Dont wander off, children
And where have you been all that time? my wife asked, staring at Katie as she slipped back in from her stroll.
Katie glanced into the mirror; a web of cobweb clung to her hair. She pulled off her jeans, and an acorn fell from a pocket. She scooped it up and hurried to her bedroom, tucking the nut beneath her pillow.
Off you go, wash up, your dads due home any minute and well be having supper she called from the kitchen.
Katie plunged into the bathroom, appetite gone. Im glued to my phone not good. A walk not good either, she muttered gloomily.
My wife, hearing the thought, shouted from the kitchen, When you stroll properly, you dont come back with cobwebs on you!
Katie filled the tub, lathered with foam. She knew her mum was right; wandering the streets alone wasnt much fun. Yet she couldnt just stand around, especially after overhearing two old ladies in the shop queue.
Mrs. Davies, theres a nasty spirit up in THAT house again! one whispered, her voice dripping with intrigue.
The other old womans reply was lost in the clatter of the checkout. The cashier, a familiar face, rang up the groceries and handed Katie a receipt, then told the woman behind her, We should inform the constabulary!
What constabulary? What can they do about a spirit? the voices behind Katie scoffed.
She packed the bag and left the shop. On the doorstep she saw the women gesticulating wildly, still chattering about the spirit. Katie rolled her eyes. In the 21st century, really? She brushed the conversation from her mind.
That evening she stepped onto her balcony. The block had been built only a few years ago; the neighboring fivestorey terraces, about two hundred metres away, were three decades old, with a little convenience store where the old ladies lingered. Around Katies building the landscaping was still unfinished, but her flat faced a row of tall trees, muffling the distant rumble of construction on the next highrise.
The park that was supposed to be here had been scrapped; part of the forest was cleared for housing, including the tower where Katies parents had bought their flat. Some mature poplars still stood, separating the new houses from a cluster of very old buildings slated for demolition though they were now protected for their historic value and fenced off.
From above the trees she could just make out the rooftops of an ancient manor.
Perhaps that was an old estate from before the war, she thought.
She recalled the shop gossip, Probably a spirit has moved in there cant be living in a tower!
The image of a fairytale haunt came to mind; the first was the old witch of legend. She imagined the witchs broom perched on the roof and let out a soft, amused sigh.
Katie, dinners ready! her mother called.
After eating, she watched a film and chatted with her dad. A debate followed: the parents wanted to transfer her to the nearest primary school to avoid a long commute, but Katie preferred her old school where all her friends were. Its not fair being the only one left behind in the summer! she whined.
Therell be friends at the new school, and youll get a later bedtime, her mother argued, but Katies protests won, and she was sent to bed with a promise to think it over.
Before she slept, she climbed back onto the balcony, stared at the dark silhouettes of the trees, and thought she saw a glint in the nightone flash, then another, then a thirdright where shed seen the old rooftops earlier, as if someone were signalling. She tried to focus, but the darkness thickened and the lights vanished.
Katie, get into bed!
Im going, Mum, she replied.
She waited five more minutes, saw nothing, and convinced herself shed imagined it.
The next morning, she awoke to find her parents already at work. Another long day, she sighed. Visiting friends would have been nice, but none of the other girls were in townsome were on holiday by the sea, others staying with grandparents. Katie had no holiday herself; the house move had taken up all her time.
She trudged to the balcony after breakfast, wondering what to do. The fivestorey blocks bored her, the wellkept streets were far away, and nothing seemed interesting. Then the shop gossip resurfaced in her mind: A spiritmaybe I should check that old house? She wasnt sure it was really a manor, but she was tired of being cooped up. She slipped on her jeans, dug out an old pair of trainers, and, almost dancing, slid down the stairwell from her twentieth floor. The lift was out of order, but that didnt bother her.
She burst out of the building, rounded the block, and headed toward the trees.
Where are you off to, miss? a voice called.
She turned. Standing behind her was a crone, looking like the witch from the tales.
Startled, Katie shook her head, watching the woman. The old lady seemed to grow younger before her eyes.
You should listen to fewer old women in the shop, Katie muttered.
Where are you going? the crone repeated.
Im taking a walk! Katie snapped back, What, cant I?
She didnt like talking to strangers; her parents always warned her that strangers could lead her astray. At five, she wasnt exactly a target for kidnappers, but she was wary of new people.
Its fine, just dont get lost, love the woman replied, eyeing her oddly.
Love? Katie thought.
I wont get lost, she declared, marching down the narrow path.
The crone watched her go, a faint smile on her lips. After five metres, Katie looked backno one was there. She pushed the image from her mind and kept walking.
The trees closed in on all sides. She turned right, then left. When shed looked out from her balcony, the trees formed neat rows, shielding houses from the road, but now the rows were gone. The path she thought was straight was now blocked by trunks. It felt as if the ground were vanishing beneath her. She turned back, walked a few steps, and the path reappeared, as if trying to guide her home.
She remembered the shop gossip again, What a nuisance.
She chuckled at the spirit talk and pressed deeper into the thicket. The trail thinned to a barely visible track, as if nobody had trod there for ages.
Two minutes later a massive fallen tree blocked her waya huge baobablike trunk. It was impossible to climb over, and dense brambles flanked the trail, leaving no gap for a slim girl to squeeze through.
What am I to do? she wondered. Turn back?
A voice in her head seemed to whisper, Back, back, back.
No way! she shouted, I dont believe in spirits, especially in daylight!
She lay on her stomach, wriggling under the low-hanging branch. For a heartbeat she thought shed got stuck, then heaved herself free and shook off leaves.
Persistent little thing what now? a voice murmured.
She looked up. The crone from before stood there, a huge black cat curled at her feet.
The cat stared at her with narrowed eyes.
Hello, Katie said, bewildered.
The cat hissed faintly, Persistent.
She rubbed her eyes; this wasnt happening. Cats dont speak, except in stories, and stories arent real. The woman smirked, as if answering Katies silent thought.
The cat, massive as a small pony, puffed up, bared its teeth, and arched its back, hissing louder. Yet Katie felt no fear. She reached out and patted the beasts head. It flinched, then hissed again.
Scary? the cat asked.
She shook her head.
Youre not frightened? the cat seemed disappointed.
It turned to the crone.
What now? the cat asked.
Katie watched the odd pair converse. The cat leapt at a tree, clawing furiously at the bark. Its rage seemed palpable.
She felt a pang of sympathy. The cat wasnt evil; she hadnt done anything to it. Katie loved cats, even though she didnt have one of her own yet. Shed often feed the strays when she had spare money.
Fine, be angry, she told the cat, Im going.
The cat ceased its barkscratching, glared at her sideways.
Not scared at all? it teased.
She laughed.
Not a drop of fear! she replied, the most mischievous tone she could muster.
The cats ears twitched, then it softened, rubbing its massive head against her. She stroked its huge neck.
Lets go! the cat declared after a moment, nudging her forward.
She glanced around for the crone.
Shes gone, the cat said simply, nudging her onward.
They walked the onceblocked path, which now stretched straight and wide, the trees parting like curtains. Soon a low fence of fivemetretall logs appeared, their tops sharpened.
A fortress! Katie whispered.
She glanced at the cat.
Filming something? she asked.
The cat snorted.
Onward, it replied, marching along the fence.
After a few steps it halted.
Come through.
Katie stared, then the logs in front of her melted away as if made of mist. She shook her head in disbelief. The cat slipped through the gap, and she followed. Once through, the logs reformed, but she reached out and felt onean old, knotted tree trunk. Near its base lay another acorn. She slipped it into her pocket.
How do I get back? she asked the cat.
Im not sure yet, it answered, looking puzzled.
She decided to press on. The courtyard they entered was dim, as if it were evening despite the daylight, but she paid it no mind.
The cat led her to a high stone porch and vaulted through a door that burst open with a flood of light. The doorway was a single massive plank, richly carved with intricate patterns.
She stepped through, finding herself in a spacious chamber. A parlour, the voice in her head whispered.
The room was bright, yet no lamps glowed. Everythingwalls, tables, bencheswas handcarved wood. Tall candlesticks held dozens of flickering candles.
Do you like it, miss? a short, bearded old man asked, appearing from the shadows.
Absolutely! Katie exclaimed.
The cat, perched on a bench, flicked its tail and muttered, Never lies.
The old man nodded.
No lies, no fear.
Katie felt a slight sting at the accusation of lying; she hadnt been dishonest.
Dont be cross, sit down, the man said gently.
She ran her fingers over the carved bench and took a seat. The table was empty at first, then filled with plates and dishes of unfamiliar berries and pastries.
Help yourself, the old man offered.
Katie placed a slice of pie before her. The cat snatched a whole tart in one gulp. She tasted the slice; the berries were sweet and new, and a tall goblet of warm drink made her feel completely satisfied.
Another piece? the cat asked, but Katie shook her head.
Thanks, Im full! she said.
The old man smiled.
Generous, he commented.
She looked out the window; darkness lay beyond, as if night had fallen in an instant.
How long have I been here? she whispered, panic rising. Mum must be worried!
She rose, thanked them politely.
Thank you, I must return. Mum will be waiting.
The old man, with a twinkle in his eye, said, Brave, not selfish, kind I can grant you a wish. Ask for anything.
Katie thought of her secret hope: a kitten. Her parents had promised a cat once their new flat was ready, but the move and renovations kept it at bay.
I want a kitten, she said, sighing.
Just that? No exotic gems, silks, or magical mirrors? the man teased.
She laughed.
No, thank you. Nothing else.
Very well, a kitten you shall have, the man declared, turning to the cat. Take her, Baxton.
The cat finished its meal, leapt from the table, and flung open the door.
Come on! it cried.
Katie stepped through, turned, but the parlour had vanished. She found herself on a winding path, lit by soft lanterns. Beyond a line of trees she saw her own house. She spun aroundno cat, no man.
Was that a dream? she murmured, licking her lips, still tasting the sweet drink. She reached into her pocket and felt the acorn.
She sighed, tucked the acorn away, and headed home.
Later, a knock sounded at the front door. Katie rushed from the bathroom, thrilled. Dads here, she thought, wrapping a towel around herself.
Her father entered, holding a ginger kitten as orange as autumn leaves.
Ill call him Baxter, she declared.
She spent the whole evening with Baxter, who behaved as if hed always lived there, exploring every room, drinking his fill of milk.
When bedtime came, the kitten leapt onto her pillow and purred loudly.
Goodnight, Katie!
Goodnight, Mum! the bedroom door shut.
The kittens soft purrs drifted as she fell asleep, and a faint voice seemed to echo, Dont lose the acorn
