 
### TWELVE DOWN

A Collection of Short Stories for Young Readers

By

The Tunbridge Wells Writers

### COPYRIGHT NOTICE

Published by Tunbridge Wells Writers Publications

Copyright © (2015) for individual stories remains that of the named author.

All rights reserved.

While offered freely for personal use the stories in this collection should not be reproduced without the permission of the relevant author(s). All unauthorised commercial use is expressly prohibited. Links for the Tunbridge Wells Writers website, Facebook and Meet-Up pages can be found in the introduction to this book.

#  CONTENTS

Tunbridge Wells Writers: An Introduction

A Brief Outline of the TWELVE DOWN Project

### THE STORIES

It Began With an Ending – By Jeremy Kimmel.

Jake and Jill – By Paul Bright.

Turn Right – By Carolyn Gray.

The Boy Who Cried "Alien" – By David Smith.

The Girl Who Bought the Moon – By Philip Holden.

The House on the Marsh – By Peppy Scott.

A Day in the Life of Josh Slug – By Enrique Reilly.

The Collector – By Joanna Pope.

Still Here – By Katherine Loverage.

The Secret Magicians – By Karen Tucker.

Please Don't Tell Anyone About This Story – By David Hensley.

How to Make a Sand Witch – By David Smith.

Further Reading from the Tunbridge Wells Writers.

#  TUNBRIDGE WELLS WRITERS

### An Introduction

Tunbridge Wells Writers is a small collective of aspiring writers living in and around the much-maligned town of Tunbridge Wells in Kent. We meet once a fortnight to discuss all aspects of writing, to offer mutual support and encouragement, to swap ideas and writing tips, and, on occasion, to work together on group projects like this one. Several of us, in the great writer tradition, also like to take the opportunity to down a few glasses of wine and/or beer, which is one of the reasons we meet in a local pub.

Neither a fondness for alcohol nor residence in Tunbridge Wells are prerequisites for membership of the group, however, so if you, dear reader, have similar literary ambitions but prefer soft drinks or live elsewhere please feel free to join us either in the flesh or through our website or Facebook page which are found -

Here: <http://tunbridgewellswriters.org.uk/>

And on social media: <http://www.facebook.com/groups/twellswriters/> and <https://twitter.com/TWWriters>

We also promote the group through Meet-Up, where dates and times of upcoming meetings are always available,

<http://www.meetup.com/Tunbridge-Wells-Writers/>

# A Brief Outline of the TWELVE DOWN Project

Twelve Down is a collection of short stories for young readers written by members of The Tunbridge Wells Writers. All of the stories are written with "middle graders" in mind, with a reading age of between seven and twelve years.

When it comes to reading, however, there are no hard and fast rules, and the difference between the reading habits of a seven year old and a twelve year old - or even two children of the same age - can be huge. In essence, then, we've aimed for a book that will appeal across a wide range of ages from TWELVE DOWN, some with the younger reader in mind and some more likely to appeal to those approaching the Young Adult end of the target audience. We hope Mums and Dads will enjoy the collection too, and Aunts and Uncles, Grannies and Granddads, older and younger siblings et al, come to that!

# It Began with an Ending

### By Jeremy Kimmel

She ran as fast as she could. Which, to be fair, was pretty fast. Faster than most people ever had or ever would. Her Father had made sure of that. But even using everything He had taught her, Irina could not seem to make herself run fast enough. There were just so many of them. So Irina ran.

It had been some time since there had been anyone shooting at her, but she could still hear the helicopters in the sky. They were looking for her. Deep down she knew this, because she knew she was the only one left. Something spoke to her inside her head, and it confirmed that she was alone. Truly alone, and in very deep trouble.

The other thing she knew for certain was that she couldn't keep running like this forever. Eventually she would get tired and have to stop, and if she waited until she was exhausted they would find her and that would be the end. Irina quickly ducked into a dark alley and hid behind a group of large bins. She took a moment and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself and catch her breath. Her Father's voice echoed in her mind for a moment, reminding her to stay calm and let a path clear itself for her. The voice almost brought her to tears again. When she opened her eyes to wipe them dry she noticed the storm drain by her feet. Using her Father's weapons and all her strength she lifted its cover and climbed inside. Irina pulled the cover back in place and crawled into the darkness a few feet, so she could not be seen. Once she was sure nobody would see her, she let herself relax a little. Now, the memories and the feelings came flooding back into her and she began to cry. Everything she had hoped for was gone.

This was not the life Irina thought she was going to have.

***

Irina was just ten years old when she was found. It was just a normal day at school, quite sunny actually. She had been looking forward to playing outside during the break and she knew they had a special visitor today, which usually meant a break from working. Her class was in the middle of a lesson about the Romans when there was a knock at the door and the head teacher came in with a very tall man. He had a friendly face, but he looked very serious. Irina was sure this was the "special visitor" they were going to have today. It was probably something to do with the Romans. She knew her brother had had a visitor from the museum bring Roman things to the classroom once and it sounded very cool. Only this man didn't seem to have anything with him. All the grown-ups were whispering together and eventually Mrs Anderson said, 'of course,' and the man stood in front of the entire class by himself.

'Hello everyone. My name is Jonathan.'

In unison the class repeated the Hello Jonathan greeting they had been taught. The man smiled a little and bowed his head. When he moved, Irina caught a flash of something at his side, hidden by his long coat.

'I have come to give you a test.'

That didn't make anybody in the class happy. Some even groaned. 'I know, and I'm sorry for that. But I promise it is a short one. I need everybody to close their eyes.'

Irina watched all her classmates close their eyes, and decided she had best do the same. She could hear somebody opening a window in the room and felt the warm breeze drift in. It made her think of playing outside again.

'Very good. Now I need everybody to listen to my voice and take ten very deep breaths on my count. Ready?' The man who called himself Jonathan began counting and everybody started breathing just like he had asked.

Irina had thought this a very strange test. As she took her deep breaths she began to notice the room becoming cooler, then quite chilly. A small shiver went through her body, but she kept her eyes closed and did as she was told. She really wished somebody would close that window. Jonathan continued to count, he was up to seven now. It was actually getting quite cold. She could feel the bite of the cold breeze on her legs, even through her socks. She began to shiver openly. This Jonathan sure was counting slowly, she wasn't sure he was doing this right. Irina tried to open her eyes to see what was going on, and found she could not move any part of her body. She was completely frozen! Still the room became colder, and now she began to panic. It was all the fault of that window. Somebody had to close the window. Why wasn't Jonathan saying 'eight' or 'nine' already? What was going on? Somebody needs to... The window slammed shut, and she heard the word 'Ten.' Irina could move again. She opened her eyes and found the man standing right in front of her.

'What is your name, little one?'

'Irina. But your name's not Jonathan.' Irina wasn't sure how she knew that, but suddenly she did. Maybe it had been once, but not anymore. Something whispered to her that it was a lie. The man she did not know smiled and nodded. He turned back to Mrs Anderson and spoke in a voice that was different somehow.

'Her.'

That was the day she met her Father.

***

Irina never felt cold anymore. It had only been a little more than a year since that day in her school, but she had come so far. Everybody said so. Her Father told her stories about when he was learning to Speak, all those years ago in the forests across the ocean. Even he had admitted she was learning very quickly. He had promised her that he would take her there someday when she was ready. Present her to the Ithaqua and she would get her very own tamahaac, discover her true name. But as she lay in the dirty wet sewer, clutching the tamahaac of her Father, she felt scared. Everything around her was dark, and the voices were only whispering about the past.

***

'Be calm, little one.' Silverwind's voice was always so full of calm. It drove Irina mad. He knew this of course, which is why he was always so calm and round and round it went.

'A Windwalker has to stay calm, focused. You cannot convince the Wind to obey you if you scream like a child. When your mind is clear, you will be too, then it will listen.'

Irina had heard this before. Many times, but it still did not make it any easier. Some days she wished she had never forced that window closed. But instead she repeated as she was taught.

'Yes, Father.'

She closed her eyes and started again. She breathed exactly as Silverwind had shown her and focused. She felt the Wind brush against her face, teasing her. It knew what she was trying to do, and it mocked her. In her mind she could see it dancing circles around her, daring her to try to _make_ it do anything. She knew it was impossible, but she wanted to punch it. Irina knew the Wind could feel her thoughts and it laughed at her. But she knew Silverwind could feel them too. And so she focused. The mocking laughter faded away and the dancing stopped. A stiff wind began to build at her back and when it felt like she would be thrown to the ground by it, she jumped. Her body was flung high into the air, and she grabbed at the branches of the nearest tree, catching the biggest one. The gust that took her faded and she began clinging to the tree with all her strength. Irina couldn't help but laugh. 'I did it! I did it Father, did you see?' Silverwind was smiling his half-smile and applauding gently.

'Now get down, if you can.'

That calm voice again. Irina realised he did make a solid point. Up was easy.

'Hadn't thought of that bit, had you?' Her Father's voice was suddenly very close.

She looked up and saw him casually sitting on the next branch up. 'Windwalkers also think before they act. If they don't, people die.'

Irina tried to nod, and almost lost her grip. Her Father pulled one of his black tamahaac from his belt and thrust it deep into the branch she was clinging to, almost breaking it. 'Do you know why we carry these?'

She looked down at the ground and got a better grip on the branch.

'Yes, Father. They are first weapon of our people.' She was starting to run out of breath from holding herself up.

'That is part of it,' Silverwind had put on his teaching voice again, 'but there is more. The tamahaac can be used with the hand, thrown and carried by the Wind. But it is more than this as well. When Windwalkers use their tamahaac, they must know the consequences of what it will do. They must see it, with their own eyes and own all that happens because of it.'

Silverwind drew his other axe, the twin of its sister in the branch and looked at it. 'Our powers are a gift, this is true. But the Old Ones do not bless without also cursing. Power makes people foolish. Act without thinking. Forget they are people too. The tamahaac is a symbol, a reminder of our humanity and what our powers can cost humanity.'

With his final word he put the second axe through the branch and Irina fell.

***

Her Father's blades felt warm in her hands. Warm and wet. She knew it was more than water that made them feel this way. When They had come for Silverwind and her, she had seen the terrible price that was paid. The blades were slowly going from slippery to sticky. They were hers now. At least for the moment. When They found her they would not belong to anybody and the Ithaqua would be gone forever.

Irina closed her eyes again. Her sewer hideout was starting to stink. She began to hear boots running across the pavement above, and the shouts of soldiers with dogs looking for her. She knew she could not hide forever, but even if she moved where would she go? There was nothing left. Nobody to run to. She was completely alone with no name and two blades she had not earned.

The Wind was laughing at her again, showing her pictures of all the Windwalkers over the last thousand-years who had fought and won. It mocked her. It always mocked her. The final picture was the most mocking: her Father, Silverwind. Fighting bravely against Them. It would take someone a really long time to clean up the mess he had made. She started to giggle despite herself, and in that moment an arctic breeze ran across her face, forcing her to stop. The Wind halted its mocking dance and was still, waiting.

Irina closed her eyes and took ten deep breaths, and on the tenth she made up her mind. Tightening her fists around her tamahaac, Irina, last of the Windwalkers, knew what she had to do. As she pulled herself out of hiding the Wind whispered in her ear again. Not mocking anymore. It simply called her, "Mother."

# Jake and Jill

### By Paul Bright

It was the last day of school for Jill and Jake.

Jill had done well in her exams. She came top in reading, writing, and sums. Well done Jill!

'It was nothing, really,' said Jill.

'Reading's for cissies,' said Jake, 'and writing's for wimps. And sums is for lily-livered landlubbers.'

'Sums are for lily-livered landlubbers,' corrected Jill.

Jake had done well too. He came top in sword fighting, firing cannonballs, making people walk the plank, drinking grog, and saying 'Ahaaa!' in a cruel sort of way. Well done Jake!

'Ahaaa!' said Jake.

And together they walked out of the gate of Cap'n Flint's School for Pirates.

***

'What are you going to do now?' asked Jill.

Jake looked around carefully, to make sure nobody was listening.

'I've got a map,' he whispered, 'and a key.' He held up a scroll of parchment and a large iron key, ancient and rusty. 'Captain Bluebeard's treasure map, and the key to his treasure chest! I'll find the treasure and dig it up, and then I'll be rich! Ahaaa!'

He stared at the map for a long, long time.

'I can't read it,' he said at last. 'What does it say?'

Jill took the map.

'You had better follow me,' she said.

Jake whispered to his pirate crew: 'We'll follow all right. Then we'll steal all of the treasure for ourselves! Ahaaa!'

***

Jill's pirate ship, The Golden Primrose, gleamed from bow to stern. Her crew loaded up with supplies for the journey. They took lots of fruit and vegetables and salad, 100 bars of chocolate, a large fruitcake, a big crate of camomile tea, and one small bottle of grog, for special occasions.

Jake had borrowed his Grandpa's old pirate ship, The Dirty Dog.

'See you take care of her now,' said Grandpa.

Jake's crew loaded up with supplies for the journey. They took 20 barrels of grog and 200 crates of sausages.

'And here's a small present,' said Jake's Grandpa. 'My favourite plank.' It was old and worn and faded from the sun. 'You never know when a plank will come in handy.'

***

The two pirate ships set sail. Jake's Grandma waved him off, standing on the harbour wall holding her skull-and-crossbones handkerchief.

'Don't forget to write!' she shouted.

'I never learned to write,' said Jake, 'so how can I forget? Ahaaa!'

But Jake did send a letter to his Grandma, every day. He put a large cross on a piece of paper, sealed it in a bottle and threw it overboard.

'Pirate post,' he said. 'Never fails.'

'But you can't write,' said Jill.

'That's all right,' said Jake, 'Grandma can't read neither. Ahaaa!'

***

At last they reached Bluebeard's island.

'Where's the treasure?' asked Jake.

'It's a long way,' said Jill, looking at the map. 'You'd better follow me.'

Jake whispered to his pirate crew: 'We'll follow all right. Then we'll steal all of the treasure for ourselves! Ahaaa!'

They trekked through dense jungle, over high mountain passes, along winding valley paths. They crossed raging rivers and deep, deep ravines, on swaying, rickety bridges.

At last they came to a clearing. Jill looked at the map.

'This is the spot,' she said.

Jake and his pirate crew dug, and dug, and dug. Soon they had dug a hole as deep as a man.

'No sign of treasure yet,' cried Jake.

Jill looked at the map carefully.

'Deeper,' she said.

'Ahaaa!' said Jake, and kept digging. Soon they had dug a hole as deep as two men.

'Still no sign of treasure,' cried Jake.

Jill looked at the map again.

'Deeper,' she said.

'Ahaaa!' said Jake, and kept digging. Soon they had dug a hole as deep as three men.

'How much deeper?' said Jake.

'That depends,' said Jill. 'Can you get out?'

Jake stood on tiptoe. He stretched and reached, and tried to clamber out of the hole, but it was too deep.

'No I can't,' he said.

'Then that's deep enough,' said Jill. 'The treasure's not here at all. It's somewhere else. And it's all mine!'

Jill and her pirate crew walked further into the jungle, leaving Jake in the deep, deep hole.

'We've been tricked,' said Jake. 'We've been hoodwinked, diddled and bamboozled.' He turned to Bosun Bob. 'Did you bring Grandpa's plank, like I told you?'

'Yessir,' said Bosun Bob.

'He said it would come in handy. Lean it against the wall. We can climb up the plank and be out of here in an instant. Then we'll follow Pirate Jill. We'll let her dig up the treasure, then we'll steal all of it for ourselves. Ahaaa!'

***

Jill and her pirate crew carried on through the jungle, looking carefully at the map. Soon they came to another clearing, with two tall trees. Jill measured out ten paces from one tree, and drew a line in the ground. Then she measured out twenty paces from the other tree, and drew a line in the ground. The two lines crossed, making a large 'X'.

'Dig here!' said Jill. They dug and dug and dug, until suddenly there was a clunk! as a spade hit something solid. They dug more, and more, and more, until they revealed the shape of a large chest. Jill wiped away some of the mud and the chest glinted in the sunlight. 'Hurrah!' she said. 'Now lift it out of the hole.' They grasped, and grunted, and groaned. But it was too heavy. 'Oh no!' said Jill. 'I wish I hadn't left Pirate Jake down that hole now. I wish he would step out from behind that tree and say...'

'Ahaaa!' said Pirate Jake, stepping out from behind the tree. 'Having a spot of bother? I think we'll take that chest, if you please, and you can all stay in that deep, deep hole.'

'But if I stay in the deep, deep hole,' said Jill, 'you will have no one to read the map, and you'll all get lost in the jungle.'

'Ahaaa!' said Jake, thoughtfully. He knew Jill was right. Jill was always right.

So, with everybody helping, they lifted the chest out of the hole. Jake took the ancient, rusty key out of his pocket. It fitted perfectly. There was a screeching and scratching as he turned it in the lock. Then they opened the lid. The chest was full to the rim with coins. Gold and silver coins, which glistened and sparkled in the sunlight.

'Goodness me!' said Jill.

'Ahaaa!' said Jake.

Carrying the heavy chest on their shoulders they crossed back over raging rivers and deep, deep ravines, on swaying, rickety bridges. They trekked back along winding valley paths, over high mountain passes, and through dense jungle. And at last they came back to the beach where their ships were moored.

'We must divide the treasure between us,' said Jill. 'Half each.'

'Ahaaa!' said Jake. Then he frowned. 'How much is half? I weren't no good at sums.'

'Well,' said Jill, 'half each means we both get the same number of coins. Like this...' and she counted out: 'One for me...' she took a large gold coin from the chest and put it on the beach in front of her. '...and one for you,' and she took a small silver coin from the chest and put it on the beach in front of Jake.

'Are you sure about this?' asked Jake?

'Who came top in sums?' said Jill.

'Ahaaa!' said Jake, doubtfully.

Soon the treasure was divided into two piles, one large, golden pile for Jill, and one small, silver pile for Jake.

'Time to head for home,' said Jill.

They loaded the large, golden pile of treasure onto The Golden Primrose, and the small, silver pile of treasure onto The Dirty Dog. Then they pulled up the anchors, and headed for home.

But soon the wind began to blow, and the rain began to lash against the sails, and the waves grew bigger and bigger. The storm grew fiercer and fiercer until the water began to pour over the side of Jill's boat.

'It's the treasure,' she cried. 'It's too heavy. The ship is going to sink!'

But Pirate Jake steered his boat alongside, and put his Grandpa's plank between the boats, and Jill and her crew scrambled across into his boat. Just in time. As they watched, The Golden Primrose and all the large golden coins of Bluebeard's treasure, sank to the bottom of the sea.

'Thank you so much for rescuing us,' said Jill. 'It's a pity about my boat. And the treasure.'

'But I've still got half of the treasure. I can buy you a new pirate ship and still be rich. Ahaaa!'

'Oh dear,' said Jill. And she told Jake how she had tricked him when they divided the treasure.

'So your half was bigger than my half?' said Jake.

'Much bigger,' said Jill. 'I'm so sorry. It was mean and spiteful of me.'

'You tricked me,' said Jake. 'You hoodwinked, diddled and bamboozled me. Again.'

'I did,' said Jill. 'And you rescued me and saved my life. Can you forgive me?'

'Only if you'll promise never to trick, hoodwink, diddle or bamboozle me again,' said Jake.

'I promise,' said Jill.

***

Jake and Jill shared what was left of Bluebeard's treasure. Jill bought a small house by the seaside. She taught Jake to read, and write, and once a week he would write a proper letter to his Grandma. Then he would seal it in a bottle, and post the bottle in the letterbox at the end of the road.

Jake bought a small boat. But not a pirate ship. It was a pleasure boat. In the summer he gave rides around the bay to everyone on holiday. Normally the passengers were very well behaved, but now and again there was one who caused trouble or made too much noise.

'That's why I've still got my plank,' said Jake. 'You never know when a plank will come in handy. Ahaaa!'

# Turn Right

### By Carolyn Gray

Ben was checking Facebook on his phone when the car pulled up outside home. His dad turned the engine off, got out, unlocked the front door, and Ben slopped in behind him. Dad had to go back out and lock the car, and moaned as he did so.

They were just taking their shoes off when the home phone rang. Dad answered and Ben was already in the kitchen, staring into the fridge distractedly. Two days at secondary school had worn him out. It was also instilling a sense of grown-up teenage-ness, two years early...

Dad came into the kitchen.

'That was your Auntie Rosie on the phone. I need to go and help her first thing tomorrow morning, which mean you'll need to get the train to school.'

Ben looked at Dad, slightly scared. 'Yeah, Dad. OK.'

'Like we discussed, Ben, and like we practised in the holidays. Walk down to the station and get a ticket, two stops and get off, and the walk up the hill to school.'

'Yeah, Dad. OK.'

'You'll need to leave about 7.30, but I'll be here then. It's just I have to drive the opposite way to Auntie Rosie's house. But you are going to have to start getting the train more often anyway.'

'Yeah, Dad. OK.'

***

Dad had to wake Ben up the next morning, make his packed lunch, find his lost socks, and see him off down the road to the railway station.

Ben bought a ticket, and got on the busy train.

Then he got off the busy train, with lots of other people. What he had forgotten was the two stops and get off instruction from Dad. He stood in the station waiting room watching the other people walk past him, and wondered where he was. It didn't really look like the station they had been to in the summer. But he walked out into the street and started to walk up the hill. Walk up the hill to school Dad had said. But there was no school at the top of this hill, just a hospital.

Ben walked past the hospital. In fact, he just kept on walking. But still he found no school. He also realised he wasn't seeing very many people.

Eventually the path led into a tree-lined park. Ladies were walking their dogs, and pushing buggies. Toddlers ran to the playground, and an old man sat on a bench reading a newspaper. Ben walked, but was now starting to worry about the time.

A lady looked at him, and he forced himself to ask: 'Where am I?'

'This is St Stephen's Park,' she said.

Ben looked puzzled.

'Where were you looking for?' she asked.

'My school,' Ben said.

'OK, you need to follow this path,' she said, pointing, 'then turn left. At the traffic lights turn right, and at the top of the hill turn left, then right again by the church. Then you'll be by the school.'

'Alright,' said Ben.

He followed the path, turned left, and at the traffic lights turned left. He walked over the railway bridge, and past some shops, but he never found a hill or a church. He was starting to feel thirsty, and reaching into his pocket realised he had neither money nor his mobile phone. Then he remembered not picking them up in his rush to leave for the train.

He walked into a café and forced himself to ask: 'Where am I?'

'This is Newton Road,' the woman behind the counter said.

Ben looked puzzled.

'Where were you looking for?' she asked.

'My school,' Ben said.

'OK, go out of the shop and turn right. At the first traffic lights turn right again, then at the next lights turn left, then walk up the hill to the church. Then you'll be by the school.'

'Alright,' said Ben. 'But can I have a glass of water first, please?'

He went out the shop, turned right, and at the first traffic lights went straight on. He walked past some restaurants and the town hall, but he never found a church or school.

***

About this time Dad's mobile phone rang.

'Hello, it's St Benedict's. Why hasn't Ben come in today?' a cross lady said.

'Oh,' Dad said, 'well, he left home in good time this morning...'

***

Dad tried to phone Ben's mobile, but it was turned off.

***

Ben walked into the library and forced himself to ask: 'Where am I?'

'In the library, love,' the lady said.

Ben looked puzzled.

'Library, love, where all the books are. And CDs and videos these days. And these pencil-cases and things for sale. What did you want – bookmark? Paperweight?'

'My school,' Ben said, 'I'm trying to get to school.'

'But it's mid-day love, aren't you a bit late?'

Ben started to cry.

'Oh sorry love,' the lady said. She sat Ben down on a chair. 'It's just up the road. If you walk out of here and turn right, just keep walking up the hill and you'll get to school.'

Ben walked out the library, turned right, walked up the hill, recognised the church, and found school. He went into the office at the front.

'Oh, hello Ben. It's early finishing today, everyone else is just going home.'

'Oh no.' said Ben. 'Where's the railway station?'

# The Boy Who Cried "Alien"

### By David Smith

Gilbert Grunion was a terrible liar. He was terrible in both senses of the word, in that he lied almost constantly _and_ unconvincingly, telling such whoppers that even the most trusting of people soon learned to take everything he said with a pinch of salt. That was great news for Mr Singh, who owned the local corner shop and did a roaring trade in salt, but not so good for Gilbert on the odd occasion when he did tell the truth or wanted to be taken seriously. Gilbert was his own worst enemy; you could ask him a simple question like 'what did you have for breakfast?' and get a reply ranging from 'cornflakes' through to 'an elephant.' And even if he said cornflakes there was no guarantee he was telling the truth.

Gilbert's mother, Gladys Grunion, despaired of her son. 'Son,' she would say, 'I despair of you.'

Gilbert took no notice. He thought lying made him seem interesting and cool.

In truth, Gilbert lied so much he often lost track of what was true and untrue himself, his frequent flights of fancy taking on a life of their own and embedding themselves in his head as real memories. He believed, for example, that there had been a mix-up at the hospital when he was born and that he was actually the son of a multi-millionaire Dallas oil baron named Tex Speigelmyer. He became so convinced of this that he urged his father, Godfrey, to take a blood test, and had nagged with such energy that Godfrey had almost complied. Gladys had argued against the blood test with equal energy, refusing, as she put it, to 'encourage him in his fantasies by indulging him.'

Gilbert privately maintained his delusion, but in the face of his mother's determined opposition eventually gave up on the blood test as a lost cause, which came as a huge relief to his parents. And the milkman.

One day a new boy started at Gilbert's school. Gilbert didn't notice the new boy when he first entered the classroom as the boy was already seated. Gilbert, as usual, was running late.

'Sorry, sir,' he explained to Mr Boggitt, his teacher, 'but I was attacked by an escaped crocodile at the bus stop. I had to fight it off with my satchel. I got away but it ate my homework, so I haven't got it to hand in.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Gilbert,' said Mr Boggitt. 'I'm absolutely sick and tired of these stupid excuses of yours. A crocodile eating your homework, indeed, whatever next?'

'But it's true, sir, Gilbert protested, 'honestly, I was – '

'Quiet, boy, this minute, or I'll send you to the headmaster's office.'

Gilbert fell silent and turned towards his desk. It was then he noticed the new boy, who had just raised his hand in the air.

'Ah, Danny,' said Mr Boggitt, 'what is it?'

'Please sir,' said Danny, 'he did get attacked at the bus stop – I saw it all from my dad's helicopter on the way in. Only it wasn't a crocodile that ate his homework, it was an alligator. You can tell the difference by the shape of the snout if you know what to look for.'

Mr Boggitt looked flabbergasted. So did Gilbert. So did the rest of the class. There was hardly enough flabber to go around.

'Oh,' muttered Mr Boggitt, 'well, erm...' He clearly didn't believe Gilbert or the new boy, but seemed uncertain how to react. It was Danny's first day after all, and Mr Boggitt didn't want to embarrass him on his first day. Besides, there was just the slimmest, teeniest of chances that on this occasion Gilbert and Danny were telling the truth. Also, he reasoned, if Danny's father really owned a helicopter then he must be a very rich, important and influential person indeed, and that's not the kind of person you want to go making an enemy of over something as silly and trivial as the truth. In the end he just murmured, 'well, sit down,' and gestured with his hand towards Gilbert's desk.

***

At break Gilbert got to speak to the new boy properly. The boy's name, according to the register, was Danny Smith, but he explained that his real name was Rupert Grint, and that he had been forced to change his name by deed poll because he kept getting mail intended for the actor from the Harry Potter films. He said he had received some very strange things in the post, the oddest being a pair of knickers and a box of hand baked 'artisan' cupcakes from a 37yr old Yummy Mummy in Tunbridge Wells. She had written that she and her husband were his, (Rupert Grint the actor's), number one fans, and that they would love to have him for dinner if he ever visited their town. Danny went on to explain that, 'Tunbridge Wells is notorious for that kind of thing,' by which, Gilbert assumed, he meant cannibalism.

Over the next few weeks Danny's (or Rupert's, depending on how gullible you are) tall stories grew increasingly extravagant. Gilbert, for the first time in his life, found his own imagination challenged. He was struggling to keep up with Danny in the "interesting and cool" stakes, and he didn't like it one bit. The rest of the school, who had previously just been bored by Gilbert's lies, started to enjoy them, the element of competition adding a whole new edge to the proceedings.

Of course, the biggest problem both boys faced was that they couldn't actually call each other out on their fibs without revealing themselves as liars. The whole thing turned into a ridiculous game of Top Trumps, each boy in turn raising the stakes with increasingly complicated and outrageous whoppers. When Danny claimed, for example, to have walked across Niagara Falls on a tightrope Gilbert responded with a story that had him riding the falls in a barrel. Danny then realised that he had 'forgotten to mention' the blindfold he had been wearing and the unicycle he had been riding, which in turn led Gilbert to recall that the barrel he'd ridden in had been filled to the brim with flesh eating termites...

The ultimate Top Trump in any of their exchanges was always a variation on the card Danny had dealt on his first morning: 'I know, I saw you.' There was no arguing with that one.

***

As time went on Gilbert found himself increasingly challenged by Danny and increasingly uncomfortable with the lying involved in their interactions. On fine days he would walk to school, just to avoid seeing Danny at the bus stop, and at playtime would hide himself away in the bike sheds with a book. He found himself lying less and less, and on the odd occasion he lied from force of habit he would feel guilty and foolish and uncomfortable. The problem was, nobody believed him: they all thought he was just saving himself up for the biggest lie of all. Which is why it was so ironic when he met an alien on his way to school.

The alien was small and skinny and grey and had big black bug eyes and a mahussive head, very much like the aliens described by others who claim to have closely encountered them. He was having a wee behind a bush in the park, which was surprising really, considering he had no apparent external, erm, equipment. Gilbert noticed that the wee, which was a vibrant shade of purple, just appeared – apparently midstream – in midair, which he thought a fine trick if you could do it, worthy of David Blane himself. He thought this while running away in blind panic, only milliseconds before running headfirst into a tree and knocking himself unconscious. Blind panic is not a good way to travel.

Coming round ten minutes later Gilbert scanned the undergrowth for signs of the alien but saw nothing apart from a small, steaming, purple puddle that was rapidly soaking into the ground. He rushed to school, eager to tell his classmates of his encounter.

***

'HURRAHHHHH!!'

The cheer that met Gilbert's playground speech rattled windows and shook two tiles off the canteen roof. Everyone thought this was Gilbert's long-awaited lying comeback, and when they heard about the magic purple wee their delight was doubled. Even Danny seemed impressed; so impressed, in fact, that he played his best trump card immediately. 'I know,' he said, 'I saw you.'

And the children roared...

Gilbert, uncharacteristically, felt a pressing need to be believed. He didn't want to be thought a liar anymore, and wondered at his own stupidity for ever thinking that lying might make him seem more interesting. With this in mind he went to the park the next morning, hoping to see the alien again and to obtain some evidence of its existence. He hid himself in the bushes, taking photographs with his mobile phone when the alien finally appeared, which he then uploaded to his Facebook page.

Gilbert's classmates were incredibly impressed with his "fake" pictures, congratulating him on the lengths he had taken to back up his elaborate lie. The more Gilbert protested the more convinced they became that he was having them on, the final confirmation, in their eyes, coming when Danny came into school to report that he too had seen the alien while queuing for a Curly Wurly at the local sweetshop.

Desperate to prove he was telling the truth, Gilbert concocted a plan to capture the alien and bring it with him to school. Armed with only an angler's keep net and a packet of HobNobs for bait (who doesn't like HobNobs?) he set off again to the park that very evening.

And that's how he got himself abducted by aliens...

Until today nobody but I knew the truth of Gilbert's disappearance. Most people believed he had simply run away, unable to live with the shame of being caught out in what they thought of as an obvious and massive lie. His parents thought he had gone in search of Tex Speigelmyer, his imagined and imaginary millionaire father. Distraught, they had jetted off to Texas to spend their life savings looking for him there.

Yes, until today only one person knew the whole truth of Gilbert's disappearance, and that was me. And how do I know what really happened, dear reader? BECAUSE I WAS THAT ALIEN... Mwahahahahaha

Now, where did I leave that anal probe...?

# The Girl Who Bought the Moon

### By Philip R. Holden

Tonight it was a perfect silver disc.

If Jem held her head really still, she could see it moving. Slowly but very clearly, it was making a gentle arc across the night.

Sitting on the windowsill in her bedroom was cold. Her breath fogged the window, blurring the silver light for a moment. Then it cleared and Jem could make out the fine blue-grey lines and shadows that were mountains and craters in the face of the moon. She didn't feel the cold though. She was wrapped in the grey dressing gown which had been Dad's. Before.

At first she had been angry. Very, very angry. Mum had been angry that Dad couldn't help pay the rent on their tiny flat on the fourth floor, even though he didn't live there. But Jem had been angry about everything.

The little TV had gone, kicked off its stand. There had been a mirror in the hall and Gran's old side table that had been around for as long as Jem could remember. It had been thrown across the room. There was still a moon-crater in the wall of the lounge and a rip of wallpaper where the table had crumpled as it hit the mirror. Mum cried over the table but hugged Jem anyway.

In the sky the moon still moved relentlessly. It was like a time bomb. There was nothing you could do to stop it turning, marking off the months and years. It tricked you into thinking it was still, but Jem now knew it was slowly moving. Counting down.

The windowsill was too narrow to sit on comfortably but Jem had built a wall with the largest books she owned on the floor and the rest carefully stacked in size order, leaning in under the window. There were hundreds of books and she stretched her legs out across a pile of thick ones about law, some medical dictionaries and a set of encyclopaedias.

Jem leant back, her eyes still fixed on the moon. She knew from one of the books, somewhere in the middle of a stack, that the moon wasn't silver and that it wasn't round. Dad had told her and then shown her the page. At the age of six, Jem had reasonably pointed out that the pages themselves were flat, so there was no way to prove the moon was a sphere like they said.

Jem remembered the long, steady gaze Dad had given her, his eyes fixed on her before he winked and smiled.

'You're right,' he said. 'Don't believe anything. Don't accept anything anyone tells you. Unless...' he was now deadly serious.

'Unless you can prove it.'

It became their 'thing'. Even when Mum and Dad weren't speaking and Jem had to phone him, there was always something, some moment when they were talking about something at school or in the news and they would stop. They didn't need to say it; they just thought it together. Prove it.

Mum didn't like it. But then sometimes Mum wasn't keen on anything that Dad did or said. Dad would tell Jem not to worry; some people just don't understand, and he would wink.

Jem started to get into trouble at school. Maths? Prove it. Biology? Prove it. History, especially. How do you know? Don't just tell me, prove it.

Soon after, Jem and Dad had been watching something on TV. It was a report from a country where thousands of people were trying to escape a war. Gangs of people were shown firing machineguns from the backs of trucks. The reporter was saying how much food and medicine was needed and a politician was saying that there were terrorists in the country and that soldiers should be sent in to fight them. Jem and her Dad exchanged a glance.

After Mum got called into school, again, Jem started to spend more and more time in her bedroom. And more and more time at the library and on her laptop. Apart from the nutcase websites out there, Jem was surprised to discover that she could find most things on the web, if she looked hard enough.

Things like the size and shape of the Moon has been obvious. It was more difficult to find out about wars and people starving but Jem was determined and she really wanted to know why so many grown-ups told lies. So, even as Dad had to spend longer and longer in hospital, she was spending hours on her computer. There were so many things to be discovered, so-called facts to be proved or disproved.

Jem was nearly 11 and now Dad was thin and pale. He had a tube in his arm all the time and had been in his hospital bed for weeks. Spread out on his covers were copies of letters and print-outs from web pages. Jem was explaining how some big companies were damaging the world. She picked up a page with the picture of a bright eyed, determined woman standing by a mini-submarine.

'She went as deep as she could possibly go, deeper than almost anyone,' Jem was explaining, breathlessly. 'She saw a flash of red and thought she'd find a new creature, deep in the sea, you know? Like those fish that don't need eyes.'

Dad smiled. Jem was a whirlwind every time she visited.

'Do you know what it was Dad? Do you? Thousands of feet underwater, where no one had ever been before. Do you know?'

He shook his head cautiously, he could see Jem's eyes widen. She held his gaze, fire flickering within.

'A Coke can.'

It was only two days after that that Dad had closed his eyes forever. That was when the TV, the mirror and Gran's old table had been broken and when Jem started getting into even more trouble.

No longer allowed to go to school, Jem stayed up late reading, searching and watching the moon.

And the more she read and the more she searched, the more she felt like her brain was growing. It felt like every new thing she proved made more space in her mind, like there was no limit to the lies she could uncover. And she realised time was running out.

The plan had started weeks after Dad. Night after night, she had been firing off emails until two in the morning. Within a month she had sent, and received, over four thousand messages from companies, lawyers, politicians, professors and someone high up in the United Nations.

Then she'd found Herman.

Herman Hope was an old man living in California who had made a fortune selling certificates for plots of land on the moon. He had no family and no children and when, eventually, he and Jem spoke on Skype, she told him all about her Dad and her plan.

He had laughed at first. Then he cried. And then he laughed again.

'Tell you what, Jem,' he finally suggested, 'you send me a dollar and I'll do it.'

Another two years went by with Jem almost forgetting about Dad and her plan and then she would catch sight of the moon and her stomach flipped, like she had dozed off and suddenly woken up again.

Twenty-four months of no school and Mum taking her to meet social workers, family therapists and an educational psychologist with bad breath. Mum couldn't understand what Jem found to do in her room all day on the computer and why her room was full to the ceiling with books.

Then, at last, a big, important-looking packet arrived from America. Mr Hope had died and Jem opened up a folder on her computer with nearly a thousand emails all ready to send and a YouTube video to upload.

By mid-May, the head of every Government, hundreds of companies and almost every important international organisation in the world had received a carefully worded email from a thirteen year old girl in England.

She told them about Herman Hope and his company selling plots on the moon for over sixty years. She explained that, way back in the 1940s, Herman had also written to several governments and the United Nations, giving them fair warning. They hadn't bothered to reply.

Now, she explained, the Moon belonged to the company she had just bought from Mr Hope and therefore they would need her permission before they did anything there. They wouldn't be able to land on it or explore it or try to find minerals.

A trickle of newspaper stories turned into a flood of hundreds of TV reporters with vans and satellite dishes outside the flat. Mum had seen the video replayed endlessly on the news and gone pale. Then she insisted on sitting next to Jem for every interview, holding her hand tightly.

Most of all, the reporters wanted to know, what was all this about paying rent? What was it she really wanted?

Jem explained exactly. The Earth, the tides, weather, wildlife – even the temperature and climate – depended on the Moon being exactly where it was, in orbit. If all the governments and multinational companies wanted to keep on using her moon, they would have to come up with some good plans. With each passing month, the rent would get higher.

Oh, and it wasn't enough for them to promise to do something about war, poverty or the fact that there was enough food in the world but still some people starved.

They would have to prove it.

Above her the silver moon was now a sharp, thin, crescent, like a bright eye closing. Like her Dad closing his eyes for the last time. Or winking at her.

# The House on the Marsh

### By Peppy Scott

The tumbledown cottage lay on the edge of the marshes about half a mile from the only road into the village, hidden from view by the woods. In its out-of-the-way, secretive spot, it looked as though nobody had lived there for years. The house itself was almost falling down and there were no curtains at the windows or other signs of recent human habitation, except for a cluster of paper scraps taped to the windowpanes. Somebody had scrawled mysterious notes all over them, but the words would have made no sense to anybody except the person who had written them. Some of the markings weren't words at all but looked like complicated maths, some like pieces of musical notation.

From one year to the next, nobody used the over-grown dirt track which led to the cottage, except for its strange occupant. He lived there like a hermit, without electricity, running water or visitors. Nobody claimed to know Richard Jarvis or how he came to be there, but everyone in the village recognised him. His unusual appearance startled people seeing him for the first time. The grey straggled hair, the ragged clothes and the bulging eyes kept everyone away from him as he ambled around the streets and lanes humming, singing and muttering to himself. There was a rumour that he been a fantastically talented musician driven mad by his own genius. Everyone just called him 'The Mad Maestro' and the children were secretly terrified of him.

***

It was another grey, rainy day in mid-August. The school holiday had been one damp day after another so far, with visits to the beach cancelled, plans for day trips altered and indoor games played to death. Stephen and Tom, half way through their annual fortnight's stay, were bored with being stuck inside their rented seaside cottage. Today they wouldn't let the rain stop them enjoying the outdoor adventure they loved in this place. Here, their parents allowed them a freedom they didn't have at home. They could roam around the village, its beach, lanes, woodlands and marshes all day and as long as they came home in time for meals their mother didn't fuss. They were supposed to take a phone with them in case of emergencies, but they usually forgot.

'Let's bike up to the woods,' suggested Stephen.

'Yeah, let's go,' said Tom. 'Anything's better than Dad making us play another game of Cluedo.'

Collecting bicycles from the shed they promised their mother they would be back by one o'clock for lunch and pedalled along the lane, heads down against the driving rain. As regular summer visitors, the boys were now familiar with the sight of Richard Jarvis lolloping along in his raincoat, but his appearance still alarmed them.

'It's The Mad Maestro!' hissed Tom.

'Don't worry about him,' replied Stephen, the elder of the two boys, 'just keep going.' He was as nervous of the man's oddness as his brother, but he felt he should act as though he wasn't bothered. In any case, The Mad Maestro was heading in the opposite direction so it wasn't as though he was following them.

***

Clear of the village and wet through, Tom followed Stephen as he veered off the road onto a narrow track and propped his bicycle against a sheltering tree.

'I'm sick of this rain,' complained Stephen. 'Let's stay here for a bit.'

They left their bicycles and followed the narrow track away from the road, stalking imaginary enemies to hunt down and kill. It was their favourite game, something they never got to do in the town where they lived. There, they had sometimes visited a playground when they were smaller but were always watched by their mother who seemed to see danger everywhere. They preferred to stay indoors with their games now, but here they ran free. They hadn't been in this part of the woods before so there was lots of exploring to do.

'We need weapons,' said Stephen.

'We can make spears,' said Tom, totally involved in the game and running ahead to find sharp sticks.

He stopped suddenly and forgot all about being a lethal hunter at the unexpected sight of a house in the woods. It was Stephen who realised who must live there.

***

'It's The Mad Maestro's house!' he said and both boys stood stiff as a whisper of fear ran through them. Neither was going to admit to being afraid, though, and soon the fear changed into a tingling excitement. Here was a real-life adventure for them.

'He was going down to the river,' said Stephen, 'so he shouldn't be back for a while. I bet you daren't go in!'

Tom froze between terror at the thought of going into the house and dread of being teased by his big brother if he didn't.

'I bet you daren't!' he replied, playing for time.

'I said it first,' said Stephen, and Tom knew he had to accept the challenge.

'This stuff is freaky,' he said, frowning at the scrawled notes on the window. He felt sure they were some kind of dark warning and he was already wishing they had stuck to their original hunting games.

'Never mind those,' said Stephen, 'try the door.'

Tom hoped his ordeal would soon be over: the door would be locked, he wouldn't have to go in, but at least he would have tried so Stephen would think he was brave.

The door handle turned easily, the wooden door creaked open and Tom's heart sank. He had no choice but to enter the dim and dusty front room. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom before he saw the clutter of makeshift furniture – shelves made from piled crates and wooden planks, old doors used as tabletops – and, most surprising of all, on the mantelpiece surrounded by candles like a holy shrine, a framed black-and-white photograph of a beautiful and glamorous young woman.

***

'Tom!' He heard Stephen's warning call and turned, startled, to run out of the house, but in the doorway he bumped into the equally startled figure of Richard Jarvis.

'Oh!' cried the man, a look of panic crossing his face before he realised the intruder was only a child. His face relaxed and softened into a smile.

'Oh, visitors!' he said, 'How nice. Will you stay a while?'

'No thanks,' said Tom, heart pounding. 'Sorry, I'm just leaving.'

'That's a shame,' said Richard Jarvis, 'I so seldom have visitors these days. Do you like music?'

'Er, some music,' mumbled Tom, thinking it was a strange question and feeling certain their musical tastes would be very different.

'So do I,' said Richard Jarvis, placing a trembling hand on Tom's shoulder and gazing at the portrait on the mantelpiece. 'She was the most beautiful woman and she had the most exquisite voice...' he said to himself as his hand squeezed Tom's shoulder, almost drawing him into a hug. His eyes weren't bulging as they usually did but looked dreamy. He seemed to be in a different world, not noticing Tom at all. Tom looked again at the photo and couldn't imagine that these two people could ever have known one another. He decided that The Mad Maestro was every bit as crazy as everyone said.

'But I mustn't keep you,' said the man, suddenly coming out of his dream. He smiled kindly again, took his hand from Tom's tense shoulder and nodded a goodbye to him.

The boys ran as fast as they could, leapt onto their bicycles and didn't stop pedalling till they were back at the holiday cottage with the gate closed securely behind them.

***

They were late for lunch, which meant trouble; having to explain their lateness, they decided for a change to tell their mother the truth.

'You were alone with that weirdo?' screeched their mother. 'It's about time they did something about him! Did he touch you?'

Tom recalled the feel of the man's hand squeezing his shoulder and, while he felt certain it had meant nothing at all, he had to admit that he had been touched by The Mad Maestro. It didn't seem much but his mother obviously thought it was. She asked him to explain exactly what had happened. He was enjoying being the centre of attention and found himself exaggerating a little.

***

It had been a long time since any vehicle had travelled along the dirt track but the police car made its bumpy way towards Richard Jarvis's cottage where they found him hunched over his mysterious writings. He was astonished by this new visit and couldn't understand what they were saying, but he was gentle and obedient as they led him away.

Released from police custody the following day, confused and upset by questions that had shocked him deeply, Richard Jarvis appeared crumpled and more than usually odd. His appearance caused great excitement amongst the small group of reporters and photographers who were waiting outside the local police station. Their pictures and stories of this freaky-looking character accused of child abuse would make headlines that evening on the regional news programme and the front pages of the national newspapers the next day. Journalists moved into the village and interviewed everyone who would speak to them, trying to make the story more sensational. They surrounded Richard's cottage where he cowered inside feeling under attack and very frightened.

After three days he had not left his house or been questioned again. The police announced that they had no evidence against him, the reporters and photographers left and the story faded from the news.

Tom, shocked that he'd caused such a scandal, admitted to his parents that he had been caught trespassing by Richard Jarvis, who had done nothing wrong. He pleaded with his mother to call the local television station to tell the truth. But the news people were not much interested and with no complaint from Richard himself they did not bother to correct their stories.

***

The day before the family holiday ended, Tom decided to pay a second visit to the little cottage by himself and in secret. He was determined to apologise for the trouble he had caused. He wasn't sure he was brave enough to do it in person, so he took a pen and a piece of paper with him.

The track looked different since so many cars had been up and down it during the trouble, but the cottage looked exactly the same. It was only when Tom approached the door that he spotted the padlock on the outside. He tried knocking, though he knew the house was empty. Peering through the dusty window the room appeared the same as before but he noticed that the photograph was missing from the mantelpiece. At first he felt relieved that he wouldn't have to speak to Richard Jarvis, but then he realised that he really needed to apologise. All Tom could do was write him a note and hope that he would come back and find it.

So one new note was added to the others on the window, but this one was clear for anyone to understand: 'I am very, very sorry.'

***

Tom felt much better for having put things right as he cycled back to the holiday cottage. He was glad to be going home and getting back to normal. He was even looking forward to going back to school and seeing his mates again.

Whether Richard Jarvis ever read Tom's note is unknown: after the events of that summer he was no longer seen in the village. What became of him was as mysterious as the man himself, but he never returned home to the house on the marsh.

# A Day in the Life of Josh Slug

By Enrique Reilly

While walking home from school, Josh Slug's attention was distracted when he heard someone yelling from an alley, and noticed three bullies known as the Crazy Gang picking on a younger schoolboy.

'Come on, give me your pocket money, you little mummy's boy,' shouted one of the gang members, called Lurch, as another of the thugs filmed the event on his mobile phone.

'But I haven't been given my weekly allowance by my parents yet!' the boy protested as the leader of the gang, Spud, picked him up by the lapels of his school blazer and the third bully, Bug, started pulling his hair.

'Hey, stop picking on him!' Josh Slug shouted to the gang.

'If you don't want a slap too, I suggest you get lost!' Lurch yelled out to Josh.

'I will, as long as you three stop picking on that boy and let him go,' Josh replied coolly.

'Okay, how about you take his place then, Mr Brave Boy,' Spud said, dropping the pupil hard onto the ground, excited at the thought of beating up this annoying, have-a-go hero.

Josh heroically agreed to the exchange, ushering the young boy off home.

Suddenly, before the gang had enough time to lay a fist on Josh, he pushed past the three of them and bolted out of the alley like a greyhound – running as fast as he could.

The thugs gave chase, but it was no good: the boy Slug was far too quick for them. He ducked his head instinctively when he heard a whizzing noise as two metal objects just missed his ear. This continued as the gang continued to throw a handful of two pence coins at him, which he had to skilfully dodge, as those little metal critters really hurt.

After a few minutes of flat-out sprinting Josh had to stop for breath; his heart pounded inside his ribcage, while his lungs screamed for more air. But this rest could only last for a few precious seconds as the three bullies entered the small, quiet street.

'Your time is up,' Spud shouted, as the three of them slowly closed in on their prey like a pack of wild hyenas.

'Ouch!' Josh cursed after tripping on a kerb, slightly twisting his ankle, while momentarily looking back. He then realised, to his horror, that this particular road was a cul-de-sac and it was quickly coming to a dead end. With nowhere to go and a sharp pain now coming from his sore ankle, the hunted boy hopped through a side gate and limped to the bottom of the garden at the rear of the bungalow. The outside light came on abruptly, exposing him in the darkness, and he heard a dog barking aggressively and jumping up at the back door.

'Who's there?' a concerned voice shouted from the house.

Desperate to get away, Josh tried to leap over the fence into the woods at the end of the garden, but to his dismay he couldn't put any weight on his right foot, and the end result was a SPLAT as he fell over and landed face down in a smelly compost heap. With sweat now pouring off his muddy forehead, he lay still, breathing heavily while listening to the commotion coming from the bungalow.

'Let me go, you old codger, or I'll deck you!' one of the gang members shouted.

Josh quietly crawled on his stomach like an army commando and hid behind the garden shed. He peeked through the shed window, and smiled when he saw that the German Shepherd had managed to grab Lurch by his jacket sleeves. Seeing the dog in action stopped the other two boys in their tracks, and they quickly ran away.

Josh slowly massaged his sore ankle while listening to the raised voices of the angry man and Lurch.

'What's your name?' the old man asked.

'Justin Bieber,' the boy replied sarcastically.

'Well, Justin, I'm going to have a word with your father; you can't just come barging into my garden like it's a common play area,' the naive old man said.

Smiling at the distraction and the house owner's confusion, Josh managed to slowly climb over the fence and limped through the thick undergrowth back to the safety of his home.

By the time he arrived at his house, Cedar Hall, it was dark outside and he was cold, smelly, wet and in pain. He hobbled up the gravel drive and quietly sneaked in the back door, still limping heavily, making his way to the utility room to remove his muddy shoes, wash his face and change his dirty school uniform before his mother found out and gave him the Spanish Inquisition.

'Pooh Josh, you stink; what have you been up to?' his annoying stepsister Janie shouted loudly, holding her nose with one hand and her pet cat Rhodi with the other.

'Mind your own business and shut up or that cat will end up at the taxidermist,' Josh whispered, ushering the Ugly Betty clone out of the utility room.

Janie slammed the door and went off to spill the beans to his mum.

Josh started to count under his breath. 'One, two, three, four, five.' The door burst open on cue.

'This is the second time this week!' his mother, Judith, complained. 'What have you been up to?'

'Nothing, Mum. Don't listen to Janie; she's a troublemaker,' Josh snarled.

'Janie just told me that you threatened Rhodesia. Is that true?' she asked angrily.

'Ouch!' Josh groaned while standing on one leg as he took the sock off his sore foot, ignoring his mother's question.

'What have you done? Let me have a look at your ankle. It looks really swollen, darling.'

'Ow! It's nothing, Mum,' Josh insisted, gritting his teeth in pain as his mother continued to prod and poke it.

'Go and have a bath and then I'll put a bandage on your ankle. That looks painful.'

'Mum, can you stop fussing?' Josh said, while staring disapprovingly at Janie, who was hovering in the background with a grin on her face.

'Have those Tullington school boys from the Brookland Moor Estate been chasing you again?'

'Mum, please get off my back. No one has chased me.'

'Then why do you look like you've been dragged through a hedge and smell like a sewer?' Judith shouted.. .

'I took a shortcut home and stumbled down a ditch in a dark lane at the back of the school, twisting my ankle,' Josh explained, hoping that his mother wouldn't press him any further on the issue.

'Well, I'm glad that you've taken my advice and avoided those bullies. Now please go and have a bath – you stink,' Judith said, thrusting a towel into his hand.

The thugs were determined to beat up and rob any Little Widdlesham School pupil at every opportunity. Apparently, there was a bounty on one of the local social networking sites: FaceAche. The first to beat up a pupil and send the photographic evidence to the website would get two packets of cigarettes and a large bottle of white cider.

Since his mother remarried, Josh hated living with his stepsister, Janie, who really was the stepsister from hell, and he didn't get on with his stepfather either.

After he had washed and changed, Josh limped down into the kitchen, where his mother put some cream on the swelling and bandaged his ankle.

Rhodi hissed as she flew through the kitchen and out of the cat flap, followed by Josh's pet Jack Russell, who barked playfully while chasing the annoying feline.

'Judith, can you get Josh to control that wretched dog!' Janie screamed.

'Get a life, Janie. It's your cat that's responsible. I've seen it antagonise Ingrid by stealing her food and sleeping in her basket!' Josh shouted dismissively.

'Can we please have a truce, just for one evening,' Judith said, raising her voice. .

Not getting the response or support she had hoped for from her stepmother, Janie stormed out of the room in a huff, slamming the door.

'Mum, is it okay for me to go to Cambridge for the day on Saturday with Freddie and Jack?' Josh asked, trying to calm the situation.

'Only if you promise to stop winding Janie up and your ankle is better.'

'Great, if in doubt, blame Josh,' he muttered under his breath.

'Don't you come the innocent with me, young man; you know exactly how to pull the right strings to provoke a reaction from Janie,' Judith retorted.

'Fine, I'll back off. Can I now please go to Cambridge?' Josh asked.

'How are you going to get there?'

'Freddie's aunty Dolly is taking us in her new convertible. She goes every couple of weeks to the tanning gallery to have her skin sprayed orange,' Josh replied.

'What are you boys going to do while Aunt Dolly is being resprayed?' Judith asked, smirking.

'We're going to a really cool amusement arcade that Freddie knows called the Galleria, and we'll also check out the latest smartphones and computer games,' Josh said enthusiastically.

'As long as you don't get into trouble, which seems to happen a lot these days, and to be honest, I'm fed up defending you to your father when you do. If those thugs start picking on you, just walk away.'

'Mum, Gerald is not my father, and you don't know what it's like out there: sometimes it's a war zone and you can't let these bullies push you around all the time,' Josh said.

'Well, I'm happy to talk to their parents or the head teacher at Tullington and report them,' Judith said, putting her arm around Josh.

'Mum, if you do that, I'm dead meat. Instead of picking on all the pupils at Little Widdlesham School, they'll just pick on me.'

'I don't know what this world is coming to,' his mother muttered as she walked out of the room to go and answer the telephone that had just started to ring.

Josh was really proud of the way he defended the young schoolboy from the crazy gang, and would definitely continue in his belief that good always overcomes evil.

# The Collector

### By Joanna Pope

Billy and Charlie lay awake listening to the storm. They had the sinking feeling this was going to be another wet, boring family holiday away from home. When they heard the grandfather clock strike midnight they crept out of bed and tiptoed across the room. They inched their way across the landing, past their parent's room with the snoring, down the creaky staircase and into the kitchen. In the dark Charlie fumbled his way towards the cupboard under the sink. He opened the door, stuck his hand in as if it was the lucky dip at the school fete and rummaged around until he felt the torch handle. Turning it on, he aimed the strong beam of light around the room until he found the biscuit tin on top of the counter. Billy pulled over a chair, climbed up and claimed the tin. Feeling triumphant they cleared a space at the table and settled down for some serious snacking.

While munching on his second biscuit Charlie whispered, 'ssshh, did you hear that?'

'Hear what?' mumbled Billy with big bulging cheeks full of his mother's homemade cookie.

Charlie tiptoed across the cold stone floor to the far end of the room. He cupped his hand around his ear and leant against the closed door.

Slurp, slurp.

'That noise,' he mouthed, 'can you hear it?'

Loath to leave the feast before him Billy shuffled over. Charlie turned the handle and the door swung open to reveal a large room, with a soft flickering glow coming from behind a cover draped across the fireplace at one end.

'I'm getting out of here!' whispered Billy, trying to make a dash for it, but Charlie grabbed his dressing gown cord and pulled him further into the room behind him. 'Sometimes I can't believe you're my older brother,' he whispered. 'You're such a coward.' The boys were now standing in the middle of the room wondering what to do next when a small high-pitched squeaky voice called out, 'who's there?'

The cry startled the boys who froze on the spot. Their eyes, now the size of saucers, were transfixed in the direction of the flickering light. Then without warning a tiny oval face framed by a stack of unruly multi-coloured hair appeared from behind the drape. The face had a sizeable upturned nose protruding from below a huge pair of soft brown eyes. She gave them a cursory glance before disappearing. This was followed by a lot of banging, clanging and whirring before the head reappeared.

'Can I help you?' said the tiny woman to the quivering boys in front of her. Seizing Charlie's arm Billy tried to pull him away but Charlie stepped forward, legs beneath him now feeling as weak as strands of spaghetti.

'Wh... wh... who are you?' said Charlie desperately trying to sound brave.

'My name's Raggi,' she squeaked. 'Who are you?'

'I'm Ch... Ch... Charlie and this is Bi... Billy. Do you live here?' Charlie's mouth felt as dry as when he took part in the playground cream-cracker competition.

'Yes, I live in this chimney.'

'No one lives up chimneys,' piped up Billy.

'I have lived up there,' she said tilting her head and raising her eyebrows in the direction of the chimneybreast, 'long before you were even a twinkle in your mother's eye. All disused chimneys have guests. Gosh it's unbelievable - you humans are so wrapped up in your own world that you never notice what else is going on around you.'

'What are you doing?' enquired Charlie.

'I'm packing,' she sniffed, visibly crumpling at the thought. 'The Collector is coming tomorrow to move me. My chimney is being cleaned and being put back into use which means he will relocate me to another disused chimney. I'm sorry to be leaving as I've become quite fond of the old place,' she snuffled disappearing back behind the drape. 'I don't get many visitors apart from the odd lost bird and the annual stopover from Father Christmas,' she continued from behind the curtain. 'His visits are always hilarious,' she hooted, 'but rather troublesome as he's become so fat over the years. All those presents he brings take up so much room that it gets to be a bit of a squash up there but he's a jolly old soul for the most part.'

Slurp, slurp.

'What's the slurping noise?' asked Billy.

'I'm drinking tea,' she said, reappearing. 'You can come up and have a cup if I can have one of your biscuits.'

The boys retreated to the kitchen, quickly returning with the biscuit tin.

'Good, I will take that as a yes. But you can only come up on one condition. You must never tell anybody about me. Is that clear? It will be our secret and if you tell 'ANYONE' your house will burn down one day. I can promise you that.'

This sounded serious but without hesitation the boys agreed and the tiny woman pulled back the drape to make an opening just large enough for them to crawl through. Once in, they jostled for space. They were all now squeezed into the base of a fireplace and Billy, clutching the biscuit tin, took up most of the room. Raggi, with her tiny frame, only took up half the space of Charlie. The boys were now able to get a better look at their host. Her large eyes and wild curly hair made her look slightly comical but she looked gentle and kind too.

'Come on, come on! We should all be able to fit,' she exclaimed as she collected her small kettle, candle and almost thimble sized teacup. 'You will have to breathe in - gosh you could do with eating a few less biscuits Billy. Now it is very important that you watch what I do,' and slowly she started to breathe in, gently at first followed by deeper and deeper breaths. Then suddenly without warning there was a whizzing, a popping and a puff of pink smoke as she span around like a top and shot up the chimney. Cranking their heads the boys could see a tiny pair of feet dangling high above them. 'Now it's your turn but remember, just one at a time.' Charlie started to inhale, each breathe a little deeper than the last until with a whoosh and a pop and a puff of blue smoke, he was catapulted up the chimney to find himself sitting on a ledge opposite Raggi. 'Good boy, now for the other one. This may be a little more tricky,' she acknowledged.

As Raggi called down instructions, Charlie took a moment to study his surroundings. He was sitting with his legs dangling through a hole in the middle of a small brick room. On one side there was a tiny sofa, a narrow bed and a stack of miniature books and on the other a stove, cooking pots, pans and a pantry full of goodies – everything was neat, tidy and stacked ready for collection. 'Where does all that come from?' he asked pointing at the food. 'The geese bring all my supplies - gosh you humans never notice a thing! Take a look at what they're carrying next time they fly overhead.'

Billy was still standing at the fireplace and was beginning to blubber. 'Don't be a cissy, you will get the hang of it,' Raggi called down as Billy huffed and puffed like a stream train. 'Perhaps you should have brought the biscuit tin up with you Charlie - although I suspect Billy is rather more attached to it than you are! Billy - try breathing in, standing tall and crossing your legs,' she yelled. 'Sometimes that can work for the less streamlined amongst us,' she mumbled. Almost before Raggi was able to finish her sentence Billy whizzed up the chimney in a cloud of green smoke and landed on the ledge next to Charlie.

'Wooooohoooo, that was awesome!' he exclaimed to no one in particular.

They sat around the hole in the middle of Raggi's room chatting, drinking tea and eating biscuits then as the grandfather clock struck two o'clock Billy's eyelids started to droop.

'Now it's time you went back to bed. I want you to close your eyes and just think about sleep. Leave everything up to me. Okay so here we go, after three...... One, two......'

The boys woke the following morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing. As they rubbed their eyes they remembered that the Collector was coming. They leapt out of bed and ran downstairs to find an unusual looking man talking to their mother.

'Good morning, Mrs Carson. I've come to sweep the chimney and remove the unwanted contents. I believe the holiday letting agency informed you I was coming?' said the shaky old voice.

The Collector was a lean, stooping man with lank grey hair arranged like a limp pair of curtains around a thin angular face. His dark sunken eyes and pale complexion made him look like an extra from a zombie movie.

'Yes, yes of course Mr O'Brian,' their mother exclaimed eagerly. 'I believe the chimney you are looking for is through the door at the back of the kitchen.'

Under the watchful eye of Billy and Charlie, Mr O'Brian seemed to glide silently in the direction of the kitchen. When he reached the door he opened it, paused for a moment then entered the room closing it firmly shut behind him. The brothers now sat on the floor pressing their ears against the door straining to hear the activity in the room behind it. As they listened they could hear huffing and puffing, whizzing and popping but could not hear Raggi's squeaky voice. After about half an hour their Mum asked them to sit at the table for breakfast. As Billy tucked into his usual bowl of cereal he noticed that the biscuit tin was back on the counter top.

When Mr O'Brian had finished they watched the slim stooping figure drag one large black sack after another past the breakfast table and out of the kitchen. As their hopes of seeing Raggi began to fade a tuft of unruly multi-coloured hair caught Charlie's eye. 'Look there goes Raggi,' he whispered pointing at the tuft sticking out of the top of one of the sacks.

The boys smiled at one another. They thought of the friendly little magical person they had met. They both knew her secret would be safe with them and they knew whenever they saw geese flying overhead they would always think of Raggi.

# Still Here

### By Katherine Loverage

Lee had waited patiently for his parents to go to work, desperate to try out his new blades in the privacy of the garden. The birthday present had sat all weekend in the box waiting. He hadn't bladed before and there was no way he was going to try them on and stand up in front of anyone.

Being a gangly twelve year old was difficult; having just moved to the area, starting a new school was impossible. Friendships were hard for a newcomer.

Lee had tried to be chatty during class but, he didn't seem to be interested in the same things as everyone else. They liked their computer games; Lee didn't really like computers games. The others liked sport, football and rugby. He didn't like contact sport, and the only sports he liked were swimming, running, and boxing. And scuba diving but that wasn't recommended at school.

The popular boys in his class liked skateboarding and blading, neither of which Lee had tried before. After school at the skate park he watched in amazement, as the boys on their boards made them flip up, turn around and jump over ramps. The inline bladers were incredible, they flipped in the air, jumped and turned and landed perfectly.

Lee's birthday blades were itching to be used. As soon as his parents left for work, Lee put them on; he staggered across the carpet from the front room to the back door. His mother would have had a fit if she had seen them on him in the house. Holding onto the doorframe, Lee lowered himself outside onto the patio. As soon as he let go his left leg whipped forward and his right leg backwards, his bottom hit the concrete with a bang. The shock almost brought tears to his eyes. Undeterred he got up and shuffled to the wall. Giving up was not in Lee's nature, he staggered a few steps forward, and then tried to make it a more natural move, and within a short space of time he could efficiently move from one end of the patio to the other. He only fell over a couple of times, but his ankles ached and he felt exhausted with trying.

Lee spent the next week pounding up and down the patio gaining speed and confidence. He tried hard to do little jumps lifting one foot up at a time. Then having the self-belief that he could lift both feet in the air just a few inches, by landing without falling over, he knew he was ready to try the skate park.

***

The numbers on the clock flipped over to seven exactly. Lee, already dressed, crept downstairs with his blades draped around his neck. He was off early to do his paper round. If he was really fast he could get it finished and spend thirty minutes at the skate park before going home for breakfast and then school. He had never delivered his papers so fast. Arriving at the park, silence hung in the air; it was completely empty, even in the car park for the gym. Lee pulled on his blades and went around on the flat not even attempting the ramps or half pipes.

Once his confidence had kicked in, he sped up and raced around, the wind rushing through his hair and the cold damp air sticking to his face.

He bladed across the bottom of the pipe, then stopped and looked up. How did they get up there and then how did they get down without sliding on their arses? Lee had no idea; tomorrow he would try to come down from the top, maybe if he watched after school he could work out how.

The following morning Lee and his blades climbed to the top of the half pipe. He sat with his legs dangling and shook his head. He didn't know how he was going to stay upright and go down at the same time.

'Hi, are you going down?' a voice asked.

Lee looked up, there was an older guy, with worn blades standing next to him.

'Mmmm, well I would if I knew how, but...' Lee answered.

'But, you haven't worked it out, right?' the guy said. Lee nodded.

'Like this,' the guy said, then stood on the edge of the half pipe and launched himself off. 'You have to lean forward as you jump off then blade into the slope and keep your feet moving so you go up the other side. Have a go,' he said.

Lee stood at the edge.

'Come on you can do it, have a little faith, what's the worst that can happen, you go down on another bit of your body. Go on I'm here,' the guy said.

'Okay.' Lee launched himself off, and his blades took him down to the bottom and a little up the other side. At this point Lee lost control and landed on his knees and slid back down.

'Good first try, well done,' the guy said. 'Up you get, have another go.'

'How can I get back up?' Lee asked.

'Move your feet pushing down hard, lean forward and keep going,' he said.

Lee did as the guy had suggested and bladed back to the top but he had no idea how to get up; he held onto the top with his hands, legs dangling down. 'Help,' Lee shouted.

The guy pulled him up. 'You have to try to blade, don't glide, push your feet downwards as you skate hard then give a big push as you reach the top, then you should land on the flat platform here,' he said. 'Watch.'

The guy dropped onto the half pipe, bladed down, then up the other side, twisted and came back down and then up again towards Lee. With a leap he landed on the platform.

'You make it look so easy,' Lee said.

'It is after a bit of practise,' he said.

'Look I have to go now, school and all that. Shall I see you tomorrow?' Lee asked.

'Yes I expect so,' the guy replied.

'Sorry, thanks, I don't know your name?' Lee sort of asked.

'Tony. Until tomorrow, Lee,' Tony answered.

Lee said nothing and dashed off on his bike, it had been awesome and he had managed to skate his way to the top platform. He felt great and Tony – well he was a good dude, his skating was amazing. And how did he know my name? Lee thought. He guessed he must have mentioned it without realising.

***

Lee kept his new friendship quiet from everyone, spending the next month going early to the skate park. When he felt confident he would go after school and join in with the bladers. Tony was there every morning, practising, helping Lee to land on the platform and drop onto the half pipe. The last few days Lee had been trying to twist in the air so that as he turned and landed he went back down the pipe. He was making really good progress. Tony was a fantastic teacher, kind, understanding and sympathetic, making it effortless to learn and easy to make progress.

Turning up after school, Lee was overwhelmed by the number of kids, mainly boys, blading, skateboarding or bmxing at the park. Each group making way for the others, taking turns and helping each other out. Lee made his way inside the gate and pulled on his blades. He did a few laps around the park on the flat to warm up then he joined the other bladers on the ramp and then the half pipe. He remembered what Tony had said and kept his nerve amongst those who were very proficient.

After a few drop-ins and twists he landed on the top to rest and watch for a few minutes.

'Hey, you're good,' one lad said. 'You been blading long?'

'About a month,' Lee answered.

'Here?' the lad asked him.

'Yeah, every morning,' Lee replied.

'Blimey, who's teaching you?' the lad asked.

'The best. Thought he'd be here, not seen him though,' Lee said.

'Does he come up here, then?' the boy asked.

'Yes, well I've seen him every morning,' Lee said. 'He's quite a bit older but the most amazing blader.'

By now a large group had crowded around Lee and were listening to the conversation.

'Who is he, I might know him?' the lad asked.

'Tony, do you know him?' Lee said.

'TONY you say. You sure you got the name right?' The lad spoke loudly almost choking.

'Yes I think so. Tall, fuzzy dark hair, big smile really kind and helpful – he's a really great guy,' Lee said.

'You must be mistaken,' the lad replied quietly, 'Tony died this time last year. He used to come here all the time.'

'OH, he just said he's here to help anyone who needs it,' Lee said.

'Bloody hell, we thought he had gone for always, he was the absolute best.' The lad smiled as he spoke.

Silence fell all around and then a huge round of applause lifted the whole Skate park. The legend lived on in the hearts of those who truly believed in themselves.

# The Secret Magicians

### By Karen Tucker

I was helping my mother on her market stall in Melagon when my life changed forever.

Business was brisk, and I'd been busy holding bags to fill, refilling baskets with fruit and veg, or counting out change. But just for a minute, it had gone quiet.

That's when I spotted the dog. It must have been a stray. It looked thin and uncared-for. I could see its ribs through its patchy fur. It was staring up and drooling at the meat pie some fat merchant was eating. The juices were dribbling down his chin. He was talking, with his mouth full, to another fat merchant. He looked pompous and over-fed.

I looked again at the dog. It needed that pie far more than he did. I thought how brilliant it would be if he dropped it so the dog could have the rest. I even made a little motion with my hand as though I was jogging his elbow.

And the pie fell! I felt a surge of excitement. I watched, elated, as the hungry stray wolfed it down in two mouthfuls. I chuckled, and my mother looked sharply at me.

'Look,' I said, all innocence. 'That merchant just dropped his pie, so the poor dog's got a meal.'

'Don't laugh at other people's misfortunes,' said my mother, quietly. 'That poor dog would be better off dead, so it wouldn't have to go hungry again.' Then she turned away to talk to a customer. I was surprised at her reaction. But although I could see her point, I wasn't sorry for what I'd done.

The merchant was cross, and looked around to see who had jostled him, but he couldn't find anyone to blame. That was fine. I didn't want to get anyone into trouble.

Then it hit me. I would get into trouble if he realised what had happened! What I'd done, however small it might seem, could get me taken away by the authorities. I would never see my family again. I would be locked away and made to work for the Government. Because what I had just done was Magic, and no-one who can do Magic can live an ordinary life.

I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, it seemed not, but I would have to be very careful in future.

'Oh crikey!' I thought. 'I'm in big trouble!' You see, if you have Magic, you have to use it. If you don't, it sort of builds up inside you and explodes somehow. That's why you can't be an ordinary person. It's how the government justifies taking Magicians away and using them for their own purposes. Because you can become a danger to yourself and everyone around you if you aren't taught to use it properly.

But I was only ten years old. I didn't want to be taken away from my family! I didn't want to work for the Government. No-one knew what Magicians did, because they weren't allowed contact with anyone. But I knew the Government fought wars and things, and it was rumoured that the Magicians helped them kill enemy soldiers. I shivered. I didn't want to be made to do that!

So I would have to find ways to use the Magic without being noticed. That would be a challenge, and I would almost certainly be found out one day. But I wanted to stay free as long as I could.

'Jack!' My mother's voice, sharp and insistent, broke into my thoughts. 'What's the matter with you? Hold the bag for me, will you?'

I found I'd been biting my nails in my worry. I stopped that, and helped Mum with her customer, then went back to considering my new problem.

How could I use the Magic enough to avoid exploding, yet also avoid being caught, even by my sisters, who seemed to follow me around everywhere? They were way too young to be entrusted with such a secret – they might blurt it out to the wrong person. I had no idea what else the Magic could do, but I needed to know. So I decided to experiment at home whenever I could.

It wasn't easy at first, but I managed it. There were always times when Annie and Sarah were doing their own chores, or playing together somewhere. Over the course of the next few months, I found several ways to stop the build-up of Magical energy.

But then came the moment I'd been dreading.

At the market one day, I spotted a small child running away from her mother's skirts. The girl ran into the path of a noble on his horse, who was going way too fast. Another second and it would have trampled her. With a larger movement than usual, because I was in a hurry, I whisked the child out of harm's way.

And someone saw me. As I heaved a sigh of relief that the girl was safe, I looked up into the eyes of a woman on the other side of the street. She gave a small nod to show me she'd seen. My heart thumped, and I stopped breathing. There was a soldier only yards away. Would she tell him?

No! She looked away and carried on walking. I breathed again and stopped biting my nails. But that wasn't the end of it.

I was staring out of the window after dinner that evening when I saw her walking up the garden path. I recognised the long green skirt and black hair as soon as I saw her, and my heart started to thump again. Was she coming to blackmail us? Was that why she hadn't told the soldier?

My mother took her into the parlour. I tried to listen at the door, but they spoke too quietly for me to hear, though I heard a stifled gasp from my mother and a reassuring tone in reply. After a few minutes, footsteps came towards the door and I backed away. It was my mother, looking for me. I went in with fear in my heart and my hand to my mouth.

'Mrs Ermine has told me what she saw,' Mum said, as she closed the door. She was more agitated than I'd ever seen her before. She sat down with an audible thump, like she was collapsing into the chair. 'Oh Jack, why didn't you tell me? I had no idea! I'm so frightened for you.'

I hung my head. 'Sorry, Mum.' But what was Mrs Ermine going to do about it? That was what I wanted to know.

Her lips tightened. 'Yes, well. Jack, Mrs Ermine has offered to help keep you safe.'

Well, that was a relief, I can tell you!

Mum continued, 'We'll tell people she's employing you to help with a rat infestation in her barns, so you have an excuse to spend some time at her house. But what she'll really be doing is teaching you how use your Magic, and also to hide from the authorities. You'll actually be using your talent to help people. The problem is, you'll have to leave the farm for a while, and it's nearly harvest time. I don't know what to do for the best, Jack. What do you think?'

Mrs Ermine interrupted. 'Should the lad's father not be asked?' she suggested.

Mum replied quietly, 'My husband died in the war. They took him to be a soldier, and he never came back.'

Mrs Ermine looked sympathetic. 'I'm sorry to hear that,' she said.

'Well, this is it,' I thought. I straightened up, took my hand away from my mouth, and faced my mother bravely, knowing that my time had come to leave. I'd been expecting it, though not like this, and at least I wouldn't have to kill soldiers, like my Dad.

'I'm sorry, Mum,' I said. 'I didn't tell you because I knew you'd worry, and there wasn't anything you could do about it. I've been practising in the farmyard and the orchard and the barn and places where nobody could see me. But that little girl might have died if I hadn't saved her. I didn't even think. I just did it. And I knew someone would see me some time.'

My mother looked as if she wanted to hug me, but was scared to, in case I went bang. 'But Jack, if you're not very careful, you'll just...'

'I know. That's why I've been using it.'

Mrs Ermine interrupted. 'I'm afraid, Jack, that although that was the sensible thing to do, you could still have been found out. The government has people who spend their time looking for disturbances in the Magic that show someone's using it. I guess you've been lucky up to now, perhaps because you haven't drawn on it very much at a time, but they will find you eventually, unless you learn to shield yourself.'

My eyes grew round with wonder. 'They can do that?' I said, awed. 'Wow!'

My mother was impressed in an entirely different way. 'Oh, Jack! You could have been caught and dragged away any time since you discovered you had the Magic!' she said. 'And I never knew! Oh, my darling boy, I don't think we have a choice. If Mrs Ermine can help keep you safe from the soldiers, I think you'd better go with her!'

I nodded, solemnly, feeling suddenly much more grown up than my years.

'What will I be doing, if I come with you, Mrs Ermine?' I asked.

She smiled at me, and her smile reached deep into my heart. Any remaining worries I had about whether she was for real died on the spot.

'Well, Jack,' she replied, 'you'll be helping people. There are a few others at my house with your talents, who I've found before the authorities got them, so you'll have friends there. We call ourselves The Secret Magicians, because we can't let people know what we do. It would be too dangerous. Most of what we do is persuading people to look after those who need it most.'

'Oh, like the dog I fed the first time I used the Magic?' I asked.

Mum looked sharply at me. 'Did you make the man drop his pie?' she asked. 'I always wondered about that.'

'I didn't do it on purpose. I just thought how the dog needed it more than he did, and how great it would be if the dog could finish it, and I made just a little movement like I was jogging his elbow – and he dropped it! That's when I knew I had the Magic. So I came home and started practising. I can feed the hens with Magic, and pick apples, kill rats; that sort of thing, that no-one really notices.'

My mother didn't seem to know whether to look appalled at how much I'd been using my talent, or proud that I had been so careful. Her expression shifted back and forth, and she ended up bursting into tears.

'Oh, Jack!' she wailed. 'What are we going to do?'

I looked at her blankly. Why was she crying? I looked at Mrs Ermine, wondering if she knew.

'It's been a bit of a shock to your mother,' she said. 'Give her a moment to get used to it, will you, Jack?'

So I went over to Mum and put my arms around her. After a moment, she pulled me into a fierce hug that nearly cracked my ribs. Instinctively, I used the Magic to make her loosen her grip a bit. She let go, and grabbed my arms instead, holding them too tight, and looking intently into my face. Her eyes were red and a teardrop trembled on her lashes. 'You used the Magic on me!' she gasped.

I hung my head. 'Sorry, Mum. I didn't mean to, but you were hurting me. You still are.'

She loosened her grip just a bit, and looked at Mrs Ermine. 'Could they find him, just from that little use?' she asked, clearly alarmed.

Mrs Ermine nodded. 'If they were looking in this direction, and if I wasn't shielding him,' she said.

'You were? Oh, bless you!' My mother's face relaxed its worried look, and she turned back to me. 'I can see you're going to find it difficult to hide much longer,' she said.

I nodded. 'I know. And I'd much rather go with Mrs Ermine than be taken away by the soldiers.'

'Me too! We'll miss you, Jack. Will he be able to come and visit?' She put her arm around my shoulders, looking back at Mrs Ermine.

She nodded. 'When he's learned a bit more control,' she said. 'Though he's pretty good, even now, I have to say. But he needs to know how to shield himself. Right now, as you can see, he's very vulnerable, but after a week or two, I think it should be safe. And you can always write to each other.'

Mum looked relieved. 'Thank you!' she said, a smile starting to appear on her face, for the first time since Mrs Ermine arrived. 'And does he have to leave tonight?'

'I think tomorrow would probably be OK,' said Mrs Ermine. 'Provided he's careful. I'll come for him soon after breakfast, if that's OK with you?'

Mum nodded. Tears seemed to be welling up inside her again, and I put my arms around her.

'I'm sorry, Mum,' I said, knowing there wasn't anything I could say to make it easier for her.

'It's not your fault,' she replied, hugging me back. 'Just come back to me safely.'

'I will. I promise,' I said.

# Please Don't Tell Anyone About This Story

### By David Hensley

Timmy the Tiny Talking Tiger was wondering how he was going to cope with the day. Would he even be able to survive it?

The day had started normally enough. After a storm in the night Timmy had been woken by the birds singing. Most of them had been singing about what a lovely sunny day they expected it to be now that the rain had stopped. Some were commenting how, as a consequence, they expected the bigger, tastier bugs to be flying higher over the sewerage works, and one particularly sweet-voiced little lark was going on about the golden dawn.

Having glanced through the curtains at the dawn, Timmy had gone back to sleep, to be woken again by the smell of cooking. He could smell that the lovely Lady Linda was making his favourite breakfast, scrambled egg with raw minced steak. Being a tiger Timmy loved raw meat, but being a very tiny tiger Timmy found it easier if it was minced. So he bounced down the stairs two at a time and into the kitchen just as Lady Linda was putting it on a plate for him. He jumped onto his chair then up onto the table.

'Thank you very much,' he said, as she poured it onto his plate. Preferring raw food, his eggs weren't cooked, so it was more like an eggy Steak Tartar, yellow and red and runny.

'You're welcome as ever, Timmy.'

'What's planned for today?' he asked.

'Well, my old friend Tina is coming for lunch.'

'Ohhhhh,' sighed Timmy. 'Not Tina from the television?'

'Indeed. You know she went to my old school. And she is doing a programme on Where Are They Now? catching up with people who had once been famous. She was having trouble finding people who had genuinely dropped from the limelight, and hadn't carried on appearing on TV adverts and in gossip magazines, so I said I would help out.'

'So were you really famous?'

'Well, I once sang in a band called the Tuesdays that had one hit album and one hit single. It was huge fun, but they dropped me because they thought I was too posh. At first they thought I was pretend posh, like Posh Spice, but then the journalists discovered that we really were posh, as my father was a Duke, like his father and his grand-father, and that we lived in this old castle.'

'Didn't they like that? I think it's wonderful here.'

'No, the others didn't think it fitted with the rebellious attitude needed for the band, so they dropped me before it hurt the brand. But it didn't really work out for them, as none of the others knew much about music, so after that their songs all sounded much the same and the fans drifted away.'

'That's really different from all the conservation work you do today.'

'Yes, which is why Tina thought it would make a good story. She's bringing a cameraman so they can film me here for an authentic feel.'

'Oh dear,' said Timmy under his breath.

Timmy could be very brave, and was extraordinarily talented. He could understand and speak all the languages of people and birds and animals. But, like many people, he was afraid of being found out. He really didn't want to be famous, or for people to know where he lived. The people in the neighbouring village of Bodium knew him and Lady Linda of course, but they knew to keep his existence very quiet so that they weren't swamped with inquisitive tourists. Timmy had sympathy for that of course, but he was also afraid of three very powerful people. All of whom knew that he existed, and wanted to capture him for their own ends.

The first was the famous Zookeeper, Dr Dick Davis of the Zoological Society of London. He had met Timmy, and Timmy had met him. He wanted to meet Timmy again, but that was the last thing that Timmy wanted. When Timmy had first arrived in England, Dr Davis had insisted that Timmy should be confined to the zoo, and kept him locked up without even showing him to the other zookeepers. Dr Davis wanted to become even more famous for finding such a remarkable creature. He knew that Timmy would become a media sensation. Fortunately Timmy had managed to escape, with the help of some of the other animals, before he could be put on public display.

Shortly afterwards Dr Davis was speaking at an important international conference on conservation for Zookeepers. He was talking about rare species and couldn't resist mentioning his latest discovery – a very tiny tiger that could talk. He put up a photo of Timmy, but they all just laughed and laughed and laughed. They thought that the photo was a tabby kitten that had been photoshopped. At first Dr Davis had been very embarrassed, and tried to convince them, but they all laughed all the more, so in the end he played along with them, and pretended that it was just a joke. But he swore to himself that he would track Timmy down, and capture him, so he could present the real live animal, and see who was laughing then. Even if Timmy refused to speak, they would be able to see that he was indeed a genuinely tiny tiger, unlike anything they has seen before.

The second was the Head of MI6, Dame Madeleine Sharp. Timmy actually liked her, as she was clever and witty, and she'd been a real spy, like James Bond. Timmy loved the James Bond movies. He was so impressed that she had the real job that Dame Judy Dench played in the films. He was also impressed that she had actually met the Queen. Timmy loved meeting interesting people, and dreamed of one day meeting the Queen. Timmy had met Dame Sharp through Lady Linda, and had even done a job for her – pretending to be a kitten during a G8 Summit, listening in to the Russians. This was so successful that Dame Sharp wanted to bring Timmy in full-time, and wanted to keep his existence entirely secret. Timmy didn't want to disappear forever, so had persuaded Lady Linda to tell Dame Sharp that he found it much too scary, and couldn't face doing it again. However, this wasn't entirely true. And he suspected that Dame Sharp, being so sharp, suspected it too.

The third powerful person that Timmy was scared of was the most powerful of them all: the President of India. Whenever Timmy met people who were actually from India he was always keen of news from home. Were the tiger sanctuaries safe? Had the poachers been kept in jail? Timmy spoke Hindi and Bengali and Punjabi and several other Indian languages. He was always listening for people fresh from India, but most of the Indian speakers he heard had lived here for generations, and had no firsthand knowledge of the villages and the jungles. He also knew that he had to be careful of people from India. The local Indian police had become aware of him when he helped to catch the poachers who had killed his parents. This was very interesting gossip, and so reached the local civil servants, who passed their reports up through the ranks of the sprawling Indian Civil Service. Without any photos or film to verify the story they wouldn't make it public and risk being laughed at, but he knew that if he became a celebrity the Indian Government would claim him for their own.

The President of India had recently visited Britain, and made a point on television that all of the cultural icons that had been plundered from India by the old Imperial powers should be returned. And, he had added with a glint in his eye, extremely rare animals originating from India. If they could get him back to India Timmy knew that he would never be free again, and would be put on show like some freak from a nineteenth century circus.

So, here he was enjoying a quiet, private life in the countryside, when a film crew was coming for lunch. Even if they weren't zookeepers or secret agents, if he was seen on television any one of his pursuers might see him and find out.

The interviewer was going to be the very smart Tina Barlow. Timmy had seen her on television, and so knew she was genuine. But he suspected that, as a talented investigative journalist, she might be sniffing around for a more newsworthy story than just a Where Are They Now? piece on the least famous of the Tuesdays. He was also quite interested to see her in the flesh, so he told Lady Linda that he would adopt his usual disguise as a kitten, so he could hide in plain sight.

And so it was that when she arrived Timmy was hidden in his usual place in Lady Linda's orange Hermès Birkin handbag.

He couldn't see out without popping his head up and potentially attracting attention, so he stayed hidden at first and just listened.

'Oh Tina, how lovely to see you! You are looking great! I can't believe that we haven't seen each other for so long!'

'You are looking good yourself too, and the garden is looking divine. This must be the least military looking castle in Britain.'

'Well, it is one of the smallest – it probably wasn't tall enough to get in the army. Do come in and have some tea.'

'I've brought Rupert Kumar the cameraman with me. He is just getting his equipment from the car.'

'Oh come in – I'll leave the door open for him so he doesn't have to jump the moat.'

'Well I think he's ex-Army, so he might actually be able to do that, but probably not carrying his cameras and lights.'

Ex-Army thought Timmy. This could be suspicious. And a Kumar. Could be a spy for the British or Indian government. So he buried himself further under Lady Linda's handkerchiefs and gloves.

'I thought we could sit here in the drawing room,' said Lady Linda. 'There is plenty of light from the French windows and a view into the walled garden.'

'Perfect,' said Tina. 'Rupert darling, we are in here. Come and get set up.'

'And do have a cup of tea first,' offered Lady Linda, carefully putting her handbag under her Louis XV armchair.

Timmy cautiously peeped out, but from under the chair he could only see their feet and ankles. Rupert the cameraman was politely taking his shoes off, and put them quite nearby. They looked very posh, and as he put them down Timmy could see that they were from Lobb, the most expensive shoemaker in London. He had seen a documentary about them, and knew that they made shoes by hand for the Prince of Wales. Not the sort of shoes he expected the average cameraman to be wearing.

'Let's get it over with then,' said Lady Linda.

Tina duly asked her various questions about the past, reminding younger viewers that Lady Linda had been really famous for a few weeks one summer, and that while her band-mates still appeared on occasional adverts for supermarkets, she had devoted herself to conservation.

'And so, coming forward to today, how is your conservation work going? I understand that you've been working in India?'

'Yes indeed. The Indian Government is doing a lot today to protect the rare species, but they have limited resources and still get problems with poachers.'

'And finally, is there any truth in the rumour that you smuggled a tiger back into the UK and have been keeping it here at your home?'

'Oh no,' Lady Linda laughed, 'tigers are magnificent, large wild animals. I would never want to see a full-grown tiger live anywhere other than its natural habitat. And how on earth do you imagine that anyone could smuggle one, let alone keep one in their home? All I have here is a very big dog and this tiny kitten!'

And with that, to Timmy's surprise, she reached into her handbag and plucked him out. He curled up on her outstretched hand, covering his face with his paws. The camera swung round towards him, but as it did, she gently dropped him back into the handbag.

'As you saw, far too tiny even for a tiger cub. I've been back in England for more than six months, and a six-month-old tiger cub weighs over fifteen kilograms. I certainly couldn't carry one of those in my handbag!'

Tina laughed and made her closing remarks to camera. Lady Linda offered her and Rupert some more tea. Tina said she must be off, but would love to see the garden before she left. Rupert said that he would clear up and put the things in the car, So Lady Linda and Tina headed out to the garden in the inner courtyard of the castle.

The moment they were out of the room Rupert strode over to chair with a towel in his hand. Timmy hid deeper in Lady Linda's bag, hoping to stay out of sight and out of mind, but Rupert reached straight into it, wrapped Timmy tightly in the towel then plucked him out and pushed him hard down into his own bag.

Timmy was scared. This was no accident, Rupert was clearly kidnapping him. He felt the bag being lifted and put onto the back seat of Rupert's car, just as Tina returned.

'Thank you so much for that. It'll only be a short spot on the programme, but we will feature a link to your conservation charity so people can make donations.'

'Thank you so much, Darling Tina.'

And with that Tina got into the car, and they sped off to the station.

Timmy wriggled fast. He got his paws free and used his razor sharp claws to cut a hole in the bag that he could squeeze out of. He quickly cut his way out of the bag, and climbed into Tina's bag – not ideal, but safer, he hoped, than Rupert's.

'I'll drop you at the station, Tina, then head off on my way. We're nearly there.'

Timmy was terrified. If Rupert got away with him he would never be free. And what if Tina was in on it?

They pulled into the small station forecourt car park. Rupert, getting out to help Tina with her bags, noticed the gash in the side of his own. Then he spotted movements in Tina's bag and realised what was happening. He grabbed Tina's bag, wrenching it from her hands, then leapt back behind the wheel of his car. Tina screamed.

Just then Lady Linda came screeching into the car park in her pickup truck, pulling up directly in front of Rupert to block him in. Clearly she had noticed Timmy was missing and worked out what was going on. Timmy felt a glimmer of hope.

'Stop there, and give me back my kitten!' Lady Linda shouted.

Rupert looked furious. He leapt back out of the car, grabbing a gun from the glove box and pointing it at Linda.

'I've used this before, and I'll use it again if I have to,' he said. 'There is nobody here and we've disabled the CCTV, so no-one will see what happens.'

Lady Linda jumped out of the truck, but Rupert fired a shot into her leg.

She screamed – waking Bernard, who had been sleeping in the back of the truck, oblivious to all the excitement. Bernard is a very big dog. Bigger than any you have ever seen. Bernard is the biggest dog in the world.

Unlike Timmy he doesn't understand a word of any other language than dog, but he is smart enough to recognise that screaming and blood mean real trouble. Hackles rising, he rushed to Lady Linda's defence. When you are the size and weight of a hippopotamus, however, it is difficult to be passively defensive. Bernard leapt into the attack, crossing the distance between himself and Lady Linda's attacker in a single bound. He picked up Rupert in his massive mouth, the gunman's legs dangling uselessly inches from the ground. Rupert tried to kick and punch him, so Bernard shook him from side to side like a terrier shaking a rabbit.

'Stop or I'll shoot and kill you all,' Rupert shouted, which was the second to last thing the spy ever said.

The last, just before Bernard bit his head off, was, Ag! Which is very like the Aaaaaggggghhhhh! so often cried by characters in books when they are savaged to death by wild animals, only much shorter.

Tina rushed over to help Lady Linda, who assured her that it was only a minor flesh wound, and that she'd had worse. Linda said they'd better try to clear up the evidence, but when they looked round they couldn't see any at all – just the elephant-sized dog licking his lips.

'If Rupert has been going round kidnapping and shooting people then he's not who I thought he was,' said Tina.

'And the world might be a better place without him,' added Lady Linda.

'And at least I can stay here with you and Bernard,' commented Timmy, much to Tina's surprise.

'Come back for more tea, and I'll tell you the story – provided that you promise to keep it completely secret. As you've seen, it can be a dangerous secret to know.'

***

So, now that you've read this, and you know how important to Timmy it is that he keeps his existence as secret as possible, he has asked me to ask you – please don't tell anyone about this story.

# How to Make a Sand Witch

### By David Smith

Suzy Simpkins loved hot sunny beaches more than anything else in the world. Sadly, Suzy's summer to date had been a washout, with rain almost every day and grey miserable skies on the few rainless days. There was only one week left of the school holidays and the weather forecasts were awful.

'Oh please let it stop raining,' Suzy shouted from her bedroom window at the drizzling Saturday night sky, 'I'm bored stiff of board games and terribly tired of tedious trips to swimming pools – I want to swim in the SEA...'

And much to Suzy's surprise the sky listened, so when she woke on Sunday it was to brilliant sunshine pouring through the gap between her curtains.

'Mum, can we...' Suzy shouted as she ran downstairs to the kitchen, but she had no need to finish her sentence. Her mum was busy packing beach towels, swimming costumes and sun cream into a carrier, and her dad was adding the final items to a cool-bag already brimming with food and cold drinks.

The drive was not a long one, but finding somewhere to park took ages. Suzy was very frustrated, but eventually they found a space and Suzy raced onto the beach, relishing the sensation of warm sand tickling her feet and trickling between her toes. She had put her swimming costume on before leaving home, so rushed straight at the sea and splashed right in. The first shock of cold water took her breath away, but she was soon shoulder deep with gentle waves lifting her off her feet and the taste of salt on her lips. It was wonderful.

After her swim Suzy lay on a towel while her mum smothered her in sun-cream. It was very boring, but while lying on her tummy Suzy noticed the damp sand at the water's edge. The sea was going out – perfect for exploring tide pools and making sand sculptures!

The biggest and deepest pools were in the shade around the rusty, seaweed-wrapped legs of the pier. Suzy found shells, shrimps and starfish; crabs, cockles and cuttlefish-bones; and even two tiny fish that darted and flashed between her wriggling fingers.

'That one's a baby pygmy whale,' her dad said, pointing at the first fish, 'and the other one's a dogfish pup. If you watch and listen closely you'll see the whale spout water and hear the puppy bark.'

'You're daft, dad,' Suzy giggled, secretly wishing he wasn't teasing.

After exploring the pools Suzy walked back up the beach and started work on a sand sculpture. Mum and dad helped a bit but soon grew bored and lay back on their beach towels, dad dozing while mum topped up her tan. Suzy didn't say, but she actually preferred working on her own. It made her sculpture seem even more special.

She used a bucket to fetch water when she needed it but moulded the damp sand by hand. As she scooped it into clumps and bumps and hollows she used a lolly stick to add lines and details, then added shells and pebbles and other things she found on the beach for decoration. When she had finished, over an hour later, she had a full-size sculpture of a witch riding on a broomstick.

The witch had clamshells for eyes, a winkle for a wart on her nose, and a row of tiny pebbles for teeth. She was quite repulsive and very scary. Suzy fetched ropes of dark green seaweed from under the pier and draped them around the witches head and shoulders for hair. The hair made her even uglier and scarier.

Suzy was very proud of her sculpture and so was her mum. 'It's brilliant!' said mum. 'The best Sand Witch I've ever seen.'

Dad woke with a start. 'Sandwich?' he said. 'Yes please!'

Suzy laughed, then realised she was absolutely starving. She sat down in the sand and rummaged through the cool-bag for food. The rolls and things she found looked okay, but it was such a special day they all seemed boring. It didn't take much to persuade dad that fish and chips would be better for lunch, or that ice creams would make a nicer pudding than lukewarm yoghurts.

Suzy couldn't finish her fish and chips, so she fed the leftovers to a huge gull she made friends with. The gull only had one foot – the other leg ending in a shrivelled stump – and he had a black patch around one eye. Suzy thought he looked like a pirate. He seemed a very cheerful gull despite his withered leg, so she named him Jolly Roger.

Suzy wanted to swim again after eating, but her mum told her she must wait at least half an hour, so she wandered back under the pier looking for interesting shells and pebbles. It was here, in one of the largest pools, that Suzy found the biggest and oddest-looking mussel she had ever seen. It looked like two mussels that had grown together, joined at the base. They formed a shape like this:

<3

It's a heart mussel,' Suzy squealed, and she rushed back up the beach to bury the mussel in her Sand Witch's chest. As Suzy patted damp sand down on top of the mussel Jolly Roger reappeared. He was squawking and flapping his wings, and now seemed anything but Jolly.

'No, Roger,' Suzy told him, 'go and find your own mussels, you're not having this one!' Suzy was so busy shooing Roger away that she did not notice the sand covering the heart mussel start gently pulsing, or the strange glimmer that appeared in the Sand Witch's clamshell eye...

Now those who know about such things will tell you it takes three magic ingredients to bring a Sand Witch to life: salt and vinegar to mix and make blood and a heart to pump it around the witch's body. Salt, of course, is everywhere on a beach, in the water, the shells, the seaweed and even the sand, so Suzy's witch was full of the stuff. After eating fish and chips Suzy's fingers were covered in vinegar, and when she found the heart mussel and buried it in the witch's chest she unwittingly added the final two ingredients needed to create...

CHAOS!

It took fifteen minutes for the Sand Witch to come fully alive, by which time Suzy was back in the sea. She did not see the sudden explosion of sand as the witch launched herself into the sky, but she heard people screaming and the witch's wicked, cackling laughter. As she turned to look back up the beach a long, black shadow swooped across the sand towards her, and when she looked up she saw an ugly, black silhouette blocking out the sun.

The witch hovered on her broomstick in the air above Suzy, occasionally swooping lower and clutching for her with long, bony fingers. 'You are MINE,' she screeched, 'you made me, and I must unmake you: I will eat your heart for my dinner!'

Suzy was petrified. She wanted to run up the beach to her mum and dad, but some instinct told her to stay in the water. The witch seemed to sense this – it was almost as though she could read Suzy's thoughts – and she made a sudden lunge. Suzy ducked, her head disappearing fully beneath the waves, the witch's grasping fingers missing her hair by a hair's breadth. Suzy held her breath as long as she could before surfacing for another lungful of air. She ducked beneath the waves again just a fraction of a second before the Sand Witch could grab her.

This went on for five minutes or more, with Suzy growing more scared and breathless and the witch getting angrier and angrier. Suzy's parents rushed to the water's edge, but every time they tried to reach Suzy the Sand Witch fired bolts of fire at them from the tips of her fingers. Suzy's dad was hit twice – once on the top of the head and once on the bum. Luckily he was wearing a hat, and though it went up in a ball of flame he was able to throw it in the sea before any real damage was done. His wet swimming shorts saved his bum, but the fire left a nasty scorch mark that ruined the shorts forever.

Suzy's mum was just about to make another grab for Suzy when the Sand Witch suddenly changed direction and whooshed off up the beach.

'Right, if you won't come out on your own I'll have to make you come out,' the witch screamed. 'I will firebomb the whole beach until you give yourself up!'

The people on the beach were terrified. They ran left and right and to and fro, ducking and diving to escape the terrible fire flashing from the Sand Witch's fingers. Some realised that the safest place to be was in the water. They had seen that the witch seemed scared of the waves and reluctant to get wet. As they waded in the witch cursed and screamed but made no attempt to attack them. Others noticed and rushed to join them, and soon the sea was filled with the bobbing heads of floaters, swimmers, tread-waterers and just-sitting-on-the-bottomers. But this did not stop the Sand Witch from attacking their belongings. She flew up and down the beach setting fire to picnic blankets, deckchairs, windbreaks and towels, and anything else she could find to direct her anger at.

The fire brigade had been called, but with so many fires over such a wide area they were fighting a losing battle. The police had been called too, but they had no idea how to deal with a Sand Witch and seemed just as confused as everyone else on the beach. Somebody shouted through a loudhailer that the army were on their way, but the witch just laughed and carried on firebombing.

And then, far out to sea, a strange, dark cloud appeared. At first it seemed to be a single cloud, but as it got closer individual shapes started to emerge. As it came closer still it formed itself into huge V, and Suzy saw that it was a mass of seagulls, flying in tight formation. They were still too far off for her to see them properly, but Suzy knew that the lead bird would have a dark patch around one eye and a funny little deformed leg. It was Jolly Roger, and he was coming to her rescue!

When the gulls reached the beach they seemed almost to block out the sun. The sky was filled with wheeling bodies, all of them chasing and herding the Sand Witch ever closer to the water. They dive-bombed her, dropping sharp pebbles and shells from their beaks onto her head and pooing in her seaweed hair. The witch screeched in anger, firing bolt after bolt of fire into the swirling cloud, but the birds were too fast and too many for her.

Soon they had chased the Sand Witch far out over the water, and it was then that a single bird – Jolly Roger – left the flock to dive straight at her. He crashed right into her, ripping at her chest and flying straight through, emerging from her back with the mussel heart grasped tightly in his curved, hard beak.

The Sand Witch writhed in agony. Her broom disintegrated into individual grains of sand beneath her. She opened her mouth, her pebble teeth gleaming, and gave a final bloodcurdling yell, the sound fading to a whisper as she tumbled through the air and splashed into the sea. For a moment the water seemed to boil. One long, bony finger emerged from beneath the waves before crumbling and dissolving away forever. The surf seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and as it did the gulls wheeled as one and flew back out to sea...

***

Suzy Simpkins still loves the seaside and still makes fantastic sculptures in the sand, but she never ever gives her Sand Witches hearts. And neither should you!

#  FURTHER READING

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