you back to the doctor if those pills aren't working properly Margaret. I'm off to the store, see you soon." When dad passed the stairs, furious typing lessons upstairs brought a smile to his face again.

**Chapter 16**

Six thirty am found the Fitzgerald girls fast asleep, whilst a lone lodger ended a long vigil at the front door, grabbing a golden letter the second it slipped through. It seemed dad had been bitten by his daughter's bug. Whether he believed in the spiritual world or not, sharing her enthusiasm was good enough.

In a flash a twisted, shadowy shape bent over Pollyanna's bed. Meg woke, growling playfully. Could the gigantic beast really not tell time yet!?

"Polly! Who's the best dad in the entire world?"

"Probably not you seeing as you woke me up!"

"Ah, me thinks you'll change your mind when you see this little letter!"

"I suppose I'll have to look now I'm awake," Pollyanna muttered, sleepily rubbing eyes till typing slipped into focus. PADS new client, Peter Darrington, was a trusted American pen pal of Florence Struthers. Florence had sung Pollyanna's praises, passing on PADS ghostly rat report. Peter was very impressed by its professionalism and struck by her integrity and generosity in waving all fees.

For these reasons Peter offered PADS another chance to prove their skills on a larger scale, inviting them to Devon to investigate an island cottage living on a private lake. The previous owner, elderly Edith Babcock had recently passed on. Edith was said to be a powerful white witch, thought to have cast strange spells over the grounds, vowing only those whom the island loved could move in. Peter promised a two percent share of the cottage's selling price after PADS final report.

Apparently some possible buyers were put off by smashing crockery, objects vanishing, then appearing in strange places, strong smells and negativity around the lake. For some unknown reason two very angry viewers got totally lost on the way to the property. So, were these weird reports true? Was the property, Lilac Cottage, safe to move in to? Ah, shrewd Mr Darrington had given PADS lots to think over. Well, that was fine, Pollyanna loved a challenge!

Due to next week's auction PADS task would have be completed by this Saturday, August the 30th. PADS report should be emailed asap afterwards for approval. Peter seemed intrigued at events, a little sceptical at their cause, but open minded and honest.

Once more Mrs Peters predictions had proved correct. Apart from today's invitation, over the past few weeks PADS received phone calls from people who'd seen the recent newspaper article, had experienced unexplained things, but were unsure what to do. Many were pencilled in for future investigations. Things looked awfully bright for PADS.

"Brilliant! What fun. It sounds like a poltergeist dad. I bet Mrs Peters will think so too!"

"Do you think she'll make it?" dad asked hopefully as mum pursed her lips.

"She promised to. This is PADS next big case, so I'll keep the faith." Pollyanna rushed off. "George, we _need_ to talk about this," mum whispered. Hours later adults still hadn't solved their growing problem.

**Chapter 17**

Next few days flew by in a blur of planning and packing, only finishing the minute dad's alarm signalled 8 am. "Let's go, sunshine's burning!" Pollyanna cried, helping mum out the door with her big book and pill bag. Meg bravely dragged a large toy into the car. Unfortunately the family were still one short.

At the last possible moment a familiar figure whisked round the corner, adjusting her hat as if caught in the wind. Pollyanna stormed down the street, hugging her so enthusiastically they both nearly fell over.

"Just in time, Polly. I'm so, _so_ lucky today!"

"This will be so much fun. I knew you wouldn't let us down, Mrs P."

"It was close child, very close. I almost didn't make it. Lucky I've some very good friends who helped me out at the last minute," she confessed, smiling broadly, revealing a tiny fraction of her happiness.

The moment dad set off, Pollyanna plunged Mrs Peters into her latest experience.

"Last night I was so excited my hands shook. I couldn't sleep till round 4 when I dreamt I'd woken at 5 am to beautiful bird song. Normally I'd be desperate to go back to sleep to be refreshed for the day ahead. This time all tension drifted away and I relaxed into peaceful chirps, becoming one with them, forgetting everything else. After a while I could tell the difference between bird's voices, although all were different species whose musical language I couldn't understand."

"While the loudest bird warbled an exciting adventure, another added tiny bits to it and one listened carefully, twittering in delight. The cute little fellow tweeted louder and sweeter along with the thrilling tale. Sometimes other birds chirped agreement and surprise at clever plot twists. When it all ended in a perfect sunrise chorus, I knew today would be another _wonderful_ day. I only realised I'd been awake the entire time when dad knocked on my door at 8."

Mrs Peters smiled knowingly, hardly able to contain thoughts, once again only just managing to keep surprises close. Lenora had tickled Polly's dormant natural abilities, providing a possible future glimpse to boot. Life could only get more exciting for her dear little friend. "What a _wonderful_ experience Polly. Mind, it may prove important in future. I'm nearly 92 so won't be around forever to help."

As the journey continued, Pollyanna told Mrs Peters all news since their last meeting. Mrs Peters answered all questions, fascinated by Polly's wonderful fairy land dream, giving pointers on how to maximise fun and exploration, as it did sound like she'd only be granted another 6 hours on Lenora. If only Polly had asked to be a princess for more than a day! To find Lenora's magical woodland glade, perhaps Polly better tune into the whistling trees again.

Like earth, fairy worlds had lots happening that normally couldn't be seen by our eyes. So Lenora would hold many carefully hidden secrets too. Polly should apply PADS principles to uncover a few. Always check suspicious area's twice before moving on, as our first instincts are often correct. Remember that all we think we see before us is not necessarily the truth - just how our brains interpret the image. This knowledge may help with Lenora's competition set by the friar as well.

True, Polly hadn't seen any classic fairies on the ancient fairy planet. Fairies preferred certain environments, only appearing to visitors if needs be. Most villagers were probably mixed forest folk such as sprites and pixies, though any could be a fairy, living life as a villager for their own reasons. Each of Lenora's lucky inhabitants would have their own exciting story and in such a magical place everything should be considered alive and self conscious. Praise be to nature's gloriously infinite mind!

This mysterious black door up north was unlikely to be physical, more a spiritual entrance to another world, which was linked with nasty Jael somehow. Visiting Lenora's secret inland cove leading to the mysterious, shadowy woods seemed vital in this mystery. Polly should take good care of her silver hairpin, it certainly seemed important, though she may not find out exactly how much for a long time.

Yes, Mrs Peters would love to meet kind Rose, but she'd lots of plans right now with friends she hadn't seen for an awfully long time.

Meg's flower was gorgeous and wonderfully soft, certainly nothing she'd come across. Mrs Peters almost ventured a guess, biting her lip at the last moment.

When Polly received pay for today's work, Mrs Peters advised her to think very carefully about what to spend it on. Money was created to do good, so on this occasion Mrs Peters would happily donate her third to Polly to do with as she saw fit.

Why Timmy the rat had decided to make his presence known after all that time was another mystery she'd look into when her schedule cleared up. We were always learning in the wonderful world of spirit and every corner turned led to another amazing surprise.

Three exciting hours later dad's car pulled into a campsite, hidden deep in gorgeous Devon countryside. Pollyanna wanted Mrs Peters to stay in a luxury caravan due to her arthritis, promising PADS would pay for it soon. You see Mrs Peters had given all savings to starving African kids - she couldn't bear seeing them suffer.

Dad shared an amused glance with mum, saying everything needed without words.

"Alright Polly, I'll sort it out. You three go and play."

"Thanks dad, you're the best!"

"Yes, I think I am," dad agreed, gazing off dreamily into the horizon, happily letting the truth flood out.

Inside the camp office dad explained about Mrs Peters to the owner, Gordon, who took it all in his stride. "Fair enough Mr Fitzgerald. Kids, eh? What will they come up with next? I remember way back when my little brother Jamie swore a big black dog was following him, hiding in bushes, baring teeth and such. None of us ever saw it, so we laughed and kidded around with him something rotten."

"Anyway, it turned out the dog was real, not imaginary and actually nipped him in the end. None of us laughed after that, least of all him, poor blighter!"

Mum giggled, happy for a distraction from her painful stomach. Hearing the family were heading to Lilac Cottage, Gordon told of the wood beyond, talking of unusual formations the river carved out the rocky landscape over the centuries. Land dropped down sharply from high to low, forming many natural dive points.

One shaped like a theme park's water slide smothered in summer moss, tempted sliders into deeper water at the bottom. Another was similar, raised at the end so sliders could dive headlong into water from a lying position.

Third had a large flat rock at the top where water had formed a steep sided mini cave without a roof. Adventurer's folded arms safely across chests, jumping feet first straight down into deep water. Gordon said no one went that far into the countryside anymore, being too busy with work. Dad put that adventure off till next season when they'd more time.

After breakfast the Fitzgerald's set off for the next twenty miles of the trip, deeper into the beautiful rolling countryside, where the small road got rather bumpy.

"Are you okay in the back?" mum asked anxiously.

"Fine Margaret, you should be the one taking it easy," Mrs Peters replied.

"We'll all be fine thanks, mum."

"Dad, did Florence mention types of spell Edith may have cast? Only Mrs Peters and I wondered whether they could be considered good or bad."

"No. They were just rumours as well. It's not as if she advertised them on the church bulletin board. Like Mr Darrington, Florence just said er, spells and what not."

"Dad! Spells and what not? You'll be calling it all flimflam and hogwash before long."

"Sorry everyone!" dad said, waving in the mirror. His face was a picture.

"We forgive you!" girls called out, bursting into laughter. Pollyanna confessed it was just a joke to see what his face looked like when trying to get out of it. Talk moved to safer topics such as school friends, Mrs Peters records still safe in the loft, how many maltesers it was safe to eat at once, (all had wildly differing opinions, yet all agreed 53 was far too much, even with professional supervision) and why dad's football team hadn't won any trophy's if they were so good.

Dad turned onto a hard, dusty track. Trees bent over the road, creating a leafy tunnel making the exhaust cough like an old smoker. Visitors were cut off from the outside world in these unusually dark shadows. Gigantic black columns hiding strange shapes dove through high hedgerows at either side, lighting up like camera flashes and vanishing. Everyone's ears popped, time seemed to slow, and now the road had no end. In a blinding flash the car rolled into the light once more. Dad blinked, thinking he need more sleep. Mum's stomach felt a lot better. Mrs Peters smiled broadly.

Pollyanna piped up. "How much is Edith's home worth, dad?"

Dad whistled. "Perhaps £500,000, though unique property's can sometimes go for silly money when collectors bid against each other, while auctioneers dance funny jigs."

"So we may get rich."

"No Polly, you'll be rich. That's PADS money, not ours."

"Everyone I love will get a fair share, dad."

"Very kind," dad said, noticing mum drying a tear at the news.

"Meg can choose a present from the catalogue. She'll jump up and down at the choice."

Mrs Peters rewarded Pollyanna with a long cuddle. Suddenly the track melted into a grassy turning, where a dry footpath snuck down towards Lilac Cottage. PADS gathered supplies while mum and dad strolled to the top of the small flowery hill. A high bank in bloom crept up on the horizon, then a wooden chimney popped up, piercing clear blue sky. Wispy white smoke drifted out, strangely clinging together in queer shapes.

Gorgeous Lilac Cottage sprung into view, then all two hundred metres of the sparkling lake. Tiny bubbles pierced its glassy surface, sheltering amongst floating flora, frolicking on foaming coloured air balls bursting with soft pops and blending into the steamy atmosphere. Underneath, unbelievably strange creatures' roamed unseen, flitting between dancing emerald forests far below. One resident bowed as a larger chap floated past, whose vast bulk shifted in and out of existence.

Mum and dad stood spellbound at the surrounding countryside and enticing woods yonder where diving points lay. When they finally tore free, a faint ripple radiated outwards across the still water, making made land fall on each side of the lake together.

Mum told girls to have fun in the sun, while adults relaxed under the beautiful shady tree on the hill. Dad gave Pollyanna the cottage key and PADS set off.

**Chapter 18**

Mrs Peters examined the strange key as PADS trotted down towards the lake. The antique item had tiny symbols etched into it, which Pollyanna photographed to enhance later. When the camera blinked off afterwards, Mrs Peters said these things happened for a reason.

PADS arrived at a long floating wooden bridge jutting out to the island. PADS staggered over together. Mum and dad watched fascinated as Pollyanna clasped an invisible hand.

"It's almost as if Mrs Peters is really there at times," dad said, still wondering how to resolve the strange situation.

Halfway across, large circular markings were pressed beneath deeper water. Something very big must have made them. As friends made it to the island's first slither of sand, arcing water enveloped the isle in a dome of spray shimmering beautiful rainbows. Fluttering heartbeats later it collapsed, sprinkling warm mist, followed by rustling and excited chattering in bushes sitting prettily on the eastern shore. Girls couldn't believe how prettier the island was down here surrounded by the four flowery banks.

Across the water, atop the steep eastern bank, between shaking plants and scampering tiny unseen feet, a tiny waterfall drizzled minute droplets along glistening yellowed moss beds, splitting into three little sisters trickling downwards with gentle, musical plops.

Opposite lay a perfect log cabin, boasting a long veranda, skilfully carved door and a roof finished in gorgeous rose wood that grew deeper, prettier and more alluring as sun gained height. Intricate stilts held Lilac Cottage two feet above ground, inviting a young stream to trickle lazily underneath. Yet PADS were still standing on the southern shore, struck by the lake's rare clarity.

Girls skipped a stone each. The second it sank their stones appeared back behind them. No one was hiding behind, so they peered across to the west bank, where flowers marked rocky holes. Dragonflies blazed atop strange grassy rises, watching inquisitive worms pop up through rich soil. Lost goslings sneaked between miniature trees, joining their mother on the lake, where gigantic lily pads grew in happy pink and white families.

Below the surface Meg spied rainbow flecked fish playing hide and seek between shifting rocks, fascinated at the graceful movement. Even stranger creatures curved along the lake bed. Seconds later enticing sights became overwhelming and Meg launched off a rock into the water. Pollyanna screamed, "She can't swim!" and nearly jumped in after. Mrs Peters stopped her just in time. Meg sank to the bottom instantly, a frantic little tail whipping up dirt, clouding water.

"Look closer," Mrs Peters whispered. Pollyanna could only bear the sight through fingers. Weird noises popped her ears as faint ripples slipped across the water and a growing golden glow pierced the murky underwater cloud. Meg's flower! Soon she broke the surface, yelping triumphantly, moving in small circles, accompanied by strange popping bubbles.

Meg made land fall, shook and climbed the rock again for a good run up. Pollyanna held her closely, despite her delighted squirms. One diving lesson was enough today! Dad's binoculars glinted from atop the hill. PADS waved that all was well. Meg gave up swimming, enjoying a digging frenzy near the bridge instead.

Shimmering bubbles popped out the water, droning faintly like flies, buzzing over head, distorting vision like glimpsing blazing sun. The island whirled crazily, blending and blurring together so quickly till all that existed were Pollyanna and the inquisitive creatures. Colours kissed her cheek, then vanished beneath the water, leaving relaxing happiness and bright sunshine again. "Thank you for helping my friend," Pollyanna said.

"Water spirits, Polly. Fairies distant cousins."

Meanwhile, Meg dug up a shiny black stone, carefully placing it near the bridge.

Pollyanna sighed happily. "Well this isn't a poltergeist haunting. The island's so alive and so beautiful, no crushed, dying flowers. Poltergeists feed on the fear their presence gives people, leaving sooty black markers acting like power wells to draw from and add to. Ah, Benny, Timmy and today. Where are all the nasty ghosts hiding?"

"Good things often happen in threes, petal. I bet our next hunt gets very creepy indeed. Let's just have enormous fun today. Come on, inside!"

PADS peeked indoors from the veranda, making out a table and sideboard decorated with strange ornamental beasties.

Back at the bridge, a grateful black stone sprouted legs, flitted across the lake like a ballerina, passing into a hidden place beneath the far green bank.

Pollyanna slipped the key into place. Tingling, fizzing pulses flowing through her hands swung the door open. Everyone charged in to sweet smelling lavender drifting off dew in sun's first rays. Now the table was set with PADS favourite meals and candles whooshed into life. Captivating smells circled round, bouncing off the table.

"Special magic indeed. Let's eat, Polly!"

A hamper on the side board held food labelled 'parents.' Mrs Peters nodded wisely.

"I see. Edith's dedication and compassion to keep this beautiful island working as one for so long is simply staggering. One must start so young, making many sacrifices to control such incredible power. Time is just one of them."

"Where do you think she is now?"

"Somewhere intensely beautiful and peaceful I pray."

Outside, an empty rowing boat floated silently to the southern shore.

Suddenly PADS hair frizzed up. Walls flickered, seeming to move and sway as tiny fizzing circles pooled into them.

"Carry on as normal, let them work out we have permission," Mrs Peters advised.

Everyone continued eating, soon glimpsing wood inside the wall. Presently the creatures slid together, rushed round walls in a thin band, then popped through the ceiling.

"Those were new. I'll wager they weren't even from this world," Mrs Peters announced.

"So Polly, would you prefer to live here or the Pemberton's?"

"A very tough question," Polly answered, looking around again. The room was so cool and airy, holding such a welcoming, happy atmosphere. Striking landscape paintings granted fantastic glimpses of other worlds. One showed a young blonde lady darting over a fiery, fantastical planet \- that _must_ be Edith.

"Toughest ones seem to bring out the best answers, Polly."

"Oh... home of course. If I left right now I'd miss Henry too much, and my bedroom too. It helps me concentrate after a long school day. I sometimes hear such beautiful sounds outside the window as I'm going to sleep. On special nights the moon shines through our oak, making cute little people and animal shapes come alive on the wardrobe. They have so much fun dancing around in their own shadowy little world. I often wonder what they do when I'm asleep, or what they get up to during the day when I can't see them or hear their cute songs. Each night I love imagining what their special little world is like beyond what I see, and how I could visit."

"Good for you Polly. Always keep your priorities straight. One should only move home when truly ready."

"Thanks. Shall we look around?"

All headed to the kitchen out back, struck by an odd bamboo contraption, filled with golden sand bags. A thin hollow rod connected them straight down the middle. Long wooden tubes jutted out the back, camouflaged right up to the lake.

"Very clever! Pumping water from the lake, purifying it through sand bags, clean, fresh and chemical free!" Pollyanna announced triumphantly. "I bet they have special help too. No wonder there's no TV."

Mrs Peters agreed. "The tank's been positioned to absorb maximum sunlight, not just to heat water..." Mrs Peters gazed out over the lake, picturing a sunset. Spirits were shy over this side, though atop the western hill yellow flashes split gold, pink and white blossoms blowing towards her. There was an apple orchard up there with fruit so sweet and nary a pest in sight. Precious little gardeners would see to that.

Miniature flowering plants grew along the bank side, stems longer and thicker than normal. Minute green leaves flitted gaily to and fro between them. Beneath the waterline, tiny inquisitive eyes blinked in faded shadows, swirling amongst speckled brown rocks and swaying lilies.

"We _must_ look up there if there's time," Mrs Peters sighed dreamily, lost in summer days with Janice. Pollyanna was watching Meg balancing on the edge of the bench. How did she get up there?!

PADS trooped upstairs, unconscious to a warm, invisible presence searching through their innermost desires. One large bedroom fell to the right, boasting a grand view of the high east bank. This room joined onto another, filled with groaning book shelves and paintings of gnomes, fairies and nature spirits in their natural environment. Ah, another clue about Edith! Like Pemberton Manor, these rare, detailed scenes were created by the gifted artist's personal experience, rather than imagination.

An airy bathroom lay opposite. The bath was more like a small pool Meg could swim in. Waterproof wood surrounded the edges. Inside was shaped with coloured clay. Cubby holes set along sides and bottom would rest your feet - the only bath in England someone could safely fall asleep in.

Down the long corridor a latticed window showed a fine western view, granting a tantalising glimpse of the orchard on the hill. Edith's locked bedroom door held many faded scenes, but the only visible words were: 'Knock and Enter.' Mrs Peters rapped politely. Sadly nothing happened.

"Shame. I think we'd have to buy or stay longer to sneak a peak in here," she said, glancing round suspiciously. "Polly, there's another spirit here. I can't quite place it, she may be fading, but I feel she's very powerful and equally kind."

"We'll talk it over tonight," Pollyanna declared, thanking the secretive presence for their exciting day. Dad squawked over the radio, copying the squelching, hissing noise after speaking. "We'll join you soon dad, then walk back across together."

PADS headed for the back door, noticing plates had been washed and neatly stacked. Mrs Peters discovered a note clinging unaided to the kitchen door, which wasn't there before.

"PADS and family.

11am - Arrival.

11:45am - Tea.

12:30pm - Touring my home.

1:20pm – An Experimental Progressive Light Show held on our northern bank.

2:15pm - Parents arrive.

3:30pm - Depart.

PADS shall be allowed to adopt one flower or plant to cleanse their home."

"Perfect!" everyone agreed.

PADS eagerly followed the stream down to the shoreline. "I get a funny feeling there's more to the locked room than meets the eye, Mrs Peters."

"Sometimes gifted folk's minds can expand along with their home. Not in a physical sense able to be measured from outside," Mrs Peters explained.

"Wow, like another world or dimension inside her bedroom?"

"One of many possibilities. Though it's unlikely to be inside the door, very interesting secrets may lie very near."

Soon PADS stood with bated breath on the isle's northern edge. The far bank hosted a mysterious miniature forest, throwing confusing shadows on the water between them. Duller exotic plants and tall ferns swayed in the background.

Low whistles crossed the lake, drawing further attention to the bank. Tiny dried mud sods broke from its overhanging sides, sprinkling leaves and vegetation into the water. Insect hordes dove onto the mossy beds. Strange currents bore the brave travellers safely to a distant shore.

At 1:20 Meg noticed a peculiar stirring in the plunging depths - perhaps the crazed thrashings of a gigantic invisible fish. Water built up round ancient silver rocks, folding over and over. And as it churned upwards, liquid drew inwards, bubbling and thrashing, adding reeds, fungus and flowers to its growing mass, bursting out the lake to a mighty whooshing roar.

Suddenly a giant waterspout swirled high over the cottage. Colourful rings pulsed inside it whilst it whirled faster and faster, throwing coloured droplets everywhere, PADS gasped as sections changed colour in a beautiful, hypnotic sequence from top to bottom and edge to edge, almost like a soothing secret message.

Shoreline flowers were lightly sprayed, embossing leaves with colourful dew, while the northern bank was soaked. The magical plume moved smoothly across the lake, drawing amazingly complicated patterns, its thick tail only just stirring the surface, leaving a small wake. PADS applauded loudly.

Colourful arcs split off from the body, leaving a tall, thin spout in the middle, then each one blew up together, sending a thousand colourful droplets over the lake, leaving only brightly coloured pulsing strings dangling deep into the water.

"I don't know what that was, apart from amazing," Mrs Peters confessed, joining a second round of applause.

"If that was an experiment, I should love to see the finished product," Pollyanna mused. The strange water current reversed, allowing lilies, leaves and passengers to head home. Time seemed to flow quicker during the show as it was now 2:15.

PADS arrived back at the southern shore. "Choose a plant, dear. Follow your heart."

Pollyanna sighed at the choice. "All are so beautiful, but I noticed a small, dry, brown plant earlier in bushes, a shy, clever little boy. Sounds so silly, but I feel he's lonely and may benefit from meeting new friends. I think he'd like a big sister to talk to."

"Yes, you knew Meg was special too. Go on then petal. This paper bag will keep his feet warm on the way home."

Pollyanna skipped over, coaxing the wilting plant gently out his bed. He slipped easily out the soil, confirming she'd made the right choice. Skipping back to shore, she gazed over the sunlit water. PADS clambered into the boat floating invitingly near the shore. Mrs Peters gently rowed onwards, resting when a light breeze drifted over the tranquil water. Soft whispering filled the air. Invisible eyes watched the craft slip silently across the still water. A few minutes later it drifted to a stop just next to the jetty, so PADS could climb out safely.

"Simply beautiful!" Mrs Peters said dreamily.

"It felt like it took so much longer it was so relaxing," Pollyanna agreed.

Mum and dad stood horrified on the jetty, because Pollyanna took a boat ride alone when she wasn't a good swimmer. Mum was white, as if still expecting a terrible accident. Meg wanted to do it again.

"Polly, promise to never to do that again," dad said.

"But Mrs Peters always looks after me."

"Polly?"

"Sorry. I promise I won't till I can swim better."

"Alright, as you've learnt a lesson, we'll say no more about it."

The Fitzgerald's hugged under a waning, flickering sun, flooding the beautiful lake with dim, yellow glows. A warm breeze caressed them, swishing back across the water through the cottage's top window.

Mum and dad sampled the tasty snacks left for them at Lilac Cottage. Mum was amazed at the variety of flowers, loving the happy atmosphere. Dad wondered how the old lights worked, searching unsuccessfully for a power source, reluctantly leaving it as one of life's many mysteries.

Following two false starts, at 3:30 dad's car left the lake. Meg balanced on the luggage shelf, looking back at a pretty lady on the far shore. Funny, floaty friends flew round her, darting in and out of the swirly, shrinky whirlwind high above. Their mistress beckoned Meg sweetly. Meg barked loudly, running in circles, enchanted by the heavenly voice.

"Ah, our sweet little friend can't bear to leave," Mrs Peters remarked.

"Don't worry Meg, we'll be back, I can feel it. This isn't the end, only the beginning," Pollyanna said.

Back at camp, PADS watched TV in the caravan. Notes could be typed up properly tomorrow. Mum and dad sat chatting in front of their tent. "Strange how the boat glided along with nobody rowing," mum said, flicking through a magazine.

"Weird how the atmosphere can whip up a breeze from nothing. We were in a dip, surrounded by those four steep banks around the lake. Warm air must get caught up in there, producing that freaky effect. A micro climate I think," dad said.

"Been watching the weather channel have we? At least it's not those annoying internet soaps."

"Yes, lucky I've managed to wean myself off them."

Next day a woodland walk freshened minds. By early afternoon the family set off on the long journey home. As soon as they arrived, Pollyanna rushed to the back garden. Meg had rescued some soft newspaper pieces from the campsite office, secreting them in her den then joining mistress outside. Girls planted their new friend between two large daffodils near Henry's home, so he'd enjoy a nice surprise later. Pollyanna stood admiring the tawny little fellow, praying he'd feel happy here, promising to treat him like her own child. They had to go for now, but would think of a special name for him and check back very soon.

In PADS office, Mrs Peters leant over the computer, trying to start it through sheer will power. "Polly, we should leave something for Edith for trusting us today. One good turn deserves another."

Pollyanna agreed, showing Mrs Peters how the computer worked. PADS soon had a professional report typed up that Mrs Peters approved. Pollyanna beamed. It really was so wonderful working for such a caring boss.

The cottage key photo was enlarged, revealing words: 'Welcome all whose minds are free.' Scenery pictured tops of an apple orchard. Misty, blooming meadows lay in the background. Mrs Peters said a light source could be seen behind the haze from certain angles, which didn't seem like real mist, saying she'd seen that vapour somewhere before. Perhaps she'd remember when she wasn't so tired?

PADS main thoughts were that the haunting was benign, almost certainly Edith Babcock's spirit aiming to guard the property, though having a less clearer secondary purpose for remaining.

Property viewers reporting negativity were experiencing various natural spirits disapproval of them as possible tenants. Spirits wouldn't be dangerous to them, but certainly a hindrance. Thus, tenants unable to live in harmony with the untouched countryside wouldn't be welcomed. Therefore logic dictated Mr Darrington only sold to a buyer who felt uplifted and relaxed by the viewing.

Lilac Cottage had been designed brilliantly. The front door faced east, welcoming the brilliance of the rising sun, and the rear faced west, bowing to gorgeous sunsets. Mrs Peters confirmed this custom dated back thousands of years; funnelling good luck into the residence. She touched on the variety of spirits already there, including suspected forest folk, such as mischievous elves and/or pixies, noting all known powers. Incredibly fresh lake water added to the island's latent magical powers, healing minor injuries better than conventional treatments, and providing a physical and spiritual barrier against negativity.

In conclusion, as PADS hadn't dispelled a spirit, Pollyanna felt rude asking for full payment. So, if the gentleman could just pay for Mrs Peters caravan they'd be most grateful. Everyone had a brilliant day, wishing all holidays were as exciting. Pollyanna sent the email and tiring Mrs Peters said she must leave.

Mrs Peters waved girls goodbye at the corner of the street, thanking them for taking her on such a thrilling holiday. Pollyanna gave her travel sweets for the long journey. Meg gave her a big lick and very friendly barks.

Ten minutes later Mr Darrington's reply arrived. PADS had perfectly fulfilled his request, promising a cheque when Lilac Cottage sold, wishing their business the very best of luck.

Pollyanna glowed with pride at such high praise from such an honest, respected man. The world was such a wonderful place!

**Chapter 19**

A month later local news of Lilac Cottage caught the Fitzgerald's attention. A middle aged couple had moved in. The very small man, only just fitting into his glasses, was a toy maker whose company had gone international. His wife said she spent most of her time keeping an enthusiastic young son from playing in the lake all day. Before their move he'd been a poor swimmer.

The report told of controversy during the auction, revealing some losing phone bidders had been plagued by connection problems and strange noises on the lines. One overseas bidder bitterly complained he'd been authorised to offer a million more than the winning bid. Pollyanna was so pleased for the kindly looking family, knowing they'd have such an amazing time. Dad interrupted her thoughts. "Polly - one and a half million!"

"Thirty thousand pounds!" Pollyanna cried, jumping up, "I almost feel guilty taking money for what we actually did, dad."

"Well, a deal's a deal, Polly, and Mr Darrington can easily afford it."

"Are you going to save it up?"

"I know exactly how I'm going to spend mum," Pollyanna said confidently. "Meg shall get a new food bowl for starters. My poor little piggy bank was feeling weak as he was down to his last three pounds, which I was saving specially for her. What an absolute godsend!" she sung, flying upstairs for a calculator.

Two weeks later, 8 pm, knowing parents were watching their favourite programme, girls sneaked into the kitchen, quietly checking all red bills. Pollyanna wrote her new bank card details on every one. One going back 5 years was being paid off monthly to a private health trust, dating from when Polly was very small and couldn't walk without wobbling, so she filled that in first. Trying to stop giggling for joy, Pollyanna sneaked bills into the post box waiting patiently on the street corner. Back in the kitchen, mum heard her rearranging cupboards to increase efficiency. "Rose expects you tomorrow, Polly. Pack carefully."

Girls were going to bed early tonight to mentally prepare for returning to Lenora. In her bedroom, Pollyanna calculated just under two thirds of the reward was spent. Girls felt warm happiness deep inside, just like Mrs Peters said doing nice things did to nice people.

Pollyanna smiled at tonight's secret work, settling down to sleep. The strange villagers projected on the wardrobe sensed her mood, granting a glimpse of decorated huts silhouetted against mysterious smoky trees. Girls watched enthralled at lively warriors dancing round a flickering camp fire. Their happy dance filled with flowing, entrancing moves, mixed with soothing warm crackling flame, and calming sounds of the tropical night, lulled them into the lovely land of sleep.

**Chapter 20**

Next evening, back at Pemberton Manor the lively twosome went to bed very early, desperate to spend as long as possible on Lenora. Girls woke on her dusty floor, surrounded by villagers helping them up. "Fine performance!" one cried.

"Performance?" Pollyanna echoed. Along with the nasty gypsy woman, the tent had gone, leaving a vague bumpy trail outlined in the ground, where the outside edges had hung.

"Yes, the whole routine," Clarabelle said. Apparently, because of the confusing smoke and fairy magic, villagers thought only a few minutes had passed.

"How long was our piece? We like giving our audience value." Ten minutes the crowd replied.

"I loved how well you convinced us there was an impatient, violent woman there too. My, even your beautiful pup looked quite convincing. Gave me quite a start till I realised it was all an act," Clarabelle commented.

"I haven't seen that excellent blue smoke trick since I were young," an old, long nosed man ventured, adjusting an extremely tall hat. Dreamers wondered if a circus was in town.

"What is this new theatre, princess?"

"Erm, performance art."

"Fancy name. May we throw a grand party round it at our palace to celebrate summer?"

"If we have time. Excuse us, we've lots to do."

Clarabelle trilled how proud princess should be at creating a special village for kids. Pollyanna smiled, unable to think of an answer, leaping onto the recently polished carriage now decorated with flowers and jewels. Thunder and Lightning were thrilled at villagers' kind attention, taking off snorting thanks.

Pollyanna hoped villagers would be ok. Due to Jael, odd changes had swept over Lenora while they were away. But what? Sadly the video camera hadn't arrived with them. Pockets only held her hairclip, though her watch was still there, stuck at 12 pm.

In the whistling woods, horses snorts were welcomed by double whistles. Pollyanna explained to Meg they had to find the secret woodland glade before nightfall, write notes at the palace, check on the flighty thunderbird and find clues about Jael, so she couldn't talk to deer this trip. Discovering the secret cove was important too.

Horses stopped at the giant red tree. Pollyanna stood listening to trees secret whistling as they allowed sneaky winds to dry them down to enormous gnarly feet. Minds were far away, talking to far off worlds, unlikely to share any secrets of the glade right now.

Trees voices faded like dreamt whispers into faint echoes of a talkative stream, drawing girls deeper off the track, sneaking through tiny forgotten villages, parting dewy hazel fronds, tracing smaller hidden pathways and clambering warm mossy mounds.

Ah, again - a whispering on the breeze, musical gurgling and splashing lying dead ahead. Girls broke into a frantic run, tripping into a clearing over a half buried stone marker, but the enchanting glade was deserted. Meg charged to the chatty little stream, staring wistfully at tiny fish swimming in formation, their thin, bendy bodies twisting through glistening green plants. Lurking below sat many rises scattered along the smooth riverbed. Meg imagined beneath lay yet another magical kingdom on a miniature scale, where fish made perfect guards. Their king was probably a peaceful fellow ruling by trust. Surely the bulges were clouds?

The brook's graceful movements and her shifting colours held Meg so fascinated, she lapped at the tiny waves. When mistress caught up, the pup patrolled the clearing perimeter. Pollyanna sipped the streams sweetness. Instantly refreshed, she remembered the great black door from last visit, setting her mind racing. Still so much to do!

Now water calmed, gracing bulging eyes with a perfect reflection of the woodland glade behind that matched the bedroom door, apart from where there'd been glowing eyes in thick undergrowth. Flickering ferns seemed like steam, or fresh morning dew burning off under warming sun. Very strange. Pollyanna explored further, finding plants blended in with each other again.

Meg's curious snuffles took her to the same area, marking a spot with confident yaps. Very clever, a hidden place, but _nothing_ there! Meg's wild rooting roused a high pitched squeal, matching the lucky dreamers surprise! A second squeal pierced trees, then another. Soon it seemed the glade was filled with dozens of invisible animals hiding amongst heaps of ferns and roots. Suddenly Pollyanna spied a fat clump of brown bush, like a small football. Two blinking blue dots sat near the top. "Hello?" she ventured. Silence.

"Hello... princess," the ball squeaked nervously.

"Please step into the light if you can to talk face to face."

With another squeal and a shake of dirt and leaves an egg shaped, squashy little ball popped into the clearing. What was it? Bright blue pin prick eyes, two very short legs with wide webbed feet splayed outwards like a ducks. Knobbly ridges ran from back to front, another circled its middle like a weird, bony belt.

"What's your name little one?"

"Sparkle, a star."

"Isn't she cute, Meg?" Pollyanna squealed, desperate to hug her.

"I'm a boy," he squeaked proudly, blinking coloured furry circles.

"Sorry! Is this your home? Where are your friends?"

Sparkle pointed sadly at sky, collapsing. Pollyanna picked him up, then sat on the piper's log. The endearing creature bleated his heart out like a newborn lamb, ever so grateful to talk to someone after so long.

Sparkle had been by alone for weeks since family and friends left, desperate to join them in the starry sky before next full moon. Feeling princess awaken this morning he set off, or 'winked' to the palace to ask for help, suffering a terrible crisis of confidence in the garden. Following instead, he tried thinking of a plan to help, so he could ask for her favour, as he didn't feel important enough.

Princess had fallen asleep after he'd shaken her furry friend out the spell the evil gypsy woman had cast on her. Completely out of energy due to the long travel, Sparkle had woken up back in his nest to see girls walking around.

"Why, you didn't have to worry about such a silly thing. Stars are some of the most important and beautiful things in the sky!" Pollyanna declared, while coloured dust trickled down his furry face, creating fizzing pools bubbling and bouncing on the forest floor. Pollyanna's handkerchief dabbed tears, staining it in a beautiful pattern. Feeling better, Sparkle squeaked stars needed help from the musical piper to take off into the sky.

"I guessed he was important," Pollyanna said, "Or the sun and moon wouldn't float down to join his wild dance."

"Grandpa said when the piper played, stars old enough felt a strange churning deep inside. Stars had to uproot, use flat feet to balance and wait."

Pollyanna knew an awful lot about strange animals. Piper's mysterious music must start off a chain reaction inside stars, who probably only ate a few different plants packed with magical essences. Two or more chemicals made naturally inside the star's body - harmless by themselves could be encouraged to mix by certain musical tones. Making up for this sudden shortfall, more and more chemicals may be produced very quickly. Then a spark, such as scraping a stone, a massive explosion, and a new star blasted into the sky!

Sparkle explained winking was how stars travelled, though it was used less nowadays, he was unsure why. Stars travelled great distances overland instantly by winking. Short legs, only meant for short journeys along spongy wet ground between homes, were only good for balancing before takeoff.

Sparkle's emotions were linked with his winking ability. Being so upset recently, he winked when crying and cried when winking, ending up in some very strange places. It normally took one wink to get to the palace, but had taken 12 this morning.

"You could ask piper to give me one more chance. Tonight is the last night of our full moon, if I can only find enough energy before then. Will you help, princess?"

"Even a rascally piper understands its good form to be in favour with a fairy princess, Sparkle." Pollyanna flicked her hair back, absently brushing her hairclip shining brightly under dappled sunlight. An invisible charge flicked into the star.

"Thank you! Come and watch before midnight, princess!"

Pollyanna promised to if she could, unsure how she'd helped. Sparkle waddled home. Pollyanna wrote a note to the piper, asking for a private ceremony for Sparkle that night, placing it on his seat. This note would grant him any request at the palace. Meg gently licked Sparkle like a lolly pop, making him all squirmy and ticklish. Pollyanna couldn't bear leaving without some final words. "Tonight you'll join friends, just believe." Sparkle promised to try. Pollyanna gazed up, imagining a star family forming some wonderful new constellation. Picturing little star in the centre, she knew smallest stars sometimes shine the brightest.

Time flew, so Pollyanna wished to return to the palace to search for the thunderbird and see as many sights as possible. Flashing blue streaks buzzed past, leaving strange trails swimming through the glade. Sudden rushing air grew so powerful, blurring, so intense, there wasn't time to shield eyes and dreamers didn't know where the other was.

**Chapter 21**

Suddenly friends arrived back at the palace, feeling a strange, breathless jerk. What a welcome thank you from their cute new friend! Sudden urgency to investigate Jael and the thunderbird was strangely forgotten as soon as girls entered the palace dining room, where a different urge niggled like an itchy rash. The map spread out, eagerly tracing the continent far, far east across the sea.

Idly touching her hairpin, Pollyanna smoothed a dark crease at the very edge of the browned chart. Ah, not a fold or error - an actual thumb sized place lay there, flashing faintly in the Great Eastern Sea, between Lenora and the far off kingdom of Petulia. The mysterious isle had no name, seeming to be an independent country. Often such places were left unspoilt and inhabitants prided themselves on keeping them so. So much so explorers aptly named them little pieces of heaven.

Meg dug out a crumpled note from the back of the book cabinet with a tiny drawing matching the island's contours on the main map. Mistress read the crabbed writing out loud.

"Legend whispers Destiny Isle remains exceptionally beautiful, small, self contained and utterly unique, harbouring all the sights of a landmass hundreds of times her size. Trees purporting to be desert palms hiding many secrets thrive on her golden beach, breathing warm, magical air drifting from our neighbouring four kingdoms."

"'tis easy imagining the constantly changing location of Destiny Isle lies key to her success. An eclectic mix of seeds, ideas and magick's blown on strange winds happening so rarely on fairy planets, allows an incredible diversity of flora, fauna and fairy folk to flourish. I understand it always delights a lucky visitor that it can often be extremely difficult to tell the difference. If one cares to take a dreamy stroll..."

Writing grew far too faint, but adventurers were now desperate to visit such a rare, beautiful place. One blink later they stood on Destiny Isle's beach, ankle deep in warm water pools, and very happy Sparkle felt better. Joy proved short lived, for peering through cold murky air it became clear all was not as expected. Large red smudges overhead told of a strange new sun rising, yet sky remained dark and grim and few promised delights could be found. Swaying green palms said to have danced energetically in the sun lay dormant, bowing greying heads to the ground like naughty children, as if ashamed of something seen or spoken.

An ominous dark green sea stretched out before puzzled dreamers, forcing its way through weird rock formations further out. One may be a frowning face, others a set of ever smaller loops of a mighty sea serpent coiling protectively round the shallow western bay. A far cry from its normal tranquillity and transparency, today water was restless, thick and murky. Hardly the time for a refreshing swim Pollyanna remarked, wincing. Meg agreed, shivering, smelling air, sensing a dark change growing.

"So you feel it too, pup. This isle seems lonely, as if something or someone has been taken from it and it's still in mourning, pondering how to recover."

And as they stood longer, caught in the strange oppressive atmosphere, each rising wave breaking on the lonely shore seemed to add to the thickening air of sadness and regret, until it became clear waves grew greyer and angrier alongside unpleasant taints on the wind. With each gasping breath gusts and smell grew stronger, curling nostrils and drying tongues.

Behind them, desperate palms gave way to barren trees. Once colourful and strong, now plain and weak, they remained quiet, chastened, sharing nothing of the imposing mountain half hidden in dark rolling mist beyond.

From the swirling semi darkness to creeping sense of loneliness haunting the sands it seemed they'd arrived too late to witness the island's magical beauty. Girls thought it wasn't living as such, more existing, turning inwards towards land, hoping the rest of the isle hadn't been left to decay as much, shocked by people rushing out of woods and from taller trees living further down the beach. Others surfaced past rising breakers, swarming frantically out the sea, feverishly heading inland alongside the rest.

The explorers watched them carefully. Ordinary fairy folk like these were also found on Lenora. Sure enough they held secrets, but there was something different about these people too in a stranger way only possible on a fairy world. Ah - their weird movement! Swimmers had bobbed like seaweed driven upon the shore, runners had swayed a strange waltz from side to side as reeds in a breeze, and forest folk had burst not from brushwood, but amidst leafy treetops.

And the wild rush from the shore continued - nervous, flighty, speech urgent and foreign as the growing melee funnelled onto a sandy path leading deeper into dark, greying greenery.

"Come along Meg, this looks serious. We need to help."

Girls ran alongside the swelling crowd, shouting, though none noticed them at all. Nonetheless, they charged after them through sodden undergrowth, dodging moving timber from growing winds, only slowing as the trail grew steeper, winding up the groaning mountain. And still the light, sinewy people rolled onwards.

One scrambling climb later dreamers turned into a tiny cave dressed with fine greenery fresh from the sea, neatly lined by beautiful shells and winking pearls. Here a wide stone staircase carved up towards descending twilight. Steps were wet, slimy and treacherous, splashing angry black streams down the sides.

Light, breezy murmuring, rising voices washed over girls in waves, yet the tongue remained unfamiliar and distant, now including the fleeting feeling of a lost goal to the folks' flight other than simple safety.

Pollyanna and Meg leapt up the final steps, bursting into the light near the top of an active volcano, peering into a deep chasm half filled by molten lava. A brittle knife edged ridge led steeply up to the highest point some distance to the right of the fiery abyss. Atop sat a tiny shrine dedicated to the mountain god.

Folk bowed, chanting mantras. Others turned east, gazing out to sea, where the mighty ocean rose unnaturally to half the height of the mountain, rolling over itself, furiously hissing and spitting black, briny froth higher still. At its highest swell, long foamy tongues angrily licked over the side, sliding into the festering cauldron.

Disturbed islanders drew back, taking refuge against the drier cliff face. Only Pollyanna bravely stepped forward, feeling the weird liquid slip through her hands - dark brown sand sticking solid, then dissolving to an uncomfortable residue like deep brown sugar. Meg barked at the danger, willing her flower to burn it off fingers.

Bewitched by sights, Pollyanna gazed far out to sea too, then all around. Many other spirits milled round the bubbling chasm now blasting cloudy steam, but little heat. A high viewing platform bulged out from the rock face behind the crowd, but how to get there?

Once again Pollyanna attempted contact with the swelling crowd. One elderly man was so shocked, he gazed through her. After trying again girls were suddenly back on the beach, very confused and more frustrated than ever. Thick rolling tide now reached knees, forcing a wild struggle inwards again. They joined stragglers forming from windswept rocks about to be swamped, determined to find clues on the way back up.

A young boy now stood at the mountain's base, allowing sea to trickle between toes, tenderly gathering plants from a tree trunk lined with squeaking moss. His eyes were trusting and calm - the only ones not fearful of the rising storm.

"Nagaai?" he asked, pointing upwards, taking her appearance in closely. Meg took in his green and silver costume rolling with flowery plants, knowing he asked why they'd come down from safety. Meg barked an answer. Gently taking Pollyanna's hand, he flitted them swiftly up the cliff, highlighting tinted silver hair and strange squirming items worn as a belt. Halfway, miniature waterfalls surged to raging torrents, blocking the path. The forest child sprinkled leaves over thin air, stepping on them as stones in a stream.

In the glistening cave, he dropped mossy tufts that rustled up a side, opening a small gap married to tiny steps marching upwards. Suddenly the boy whizzed off, leaving silver trails and girls squeezed into the crack into pitch dark. Gentle light glowed from nowhere, illuminating the new cavern with dim, eerie glows.

Three massive tomes sat on a long smooth rock bench ahead and weirdly coloured space behind them was softer than surrounding walls. Pressing it turned a long section transparent, showing the high viewing platform and folk still milling nervously round the volcano's edge below.

Past the sea's breakers, a long curved ridge formed, slowly moving towards land. In shallower waters surrounding the beach, bulging black, morphing figures swooped down from menacing storm clouds to fight tall silver warriors lining the ridge.

The silver braves fought valiantly, using the growing storms force against the dark ones by directing powerful blue lightning. The mighty battle raged on, yet no matter how many black ones lay defeated and slipped into the boiling sea, others took their place in an unwinnable draw.

"This is terrible, Meg. Those poor people are scared stupid."

Her heartfelt outburst drew light filtering down the walls, highlighting hundreds of tiny model people, plants and landscapes. Pollyanna mulled the discovery, flicking through the strangely scripted books lost to our waking world. Meg barked at each object, waiting for one to spring to life and play. Her little yellow flower glowed, rousing many bizarre creatures from slumber.

The battle grew even fiercer outside whilst Pollyanna searched fruitlessly for another secret switch, when book's pages flicked back and forth. One rose up, vanishing with queer pops. Fading hums flitted round the cavern, following colourful pulsing tubes and bubbles lazily bumping into each other and passing through rock high above.

Meanwhile Meg herded a walking plant towards stairs, thinking how funny it would look shuffling down steps on bendy roots. Her precious flower friend glowed passing more fantastic creatures, causing a very queer fish to swim through buzzing air.

How could they help the helpless islanders? Pollyanna racked her brain, trying to cancel out the growing storm and worried voices rising below. A warm wind slipped through tiny holes high above, energizing thoughts, charging the magical atmosphere further. A hand slipped absently to her precious hairpin and eyes to blocks of smelly brown matter beneath the bench. Handfuls of it weighed nothing, warming and popping back into place when pressed. This had to be the shy fairy craftsman's modelling material - cooled lava mixed with even stranger substances.

The wild storm increased, but Pollyanna grew strangely relaxed. Deafening noise faded, warm pulses ran from hands to head, eyes glassed over, then the thoughts began - thoughts of a strange, beautiful country far away, of life, of love, how his young isle was, should, could be. Thoughts formed flickers, flashing images, a tiny golden beach resting amidst a gorgeous breathing ocean, the isle growing piece by piece, villagers budding, blossoming, thinking. Pollyanna relaxed further, feeling as if lying on softest, fluffiest sheets swaddled in silk, unconsciously pressing the hairpin into the brown substance. It flashed back out. Instantly her fingers flew faster and faster, sculpting an exact copy of the hairpin. Minutes later it shone brightly under the warm, magical light. A bubble took the new hairpin for its own, spinning and tinkling off through the roof.

Pollyanna jerked back to reality, ears ringing with the sudden noise. What just happened? Had she really drifted off in the middle of such a dreadful crisis?!

The hairpin hovered triumphantly amongst dark clouds, humming and whistling high over the raging storm, plummeting into the volcano, sending booming whooshing echoes far out to sea. Islanders murmured at thick cloudy smoke billowing from the crater, gasping as strong hot lava spouts spat out.

Folk kept to walls as ominous forces built deep below the earth, rumbling through the ground. When the last islander was safe, lava roared out to the highest clouds, spreading seaward in mighty arcs, cleansing all from blackened sky to dirty water. Stubborn black parts desperately clinging on to existence dissolved to nothing. Brave silver warriors bowed to the isle, vanishing beneath waves.

Flood waters rolled backwards in a blink, losing their great height far out to sea. The foul storm ended, islanders faded, flickered, then grew solid again. Now happy chattering voices mingled perfectly amongst deep, confident rumbles from an awakened giant miles below.

Girls rushed out there, desperate to talk now islanders were no longer so shocked. There was so much to learn! The forest boy slipped unnoticed through the happy crowd, smiling a welcome to the two eager visitors springing towards him. But at the volcano's mouth, ground opened, dropping dreamers into the flaming pit, where churning forces drove them deep beneath the hot streams, jetting along rapidly filling lava tubes, feeling only the warmth of a water slide on a summer's day.

Now the heroines played on the beach, laughing as thick, soft liquid flowed around, creating fresh land at their feet. Excited voices rushed from the mighty cauldron's tip, pumping down the fiery tunnels. Soon powerful lava flows died to trickles.

Light, feathered, leafy creatures swooped from above, rich red sun highlighted a grinning serpent in the bay, shifting light tubes flitted between greening trees, and from the rocky mountain, many marvelled at the great beauty their God had granted them. Shortly after, folk started down dry steps inviting them to stretch their limbs once more.

Pollyanna and Meg happily sat safe and warm on soft sand, watching the day develop in reddening, rising sun. Moments later an excited silver trace raced round the mountain. But by then our two explorers had left the beautiful isle that faded away to all but the most magical eye, leaving naught but gentle green ripples, fresh white clouds warming in the brightening sun and a pleasant magical humming whistling through the air. A tiny silver speck now floats at the peak of the talkative mountain, where grateful islanders still gaze up in wonder.

Girls arrived on palace steps. Pollyanna sighed forever. "Well little Meg, I guess we sometimes don't get to see all we'd like in dreams."

**Chapter 22**

Back at the discovery book, Pollyanna wanted to mark Destiny Isle on the map, but it had disappeared and she couldn't remember where it lay. Rather strangely, the note on it had vanished too. All she could do was write her story in the book, wondering if it would still be there later.

Urge for further adventure returned. Now to explore the nasty Jael mystery, the black door and the thunderbird! Precious few clues had been offered so far. So, as the sun dial crept closer to 3 pm, Pollyanna wished for a hint, hoping Sparkle was still up to it.

In a whizzing blue flash they were in an ornate wooden boat propelled like lightning across the enormous eastern ocean, diving in vast troughs between towering waves, slipping unseen amongst wild green foam hiding the mighty seas many secrets.

After this unbelievable rush across roaring waters, travellers gazed up at a towering rock formation, feeling suns dry them of sweet, sticky spray. Hidden atop the mighty cliff sat a stone pedestal gazing far out to sea, thinking of darker days that may come to pass when the Guardian Mother swept down to claim the last seed.

Meg licked herself. The sea tasted of many different things, all entirely new. Her mind formed a sense of their sources - fantastic shapes changing by mood, knowing ancient tales others did not. These wondrous creatures lived very deep indeed, where life was sweeter still.

Choppy green waters behind threw up curtains of deep black spray, almost hiding a strange stretched fish diving out the restless ocean, desperate for a better view. White smoke took flight from holes high on the cliff, flocking to curved spines on the nosey observer's slimy scales till it slipped under.

Meg assumed her favourite position at the prow. An entrance opened in the rock, leading to an exquisitely tranquil cove. The boat glided through, dreamily dodging gleaming rocks dripping with fresh blue weed freed from the darkest depths and brushing softened stone that moved, singing quiet, enchanting songs of long ago when no earthly eyes were upon them. Ageless gemstone crumbled above, feeding ancient waters gliding below. Carving a passage through misty spray into the light, Pollyanna knew this was indeed the secret, magical cove, where haunting woods lay waiting beyond.

Water grew shallower in the open. Explorers could have waded through, nudging ochre rocks, feeling magical life calmly slipping between their feet. A delicate long nosed creature rose from a sunlit spot on the bottom, curving through air, dipping through clear waters in front, circling, brushing the prow, delighting Meg with a cooling breeze.

The boat silently met the beach, though many creatures scattered into sand or disappeared into beautiful crystallized rocks. Many simply vanished. Were they really gone or merely camouflaged? Jumping onto sparkling golden sand, Meg yelped friendly hellos, bringing them back, frolicking amongst them. Her golden flower glowed brighter than ever - a pulsing petal pointing to the hidden entrance to shaded, whispering woods off west.

Pollyanna stepped onto shifting sands, watching tiny green leaves flit across the bay without wind. Here the view out to sea was far clearer, matching Pemberton Manor's magical tapestry. Out there, relaxing heat beamed off sea onto strangely shaped rocks, bouncing into a cloudless sky. The cove entrance's sparkling curtain now rose upwards constantly, shimmering as if another visitor was trying to enter, but this may have been distance and the suns flickering light.

Dreamers couldn't stay long, despite the powerful pull of the relaxing cove. Both marched onwards, entering the woods confusing paths littered with glowing stones, feeling the presence of strange shadows swooping amongst towering treetops.

One long hour later their feet still crunched over the crisp forest floor. Pollyanna felt these ancient woods contained rather more than shy shadows, for many times glancing behind showed plants had changed position and trails had disappeared. And often when a shining path lay open ahead, it dissolved into moving brushwood, caressed by golden leaves. But when it was uncertain which way to go, Meg's flower glowed brightly.

Presently girls arrived at three standing rocks set proudly at the feet of three elder trees. Here lay the real whispering wood, yet it sure was quiet. Neither dared break the eerie, silent stillness.

Curious bands of lights lined trees high above. Then voices came – far off whisperings caught on a gentle breeze, soft, faint and faltering as if diluted by flitting between branches. Meg's flower sang an answering tune. Faster and faster, louder and louder voices became, till it seemed the entire forest was striving to be heard at once, overwhelming Pollyanna.

Their weird whistling bounced over and over, in and out the ground, whirling amongst bendy trees. Noise increased further till ears pounded. Meg barked 'enough,' calming most instantly. Others tailed off quickly till three distinct ones were left. Speaking in soft, whistling breezes, they talked over each other eagerly. One part of their speech swept in Pollyanna's left ear, the rest in her right, rolling around in warm circles, echoing three times. No wonder it was so confusing at first.

"Princess, we have awaited you long since we were wished into this world. We have much to tell, but must teach a morsel of our language, as our words must be spoken correctly by a young invited mortal. Time is short. Soon darkness comes. Remember little one - it is _not_ the mere words themselves where true power lies, but in silences between them and echoes they create that calls ancient spirits of our land from deepest sleep to defend their young."

"Why me, did I ask for this?"

"Your heart asked clearly enough we heard no matter how far from us she dwelt. She cried loudly when you first trod the soil unaided on that plane you choose to name the waking world. She spoke louder still the many nights you slept. Many mortals know many dreams, yet few dare to dream them. When we are blessed with the gift to hear, then may we listen and act."

"I see. If that's the case, may I ask who or what you are? Are you one spirit, three or maybe even one split into three? Please tell me what's happening. Jael, the coming darkness, the thunderbird, this new language, it's all very confusing."

"Thy reason needs to be older and wiser to grasp our deeper concepts. Then pray return, we can tell you what we will. Till that day, see fit you complete this task selflessly princess, or who can tell what strange and terrible sights may await were you again allowed to roam this ancient land." Voices tailed off, repeating the warning three times. Empty silence allowed nonsensical whispering to grow again.

"Wait, you haven't taught me!" Pollyanna cried desperately, quickly feeling a pleasing warmth in ears. Meg grew excited, remembering near here strange creatures lived in secret dens beneath golden leaves, though her nose failed her. One place became warm then cold, another whipped up distracting scents. Either these creatures were shy or too busy to be disturbed today.

"Back to the boat, Meg. I hoped to see them too. Not to worry, we shouldn't expect to have everything our own way first time out. If we work out what needs to be done today, perhaps we can return next visit to learn more about them."

The tireless adventurers quickly backtracked, led by humming, buzzing, clicking sounds carried on the warm wind, now recognisable as speech. One was a continuous flat tone, yet all were the unmistakable murmur of animals talking to each other much as we do. Just as suspected, they were having a wonderful time. Apparently Pollyanna was the first mortal they'd ever witnessed. Some wondered why a princess would be in the strange whispering woods. Others happily left such worries safely to their Guardian Mother.

Drawing closer, Pollyanna yearned to talk of olden days, learn more of their life and culture, help with their hopes and dreams and hear many secrets. Alas, just before the golden path touched open sands, a fierce revolving sand storm whipped up, closing their eyes tightly.

**Chapter 23**

When eyes opened dreamers were at the palace steps, lightly sprinkled in sparkling sand.

"Little star, was that you again?" No answer. Well, Sparkle was probably resting. One couldn't expect him to zip them around all day, he'd done enough already.

Now Silverbridge's golden dome showed a threatening black cloud shrouding the spire. Pollyanna headed for the dining room to make notes and get to market. Whilst praying to stay longer than one day, other ideas sprung up constantly. The village made for kids Clarabelle mentioned sounded wonderful as well.

Lenora's old history book lay waiting for additions. Most creatures seen so far were already noted, including those sand geyser formations round the green hills. These were creatures living almost all their lives underground. The warm current was actually their breath. Lucky, that could have been so much worse! The only creature she could claim credit for was her cute friend, Sparkle. Her three thousand words transformed into tiny, neat script, hardly filling the first few lines of the top section. Perhaps the tome had no limit?

How the quick lesson in the whispering woods would help wasn't clear yet. So the only place for more clues about her quest and the thunderbird may be the golden temple in Silverbridge, a little further south. Thunder and Lightning waited at the palace steps, tearing off as soon as passengers jumped on.

At Silverbridge's temple, the storm cloud covering the top was actually the mighty thunderbird wrapped tightly round the spire like a bat locked in a strange embrace. Pollyanna reassured worried villagers that the situation was being investigated, slipping inside the temple.

The high priest popped out from a bright alcove. His face grew golden while answering Pollyanna's questions. The thunderbird was an omen both good and bad, a symbol of hope, yet spelling disaster in his unusual movements. Ancient dark forces wouldn't dare attack Silverbridge in his presence though. Thunderbirds once protected all Lenora, but when her spirit matured, all but one now lived far over eastern seas.

What of Jael and their recent encounter in the whispering woods? Was anyone truly in danger, or was this all a fairy's game to please Pollyanna's adventurous streak? Things were still very confusing.

The priest nodded sagely. Pollyanna was blessed. Jael's touch of the silver hairclip may allow a large black force to escape from caves far up north. He recommended consulting the king's book on how to fight the coming darkness. His master's messages were rarely any clearer than this.

The temple's golden altar shone even brighter. An old man materialized behind it, staring round in disbelief. "Magnificent!"

The priest surged forward, welcoming him. "Thank you friend, we've been blessed. Please enjoy Lenora. We'll meet later if you've any theological questions," he said, rushing back to Pollyanna.

"Ah, princess, what your heart seeks you shall find, though not this day. I'm merely our Gods' messenger, princess. Godspeed. May they guide you, always."

Pollyanna felt now there was only time for a quick run through the market. Three items shone out at her, before they rushed to the palace to question staff and seek advice from the king's book. Surely that would be in his locked study under the stairs? Still, the high priest hadn't given her much to go on.

Back at the palace they saw the powerful bird fly south, quaking air with gigantic deafening screeches.

Upstairs Pollyanna put her patterned handkerchief in the dresser drawer, placing the three new items on top, praying they'd still be there when she woke. Next they headed for the kitchen for energy for upcoming studies, when a deep ominous rumbling from the road strained the massive front door, pushing up waves in the fountains. Doves took refuge way back on the roof, frightened by great heat building from gargoyles feet.

Dreamers rushed outside, jumping at choking dust clouds spewing down the golden mile, struck by unnerving silence when the garden instantly lost its wondrous shine. Terrifying, rising roars thundered out, echoing painfully off walls, spreading throughout palace grounds.

Suddenly clouds were a vast swollen army of dark twisted shapes shooting up the road at frightening speed. Foul, sickening smells thrust before them blackened trees, smothering everything in corrosive black slime. Slithering, screeching, wailing, some flew and shuddered awkwardly at queer angles as if parts were constantly fighting against each other, rolling sideways painfully unnaturally, a grossly misshapen, ungodly mix of a thousand terrible creatures no mortal had ever seen.

Lightning speed of the attack took animals by complete surprise. Only frogs singing happily in gorgeous fountains dove for cover at the last minute, till their bright homes turned to darkness. Pollyanna was stunned into a frozen stupor, unable to believe this was reality. Meg's furious barks and warming flower woke her and they fled inside, screaming for Phillips, desperately keeping the door shut as dark invaders furiously pounded it.

Panicked Phillips appeared as if from nowhere, just managing to slam heavy bolts over the door in time. Instantly Pollyanna realised what she had to do. Dogs let out an awful howling in nearby kennels, jumping at doors, desperate to protect the princess. "Shall I release them, princess?"

"No time, I need the key for our king's room under the stairs!"

"Captain's on leave!"

"Quick, we _must_ get in that room!"

Loud, chattering, moaning grew outside, mingling with what sounded like powerful electricity violently discharging. Phillips shook, mumbling, "It's been more than a hundred years since..."

"I know, just open the door!"

Phillips heaved against the heavy door with all his might, yet it held fast. A gigantic blur stormed round the corner like an enraged buffalo, wielding an enormous rolling pin. The wild animal attacked the door like a mother defending young, almost demolishing it. One final enormous kick tore the frame out, showering wood everywhere. Daisy should be army captain, not a cook.

Everyone poured in, catching flashes of silver armour, gruesome weapons, ornaments, a desk fit for a king. Aha, Pollyanna found it, a small chest sitting proudly on an elaborate pedestal with a strange sliver lock just right for her hairpin. The trunk held documents and a book entitled 'The North Gate.' Funny, it sounded so bland for such an important item.

"This is it! I need time to find the right section."

Daisy weighed up a massive club, then tested a heavy long sword, throwing dazed Phillips a magnificent golden crossbow, bellowing, "To your post, man! Defend your princess and your honour!" Phillips eyes gleamed as he slipped a golden breastplate over his heaving chest, leaping upstairs to the front bedroom window.

Meanwhile, the terrible pounding on the weakening front door grew so intense it rippled along marble floors, reverberating through corridors, shaking the palace like an unending earthquake. Daisy now brandished a gigantic spiked mace like a champion gladiator. "Daisy never forgets friends. If those foul beasts dare make it in here, I'll blast them over the temple!" Her eyes glowed fiercely like a hundred raging fires, whilst thick rippling legs bristled with hidden power as she stampeded off to guard the front door.

"Meg, you two will guard downstairs back rooms, so dangerous creatures don't sneak round and flank us." Meg proudly trotted off, her friendly flower lighting the way.

Pollyanna tried to block out increasing noise, reading about a filthy black horde of despair... once every two hundred years. It seemed she'd accidentally helped release them early. Hopefully they wouldn't be as strong yet? Phillips screamed wildly from the front bedroom.

"There's _hundreds_ of them! They just keep coming, swarming everywhere! The golems... they're alive! Them's the only thing keeping them off us...great lightning beams flashing out their eyes, glowing like demons!"

It was a clever mind indeed that designed such weapons, leaving them without maintenance for so long. "Figured we wouldn't be left alone!" Daisy cried. Whistling twangs of the frantic golden archer made Pollyanna read even faster. Long anxious minutes passed when doubts crept in. She started worrying the magical spell or verse wasn't actually there.

"It's working, they've had enough...retreating to the trees!" Phillips screamed.

"We must keep them here Phillips! They'll head to Silverbridge for revenge. Villagers will be slaughtered! I just need a few more minutes!"

"Golems are flaming now, picking off stragglers!" Phillips announced. Daisy tore back the bolts, striding out the front door, screaming like a banshee. The enraged, frustrated beasts didn't let this golden opportunity pass. Countless needlessly fell to her fearsome weapon, yet more attacked again and again.

All through the desperate battle the magical golems constantly blasted out powerful energy beams. Scores passed through the brave warrior, catching dark shadows, but leaving her unharmed. Those brief, chaotic, hellish moments were all Pollyanna needed to find the correct verse, a very strange one. The last word was rather long and terribly complicated. Thinking back to the whistling woods for confidence, she loudly pronounced the last syllable out.

Mystical sounds bounced off walls, resonating outwards in three circular waves. Tones rang way across gardens, obliterating all dark and dissolving another even larger black swarm keenly watching the battle from safety of surrounding hills.

Meg burst along the hallway, delighted her glowing flower had protected all windows back there, repelling many foolish scouts. Pollyanna nervously crept out the front door to the dirty palace grounds thick with congealing black slime. She promised Daisy a reward, noticing that their hair was standing up on end and they looked like cavewomen.

A very sweaty Phillips arrived, gazing wondrously at the four stone golems which had saved the palace and their lives. Golems orangey, yellow and blue eyes still glowed brightly, though gleams slowly faded. Thick smoke still drifted high into the sky, creating angry black clouds that surveyed the scene. Phillips asked how the golems worked. Were they alive?

"I not sure, but I think our sun's fuel them," Pollyanna replied. Static electricity still hung heavily in the air, buzzing amidst an awful smell of heated stone and boiling, stagnant water. Daisy wondered where to start clearing mess up when the devilish stains dissolved. Pollyanna sighed, wondering again whether the battle had only happened for her benefit.

Terrible smells and blackened ghostly bodies had almost melted away when another thundering shot from the road - excited people rushing from Silverbridge village. Cantering up on horses, carts and wagons, each armed with a possible weapon.

"Everything's all sorted out now folks. Thanks for coming to help," Daisy explained, calming down to her usual happy self, though failing miserably to explain her mighty mace. Pollyanna kept quiet, thinking it best not to worry townsfolk now the crisis was over.

However, some village elders huddled round in little groups chattering, pointing out smoking gargoyles glowing, charred eyes.

One knew what the golems were intended for hundreds of years ago, heeding whispered rumours of the great mind who designed them from nomadic dreams. Yes, these were wise folk indeed. Each one had listened very carefully indeed when great grandparents told of strange happenings long ago, when gigantic brown devils roamed Lenora's skies, striking outlying villages at will. These were darker times when black, formless shapes haunted streets by night and a terrifying unstoppable cloud rose from the north, sweeping ceaselessly across the stricken land.

Presently an elder named Sam stood up on a cart, telling everyone what the four brave souls had done for them that day. Sam was a magical healer of outstanding character and ability, so villagers hung on every word, till he finished with a beautiful bow to the brave, selfless heroes. Villagers applauded loud and long.

Pollyanna took the stand next, declaring today a public holiday and a town fair that afternoon as she'd promised earlier. Villagers collected items from a massive storage shed near the stables. Some helped Daisy in the kitchen, fetching strange, morphing ingredients and fresh food. Dogs patrolled grounds for any dark stragglers, while Meg playfully followed them.

Soon palace gardens were abuzz with excited people erecting tents and stalls. Pollyanna loved organising, enjoying the big pay off when the party finally got under way. Talented musicians played some truly indescribable instruments with such passion it excited shyer villagers to dance, hilariously flailing arms and legs about.

Hundreds of folk queued to stroke Meg, thinking she was lucky. Meg thrived on the attention and began believing it too. Pollyanna tried so many exotic magical treats, she almost started waddling. One was an amazingly thick, triple layered dessert sauce, sweet, sour and plain, breaking into little chunks that bounced around in the mouth, evenly spreading flavours. It had to be willed down in the end.

As all guests were happy and everything running perfectly, Pollyanna's reward was a comfortable chair under a blossoming apple tree. Unknown to her, the sundial nearby read six pm when Sam wandered over.

"Jael was stopped trying to sneak back through our northern border. Guards said her hands glowed silver."

"Thanks Sam. That is good news. Good party, eh?"

"First class. We're lucky to have such a kind princess looking after us. Tell me, how long will you reign?"

"It doesn't seem I'll be able to be princess for longer than today," Pollyanna replied sadly, suddenly feeling very tired.

"I see. We'll remember you when you return. I know you'll find a way, adventure is buried deep in your heart. Even if it's years, most of us will be the same as we were - a quirk of our fairy magic."

Wise old Sam knew Pollyanna wasn't the same princess as before, yet trusted her all the same. Sam reminded her of Mrs Peters, that's why she trusted him.

"Have you figured out our villagers' secret?"

"Not quite, but I have suspicions. If I were allowed just a little longer, I may venture a promising theory. And I also suspect some of these fine people have two secrets, both equally interesting."

"I couldn't possibly say, princess," Sam said, winking, smiling, handing over a small black book bound by a pretty pink ribbon. 'A Brief History of Lenora, one of our First Fairy planets.'

"Not all information is kept in our king's texts. There's more to be learned here," he said, tapping the book and his heart.

"Why I hardly know you Sam. Why such a gift?"

"Some called me friar long ago when our world was still young," he answered, whispering, "I didn't give this book to our second princess as she wasn't quite ready, but you've seen more in your 10 years than most humans will in lifetimes. You'll truly appreciate it."

"Thank you, I'll enjoy it when I wake. Why didn't Jael just explain about the ghost island Sam? We'd have been pleased to help."

Sam's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh, that's not what selfish Jael was up to. Her dark intentions lay far north, though there's no Tharl and no suffering citizens."

Pollyanna nodded. "Then what about the island?"

"In the book now," Sam said, promising she'd have everything ever dreamed of and more. Good choices were the key. "Goodbye my friend. Prepare well, your first test is yet to come," he finished quietly, melting into bustling crowds.

Pollyanna lay back, melting into the soft cushion. Meg sat in her lap, grinning when mistress relaxed right up to heavy eyelids and thoughts wandered. Shame there was no time to explore further - they'd only seen a fraction of Lenora so far. Shy creatures in the whistling woods for one. Meeting the king may have been strange, but fun. Many other amazing secrets lay out there, and many other quests to take. Why, she didn't even look round upstairs!

The happy party continued. An elder played a sweet, yet haunting lullaby on a lute, a comforting melody learnt long ago, brought to mind by the magical excitement of the unusual events. His heartfelt notes sent petals floating down gently into the princess's hair. Meg and other animals settled down quietly, listening to the peaceful, hypnotic tune. This ancient music had a calming effect on Pollyanna too, and she relaxed further - just for a little while.

Dear me, what about little sparkle she thought, desperately trying to stop slipping into slumber. But by then it was too late. Suns strength faded quickly, and as their bewitching beams retreated across dancing meadows, Pollyanna's eyes closed on her idyllic fairy world. Her consciousness drifted far away from the wonderful world of dream, floating delicately amongst sumptuous, silky clouds of deepest sleep.

Overhead, the mighty thunderbird soared north, briefly blocking large parts of disappearing light. A strange silence drifted over the noisy crowd when faint piping carried on fairy wings mesmerized peaceful countryside. Soothing notes twisted and turned, caressing every person in turn. In the midst of the captivated throng, Sam looked to the sky as a shooting star whizzed upwards, lighting up magical twilight with a bright blue flame whose gleaming trails were visible long past the witching hour.

**Chapter 24**

Pollyanna woke with a breathless start. Drat! She'd hoped to stay just a little longer on Lenora. Still, Sam's black book: 'A Brief History of Lenora, one of our First Fairy Planets,' had survived the trip. An apple blossom floated down from her hair, blending in with a cover picture of blooming palace gardens.

Meg licked Pollyanna's ear furiously, desperate to return to Lenora as much as mistress.

"I wish we could, except it doesn't seem we'll be allowed. Silly me, I did only ask for one day," Pollyanna explained ruefully. To her delight the stained handkerchief was still in the dresser. Three items brought from the fairy market had survived as well - a thunderbird sculpted in tough black stone, a book on mediaeval spirits, and a booklet proclaiming to be the spirit gardener's friend. Its cover displayed a plant similar to her new unnamed friend living in her garden. She couldn't wait to explore these souvenirs later.

Familiar tinkles drifted up the staircase, so girls trotted downstairs for breakfast. Rose stood at the bottom, looking particularly beautiful, smiling when Pollyanna drew closer. Ah, this must be Rose's daughter! The pair could have been perfect twins.

"Hello Charlotte, I'm Polly."

"This is so strange, Polly. You do look like me when I was small, and now I look like my mum. It's a funny old world." Even their kind voices were identical.

"So you are now Princess Penelope, just like I used to be. I'm so jealous," Charlotte laughed, "Now you have fun day and night. Tell me all about it. What about Sam, the elderly genie who lives in Silverbridge with his wife, Mary? Sam reminded me of dear old granddad, so kind and clever."

"Oh, that's who he was? Sam seems to be getting on very well, though I didn't see Mary."

"Oh dear, that's a _big_ shame, he used to go everywhere with her. They were truly born for each other."

"Sam's much, much older than he looks as well. He gave me this book."

"You know Polly, in all the time I spent there, I never thought to bring anything back."

"It was some sort of strange accident I was able to. How long did you actually spend on Lenora, Charlotte?"

"Years. I never took the time to explore widely though, I was having way too much fun doing so many amazing things I could never do back home, never getting into the swing of things as much as you!"

Pollyanna laughed. "I can be rather nosey!"

Girls sauntered off to breakfast. Mr Pemberton and Uncle Roy chatted loudly at the end of the long table, so girls enjoyed a good chat about Lenora.

"Polly, did you notice most people had jobs, but probably didn't need to? I often wondered why."

"Mrs Peters says an occupation often gives folks a sense of identity. Most people I talked to seemed to really enjoy working, from stall holders to Daisy. Whatever makes them happy was the feeling I took. Maybe you should write a story about Lenora," Pollyanna remarked.

"Polly, I wish I had time, but I could write for years. I have a baby due soon and lots of other plans. I'll write as much as I remember, which you're welcome to use as you like."

"Thank you. You've been very kind to me here, so Meg and I will remember you all forever."

"Ah, how sweet, welcome to our family!" Rose and Charlotte sung together.

"Are you lot plotting to take over the world down there?"

"Yes, you'll be our first victim Gerald!" Rose sang back.

Charlotte told an interesting story involving Sam's moon dust, which she'd left in the palace, giving Pollyanna many ideas if she ever visited Lenora again.

Home time arrived way too soon. Meg spun in circles, keen to visit Henry, so Pollyanna forgot her three items from Silverbridge market, leaving them in the bedroom dresser. She did remember her handkerchief colourfully stained by Sparkle, which would make a good talking point with friends. Rose and Charlotte waved from the door, promising girls would be allowed to stay again when Rose returned from America. Pollyanna prayed she'd have figured out how to get back to Lenora by then.

**Chapter 25**

More than a month passed. It was six pm, Halloween. Wet autumn nights were growing colder. Even Pollyanna didn't go out after tea these days unless it was very important, so it was a big surprise hearing the doorbell trill urgently. Pollyanna peered through frosted glass, making out a vague blue blur, opening the door a smidge for fear of cold. Bah, no one there. Just in time a yellow ribboned hat appeared from the back garden.

"Hello there poppet! I was beginning to think you'd all gone out to a Halloween party. I was just about to say hello to Henry and..."

"Mrs Peters!" Pollyanna cried, running out and hugging her.

"Hello! Where have you been? We haven't seen you for ages. Won't you come in, it's freezing out tonight? Look, frost already," Pollyanna said, pointing out a clean crystal white path leading out the gate. Thick fog hung above chimneys, twisting and turning, blocking out a curious moon. And Mrs Peters wore only a thin coat in a bitterly cold wind. Pollyanna looked closer, speechless. Mrs Peters quickly broke her thoughts.

"We haven't much time, Polly. I feel tonight is the night. You must ask dad to take you to Saint Mark's church urgently. Although he doesn't realise it, Father Ignatius desperately needs our help."

"Oh, Domingo! I read about those nasty vandals last week."

"Vandals aren't causing problems. Signs point to something bigger. I think this is a poltergeist at last Polly. Quickly ask parents. I do hope you'll come."

Naughty dad was busy upstairs, making mum laugh while she cleaned her teeth. For some strange reason he didn't want to stop till the entire mirror was covered in spray. Boys were _very_ silly! One minute later delighted Pollyanna returned. "They'll take me soon, Mrs Peters."

"Bring as much as you can carry. Wrap up well Polly, we hope to catch an evil ghost, not a nasty cold! Meet you down there very soon, bye."

The moment Pollyanna twisted round to call Meg, Mrs Peters had gone. Mum fidgeted nervously at the news. Finally dad settled for: "Maybe she had a taxi waiting."

"Maybe," Pollyanna said slowly, putting the strange episode aside for the moment, realising trailing a poltergeist must take priority right now. Ten minutes later the Fitzgerald's travelled down the high street, dodging traffic and excited kids dressed as ghosts. Blackening fog hadn't crept below rooflines yet, and luckily St Mark's was only ten miles away.

The small country church was built in the 17th century by the Duke of Windburn, when hungry wolves' lonely howls troubled the area. Some say their haunting ghostly cries still echo grimly through abandoned caverns behind the chapel, drifting far across the deadly mire beyond.

Even stranger beasts were glimpsed by superstitious villagers on ancient pagan festivals long ago. When countryside was swathed in inky darkness, phantom dogs roamed wild woods and lonely byways, bringing fiery eyed portents of doom to unlucky travellers. Legend has it such an encounter ended his lordship's reign, though we must remember those were deeply darkened days, and even history's sight becomes dimmed, warped and strained in the confusing mists of time.

For three wild centuries the valley's great grandfather - the lonely stone giant has stood tall and proud against dark tyrannical forces. When a rusting vehicle squealing reluctantly up the muddy forest track broke the eerie silence, he stood there still - dark and sinister, tightly bound in hazy, foggy twilight.

England's guardian had seen all other invaders off in time. But this latest intruder did not marry and head for pastures new, nor waste away through wanton merriment, lingering long past his natural course, thriving parasitically on the church's spiritual strength. Once clean stone had been reduced to pale, cracked brown and was now unwilling host to strange phosphorescent fungus spreading from darkening swampland beyond.

Dad's car finally slid up the wet track to the cemetery gate, when the church rose up like a mighty colossus. Dizzying treetops bent branches stole light from its front, plunging surrounding areas into thick darkness, where pale fog drifted down, shifting distastefully between gravestones, sneaking like a gigantic coiled snake round crumbling angelic statues. Only guiding light sprung from an old lantern swinging against brisk night air near the church door.

Mum thought the atmosphere was way too much like a horror film, growing uneasier every second. Senses were heightened by an uncomfortable nagging sensation suffered years earlier when Polly was very young. Palms sweated, hands grew weak and her stomach churned so violently no pills could remedy it. Thoughtful dad kept her company.

"Polly, keep your scarf on. Don't stray too far precious," mum fretted, smiling wanly. Dad told Pollyanna to keep in touch by radio. Pollyanna and Meg joined Mrs Peters at the swollen gate, planning before venturing up the crumbly path to the church door. A timid, nervous priest answered knocks, relieved Pollyanna's parents were nearby, though slightly unnerved being introduced to invisible Mrs Peters.

Domingo had been praying. Ancient heating had broken, so the church was terribly cold. Pollyanna explained about PADS. Papers reported theft and vandals preying on the church grounds. PADS noticed many damaged gravestones had strange sooty marks. Nearer the church these signs were secreted under moss or blended in with names as if someone had learnt to hide them, maybe enjoying secret thrills from doing so.

PADS felt reported problems weren't caused by kids who'd have been bored by now and no footsteps were found, despite muddy grass. Because holy items had been smashed and stolen from a locked church, this situation demanded further investigation. Finally, the church weather vane was stuck, though that could be rust.

Father Ignatius peered into dark, depressing night, deep in thought. Sadly a recent church blessing hadn't lifted the draining atmosphere or his black mood. Mrs Peters nodded, feeling biting cold and oppressive atmosphere deepen. Pollyanna said if an evil spirit was already present, blessings often angered them to further rebellious acts. PADS could investigate, assess and take action.

Domingo said she was a bright child, well versed in spiritual matters, complaining his unanswered prayers felt like losing a dear and trusted friend.

"We understandable how you feel, father. But as hard as we find it, we must never lose hope and faith, as evil thrives on dejection, desperation and loneliness."

Domingo felt humbled being reminded of this lesson, inviting PADS inside, where air was even colder and breath visible. Pollyanna gazed at Mrs Peters, thinking, till Meg yapped outside, cleverly pointing behind the church towards marshes. Mrs Peters wished to investigate inside first.

Domingo suddenly remembered in olden days a tunnel in the cellar led priests' miles underground to safety from violent robbers, though it was blocked long ago. PADS plunged down there through stinking, swirling dust. Domingo stayed at the top, coughing violently.

At the bottom loomed a brick wall festooned with gigantic webs glowing eerily in rank, dusty half light. Pollyanna grabbed a rusted tool forgotten amongst rotten sacks, noting no footsteps disturbed the very dusty floor. Solid whacks on the wall proved no living being had used this exit for a long time. PADS knew only powerful evil spirits could pass onto hallowed ground. Regular ghosts needed someone in authority to let them in.

Mrs Peters vowed to root out the cowardly unwelcome intruder. Meg scampered inside the church door, growling. PADS rushed upstairs, hearing their knocking still echoing round the altar like a broken record. Atop the altar, two candles danced dimly in the cold air.

Domingo discovered bible passages had mysteriously changed from Psalms to Revelations. The nervous old priest jumped anxiously, dropping to a pew to pray. Pollyanna started recording. Mrs Peters reached for the bible, when it snapped shut, but still smiled, shifting sooty specks from its thick leather cover. "You heard me earlier," she stated firmly, eyeing the scene carefully, whispering, "I can sense a male poltergeist. Keep filming Polly. Check brighter items, or distorted shadows – he'll try to blend in. Be ready, he won't leave without a fight, things are far too easy for him here."

Pollyanna nodded, her breathing sending misty clouds drifting towards the roof. Mrs Peters became stricter, demanding respect. "I meant what I said, I always see things through. You'll find I'm different than most, not easily scared and I always look after friends," she announced stoutly, still watching like a hawk.

Back in the warm car, parents were making Christmas plans. In a small window in the ghostly fog, dad thought the weather vane moved high up on the bell tower. Seconds later the structure was smothered in thick eerie mist again. In fact the vane was slowly spinning, then rotated wildly, corroded parts rasping like a wounded animal. Inside it sounded like a monstrous dinosaur relentlessly boring through the roof.

Meg watched closely from pews. Domingo glanced up, shivering in an unnatural breeze. Mrs Peters opened the bible at a favourite passage, reciting it cheerfully as if addressing friends, but still sharply aware of surroundings. Pollyanna desperately tried to control breathing to keep the camera lens from fogging. A poltergeist at last! Desperate not to miss anything, she panned the scene in hurried bursts.

Mrs Peters had hardly started reading when the bible shut violently. She simply produced a smaller edition. Darkening fog crept in from high above, peeling through roof cracks, squeezing through splintering floorboards in the bell tower, sweeping downstairs and forcing the door open, instantly filling the church with freezing vapour.

Meg strode to the altar, her echoing barks piercing silent fog that quickly reclaimed ground, spewing unholy stinking foulness over pews. Meg's flower threw a glowing ring of light around her. Domingo mumbled Latin prayers. Even brave Pollyanna was disturbed at the disorientating scene.

Fogs wandering arms reached out, freezing altar candles in full flame. When Pollyanna's camera failed, murky fog swirled round the altar faster and faster, piercing, whistling, whining, mocking his feeble tormenters.

Mrs Peters carried on reading. Ornaments rattled, the tabernacle clicked loudly and stained glass windows froze, warping in and out like presences fought each side. Mrs Peters looked shaken, but determined, feeling her spirit lightened by PADS courage. Pollyanna lit new altar candles and reading continued. Candles were snuffed out instantly. Fog thinned, sending a dirty arm slicing upwards, knocking the bible to the floor.

"How _dare_ you, you wicked child! Get out and join your friends outside!" Mrs Peters shouted, producing a cross, an ancient phrase and sweet holy incense. Angry mist thickened, thinned, and that terrible whining persisted, yet didn't dare touch her bible again.

"I knew it, you haven't power other than to scare honest folk. Fair warning. Get out, now, or you'll meet your destiny tonight!"

Pollyanna flashed a torch round the altar. Distorted shapes appeared for a split second behind Mrs Peters. The front pew crashed up and down violently, then paintings rattled fiercely, dropping down, spinning round and floating on corners, whilst the notice board exploded, scattering paper everywhere. Terrified Domingo's head sagged. Meg willed her shining flower to pierce a glowing path through thinning mist round the altar, following Pollyanna. Mrs Peters cried, "Keep praying Father!" All doors banged shut. "He can't be contained or exorcised, his energy isn't focused. Emotions are all over the place."

So much was happening at once it was impossible to track. Pollyanna felt scared, but determined to find the poltergeist's weakness, still searching for weird brightness or twisted shadows. The organ played a haunting funeral dirge, ceasing when Meg closed in. A flurry of keys flicked off it one by one, landing in a big heap at the back. The main door crashed open like a bomb and roaring wind swept fog out, leaving air clean and warm. Church heating fired up instantly. Meg flew outside, waiting for others to catch up.

Now the spirit had retreated, PADS excitement grew. Pollyanna grabbed many deep breaths, though her heart still beat strongly, glad the dangerous poltergeist didn't like tasting his own medicine. "We must follow and deal with him, or he'll come back recharged and angrier," Mrs Peters exclaimed. Domingo promised to help, rushing for holy robes from the vestry.

Pollyanna noticed scattered articles from the notice board were now spelling old swear words. Mrs Peters shook her head sadly. Girls rushed outside. Mrs Peters saw the weather vane pointing north and Meg trotting in the same direction to marshes behind the church. Girls shot off after her, not realising poor Domingo was stuck in the sacristy by a jammed lock, devastated at this cruel twist of fate.

Meanwhile the car radio and dads silly jokes drowned out noise, so parents missed PADS flying exodus.

Girls quickly caught Meg listening to muffled voices drifting up from the stinking marshes. Mrs Peters dashed into thick swampland. "Keep between the greens. Brown plants have lots of water underneath."

Impossibly high undergrowth stretching on forever gave the weird illusion of distance, distorting a disturbing monk like chanting. Girls stopped at countless tiny islands floating hopelessly amongst a wild, thrashing, muddy sea.

"Very confusing," Pollyanna admitted. Even clever Mrs Peters looked uncertain, till a shiny golden orb appeared above a tufty isle in front. Meg's glowing flower answered it, swaying the orb impatiently. It flitted to another isle, growing dimmer. Was it low on energy? Should they follow? Wisps were normally trouble, though trusting instincts, girls chased the light.

The wispy ball moved swiftly into the marsh, tracing a safe path, dimming on touching each isle. Was it also making these islands safe? Lots of frantic jumping eventually led to dry, firm land and the wisp burst into a hundred different lights, showering glowing trails across marshland. Only Meg knew they melded into fresher plants.

PADS were now hidden near a tangled clearing, where unsettling chanting grew louder. Mrs Peters said they'd been led in a wide circle, so pushing through thick bushes behind would lead to the marsh entrance. But those bristly, thorny plants would have betrayed them to the unseen chanters, so the wisp had helped them doubly.

The strange creepy chanting grew louder, pounding ears, sickening stomachs. Pollyanna's camera blinked on, though couldn't record. PADS peered into the clearing where twelve robed figures circled a roaring fire, holding hands. A black candle sat in front of each follower, burning dirty yellow. "Pagans!" Mrs Peters whispered.

Their giant leader faced hidden observers. Firelight flickered across his ornate staff, bald head and beady black eyes bulging with indescribable madness. Flames blazed even higher, tipped with black. Poisonous green fog formed above them, pulsing eerily in the weird light.

"We'll keep draining his power, Polly. This seems like a young poltergeist that's still learning, so can't sustain physical acts for very long. Research may uncover a male with grudges against the church or religion. We don't have the power to send him to where he ought to be, so we'll make it more trouble than it's worth for him to stay."

"Listen," Mrs Peters whispered, "I've left you the attic contents. I slipped notes and my spiritual booklet under your bedroom door."

Pollyanna gulped as sad stinging waves rushed over her. Taking a big breath, she bravely decided to soldier on. The worshippers annoying chanting continued, the fog pulsed slower, and its venomous colours darkened. "The fools are hand feeding him with devotion. The heartless spirit can turn on them just as easily," Mrs Peters hissed. "I'll drain him again, Polly. Watch for the candle that doesn't relight quickly. Use your camera's night beam to pick hot spots where he's likely to relight one. Call it out, then leave it to me. Meg, move in and finish it when the last candle goes out."

Mrs Peters whizzed into the clearing, snuffing candles out. Instantly the fire whooshed up, relighting each one. Worshippers murmured anxiously, some regretting fooling with dangerous forces. Three broke the circle to escape the great heat. " _Maintain the circle_!" the leader ordered, "Its working!" The unholy ring nervously reformed, chanting far less loudly. Mrs Peters completed the circuit twice more as Pollyanna guided her, till randomly relighting candles launched at the chanting throng. Screaming members scattered, toppling thick bushes leading further into the swamp. Meg boldly burst out bushes straight for the thick fog. Pollyanna stormed out to help too. Dad crackled loudly over the radio.

"Dad, quick, behind the church!"

Only the enormous leader remained, tall and determined, angrily mumbling blasphemies, launching his staff through flames at Meg. Her flower's bright flash forced the flaming weapon back at him like lightning. Taken by surprise, he took a glancing graze. The staff thrashed through undergrowth, cutting a huge, burning corridor ever onwards. The cowardly fellow paled, shrieked and stumbled blindly after his unholy flock.

Candles still floated round the fire, bouncing up and down, lighting in violent bursts. Unnerving howling roared up like a hurricane, mixed with vibrating squeals popping ears.

"Meg, bring those candles! Polly, throw holy water!"

In seconds Meg had placed every candle at Mrs Peters feet, where they sat lifeless. Pollyanna threw holy water in fog's violently swirling centre, covering it completely.

"Back!" Mrs Peters warned, standing between the enraged poltergeist and friends. Only Mrs Peters was close enough to understand the spiteful hissing. Fog shot up into the air, bursting into a thousand green bubbles, disappearing over rotten swampland from whence it came. PADS were thrust backwards by the hot smelly blast, covering them in wet mud. The unnatural fire died instantly. Mrs Peters seemed very tired indeed now.

"What did he say, Mrs Peters?"

"I'll be back. Honestly!"

A much relieved Pollyanna presented Mrs Peters with a cutting from her precious plant.

"Thank you girls. How awfully kind, I shall be the envy of all my friends."

Meg rooted through cold ashes, finding three items stolen from the church earlier. Drops of holy water made them good as new. Mrs Peters put mini statuettes of Mary and Joseph in Pollyanna's back pack. Meg carried a small iron cross in her collar.

Moonlight sprinkled into the clearing, replacing cold fog with warm, southerly winds gently whistling through trees, caressing faces like early spring. PADS allowed themselves an enormous relieved sigh. Mrs Peters smiled gaily. "Well done everybody. I knew we could do it."

PADS fell awfully quiet, standing frightfully still as atmosphere thickened further. Minutes passed. Meg sat at Mrs Peter's feet, gazing up adoringly in utter devotion. Her flower lit the smiling ladies face with golden angelic glows. Presently a distant rhythmic drumming broke touching silence - Pollyanna's heart beating that little bit faster. Another long pause passed before the girl looked up earnestly. "Won't you stay a while, Mrs Peters? _Please_ , just a _little_ longer, we always have _so_ much fun."

"I wish I could, Polly, but dear friends could only help me stay till today. I have another exciting life now way out there. But don't forget, I'll be there when you truly need me, and at the most happiest times like your wedding, so please save me a seat."

"You shall have one right next to me, among all of us where you truly belong."

"Thank you kindly child," Mrs Peters said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "And remember, when you think happy thoughts, I'll hear them."

"Thank you, I shall do so _every_ day."

"Polly dear, how are you feeling? Tell me," Mrs Peters asked, kneeling down, peering lovingly into her eyes. Another heavy silence cut into fading light. Meg's whines echoed her mistress's deep feelings.

Pollyanna sighed deeply. "I so much want to wish you luck like I know I should, but feel it will only make you leave quicker."

"I understand child, I shall dearly miss you too. Bye for now Polly, my special young friend. I promise to write when I can, though it may be quite a while."

"Bye Mrs Peters, see you again soon I hope," Pollyanna cried, hugging her tightly, unable to let go. Pollyanna and Mrs Peters hugged each other tighter and tighter as mum and dad ran down the dirt track, hurried by loud noises and weird flashing lights. The couple broke through thorny bushes, witnessing a brilliant blue light shoot off into growing darkness.

There their daughter stood, looking up lost at the starry sky, arms still stretched in a loving embrace. Worried Meg peered up mournfully at her, nuzzling legs, cocking her head in sympathy. Pollyanna stood a little longer, then dad placed touched her shoulder, whispering, "She's gone now, hasn't she?"

"Yes, but she promised to come back some time, dad."

"Oh, you poor little thing," mum said, hugging her close.

"How long have you known?" dad asked.

Pollyanna's voice broke up. "Only tonight for sure. Some things about her didn't add up. I mean, I knew she had to leave eventually, she was nearly 92. I just kept hoping it would be long into the future. I guess this is what people call denial."

"Polly, we're so, _so_ sorry, Mrs Peters passed in early June. Eleanor said she was very peaceful knowing she'd go to a wonderful place. Every day we wished for the courage to tell you, but it never seemed the right time, and you were always so happy with her we didn't have the heart. When you continued to phone and meet her as usual, dad even asked friends at the hospital for ideas, but none seemed to fit for you," mum explained.

"That's alright, you both did the right thing. PADS had great times, and there'll be plenty more fun to come, that's how we should look at it," Pollyanna said bravely, wiping up tears.

"Exactly Polly. Well said. We're _very_ lucky having such a sweet, clever daughter. Come along now, we'll have a special tea and our own service. We'll each say a few kind words in our garden tonight, she always loved that place," dad said softly.

"Can Meg have chicken and ice cream afterwards? I wouldn't ask, only I promised her," Pollyanna asked, teary eyed, yet still thinking of friends.

"Of course, she earned it. Everyone can have whatever they like," dad promised, while the family walked up the hill hand in hand.

**Chapter 26**

Wrapped up warmly that evening, the Fitzgerald's sat in the garden, talking over old times. One section became unusually warm and flickering camping lamps cast lovely yellow beams across the lawn. Everyone paid a warm, wonderful tribute to their special friend.

Dad played Mrs Peters favourite song: 'I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing' on her gramophone rescued from the attic. As the happy song faded, wind chimes tinkled once, then all was still. The Fitzgerald's felt sad, but remembered happy memories and knew adventurous Mrs Peters would be having an amazing time.

Midnight approached when dad suggested Pollyanna should sleep, to be fresh enough to start writing her story tomorrow. Suddenly drawn out squeaks pierced cool night air. Meg yelped in joy. "It's Henry, quick move chairs!" Pollyanna cried, thrusting items off the lawn, granting Henry a blank canvas. Pollyanna threw icing sugar on the lawn just in time. Lucky, because Henry was tiring of this particular piece, deciding this show would be his very last. Legends weren't born by boring audiences with the same old stuff.

Everyone wondered if he'd dare perform for such a large party. Numbers didn't faze brave old Henry, so he rolled out, sniffing fresh misty air. Ah, another nights hunting - someone up there must like him! After checking his marks were still there, he took off rolling wildly, creating the letters 'W W.'

"See, told you dad!" Meg barked in appreciation. Dad looked on open mouthed.

"Extraordinary, I've never seen anything like it!" mum confessed.

"I've got it on camera as well, what luck!" Pollyanna said proudly.

Henry gratefully accepted titbits, then snuffled on his merry way. He had friends to meet and plans to make, little realising the real significance of the art he so casually left behind. After all, the kind fellow was only interested in the challenge of making art, not dwelling on it for hours afterwards - that would be a trifle boorish and mark of a rank amateur.

Everyone thought Henry's amazing art was magnificent, so refined and clean the way lines aligned perfectly. Reaching for tablets in the kitchen, mum caught the image again, froze, looked and looked again, wondering, turning her head to awkward angles. It couldn't be?

Mum slipped back outside to take one more look at the image caught on Pollyanna's camera. Turning it 180 degrees, she found it wasn't 'W W' but foreign characters similar to 'M M' - that's why it seemed so familiar. There was a Chinese apothecary store with those letters in the shopping centre where she went every week she explained.

"I'll take you all first thing tomorrow," dad said, beginning to understand the importance of such strange events.

"We must learn to recognise these signs, because that's how we grow. This cannot just be a coincidence," Pollyanna said sagely, remembering Mrs Peters letter mentioning Henry.

On her way to bed Pollyanna listened to a Charlotte's queer telephone message. That afternoon Charlotte aimed to drop off the items from Lenora's market Polly left at the manor, wrapping them in a blanket. But items had vanished by the time she'd arrived at Abbeyfield Road, though the cover was still creased in the same shape.

As the Fitzgerald's were out at the time, Charlotte kept Henry and the young exotic plant company for a bit. Back at the manor she found the items sitting in the same place on the dresser, so Polly would have to study them on her next manor visit. Curious, but not unexpected Pollyanna thought, telling excited Meg all about it before bed.

Next day, the second the Chinese shop opened the Fitzgerald's trooped in, desperate for clues. Meg hid in Pollyanna's jacket, squirming and squealing in delight, causing random laughter fits and some very strange stares. A wise old Chinese man watched the family very carefully, rushing over to mum. "You have... stomach?"

"Er yes, I think so," said confused mum, peering down as if needing to check. His daughter explained her father had practised ancient medicine in China for fifty years, where mums stomach complaint was common. Mum just needed a short course of a liquid concoction and had to avoid certain exotic foods which her digestive system couldn't cope with.

Mum's cure took just one month and no one ever saw her reach into the pill cupboard again. Mum's been on family trips ever since, smiling like a crazy clown.

On colder nights, when all is crisp and still, when even the moon needs a bright blue jacket, owls hoot hungrily, mice sleep snugly in underground beds, and wet black slugs are locked under thick ice, the grateful lady sneaks outside to leave her good friend Henry tasty treats. Little does she know her family do too!

Miraculously Henry is still alive, but feels his great age a little more. Favourite grandsons help out on off days, cleverly fashioning a perfect stick, so he can proudly stand straight and true while directing silent operas. Henry's been blessed with the rare gift of picturing the entire performance in his head before hand and transmitting the ideas over to the cast intact. Henry's latest thoughts on life are: 'At least my mind is still sharp as ever.'

Pollyanna's unnamed friend living in the garden has been unusually quiet, despite her constant love and attention. Recently he's grown glittering fronds, yet still likes to bathe in mystery for now. Henry and Meg love him dearly, talking to him daily. One thing clever Pollyanna knows is that like people, plants are sometimes late bloomers.

Dad's still an electrician doing well enough to buy a new car, which means no one has to push or suffer shaking bones anymore.

Cute Meg is happy as ever, knowing she's struck lucky having such a loving mistress. Now 18 months old, she's almost fully grown and the perfect size for cuddling according to Pollyanna. Meg's allowed to stay up late, but still sleeps at mistress's feet, hoping for another thrilling dream. During the day Meg guards the house and still collects soft colourful paper under the stairs, which she hasn't told anyone what is for. All this while constantly learning clever tricks.

In July 2010, Pollyanna turned 11, and is doing well in school. Through glowing recommendations and continued dedication, PADS is going strong. It would be doing very well indeed financially if Pollyanna didn't insist clients donate to charities, taking only modest travelling expenses for herself. At 16 she vows to follow the profession full time.

Thankfully no further poltergeists have been reported yet. Pollyanna is happy at this, because the more experience and planning she gets in the meantime, the better the result.

Sadly, she hasn't had a letter from Mrs Peters yet, so can only imagine what adventures her friend may bring on her next visit. Pollyanna recently reported that strange feelings in her stomach had returned and had enjoyed some very peculiar dreams - Flashing images of golden rooftops, luscious countryside packed with magnificent animals, glorious sunsets and living stars, and Lenora's beautiful palace where a king waits patiently for his daughter, so expects a note very soon.

For the past 2 days, as early morning sun peers slowly over rooftops, Pollyanna's been waiting for the postman, sheltered under the ancient oak tree's cooling shade, eagerly bouncing up and down. Mum and dad now believe her dedication and patience will be rewarded.

How many spirits like Mrs Peters walk amongst us? No one can truly answer, though being so clever, selfless and spiritually aware, her case does seems exceedingly rare. Even so, please don't lose hope. Try exploring rural England in summer, when all seems warm and bright and opportunities ripe for endless fun - days when folk smile wherever you look.

Always remember that kind old lady selflessly offering spare change at a shop or helping after a fall, who delights in telling of an angel on your shoulder. If we're blessed by such a thrilling encounter, perhaps we should suspend disbelief and listen to the message. Who knows where it may lead?

END

**The Spiritual Investigators Supplement**

covering our British Isles

Researched By Miss J Longwell and Mrs D Peters.

Dedicated to Dorothy Peters. November 1st 1918 - June 7th 2009 R.I.P
Foreword

This edition was compiled with expert guidance from Janice Longwell, my lifelong friend and confidante who once had the great fortune to glimpse an elderly fairy, though it was long ago when very young.

Although the magical encounter didn't last long, Janice still remembers every detail as brightly as if it happened that very day. Such is the lasting beauty of the uplifting experience. To save precious time, Janice graciously allowed me to write text, while happy to edit as she sees fit.

The more open minded among us would agree our world as humans perceive it is only the smallest fraction of a smallest fraction of what actually exists around us today. Our senses, as amazing as they are, are programmed to show us only what we need to survive and reproduce.

It is fact this beautiful, living, growing planet still holds countless secrets close to her chest, not least in the shape of many undiscovered physical species. But that, as interesting as it is, remains the domain of the budding cryptozoologist, not the adorable world of spirit we hope to touch on here.

Our main aim in this first publication is to provide interested readers with a brief account of just some of the truly fascinating creatures sharing our planet, flitting to and fro between spiritual planes. Some good, some bad, some at first glance seem indifferent. Nevertheless, they are all intensely intriguing in their own right and worthy of note for posterity. Throughout we'll always speak of personal experiences with utmost honesty. How can we expect readers to believe us if we do not do so?

Between us we boast nearly one hundred years of experience in this exciting, expanding, increasingly popular field. I hold around fifty, Janice, bless her, forty plus, so you'll excuse us if we consider ourselves quite the experts! On the other hand, we're both painfully aware that modesty is a virtue. Therefore, if any reader wants to correct us on some minor or major point, please do not hesitate to contact us. Never fear, we're mature enough to take constructive criticism on board, therefore welcome each and any contribution. This is our own personal account, we dearly hope you like it.

Kind wishes and warm regards,

Dorothy Peters

Fairies

(Specifically Wood Fairies)

A few common questions answered.

How big is an average fairy?

A classic fairy in natural earthly form can range from a dust speck to around 6 inches, the standard size we still see depicted so beautifully in illustrated story books.

Where do fairies come from?

Whilst acknowledging the wider scientific community still believes humans are direct descendants of intelligent organisms that crawled out the sea millions of years ago, it's interesting to note that wood fairies were born in entirely the opposite way.

The very first \- 'Guardian Mother' was wished into being long before this world was still young and forming. The remainder of her species were born (seeded) into our world from deep beneath our earth, graduating naturally to water, sand, rocks, air, etc. Because of their incredible ability to adapt, today fairies have hundreds more distinct species than we have nationalities. Regardless how different they seem, no matter how far apart they roam, all fairies are linked by an unbreakable chain spiritually binding them together.

Are fairies clever?

All fairies are highly intelligent, far more so than any of us can ever hope to be, even if we lived for centuries. Generally, the more intellectual the fairy, the more kind and thoughtful they are.

Do fairies speak, much like us?

Of course! This is achieved through an interesting mixture of thought and speech patterns, best described as pleasing, melodious humming. Again, not every part is audible to many physical species, so is easily mistaken for many other sounds. This is an integral part of their clever camouflage. Make no mistake, that humming drone far off in the distance as you admire fresh meadow flowers could easily be important communications between fairy communities living far apart. A dopey dog may be loose in neighbouring fields, or boisterous partygoers are needlessly littering countryside.

What of fairy births? Do fairies have a home life or family structure?

They most certainly do! Before we share a little of fairy life, one needs to remember because fairy's can live on earth for thousands of years, naturally reproduction rates are very low. Therefore to witness an actual birth one needs to be blessed many times. For a human to be allowed access to such an event is extremely rare. Simply put, an invitation is a must.

A Wood Fairy starts earthly life snug and warm in a plain brown chrysalis, (again for camouflage) where we like to imagine the beautiful creature dreams of exciting days to come. After around 6 weeks (Other species have maturation periods varying wildly depending on family, temperature, seasons, etc) the chrysalis opens of its own accord, revealing the tightly curled individual inside. This magical moment is preceded by a beautiful humming different from any other, alerting all English fairies of the impending new arrival.

Most young are plain, muted in colour and unable to fly. Two of the family, but sometimes specially appointed nursemaids, gently carry the infant to the nearest clean stream. After a delicate scrubbing, wings are freed from sticky substances necessary to keep them close to the body during gestation, then the infant tries them out for the very first time in this world. This is when wing colours become most apparent. Although almost always appearing transparent, fairies wings actually contain a kaleidoscope of different colours growing more defined depending on mood and the particular situation.

As you may well imagine, fairies first flights are often hilarious affairs. Even other fairies find it highly amusing, laughing a heavenly tinkling hum. At this special time one imagines magical onlookers are blessed with fond memories of their first flights, and are remarking excitedly on how less than 5 minutes ago their beautiful new friend was curled up asleep in a cocoon. By the way, a gathering of 3 or more fairies on the wing is called a flight, whereas if they're excited and fluttering colours, the proper term is a rainbow.

After the first flight introductions are made verbally and silently, checking the infant understands correct distress calls and such. During this time newborns are given a brief village history and asked searching questions to gain an understanding of where their particular skills may lie.

Then they're named, but are free to suggest another. At first fairies names are small and easy to remember. However, as a fairy matures their names can get quite complicated and long winded, because the more good deeds they perform, the more intelligent they become. Eventually they may be granted large extensions to their names. The lucky spirits are then taken around the neighbourhood, shown feeding points and short cuts to aid them in the future.

Where do fairies get their magical power?

Magic is passed down from parents at first, but to grow and reproduce fairies need to eat. Whilst they can survive for centuries purely on forest fruits, most feed from hidden spiritual hot spots, aka natural magical wells dotted around our rural landscape. Engaged in extensive searches for cleverly hidden fairy wells of England and Wales, we found these could often be identified by seasonally changing colourful heat hazes forming in the same spot. Despite our eyes not normally being able to see this natural ethereal energy, it's present everywhere around us in differing strengths.

Ever witnessed a heat haze form over tarmac on a very sunny day? Think of hot summer sun baking morning dew and plants giving off almost transparent rising mist. Of course the magical haze in question is far more colourful and concentrated, very different in nature, and so much harder to spot, but that was the nearest analogy we could agree on as to what these spots actually look like.

To better understand fairies feeding habits, we staked out an area rife with reliable unexplained phenomena reports dating back almost a century. Janice investigated the place for some time, for I hadn't seen, only sensed a fairy back then. It's worth remembering one of the wonderful things about a fairy encounter is the rare ability to see many of their colourful wells afterwards. Often sharp eyed Janice would point a well out and I could only confirm it if I really concentrated, only managing a fleeting glimpse. Tsk!

We wager wells penetrate to our earth's core, where earth fairies evolved, so it makes sense they'd prefer this naturally pure spiritual energy to solid food, which only really nourishes beings present entirely on this plane anyway. We also deduce that whoever or whatever originally created fairies strategically positioned seemingly infinite reserves of this energy. To be fair it hasn't been established whether fairies were created or evolved naturally, before migrating to earth from other worlds.

Are disturbing stories of fairies kidnapping children really true?

Absolutely not. We'd firmly stamp those merely thrilling old wife's tales, hoping not to be politically incorrect. The phrase: 'A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on' says it all for us.

Some misguided people claim to have suffered physical harm from fairy attacks. This baseless charge is grossly unfair and highly judgemental, especially before one examines the true facts spoken by actual witnesses.

Similar stories followed up by a reputable source were found to have been caused by other elemental spirits following differing codes of conduct, or were grossly exaggerated. (More in our 2nd supplement) Fairies abhor physical violence, finding negativity extremely distasteful, though they're very able to defend themselves against unwarranted attack or shield innocent humans.

Fairies can easily discourage aggression by electrically charging atmosphere to encourage unsavoury characters to vacate certain areas. The unease created is what some folk innocently call 'wood fear.' Our brains work by electrical signals, so it's exceedingly easy for clever fairies to manipulate us if needs be.

How can we glimpse a fairy?

Sorry, one almost has to be a girl! We've never heard of a male meeting a fairy, but that's not to say it couldn't happen. Fairies very rarely visit crowded polluted cities, preferring rural outstanding beauty. Thus, one must frequent quiet countryside, commune with nature and be very patient indeed. Being young, happy and generous helps heaps too.

Experience strongly suggests even pure minded adults can become laden by stressful modern living. Our dark emotions spew negative feelings into atmosphere that fairies sense from afar. Black moods act like mild poison or offensive smells in the spiritual world. So who'd happily enter sewers to chat with its inhabitants?

Very occasionally a fairy blessed with great patience may see through this dark cloud to the person's true spirit, offering guidance via creative thoughts or triggering forgotten memories to aid healing.

Fairies can blend into our environment better than any chameleon, so always check particularly healthy flora for anything odd. A bright new flower, suspicious branch out of place, or ever so slightly raised section of bulging bark suggest the fairy isn't really trying to hide. If it doesn't mind being seen by you, take it as an enormous compliment. Don't forget these remarkable creatures can change into anything or anyone they've seen before and anything they can imagine!

Janice agrees the best chance of seeing or experiencing a fairy is when peaceful, selflessly thinking of loved ones. We can also find fairies when we least expect to and no matter how well intentioned, large noisy search parties will always fail.

Fairies have been learning and growing spiritually for millennia. Naturally few known forest folk can match them in this ability. Fairies can see long past events and those to come. There's little earthly knowledge that even younger, flightier ones cannot understand and bend to their will.

A full visitation, i.e. seeing a fairy in their true form is extremely rare, so always take notes ASAP afterwards. The message will be extremely important, unique to you and have a massive impact on your life and those around you forever.

Even if you live as long as me, but aren't lucky enough to see a fairy, don't lose heart. Think back to when rustling bushes turned out to be animals searching for food, or you dismissed a speedy blurry shadow out the corner of your eye as insects or debris. Think of those times when you chose not to investigate. For just one of those occasions to have been a close encounter is telling testament to the inner beauty of your character.

A personal encounter

Janice's first encounter with the fairy world came around 1925 when she jokes our world was still young! Dear little Janice was 3 years old and still wearing out cloth nappies at an incredible rate! Way back then she lived in West Yorkshire, atop stunning dales, far from civilisation. Thank the lord this area remains peaceful wilderness. A quaint cottage still occupied by delightful young children was her home for her first 20 years. Janice can talk for hours of many fond memories from that time.

The day Janice shared with me was warm and sunny with nary a cloud in the sky. Her first lasting memory was from this very day, waddling out the door into open meadows that were her garden. Parents watched from a window, confident nothing out there could hurt their precious child.

That day Janice roamed quite a distance, fascinated by never ending flights of butterflies and buzzing insects flocking to flowery meadows. While Janice babbled endearingly at a particularly beautiful one, a tiny man suddenly stepped out between tall grass. A flowing grey beard scraped ground and weird growths on his back must have been folded wings. Janice gibbered nonsense as he watched, much amused. Because of her tender age, she guess's the sighting lasted two minutes.

The man's smile grew the longer he peered into her big, round eyes. When older Janice realised he was searching her mind. He smiled again and winked, vanishing exactly as her mother's voice rang out across the valley. Janice obediently tottered back home, crying "Gnome!" Her mother laughed kindly, though her father said, "Good for you lass." Whether or not he believed her, he was happy his daughter had discovered one of youth's hidden beauties.

Hitting teens, Janice discovered mediumistic powers that strengthened with age. (more in 2nd supplement) I've tested her successfully on many occasions with questions for relatives that passed long ago. She never fails to bring me answers only they and I could possibly know \- really specific things involving dates, times and objects.

Janice reports she's unsure whether this encounter triggered off her latent abilities, or the fairy disguised as a gnome recognised her dormant gift, and his smile was simply a knowing recognition for the type of life she was likely to lead. We'll probably never know. Her tale illustrates my earlier comments on how life changing these beautiful experiences can be.

Nature Spirits and Elementals

Many people still believe fairies, nature spirits and elementals are one and the same. This is a common misconception. To the layperson phenomena they produce at times may seem strikingly similar, as all these creatures use similar types of energy to produce desired results. Nonetheless, in mindset, geography and very nature, nature spirits and elementals are quite different from fairies, and as far as we are aware are not related to each other.

On the surface nature spirits don't appear to be born into this world in a physical sense like you or I, but are a result of a natural symbiotic melding with earthbound spirits, usually forming plants or animals. Equally, a nature spirit can also be born long before that by means unknown at present and choose a suitable animal/plant host already alive. Of course with very few exceptions, (such as life or death situations) the host must be willing for this melding to occur.

Note, this isn't a one sided parasitical attack, merely a natural melding to benefit both participants. Some believe if conditions are favourable, nature spirits can be created by the spirit or essence of the flora or fauna in question, possibly as a means to accrue an extra set of senses. Admittedly, this could prove very useful if the host is high up on a predator's menu, needing time to recuperate between tiring pursuits.

Whilst these former theories are valid, in our experience a nature spirit will often choose an animal not necessarily for their physical characteristics, but for its intelligence.

Because many animals aren't aware nature spirits exist, it is a given that they seem to be exceedingly rare. However, we believe a highly trained human can call small wandering groups of nature spirits out of wild reserves on earth. Providing conditions are right, they can persuade spirits to settle down in certain areas to meld with willing hosts.

We know of only two places in the UK where a nature spirit has melded with an animal. One is in a very special garden very close to my heart, the other home of an extraordinarily gifted bee keeper, who happily showed us round. We observed his hives, where bees were calm and tranquil, noting voracious predators deliberately passed them by to pick other victims. Needless to say, hive's honey was heavenly, one of the most productive in the country barring commercial business. The kind, clever, very elderly man allowed us to draw bees at work, but preferred keeping his location a close secret. We have respected his request.

One sometimes hears tell of a particularly clever animal demonstrating extraordinary feats of endurance, or showing exceptional intelligence under extremely demanding circumstances. This may well be the work of a nature spirit, bestowing the animal with good health and greatly increased longevity due to its wise choices.

NB, there's no sure way to make certain a melding happens. One can only provide ideal conditions to pique a nature spirits interest. One may tempt them with sweet music that trees remember for centuries and easily recall as the spirits drift past. You may also use your penchant for good deeds as a lure, for these fly far farther than one may imagine in the spiritual world.

Try to be patient. Remember, a nature spirit can live in our world for centuries without melding with a host, so they can afford to be choosy before committing. Once they do, they'll be together forever.

Lastly, if you're a lucky person whom birds or wild creatures naturally flock to, then it sounds as if you're already half way there. At present we are unsure why certain spirits are magnetically attracted to certain animals, while others seem to be neutral till making their final choice.

I hear tell of a working theory that on extremely rare occasions, fairies may bless an animal or plant that possesses a nature spirit. Strange events seeming to distort time itself are definite signs of this wondrous occurrence. Why this happens still remains unclear for the moment. Perhaps each occasion and reason is truly unique and personal to the fairy clan in question.

Occasionally, in an area where a nature spirit has resided happily for quite some time, and there is a great abundance of positive energy and kindness, one may find fairies visit, or even take up residence nearby, although again, this is extremely rare. To finish, we firmly believe one of the primary functions of a nature spirit is to protect and enhance the natural environment and all inhabiting it.

Elementals

As the name suggests, an elemental is far easier to explain. These consist of four common elements - earth, water, air and fire, though normally made up of only one element at a time. Whilst many books describe elementals as gnomes from the earth, undines from water etc, in England elementals are more commonly seen as entirely different creatures with greatly differing agendas. So, for the purposes of our discussion we'll take the later view that they are of a far simpler nature, bearing no relation to the former 'supernatural' beings.

E.g. Imagine a raging forest fire wilfully destroying everything in its path. To casual observers this may appear like wanton, undirected destruction on a grand scale, work of a crazed madman. Look closer and we find a spirit or fire elemental with the sole purpose of creating balance. In this case a fire elemental's character seems to be neither good nor bad. Therefore no matter what havoc it wreaks, it cannot be blamed for loss of life, property damage etc it causes.

Elementals don't appear to have any sentience or truck with us. In fact evidence suggests such base spirits aren't even aware of our existence. For if our world was devoid of humans it (Neither male nor female.) would still randomly wreak havoc amongst countryside. The dark mystery of where elementals come from, who/what sets them off, and whether they can be controlled will probably remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Whether water, wind (air), etc, an elemental's inner structure and goal 'in life' is the same. Whirlwinds, typhoons, earthquakes are more difficult to explain. We don't pretend to have all answers here, as these subjects suit meteorologists, not spiritual investigators.

Ghosts and Poltergeists

Ghosts traditionally have many names: Spirits, spooks, spectres, wraiths, apparitions and so on. We're told they belong to the same group of spirits known as 'The Wanderers,' so named because that's exactly what an awful lot of them seem to do - wander alone and lost in the spiritual world, sometimes for an awfully long time. However, only a fraction of spirits I've investigated have traversed over a wider area, or for more than a few centuries.

For these reasons I believe we should categorise ghosts down far further, in a manner more specific to their character, while focusing on the nature of their haunting, as that may help us learn facts quicker.

Along with spreading happiness, saving folks from certain death and reuniting loved ones, misdirection and deliberate downright bare faced deception are rife amongst ghosts. These annoying traits we find liberally used in many hauntings, especially those concerning roads and lonely byways.

When people ask what I do to occupy days since retirement, I happily tell of my work with the spiritual world. Often they express surprise - 'I'd like to believe, but I shall have to see a ghost first.' My reply is often: "How do you know you've never seen one?" In my experience most folk had no clue they were conversing with a ghost, or had interacted with them till afterwards. To them, at that crucial moment, the spirit seemed as solid as you or I.

Some say the viewer's unquestioning acknowledgement of ghosts as part of the living world helps form and keep them solid. This is only partly true. We understand its mainly a spirits desire to be seen and recognised, along with its use of ethereal energy, or the more cruder method of draining natural elements and electrical power.

Folk often ask about situations where a ghost or ghosts appear stuck in a kind of time loop, talking monotonously or repeating movements. Some report only vague images left with no movement at all. These are not ghosts as such, merely ghostly images left behind by departed ghosts, if that makes any sense! These will fade naturally in time. One cannot interact with ghostly images, so they're completely harmless if ignored.

Questions such as where do ghosts come from, why do they form and how can we dispel them often crop up. If these answers were to be entered into in full, they could well fit an ever expanding set of encyclopaedias, as possibilities are almost endless.

Janice and I say that ghosts are mostly products of the enduring human spirit which is very powerful when alive, (e.g. staggering engineering feats and scientific breakthroughs) becoming far more potent when separated from its mortal body and allowed to roam free.

Reasons why ghosts form are most likely to be specific to individual spirits. But often a ghost forms rather than passing on to a new life as it feels it has unfinished business on earth. Perhaps it requires assistance delivering a message to a loved one? Therefore we should always endeavour to help ghosts with their troubles. Usually a quick phone call suffices, though remember we can only deliver the message, so shouldn't consider ourselves responsible if the intended recipient declines to accept it.

Over the decades I've found ghosts often form if death is sudden or unexpected, such as a road accident. In this case the spirit may stay at the accident location in order to warn motorists. Luckily these hauntings are normally the easiest to remedy.

The final question is also explainable in so many different ways. We can simply acknowledge a ghosts presence, explain their situation, then politely ask them to depart, or we can ask a priest for a blessing to encourage them to transcend to where they genuinely deserve to be.

Finally, to dispel a stubborn, troublesome ghost one needs to consult a seasoned practitioner. This course of action should only be used as a last resort, when a spirit's presence places the living in danger and/or is becoming overwhelmingly negative, or so confused other methods cannot reach them.

Poltergeists

Poltergeists or noisy spirits consist of powerful negative energies rising from the inner turmoil of the deceased. They can retain male or female characteristics, or very rarely become a strange combination of both. Evil poltergeists can also become conduits for a much deeper and older evil such as the lesser demon and worse. This grave situation (no pun intended) must only be dealt with by specially trained persons asap after the presence makes itself known.

Generally regarded as mischievous or just plain evil, occasionally poltergeists can show a softer side such as helping people in distress or retrieving lost items, though these incidents are rare. I've never come across a truthful poltergeist, so any claims they make about being departed loved ones souls should be taken with a large pinch of salt - treated as another sly trick to confuse their victim. Grief stricken folk faced with such claims are often racked by emotion. Understandably they can make costly mistakes of judgement.

Many older poltergeists cruelly misuse telepathy to find our worst fears, happily bringing them to bear on unfortunate victims to strengthen their hold on the haunted place/person.

Few ghosts can harm more than poltergeists. Their great power may relate to their uncertain position in the universes grand scheme. By 'walking' the thin line between dimensions, poltergeists learn far more nasty tricks far quicker than most ghosts.

Poltergeist powers are amazingly diverse, including teleporting items, though thankfully not people. Electrical disturbances, knocking, uncannily imitating visitor's voices or household items are common. Some are said to cause depression in victims. We can't say whether this is caused directly, or a result of the spirits unnerving actions. Ditto with lucid nightmares caused when a resident poltergeist 'sits in' a house, claiming it for its own.

People choosing to stay here long after they've passed for negative reasons, (unresolved grudges) have a good chance of becoming a poltergeist. Luckily for the living it can take many years for this spirit to learn the skills necessary to store up sufficient ethereal energy and use it consistently enough to cause serious damage. Shameful trickery remains it most likely recourse when young.

The main objective in a poltergeist haunting, besides the twisted enjoyment they gain from it, is the fearful energy generated by the haunted people. Negative energy can be accumulated by a spirit and used for future sorties, allowing them to continue a haunting for many years in a never ending vicious circle. Just like ghosts, poltergeists also use manmade electrical and natural ethereal energy to build up power to manipulate people or objects in our world. Unlike ghosts, because poltergeists stay earthbound for long periods, they learn how to use and store this valuable energy much more efficiently.

RE: ethereal energy. Dictionaries defining 'ethereal' as 'ghostly' and 'unearthly' are wrong. Ethereal energy floats all round us everywhere; constantly flowing from our earth high into the stratosphere and back again in a continuously renewing circle. On its travels it passes through everything on earth. Like fairy wells, most human eyes are not programmed to see its misty vapours. From now on I ask we think of ethereal energy as natural energy that can be used for good or bad, and simply call it spiritual energy instead.

Young children often become the focus of an alleged poltergeist haunting. Recent research suggests tremendous amounts of nervous energy are involved in a growing youth's biological system. Coupling this with the psychological pressures of growing up in today's ever demanding world, can result in a manifestation of these forces outside the body, causing a phantom haunting resembling a poltergeist. Fortunately we find this nearly always resolves itself when the underlying cause of anxiety is resolved, or when the child reaches adulthood.

How can we protect ourselves from evil spirits? To expel a stubborn poltergeist from a property isn't easy. It can be done safely as long as certain steps (discussed later) are taken by open minded people with the tenacity to see the job through to the bitter end. One needs an unwavering mindset to achieve this. NB telepathy - some spirits can easily tell whether investigators have experience and plan a defence to their efforts.

Swiftly take steps if you suspect a poltergeist haunting. Search property thoroughly top to bottom. Most poltergeists like to mark or tag a property as their own, rather like animals scent mark territory. This crude behaviour gives them an undeserved sense of achievement and inflated self importance. Luckily this arrogance often proves their downfall.

Tags will almost always be seen as black marks or charred smudges on your property. All will be hidden except in the most dangerous circumstances. Generally speaking, more sooty marks, the stronger the spirit.

Said tags are likely to be confined to the physical property itself, but can also manifest in surrounding property as long as the haunted tenant has title to it in some way, like an official rental agreement or outright ownership. So for those of you lucky enough to live on a large country estate, I'm afraid being thorough does mean an awful lot of walking.

If you can, make use of modern technology like cameras. It's best to position such aids as naturally as possible, quietly with minimum fuss, when activity has briefly stopped, otherwise you'll nearly always find their energy drained by the spirit. Obviously because of their mind reading powers, always discuss attack plans far from home to have the best chance of catching poltergeists unawares.

The second you confirm your unwanted guest is a poltergeist, follow my further points below.

1 - Consult an experienced person with proven history in these matters, not just an acquaintance that's looked up a few misquoted verses on the World Wide Web. Said individual will have a reassuring manner, a clear goal plan and how they intend to carry it out. Crucially, they'll be able to explain how they mean to keep you and your family safe, before during and after an expulsion. (Quite different from an exorcism, which is only used in direst circumstances.)

The person or persons you choose will always be knowledgeable on other spiritual matters, so feel free to test them. One wouldn't ask an inexperienced schoolboy to service your expensive car, so bear in mind amateurs can cause more harm than good, no matter how pure the intentions.

2 - After the cleansing - Following professional advice and using instinct, check your house for possible entry points for a burglar. All done? Now put up warning signs or signals to other spirits who'd deign to disturb your rightful peace.

Horseshoes are effective and been used successfully in England for centuries. Position one above each door providing direct entry to the home. Always place the open side upwards pointing to the heavens like a witch's cauldron, otherwise any good luck you hope to catch will simply drain away!

Even if you're not a believer, religious symbols work well, simply because the faith behind them holds positive spiritual power. Try to rest these in places already regarded as ones of peace, such as bedrooms or near your favourite chair where you enjoy a relaxing afternoon snooze.

For a month, or till at least the next full moon, sprinkle an unbroken line of rock salt above and beneath every window and door leading to the outside, covering all levels. Normal table salt will suffice. However, sea/rock salt is best due to it being a natural product, unlike mass produced salt that goes through various stages where other elements are added, reducing its defensive power. Crushing rock salt to fine powder releases its potent energy.

A very good friend swears by collecting her own salt in the time honoured tradition down on the beach. One small shallow pit filled with 2 inches of sea water is all she needs. Then she puts her feet up and lets blazing sun do the rest. Mind you, she lives in a very hot country, so I wouldn't recommend this method in England, unless you are very patient!

Follow these simple rules and you'll find most poltergeists that may come calling will move on to less educated victims.

Finally, we'd stress modern day poltergeist hauntings are very rare. Most reports investigated in England are due to other unexplained phenomena, combined with many other factors. Good luck folks!

Author Biographies and Miscellaneous

Mrs Peters Brief Biography

I was born Dorothy. My ever organised parents had already named me before my first breath on November the 1st 1918. Not a pleasant year to be born, yet a happy one. An awful lot was happening in England then, not a great deal of it good, but these events are all documented quite adequately in most quality history books.

My very first memory hails from the age of 3. I vividly recall father trying to teach me to count to ten. Dear mother watched tentatively, her hopeful face stuck in a loving shine. I think it may have been possible for me to do so, if I hadn't become far more enamoured at coloured pictures he'd drawn on the paper scraps. Even way back then my life and interests lay elsewhere, I know that now. Having said that, in general school proved fairly easy, apart from longer sums seeming a little difficult without intense concentration. You just try working out a bunch of silly numbers when 15 and gazing longingly out the window at sights and sounds of the beautiful English countryside.

One beautiful summer's day I witnessed a child happily engaged in gorgeous daydreams, dancing ecstatically amongst tall green trees and rolling through swaying grass, chasing butterflies in total delight. This endearing sight affected me profoundly. I could hardly believe there lived another being so in touch with nature, I could scarcely wait for introductions. In that beautiful, timeless moment I knew this was the true friend and confidante I'd searched for all this time. Janice and I have been inseparable ever since, always living in the same county.

One always finds balance in nature. Balance is as natural to Janice as breathing. Folk avoiding her for perceived flights of fancy made a grave mistake back then, shunning the sweetest, truest friend one could ever dream for. Honest and loyal, kind and thoughtful, clever and witty, all these charming character traits flawlessly matched to an intimate working knowledge of nature. Janice's modesty have only increased throughout our long, happy years since.

From 16 I worked in a local nursery. Kind owners Mr and Mrs Johnson taught me of virtually every plant known to science, from common grass to beautiful desert orchids. Back then the Johnson's had completed apprenticeships at the world famous Kew gardens, London. The perfectly matched pair were amazing teachers, loving their work with unbridled passion, a trait I find a must if one wishes to inspire the same fervour in prospective protégés.

Their infectious enthusiasm certainly rubbed off on me, because from then on in I vowed never to pry into a subject if there was opportunity to excel in it. When I left the nursery 4 full years later, there was little I didn't know about our beautiful friends living around us. My dear husband Alfred and simple economics were my reasons. We desperately needed money, which was terribly hard to come by, unless one worked very long hours in dangerous conditions.

A family business was our key to such rare freedom, one flourishing due to unwavering dedication and a strict policy of spending as much time together as possible. We'd found a house we loved and wanted to spend the rest of our lives in. By jove we meant to keep it! (No 16 Abbeyfield Road)

We made high quality blankets at first, using the same tools and a machine donated by Alfred's kind parents, that ran for almost twenty years without one major breakdown. Alfred said Lord knows how! I told him if one looks after things, they become inclined to look after you too! Later we shipped garments abroad via the war office to support our troops during terrible WW2.

Due to dreadful losses at sea, after the war rationing still remained for some time, so we had to make do and rely on recycled fabric an awful lot, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Folk were amazed at what a bright mind could come up with, given a little inspiration from a countryside walk.

On days off, Alfred, Janice, Patsy and I would search valleys, hills and mountains for spirits and nature folk that gave us so much happiness. For even if we didn't discover any, we found untold joy in the countryside mother nature has seen fit to lend us.

Excursions of this nature slowed down when Alfred and I were blessed with our amazing daughters, Eleanor and Betsy. However, after we retired, still feeling young at 70, we resumed them again with renewed vigour and fresh minds! Onward ho!

My fairy sighting occurred on May the 7th 1946, in woods not far from Janice's home. I shall never forget it. I recall giggling to myself over something funny Eleanor had said earlier – she was only 3 bless her, and full of endearing thoughts.

My wonderful dog Patsy was alive then. Anyone who met her agreed she was an incredibly rare dog without a hunting instinct. If Patsy had to find her own food, she'd have been a strict vegetarian. Patsy would trot up to a midge or an angry bull without a care in the world, hoping to make friends.

Looking back, I think it was a combination of my good mood, the beautiful, relaxing sunny day when countryside lets her guard down and the fact Patsy was no threat that prompted my sighting, because normally inquisitive dogs are a hindrance on fairy hunts.

I just happened to glance down at a bush I'd passed a hundred times before, noticing part of its roots showing. That prompted me to look closer, hoping to help, when a glistening colourful flash blurred past. For a few fleeting seconds I glimpsed transparent wings fluttering off into the distance. Although I could no longer see it, somehow I sensed the creature had returned, watching me very curiously indeed from only a few metres away.

I stood rooted to the spot, turning very slowly so as not to spook it, as dozens of images and ideas formed in my mind. Future plans became much, much clearer, whilst I recalled ambitions forgotten since very young, making me realise now I was an adult with means, how easy I could accomplish them.

I honestly couldn't say how long I stood there in that enchanting state of enlightenment. Even though thoughts flew thick and fast and I'd spent years training my brain to categorize lots of information at once, this was an awful lot to take in at one sitting. Slipping back to reality, my first words were " _Thank you_!" Believe me, I genuinely meant it.

The fairy appeared at my heartfelt thanks. Just as suspected, she'd been sitting only a metre away in a tree, dangling slim legs off the slenderest branch, watching me curiously with a wonderfully open, expressive smile.

Her face was quite, quite beautiful, divine in fact. She wore the most gorgeous dress made of delicate woven moss, decorated with jewels sparkling like a mountain spring under a magical moon. Her whole ensemble really drew out her exquisitely detailed features, accentuating long, rich black hair.

I attest she looked more like an elf than a fairy, due to pointy ears. From her telepathic talk I surmise I saw her in an image but one away from her true fairy form, which I'm truly grateful for. To have possessed such wondrous gifts, she must have reached maturity. Before I could question her, she vanished, leaving on the sound of a faint tinkle like a wood chime. Dear Patsy had been sitting quietly at my feet all the time. I honestly believe she saw her too, as like me, she'd often stop at the same spot to relax, longing for another thrilling encounter.

That very night Patsy lay asleep, laughing at some nocturnal wonder. After telling envious Alfred every scrap of my wonderful encounter, I experienced one of the most amazingly realistic and vivid series of dreams I've ever had. Before that day I dreamt like most people, but nothing as extraordinarily bright as this. I dreamt of people I was to meet in the future, including full conversations and what my responses ought to be to convince them of my trustworthiness, so I could progress with ideas.

I dreamt whole situations, even days from start to finish - names, dates, places, events that seemed silly at the time, like a person dropping their pencil, or handing me the wrong document. I dreamt what folk wore long before their outfits even came into fashion. I was even tempted to design one, quickly deciding against it, realising that wasn't the fairies intended message.

One particularly outstanding scene was the striking vision of my youngest daughter, Betsy, as a teenager, who hadn't even been born then. I saw myself stopping her meeting a new school friend, acting on a weird, entirely unsubstantiated hunch.

When that fateful day arrived, like most teenagers Betsy was far from happy at my strange actions. Luckily she forgave me the next week, realising had she went she'd have been involved in a terrible accident and would have almost certainly died. Thank the Lord dear Betsy's never doubted my word since.

These dreams never made me fabulously rich, but then that's never been one of my aims in life anyway, only rich enough to enjoy a happy life, help friends, have a pleasant holiday now and then, and leave means for my beautiful daughters and their families. My only regret is these fabulous dreams only lasted for one night. Nevertheless, I'm eternally grateful and humbled.

I've been back to that very spot many times since to thank the fairy again. Although once I felt a flow of ideas flood back, I never saw her again and the prophetic dreams never returned. I could sometimes sense her, though she remained just out of reach. The last time was summer 1992, a particularly beautiful day. After then it seemed another fairy had moved in, as noises and feelings were very conflicting.

I can only hope folk understand from these special events, that the incidents related are just a few of a thousand reasons why we should respect our spiritual neighbours as much as they respect us.

Janice Longford Brief Biography

I was born December 25th 1921 in West Yorkshire. I understand Dorothy has touched on my earlier life. Believe me I'm truly thankful for it. I feel I must admit I'm not much of a one for the printed word, preferring pictures, though I've been told I can tell a story or two. Everyone has their strengths I suppose, it's just I feel one can sometimes put far more expression into spoken word, adding that extra little touch of magic.

Unlike Dorothy I never married. I did find someone once at the age of 20 in 1941 - a wonderful chap called Peter Drew. I knew instantly Peter had an enormous heart and an exceedingly rare, pure soul. We were naive way back then, blind to the ways of the world. Neither of us had ever even been out a proper date before. Neither of our families were rich either. So instead of going to the pictures, we sat enjoying a lovely picnic on the hill overlooking my house, smiling and laughing with each other for hours in invigorating afternoon sun.

Finally Peter and I sat back to back, making a solemn pact to write what we truly thought of each other, using split up cardboard pieces and lead from broken pencils. Two minutes later we eagerly swopped cards, bursting into laughter on finding to our utmost delight we'd both written 'Angel,' underlined twice, boasting a badly drawn heart below. I remember mother being so pleased when we told her what we'd done.

Sadly Peter was called up to war soon after, becoming one of the dreadfully unlucky ones that never returned. I often dream of the amazing life we'd have enjoyed together. Still, I take great comfort knowing there is another yet to come. Peter was my first and only love. The pain of losing him proved too much and no one else seemed to fire that special spark. Lots was happening in my life then and I simply couldn't pluck up the courage to go through those emotions again, despite being blessed with comfort and advice from excellent friends like Dorothy.

I've taken many situations in the long years since. My main one, with encouragement from Dorothy, bless her, was as a medium, which I still do to this very day. I'm told I'm singularly gifted, yet it seems way too easy. Over the decades I can't quite shake the feeling perhaps folk weren't getting their money's worth, however much some insisted they understood cryptic messages filtered through from loved ones.

As well as this profession, which is enough to pay bills and buy a few luxuries for friends, (I haven't the heart to charge in some cases, re: folk in financial straits.) in my spare time I go out in the countryside with Dorothy, enjoying spirits that live there, building relationships, fostering trust. Lots of wood folk have little character quirks like us humans and need to know they are respected for this. That is all for now. I do hope I haven't bored readers too much!

A Brief History of Lenora, one of our First Fairy Planets

Countless millennia past, long before love, laughter and gracious kings, our world was an empty, windswept darkness held in a strangling thrall by maniacal forces. Corrosive rain relentlessly pounded blackened, lifeless ground like a thousand mighty hooves drumming into the dying earth. Screaming, raging thunder and a million streaks of cosmic lightning mercilessly attacked from lengthening shadows, splitting sodden earth asunder, commanding a million wild fires to rise through deathly black smog. Hope there was none, as hope's very essence is a living thing, and from that desolate, pitiful wasteland no life could hope to crawl.

Long was it then before our wandering Guardian Mother fancied on this poisoned wilderness, searching far below the raging storm's unending fury. Through those choking fumes she glimpsed untold beauty and boundless happiness lying dormant far beneath the rotting surface. So ancient legend says, defying the uncontrolled tempest, her four seeds, two male, two female, dove deep below the sickly land, through countless layers of desperation.

Safe from the grounds deadly fire, seeds waited patiently for the sign. Spaced a million leagues apart, seeds grew in strength, knowing each other's dreams through strange telepathy, yearning to fulfil their destiny by driving back darkness, allowing beauty to take over once more. For a millennia of blackness is not the balance of our universe.

One frightful night during the most furious onslaught the dream world ever witnessed, a bright new star formed high above. And as eternal night darkened further, this humble star grew in beauty and brilliance, becoming a colossal sun challenging darkness, instantly turning sterile blackened ground into fertile brown. Ancient blackness saw it could hold no sway against such a mighty adversary, fleeing for distant lands and dominion over far off worlds. Our mighty sun split into three, then fairies sprouted.

Pushing through a millennia's dirt, the four fairy seeds brought remnants of many strange items not born into this world since she was very young. One gleefully scattered colourful seeds over rich, beckoning land."

To intense chattering and a beautiful hum, one opened dense rock atop mighty mountains touching the sky, creating dry river channels to lead to deep and mighty seas, sprinkling landscape with the dusty remains hardening under strange new suns. Another danced gracefully between bright young stars born to the magical suns, breathing out life's atmosphere for those destined to arrive below.

The eldest and wisest sat waiting, scrutinizing others seeds actions. Over many centuries whilst planning final stages, he drew countless shapes in freshly forming sand, laughing gaily at the sheer multitude of organisms he could understand.

When the first three deemed work complete, they sat, laughing long with the fourth. The first four gathered in a circle, watching the very first seed planted shoot up, then blossom into a living, growing spirit tree. At this wondrous sight, they laughed once more, at creating that which most cannot.

As the four grew in spirit, so did life around till an unspoken agreement passed between them to tarry in this bountiful land, till heeding the Guardian Mother's enchanting call, for few worlds had been as luscious and inviting to these ancient nomadic strangers.

Some say seeds remain here countless aeons later, wandering unseen amongst fairy planets when times are bad, providing sage advice, protecting the downtrodden. Others say there is but one seed left, as others now serve The Mother on other planes, or been retired for selfless service. For four aeons did this rich land remain unpopulated until our first inhabitant arrived, naming this world Lenora or Land of Golden Valleys.

Lenora flourished as planned and talk spread of a fresh fairy planet pleading to be explored. Forest folk visited in droves. Some arrived for a holiday, content to view before returning to other lives, others drawn by outstanding weather. Falling in love, some lucky pioneers fervently made a small part of Lenora their own.

Many arrived chasing rumours of magical secrets rising up on every new world. Few needed to stay, having needs met on other fairy planets. But the unlucky few escaping an ordinary planet dried and desolate from wanton neglect were entranced by talk of green pastures, towering mountains, crystal clear waters and endless seas. Those rare, honest folk were rewarded with their own serving of heaven and granted free rein, never abusing this great trust.

Our first hamlet sprung where Silverbridge still lies, named as homage to the fabulous ornate bridge built by a mysterious wandering carpenter, and to mark our beautiful, magical stream carving through the centre.

Since then our enchanting village grew prettier still as more exotic species flocked to her streets, keen to meet pleasant merchant folk and sample their wondrous wares. In 1701, our village had matured enough to wont for a just king to pass eye over villagers and keep them happy in their lives, a sprightly athletic man, Solomon. Villagers gladly vote him back in every year. So reads the book of Lenora.

Wandering Worlds or Ghost Islands

An exceedingly rare occurrence, even on our most ancient fairy planets. These exquisitely detailed lands are formed when a fairy carries out an honourable act, creates a new tool, musical instrument, or any project helping folk of the forest or friends. Even thoughts or designs are accepted.

These selfless acts create large positive energy pockets, which drift to the isle to be collected and immortalized by the Guardian, ensuring particular deeds are never forgotten. A tiny wisp of the original inventor's spiritual essence floats alongside.

This rare magic can be used again forever in many different forms. For instance, over time a model can enjoy as full a life as any other being. This is one way a fairy can literally live forever. More good deeds performed, the more items the Guardian can craft via moulding substances like magical lava.

Only very old and very wise fairies possessing singular gifts handed down from our Guardian Mother can collect this essence and store it safely. I'm acquainted with only one other currently boasting the necessary skills.

Each ghost island is utterly unique, including how it collects essence and what it chooses to create with it. For this reason most legends only hint at assorted life living on ghost isles, though every fairy clan from water to mountains is represented.

Our magical mini worlds have become commonly known as ghost isles, because they phase in and out of existence at inhabitants will. Ghost isles are the simplest way to describe a tiny portion of fairy heaven.

We hear very little of one but vague rumour for centuries, and after a short burst of activity its gone again, traversing endless magical oceans. Possibly only one spirit truly knows why. Thus, if one is lucky enough to visit an isle, they only do so by invitation. On rare occasions the Guardian leaves for a time, allowing part of his spirit to watch over the healing paradise.

Pollyanna thinks speech sounded foreign to her because folk were faded images, flitting in and out of our reality. Had the Guardian been watching when she visited the isle, talk would have been the same as on Lenora. It would be nice to think the island called out her in its hour of need. Maybe who, how and why will remain a mystery.

Charlotte Visits Lenora

My kiddie playground is just to the left of the palace's golden mile, three miles east into Lenora's woods. I don't think these personal projects appear on the main map till completed and you actually want them to. My playground plan started years after first visiting Lenora. I was talking with a stall holder early one morning, when he said to visit the healer and his wife, Mary who lived down a dead end street.

Following the beautiful stream, drumming feet to David Collins clopping along cobbles, I soon hit a blank sandstone wall. I was about to give up when David refused to move, just staring straight ahead, coughing stubbornly. Like heaps of girls I'd always wanted a pony, so on Lenora I immediately asked Phillips to find me one. Not one which would blindly follow every command. No, that was far too easy for me. Only a boy with a highly strung temperament that I could work with every day and eventually win his trust and respect would do, hence David's stubborn attitude back then.

Anyway, there I was wondering what had spooked him, when those weird suns reflected off the wall. I wasn't even thinking about secrets. I thought what you see is what you get, when I had an epiphany. There was something queer about how the light's colours moved, even for Lenora. The reflection wasn't actually bouncing off the wall, but ten feet off in a round arc, suggesting a cleverly camouflaged structure.

Suddenly a round stone house sprung up, backed up against the wall, taking up most of the alley. Pretty Mary said they didn't get many visitors as Sam held a surgery in the temple each day, although I was welcome to talk as she prepared potions. I trotted in, knowing rules concerning children going into strangers houses didn't apply here.

Sam sat in his chair smiling as if sharing a hilarious joke, when Mary handed David a carrot through the front door. Well, it looked a bit like one, but curled like a pig's tail with green shoots at both ends. I guessed it had grown sideways instead of straight up like most plants on earth. Mary said David had smelt the treat and was a flighty fellow, but worth getting close to. I nodded, then Sam introduced himself, promising to help change anything I fancied.

I felt this room was one of many and the house stretched far underneath the town. I liked both of them instantly. They seemed so well matched, caring and interested in people. I said I'd always wanted to design my very own living playground for kids, using landscapes I'd always loved, but was unsure how to start off.

Sam gave some very helpful tips, in his rare, gentle voice that can make the dreariest subjects sound interesting. I sat for two hours, never feeling bored."

When I got to the woods to start work, I used David as a mule. Attaching a soil sack to his back with a pluggable hole in the bottom, we mapped out the large playgrounds boundaries. The work certainly calmed him a little. I planned it to be three miles square and to have dozens of levels.

Then I chose scenes from memory. I picked many seen when awake, some from my wild imagination, including Lenora's most beautiful sights and ones from the village temple.

I wanted to connect scenes with hidden trapdoors, hatches in trees, etc, which would take a while, except Sam produced a small velvet bag used to carry crystals or lucky coins. He explained a very rare sprinkling of moon dust lived in the bag that I should use sparingly.

Mary had been working hard since I arrived, grinding masses of strange materials into a bowl, muttering quietly. It was so strange finding all that was left was a teaspoon of dull brown powder, flecked with orange, yellow and blue. Mary said this powder would finish the spell off, mixing it in the bag. I didn't realise till ages after that they'd obviously known what my request was before I'd even asked!

I only needed a few sprinkles to meld all my chosen landscapes seamlessly. I dubbed Sam the genie that day, because he's the only being I've ever known who can perform true magic. I bet the magic powder's still in the palace's dining room cupboard.

I had the lower section of my playground masterpiece serve as a meeting place, focusing on an ancient stone guardian living in the ground, whose large face pointed upwards. People could feed him if they wanted favour, or fancied a random surprise. Many times the surprise was the guardian spitting foodstuffs back at them. Most found this highly amusing, many even tried it again.

If anyone got lost, tapping the nearest bush would whisk them back to the entrance. An amazing stepped waterfall fell from the top all the way down for rare animals to drink from. Sam told me how to attract them so they knew they were free to leave. Not many wandered far though. Even stranger ones liked it so much they had young the next year. Out the corner of my eye I'd often glimpse David peeking in curiously, though it was some time before he graced us with his presence.

I had a blank sign standing outside the woods, directing folk to my place, thinking what I wanted it to say during the day - artwork and such. Next day it had everything I'd thought about painted on it. So next time I wanted to improve it, I stood near to find out who or what was doing it. However, I'd get distracted for a second and it was sneakily altered perfectly. Sam just laughed when I told him, saying someone out there must like me.

That week I wrote an essay on the project for school. Our English teacher gave me full marks, saying although it was a bit bizarre, it made a pleasant change from tales mindlessly stealing each other's ideas. I was still working on my playground once a week till three years ago.

I had pretty much everything the way I wanted in the end - Flights on birds, fun little traps, every kind of slide, all seasons, all weathers, strange gravity effects. Any idea, no matter how wacky was worth exploring once to see if it worked. In the end, sad though it was, everything worked together and seemed to get along fine without me. I wondered if this was what parents felt when their kids finally left home.

Possibilities on Lenora's seem endless. No wonder so many questions are left unanswered. I'm still not sure exactly who Sam the genie actually is or if he's in charge. He just smiled when I asked him, saying girls were always in charge and Mary smiled.

It was me that named my pony David Collins. At 12 I went through a weird phase of naming pets as if they were people, mostly made up silly names friends thought funny. I named a giant turtle Professor Brian Chadwick who lived in the village stream, under the silver bridge. The name was amusing and quite fitting because he was very clever and a master at rhyming poetry when he got round to it.

Normally when the suns were out Brian would just lie about lazily on the riverbank sleeping, soaking up rays, making silly squeaking noises in fun. I had to constantly think of new ideas to get him stimulated, otherwise you'd have to wait till the cool of night for a sensible answer. I won a prize in the county schools poetry contest once using his words. I didn't consider it cheating as I gave the money to charity. I'll share more of my experience when I can.

Brief History of Pemberton Manor. (Anon)

In 1652, for an act of selfless bravery, an English king granted a wandering Irish stranger land where he might build a home to provide safety and sustenance for his family. His only daughter, Eden, was said to have picked the exact spot where the house would stand.

One year later there stood a large structure serving as a barn and farmhouse, surrounded by fertile countryside, flanked on two sides by sprawling primeval forest. Folk always said there was something queer about the old fellow, Enoch. While likeable, he'd divulge little as to his history. Some rumoured his friendly daughter 'away with the fairies.' Folk could speak to her as naturally as others, though oft she'd catch sight of something unseen, skipping off.

Because he was from the old country rich in such traditions, it has become apparent Enoch sensed the land had always been part of a fairy community. The 'Little People' weren't living on that particular spot, only using it to pass through. The tiny slit in the stone wall of the scullery, easily mistaken for a place for an archer to defend the place in olden days, is actually there to allow fairy folk free passage through the property unhindered. As most folk are aware, fairies are not blocked by any physical object. The space is symbolic, a mark of respect for allowing humans to share fairy space.

END

Thanks for reading! Enjoyed following Pollyanna's life? Please recommend this tale to anyone polite enough to listen! Time permitting, please leave a brief review on your purchase site. Email comments/questions/constructive criticism to: **glossyturnipstories@yahoo.co.uk**

Other stories in my eBook collection -

Book 2 in the Pollyanna Trilogy - **Gift of the Fire Queen** – Bursting with nasty ghosts, powerful fairies and even stranger adventures!

Coming Soon - **Our Secret Circles** \- Final book in the Pollyanna trilogy sees Edith's ancient power begin to blossom and our brave heroine given many important tasks. With so much work to do, can new fairy friends stay long enough to grant Pollyanna a little head start? Who will win her parent's silly, soppy love fest? Will inspired Lily finish her magical tale in time to sneak it in at the end? Look out for Mrs Peters second spiritual guide too.

Other stories in my E Book collection available at - http://www.smashwords.com.

The Phantom of Pilberry Place

The Legend of Brandice May

Sir Ian Peters

Under construction: **Masha and the Magic Gate** \- A tale from Earth's Secret Valley.

**Tales from Lenora** \- Passionate stories sharing how magical Lenora drew her most famous characters.

**The Ghastly Tricks of Baron Von Stuttenhoffen** \- Sequel to **The Legend of Brandice May**

**Lenora Summer 2009**

