In the attic

The fresh topic of discussion at school had moved from Miss Harris's bird's nest hair do to the cool new website that took photos of your street. All day kids were logging on, checking out the streets of Bickertown.
Tyler was desperate to check out his house, to show off his parent's palacial pad. But his pleas to the kids in the locker room to look at his laptop were drowned out by the guffaws coming from the crowd surrounding Gavin Baxter.
"It's Mickey Finn," said one kid. "On Morrison Street."
"Who's he snoggin'?" said another.
"I reckon it's Penny. She's the only girl I know that piles her hair on her head like a pineapple."
Tyler left the locker room during the chorus of snickers.
When he got home that afternoon the nagging curiosity of seeing his house online drew him to log onto his computer. He entered his address, clicked the mouse and up popped an image of the outside of his house. But the novelty of the innovation quickly wore off when, on closer inspection, he saw a face in the attic window that didn't belong to any of his family.

The face in the window

Bebe's only company was the face in her bedroom window. It was never there during the day, it only appeared at night. Wispy and faint and with pigtails like hers, it spoke to her, with a warm, strawberry smile. It told her tales of life on the high seas, made her laugh with jokes and entertained her with magic tricks. It sped up time, filling the lonely gaps in her solitary life whilst her mother cocooned her in the house.
"Protection from the wicked world," her mother said.
She was happy there, with all she knew, until one day her mother forgot to lock her bedroom door.
A gust of wind, that blew up from the floor below whistled down the corridor and clicked her bedroom door open.
Bebe was too curious to stay inside, yet apprehensive of what lay beyond her world.
She tiptoed to the door, not wanting to stir what lay on the other side and found herself in a long room with steps that led down. The room was lit with flickering lights on the wall and was as sparsely furnished as her plain room. There was only a table, a little way in front of her, and what looked like a window on the wall above it. But it was a strange window. It's frame was oval and rolled in gold.
And when she approached it the face in her window appeared before her.
"Emmy!" she said, delightedly at the smiling face staring back at her.
"You're looking at your reflection," snorted her mother, from the stairs.

Curiosity killed the cat

Janie Johns had always been far to nosy for her own good. When told not to do something, she always did the opposite, like the time Mickey Grayling in Year 1 told her about Mr Vincent's back garden cemetary-or what he believed was a cemetary. Janie just couldn't help herself. She had to take a look. She had to be the one to prove the rumours. True, or false, the outcome didn't matter.
That time she got away with it, but her luck was about to run out.
It had been a while since she visited her Great Aunt Violet. Janie didn't do relations, but as she was on her death bed Janie's mother dragged Janie along for her last visit.
While she was there she overheard her Great Aunt talking to her mother.
"There's something I need you to do, Flora," croaked Aunt Violet. "There's something in the attic I need you to get. I need you to destroy it. It's important."
Janie could tell Aunt Violet was anxious. Her desperate, spluttered speech, her deeply wrinkled frown. Whatever was up there Janie wanted to see it before her mother did.
She listened closer.
"Of course, Violet, anything," replied her mother.
"Jig Saw," were the last words Aunt Violet uttered before her last gasp of breath.
Janie ran upstairs, choosing to find what she shouldn't rather than console her whimpering mother.
She crept up the wooden ladder and flipped over the attic hatch.
There lying on the floor of the empty attic, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, streaming in through the window, was a flat box. Janie brushed the dust from the cover.
'Jig Saw', were the words fainted scribed on the box.
"Why was she so worked up about this?" Janie crowed as she prised off the lid. "It's just a box, full of bits of jigsaw."
Janie tipped them up onto the dusty attic floor, but as she tried to sort them out, flipping each one over to its picture side, she noticed that all the pieces were blank.
"That's weird," she said and tried to clip two together.
As the pieces interlocked part of a picture formed on the surface of both of them.
"Wow," Janie gasped. "It must be magic."
Eagerly, Janie put the pieces together, matching the shapes as best she could. As she did the picture took shape in front of her eyes.
She couldn't tell what it was a first as the colours were too muted-soft browns, tans, creams and oranges, blending in with each other. But working her way from the edge of the jigsaw inwards she noticed the picture forming was of an empty room. The lower half of a person was next to form-a person crouched with their back towards her. Above the person was a shiny object, curved and sharp, glinting in the sunlight.
As Janie's mother called to her from below Janie shakily placed the last two pieces of the jigsaw and realised to her horror, it was a picture of her in the attic.

Elspeth's revenge (part 2-end)

Angelina put her arm round Elspeth’s shoulder making her feel instantly more relaxed and safe.
The room was exactly what Angelina said it was going to be, quiet. It was tucked some distance from the main kitchen so the noise of shouting voices and clanking of pots and pans had become a faint mumble.
“Well first things first. I think we should put Molly up on this shelf. Otherwise she’ll get covered in flour, butter and chocolate chips.”
Elspeth giggled at the thought of her dolly made to look like a cookie and handed the doll to Angelina.
“Next we have to get the ingredients,” she announced as she walked into a dark little room of to the side. Moments later she returned clutching packets of flour, baking powder, butter, brown sugar, a jar of honey, an egg, a small bottle of vanilla essence and assorted packets of milk, plain, white and multi-coloured chocolate chips and plopped them onto the chrome work surface.
“Now, we need to weigh out 6oz of flour,” Angelina said as she grabbed a large metal weighing scale. “Here, you can do the honours for me. You need to put the flour in that tray there until this little arm comes to this marker,” she continued, pointing to the dial on the face of the scale.
Elspeth did as Angelina asked as watched the little arm carefully as it rose up towards the marker.
“How’s that?” Elspeth said proudly.
“Excellent job. Now tip it into the bowl and do the same with the butter and the sugar but we only need 4oz each of those, so the arm should come to there. Okay?”
“Yep,” Elspeth replied, opened the bag of sugar and poured it into the tray, concentrating so hard her tongue poked out of the side of her mouth. When she’d weighed out the sugar she poured it into the bowl and did the same with the butter.
“You know when mum and dad come back I’m going to ask if you can come to dad’s dinner party.”
“Are you sure you’re allowed to invite staff to that. I’m sure its bound to be a very posh affair.”
“No, not as a guest, silly. To help. You could carry those large plates they have with the can of peas on them.”
“Don’t you mean canapés?
“That’s what I said. Can of peas, silly, you’re not listening.”
“I’m sorry. But anyway helping isn’t nearly as good as being a guest.”
“But you’re not royalty or even important. You can’t expect to go if you’re not royal or important. It’s not allowed.”
“I suppose you’re right but it’s the only way of really enjoying a party. If you’ve been invited I mean,” Angelina said as she measured out two tablespoons of honey and two of baking powder and added them to the bowl along with a pinch of salt, a dash of vanilla essence, a whisked egg and a packet of milk chocolate chips. “Now we mix it all together,” she continued. “So have you been to any of these parties yourself?”
“Oh no. I’m much to young. They don’t let me. But I did sneak downstairs one night when dad had invited guests. I watched them from the bottom of the stairs. They’d all been drinking that red berry juice and were making a lot of noise. Singing loudly and out of tune and dancing about. Well, I think they we’re meant to be dancing. They were wobbly about like this,” Elspeth explained as she held her arms out and wobbled on her legs as though they were made of jelly. “Then mum saw me and came rushing over. Her eyes looked all glassy and she had a big grin on her face. And she called over someone she called the ‘Pry Minstrel’.”
“I think you mean Prime Minister.”
“That’s what I said. Anyway, he bowed at me and I felt very important.”
“Did you now?” Angelina replied, biting her lip as a little snigger escaped her lips. “Okay, I think this is sufficiently mixed up. Now we need to put it on the tray.”
Angelina showed Elspeth how to plop the mixture onto the baking tray to cook, and as Elspeth continued she made up a fresh batch of cookies with plain chocolate chips, then another with white chocolate chips and the last with the multi-coloured chips.
“There, all done. Now we pop them in the oven and wait till they’re cooked.”
Elspeth clapped her hands with glee.
“Now for the fairy cakes,” Angelina said walking over to the store cupboard again.
Elspeth watched as Angelina disappeared into the darkness. She half wanted to follow her, curious to see what it was like inside with all the packets and boxes and jars and bottles, but after the time she hid in Sophie’s wardrobe to spy on her sister and accidentally jammed the door shut, she was a little apprehensive. So she waited until Angelina emerged clutching more ingredients.
By the time they’d weighed and stirred the mixture, ready to go into baking trays that had little wells sunk into them, a loud buzzing sounded. It took Elspeth by surprise and she jumped in the air and clasped her hands round her ears.
“It’s okay,” Angelina reassured as she reached for the oven gloves. “It’s only the cooker. It means our cookies are ready.”
She pulled out the trays and put the fairy cakes in the oven to cook and busily showed Elspeth how to make the buttercream mixture that went on top.
When the buzzer on the cooker went a second time Elspeth knew exactly what it meant and instead of jumping in alarm she dashed to the oven, and eagerly waited for Angelina to bring them out.
“They look really tasty,” she said, her mouth watering as the smell of warm, sweet sponge wafted in the air.
“Now we have to cut the tops of, put the buttercream on top and then,” Angelina said as she showed Elspeth what she meant. “We cut the tops in half, like so, and put them on top of the buttercream like this, so they look like little wings. And there we have a fairy cake.”
“Wow. They look really pretty. Let me do some.”
Half an hour later they were finished, exhausted and covered in flour, cream and butter. Elspeth laughed at her reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall above the sink. She had a dollop of buttercream on the tip of her nose, a dusting of flour in her hair, and chocolate round her mouth after she’d slyly guzzled one of the freshly cooked cookies.
“I think we should take these up to Sophie’s room, with some lemonade,” Angelina announced.
“Perfect,” Elspeth chimed with a broad grin.
When they reached Sophie’s room, Elspeth grabbed a table and laid the cookies, fairy cakes, three glasses and the bottle of lemonade on the table whilst Angelina kept watch by the door to see if Sophie was approaching. No sooner had Elspeth finished than Angelina rushed in.
“She’s coming!”
Elspeth spun round the table and rushed towards the door just as Sophie was about to enter her bedroom.
“Close your eyes, close your eyes!”
“Why? What have you done? I might have guessed it, Elspeth. Just because I wouldn’t let you come with me you decided to trash my room. Well if anything’s broken you going to get it.”
“Close your eyes, please Sophie!”
“Fine. Okay. Whatever.”
“Now come this way,” Elspeth said as she grabbed her sister’s arm and dragged her across the room so abruptly it was a wonder her sister didn’t trip over herself. But Elspeth was too excited to care what she was doing. She just wanted to show her sister what she’d done.
“Now you can open your eyes,” Elspeth said clapping her hands with glee.
She looked up at her sister who clasped her hands together as though in prayer and held them to her lips. She didn’t utter a word.
Elspeth’s heart began to sink, thinking her sister didn’t like what she’d done.
Sophie walked up to the table, with Elspeth close to her side never taking her eyes of her sister’s face, eagerly awaiting a reaction.
“Is this for me?” Sophie said softly as the corners of her mouth rose to a gentle smile.
Elspeth nodded with delight.
“You made these?” Sophie asked pointing to the cookies and fairy cakes on the table.
“With a little help from my new friend, Angelina,” Elspeth replied pointing to Angelina who stood as inconspicuously as she could by the bedroom door. “We’ve been in the kitchen all day making them. See there are fairy cakes and cookies, some with plain chocolate, some with white and some multi-coloured but we made most of them with milk chocolate as I know you like them best.”
Elspeth’s tone suddenly changed when she remembered how she’d started the day, before Angelina had suggested baking, and suddenly felt pangs of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes and her lower lip quivered as she burst out crying and threw her arms around her sister’s waist, burying her head in the folds of her dress.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Sophie said sympathically.
But Elspeth didn’t answer. She clung onto her sister as though her life depended on it, refusing to let go. Finally, she lifted her head up, her eyes stinging from the tears and summoned the courage to confess to her sister.
“I was going to break all your dolls. Once you’d left I pulled them all off the shelf and started pulling their arms and legs off. I would have carried on too if it wasn’t for Angelina.”
“Well you didn’t. So there’s no harm done,” Sophie said bending down to kiss the top of her sister’s head. “Why don’t you invite your friend to join us? Seeing as she made these too I think it’s only fair she gets to enjoy them.”
Elspeth lifted her head, smiled and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress before looking towards the door where Angelina was stood, but there was no-one there.
“She’s gone!” Elspeth cried and rushed to the door to look up and down the corridor, but she’d gone.
“She must have gone back to the kitchens, Elspeth. Don’t worry.”
Solemnly, Elspeth walked back to the table and half-heartedly munched on one of the fairy cakes, getting the tip of her nose covered in buttercream in the process but not caring in the slightest.
“This was my revenge, you know?”
“Revenge? Was it really?” Sophie said sinking her teeth into the largest milk chocolate chip cookie she could find. “Well if that’s the case then I’m going to have to leave you more often.”
Elspeth glowered at her.
“Only kidding, sis!” Sophie said and wiped the buttercream from Elspeth’s nose.

Elspeth's revenge (part 1)

It started of as being a pretty uneventful week for Elspeth. Her parents, the King and Queen, had left days earlier leaving her and her elder sister, Sophie, in the care of their Nanny and Tutor, Delilah. Elspeth didn’t care much for Delilah. She hated the fact that she would wake her at the crack of dawn each day for reading, writing, sums and tests. It was all boring and pointless she thought and resented it all the more when the sun shone brilliantly outside and all she wanted to do was get out there and play with their dogs, pick flowers and make daisy chains. So it was extremely fortunate for her when one morning Delilah tripped down the grand staircase and broke both her legs leaving her and her sister in the care of the servants.
For Elspeth and Sophie this was the most perfect situation they could ever have imagined they’d be in; their parents were away, their guardian incarcerated in the local hospital and a huge Palace to explore at their leisure.
“Seeing as mum and dad are away for a while now is the perfect opportunity for some exploration,” Sophie said delightedly as she added the Greek doll her mother had brought back from her recent trip, to her collection on the shelf above her bed.
“That sounds like a fab idea. I’m coming too,” Elspeth said jumping up and down in excitement.
“You can’t,”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m the eldest so I’m in charge and I say that you should stay here and finish your homework. I’m going to explore the North Tower. Mum and Dad never let us go up there and I want to know why,” Sophie demanded.
“That’s not fair. I want to see the North Tower too.”
“Well you can’t. You’re too young and it might be dangerous so you’ll just have to stay.”
“You can’t make me Sophie and if you do I’ll tell mum on you.”
“And if you tell mum on me I’ll tell her who broke her precious china hand mirror. You know, the one with the roses on the edges.”
“I didn’t mean to break it. I just wanted to look at it. That’s all,” Elspeth huffed.
“Well then you’d best keep quiet hadn’t you,” Sophie said pointedly and waltzed out of the room.
Elspeth couldn’t believe the nerve of her sister. ‘How come she gets to go and I don’t. It’s not fair,’ she thought and folded her arms, screwed up her face and proceeded to kick anything across the floor that was in reach of her foot.
While teddy bears, dolls and plastic horses flew across the room Elspeth failed to notice a young palace maid, had entered and was standing in the doorway, nervously awaiting a moment to address the little princess.
“Excuse me, my lady,” the young maid said. “Can I be of service to you?
“No,” she snapped. “Unless you can get me another sister.”
The maid paused, unsure how to answer her, or if she should answer her at all. After what seemed like an eternity she cautiously asked:
“Are you not happy with the one you have?”
“No,” she snapped again, louder. The sharpness in her tone made the maid jump. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Angelina, my lady.”
“How old are you, Angelina?” she enquired as she stopped kicking toys around, reached for her sister’s collection of dolls on the shelf and began to pull the heads, legs and arms of them.
“Eighteen, my lady,”
“Do you want to be my new sister?” she asked, smiling with delight at how
easy it was to decapitate them.
“I don’t think your mum and dad would like that too much?”
“Why not? You’re much prettier than her and I bet you’d be a better sister. She’s always bossing me around. I never get to have any fun,” she huffed as she reached for a blue felt tip pen and began drawing glasses and bushy moustaches on the decapitated dolls’ heads.
“May I ask what are you doing?”
“Destroying all Sophie’s toys,” she said bluntly as though it should have been obvious to Angelina. “She wouldn’t let me go with her to investigate the North Tower. I wanted to. I wanted to so much. Nasty, evil, horrid sister. She said it was too dangerous and I should stay here finish my homework. But I’ll show her. I’ll show here good and proper. When she comes back and sees these she’s be sorry she didn’t take me with her. Anyway it’s none of your business. I can do what I want.”
“I suppose you can but don’t you think that revenge is a little wicked and spiteful?” the maid protested.
“Raven-jar?” said Elspeth, frowning with confusion. “What kind of word is that?”
“No, not raven-jar. Rev-enge,” Angelina explained, saying the word slowly so Elspeth could understand.
“Well, whatever. She’s got it coming to her. She knew I’d be annoyed she left me, so there.”
“Well if that’s the case then she knows that you’re going to do something to get her back right?”
“Suppose so, yeah,” Elspeth muttered.
“So why don’t you do something that she won’t expect you to do.”
Elspeth thought for a moment or two. She looked up at the dolls on the shelf that were yet to be dismembered and back at the maid.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked curious to know what could possibly be more gratifying than destroying her sister’s prized collection of dolls.
“Well we could start by putting all the legs and arms back on the right dolls,” Angelina said.
“What!” Elspeth said glowering at Angelina.
“Then we’ll clean up the dolls’ faces,” Angelina continued ignoring Elspeth’s outburst.
Elspeth frowned at Angelina, perplexed.
“Then,” Angelina continued. “We’ll put them in a nice orderly fashion back on your sister’s shelf.”
“That won’t annoy her at all. That’s too nice.”
“Won’t it?” Angelina said innocently. “Then after that we’ll go down to the kitchen and make her a nice batch of chocolate chip cookies, buttercream fairy cakes, and fresh lemonade.”
Elspeth stared as Angelina began to pick up the arms, legs and heads that were strewn across the room and sorted them into piles according to which legs matched and which arms matched. She was rather confused as to why being nice to her sister would irritate her but when she thought of melt in the mouth cookies and soft cream and sponge it tantalised her taste buds and made her mouth water and pretty soon she’d forgotten what she’d been doing and could only think of eating sweet treats.
“Can we put different chocolate chips in the cookies? I mean white ones and plain ones and different coloured ones?” she said her eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Certainly. What flavour of chocolate chip does Sophie like the most?”
“Milk chocolate.”
“Okedoke. We’ll make an extra large batch of milk chocolate chip cookies.”
“And can we draw smiley faces on them, with icing?” she added with delight.
“Of course we can.”
Elspeth clapped her hands with excitement as she followed Angelina along the wide, polished floored, corridor that always had a pungent smell of lemon furniture polish that made her scrunch her nose up in repulsion.
Down the grand staircase they both descended until they reached the main hallway where they doubled backed to a door that didn’t look like a door at all. It looked as though it was part of the wall as the top half was papered in the deep red swirling patterned wallpaper and the bottom half was dark wood panelling, just like the wall. Angelina pushed it open, and Elsepth’s eyes widened. She was itching to see what lay beyond the door. But was rather disappointed with what she saw. It was nothing like the rest of the Palace. It was cold and dark and smelt musty, like mould and earth. The walls were bare bricks, with no paint or pictures to adorn it, and the floor was made of horrid grey concrete.
She followed Angelina down a flight of steps where the sound of voices echoed and musty smell had been replaced with the sweet smell of roasted potatoes, gravy, pork and apple sauce. ‘I must be near the kitchen,’ she thought. Usually she would never have been allowed anywhere near the kitchen let alone allowed inside to make cookies and cakes, but as her mum and dad were away there was no-one to say no to her.
“I wish mum and dad would go away more often,” she said casually. “This is fun. Sophie is going to be so jealous when she finds out where I’ve been. What do you think Molly?” she said to the tatty, knitted dolly clutched in her hands.
“I’ve noticed you always seem to be carrying that dolly around with you,” Angelina enquired. “It’s filthy. Why don’t you wash it?”
“Mum’s always telling me to get it washed. She said she’s going to take it one day when I’m not looking and send it down to the laundry room. I told her she couldn’t do that because then it wouldn’t smell the same and I like the way it smells. So I carry it around with me all the time cos that way if I have it she can’t take it away. Right?”
Angelina nodded and chuckled at her as she pushed the swing door into the kitchen narrowly avoiding knocking one of the butlers who was stood on the other side talking to a chef.
Elspeth was a little afraid to go into the kitchen at first. It was a very stark looking place, all white tiles and chrome, and very noisy too. Lots of people dressed head to foot in white clothes, some stained with food, shouted at one another, which made Elspeth think that they may shout at her for being there when she wasn’t supposed to be.
“It’s okay,” Angelina said soothingly. “You can come in. We’ll go into the little workroom round the side. They usually use it to make little sweets and stuff but not today. It’ll be quiet round there.”

The last message

Vicky lay awake in her bed, staring up at the velvet black sky through the crack in her curtains. She couldn't sleep. Her mind was replaying the day's event over and over again like a movie on loop.
The image of the deep ravine, her foot slipping off the edge, flashed across her mind's eye. "I can't believe she's gone," she muttered as a lone tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Beth."
She reached her hand, bloody and grazed, across her duvet and plucked Jasper the bear from the within the pile of teddys on her bed. She stared at his threadbare face and deep into his scuffed, black, glassy eyes.
"I'm glad to be back, Jasper. I'll never leave you," she said and stuffed Jasper under her duvet, clamping it close to her chest.
As she snuggled under her duvet she spotted a fresh bunch of flowers on her bedside table and a message card resting against the vase.
The card read, "Best friends forever. I'll miss you loads. Love Beth."

Making hay

Tilly almost didn't recognise the withered, grey form that was her Grammy laying on the bed in the sitting room. The last time she saw her was two months ago. Grammy said she was going into hospital "for a little bit". But now Tilly was confused.
"Mum," Tilly whispered. "I thought people went into hospital to get better. Grammy doesn't look well at all."
When Tilly's mum didn't answer Tilly looked up at her. Her mum was biting her lower lip and her eyes were glazed and red.
"Just go and sit with Grammy, Tilly. She wants to talk to you," said her mum, resting her hand on Tilly's shoulder, gently ushering her over to her grandmother.
Tilly was reluctant at first. The woman in the bed wasn't the grammy she knew. For a start she was grey in colour, her cheeks were sunken and her skin was even more wrinkly than before. But more disturbing was Grammy's bald head and the blonde curly wig placed over a polystyrene head on the beside table. This wasn't the smiley, energetic Grammy she knew.
"Tilly," Grammy croaked from the bed. "Come over here, sweetheart."
Tilly crouched down beside her grandmother, trying to smile through the smell of stale sweat and disinfectant.
"Hi Grammy," Tilly said, reaching out her hand tentatively to her grandmother's.
"Your mother tells me you've been a good girl, since I last saw you."
Tilly mustered a sheepish smile. She knew that wasn't entirely true but realised it was a well-intentioned white lie.
"I'm glad. Because I have something for you," Grammy said reaching across to open the draw of her bedside table.
Tilly watched her grandmother's slender hand pull out a silver locket.
"This is for you," she said, dropping the locket into Tilly's hand. "This will give you all you need to see you through your life."
"What do you mean?" asked Tilly.
"There is nothing that can save me now," whispered her Grandmother. "So I'm passing my luck onto you. Do you know the myth that cats have nine lives?"
Tilly nodded.
"Well humans do as well. In fact with the right help humans can have any number of lives. I have lived many, over thousands of years. But I'm weary now. I see in you a lot of me when I was your age. Your strength, your courage, your wit," she said with a throaty chuckle. "I'm now passing that gift to you. Your essence will live on, from one body to another. You will live a thousand lives so make hay whilst the sun shines," she continued before taking a deep gasp, falling back against the pillow and closing her eyes.
Tilly stared down at the locket in her hand, unable to comprehend what her Grammy had just told her, and unaware of what was about to befall her.

Best things for those who wait

Ricky Plummer could barely contain his excitement as the double decker bus inched its way down Porthampton's high street. There was such a bounce in his step he was sure someone had put springs in his shoes. Though he could have done with them, or a ladder at least. He wasn't the only one standing on the pavement dressed in his regimental blues and whites. Thousands of townsfolk were there for the same reason he was; to welcome home their heroes.
As the cheers and screams crescendoed like waves, Ricky desperately tried to push his small frame through the throng. He wanted to get the best glimpse, the closest glimpse he would ever have of his hero, Porthampton FC's prize striker Robby Simmonds. It wasn't as easy as he thought. He was so used to people avoiding him on the street, recoiling at his size and disfigured face it was a new experience to suddenly feel like he was invisible. Not one person shuffled to the side to let him in. Getting through was like trying to knock down a wall with a feather; completely impossible. Frustration and desperation built up inside him like magma in a volcano. He searched for gaps in the crowd trying any means to get to the barriers that lined the street. All he wanted was a passing shot, something to file away in his memory, something happy for him to relive if ever he was sad but as the minutes passed and the rumble of the bus engines grew louder Ricky's hopes faded. By the time he made it to the metal barriers the bus had passed and the glorious FA Cup winners were meeting and greeting others along the parade route. Ricky's heart sank. It was like someone had just ripped his soul from his body.
One by one the crowds dispersed, leaving Ricky standing alone on the street, utterly despondent. As dark fell Ricky trudged home, with cheeks caked in salty tears. The walk home took him passed Porthampton's stadium, but Ricky was too upset to even acknowledge it was there. He stared at the pavement, and chose to occupy his mind by counting the cracks as he walked.
"eight, nine, ten," he mumbled to himself until he walked smack into a towering, suited figure.
Contrite, Ricky jumped back.
"I'm really sorry," he said sheepishly and looked up.
Recognition was instant. Ricky's legs suddenly went to jelly.
"Umm, I, I, err. R-Ro-Robby!" he stuttered.
"Alright lad?" Robby Simmonds said with a wry smile on his face. He slapped the Ricky's shoulders affectionately before walking on.
Ricky had to lift his jaw from the floor

Spontaneous healing

Purple bruises, oozing cuts
Bill got from time to time
but cos he never let them heal
they stayed gooey with slime

Til one day on his way from school
freak lightening did strike
it sent electric through him
as he peddled on his bike

The next day when he woke up
he felt all out of sorts
but didn't realise what was wrong
until his class for sports

He took a knock across his knees
with a hockey stick
but when he looked upon the wound
there'd be no scab to pick

Sparks of blue leapt from his skin
where blood dripped from his knee
but before Bill could wipe it up
the wound healed instantly

A very woolly idea!

"Jamie!" screeched Jamie's mother. "Get your backside down here and mow that lawn."
Jamie pulled his duvet over his head to muffle the sound of her drumbeat voice.
"I can't mum, my legs hurt," he mumbled.
"No excuses, Jamie. When I come back from work today I want that lawn so neat and trim you could use it as a putting green."
The last thing Jamie heard was the front door slam shut.
The race was now on. The only thing was Jamie hated mowing the lawn. Every Spring, Summer and Autumn he had to mow the lawn every fortnight. This year, however, he had a secret weapon.
He leapt out of bed, threw on his clothes and ran into the garden. It took him a good ten minutes to wade through the two foot high grass to get to the back fence, where he put his plan into action. With a set of wire clippers he cut the down the fence and waited for the inevitable woolly stampede.
Sure enough the lure of the lush green, weed-riddled grass was too much for the residents of the field and before Jamie knew it an entire flock of sheep were busily munching on his mother's lawn.
By six in the evening the lawn was as smooth as silk, and riddled with sheep poo.
"That'll do nicely," said Jamie, proudly.

Tales from Grimwold: the legend of Linus Bartleby

It had been two years since Macadam Snore arrived at the white castle of Galdorgalere; home of the heinous Wizard. Ever since the Wizard saved Macadam's village from destruction from the Grima Pinbeam, Macadam had been duty bound to serve the Wizard for eternity. Macadam knew he would never be free to enjoy the life he once knew with his parents-helping his father sow and reap corncrops, baking bread with his mother and playing Wisp with the other village children-but never imagined his servitude would be as ruthless, tiring or dispiriting. No matter what he did he could never seem to please the Wizard. He would follow instructions to the letter but the Wizard would always find a way to critise his work, punishing him with either no food or worse, locking him in the castle basement for a day where spiders the size of his hand scuttled across putrid puddles on the floor, lizards longer than his body climbed the slime covered walls, and skeletons of the Wizards previous assistants lay in corners like discarded kindling.
Every night Macadam tried to stem the tears from flowing down his face at the despair that was his life. He didn't want to give the Wizard the satisfaction of knowing he was being tormented, but invariably one stray droplet of salty water would roll down his cheek before being swiftly brushed away by Macadam's dirty hand.
Then one day the Wizard summoned Macadam to the Grand Reception room where the Wizard was hosting a dinner for the most eminent magicians, sorcerers and shamens in the land. It was the most lavish occasion Macadam had ever seen. Silks of red, gold, blue and green were draped in deep swathes across the ceiling, beautiful girls with long waves of auburn hair danced in the middle of the room whilst a hundred or more magicians dressed in the finest clothes they could conjure watched on from teh comfort of the gold chairs they sat on. But Macadam was drawn to the food; so abundant he was sure it could feed the entire population of Grimwold for a year-one hundred spit-roasted pigs, four thousand potatoes, two thousand carrots, seventy gallons of gravy and more besides were carried through the room on glimmering gold trays.
"Boy, come here," said the Wizard to Macadam.
Macadam, with his head held low in the manner the Wizard expected, shuffled barefoot to the Wizard's side.
"What is your bidding, my master?" Macadam said.
"I grow weary of these dancers. Their toing and froing is making my head hurt. I want you to entertain me and my guests with a story," said the Wizard. With that he slapped his hands in quick succession and the six dancers dispersed, scurring off to the sides of the room.
Macadam starred out to the room of expectant faces that were clearly eager to hear what tale he had to tell. He trembled, not only at the thought of having to tell a story to a room full of strangers but to have to tell one that would please not only the Wizard but all of his guests as well.
He took a deep breath, stepped forward, summoned the strength from within him and took advantage of the only opportunity he had to be heard.
"My tale is one of truth and is about Linus Bartleby, the greatest magician in the world," he began to a chorus of gasps.
From the corner of his eye Macadam could see the bubble of anger forming on the Wizard's ruddy cheeks. It was the effect Macadam had hoped for.
"He was a legend and everywhere he went the people adored him. But he was a good magician. He helped those that most needed it. He gave food to the hungry, water to the thirsty and a home for those with nowhere to live. But the other magicians in the world were jealous of his fame. One day they captured Linus and threatened him to relinquish his powers or face death. Linus, without a glimmer of fear, said that he would only if the magicians could prove they were truely powerful enough. He told them to all cast a vanishing spell on each other. The magician who was left would be crowned the best."
The Wizard arose abruptly, his face purple with rage and his cheeks puffing. "I will not be outdone by this...Linus," he huffed. "I have never heard of such a tale but will heartily say that I am the most powerful wizard in the land."
One of the Wizard's guests rose suddenly and thumped his fist on the table. "That is an outrage I am the most powerful."
"No, I am," said another.
Before long the Wizard's grand reception room was filled with angry, over-inflated claims of grandeur and superiority.
Macadam stood back and waited for what he was sure was the inevitable.
One by one each of the magician's cast fiery bolts of light across the room. They bounced off the walls, brought down the silk veils from the ceiling, set fire to the tables and chairs until puff after puff, each and every magician disappeared, including the great Wizard himself.
Macadam sat back grabbed a leg of pork and feasted like he had never feasted before.

The pursuit of fame

"He's out there, Sam," Captain Hammer said as he pulled his slimline telescope from its leather sheath and stared out across the ocean. "And I'm going to catch him."
"What's out there?" Sam asked, hesitantly, shuffling from one foot to the other.
Captain Hammer paused. "My future," he said. "All nine hundred pounds of him."
Captain Hammer snapped the telescope shut and marched below deck leaving Sam with a bemused look on his face.
"He's in pursuit, lad," snapped Grim the deckhand, "of the elusive Mambo Snapper, and its fame and fortune."
"Mambo Snapper?" said Sam.
"Yeah, though everyone onboard thinks it's a myth, an old sea legend. I mean who would believe that a fifty foot fish exists."
Sam stared out at the stern of the ship. His jaw dropped. "I do. Because it's chasing us."

Don't trust your imagination

It was the best invention Milo had ever come up with. Far better than the automated dog walker or the self cleaning hamster cage. He marvelled at his computer chip creation; 'Jerry the homework completer'.
On the first day of term he fired Jerry up, ready to do his duty. He pressed the start button, watched as Jerry's arms jerked into life and his glassy eyes turned from cold black to electric blue.
"First assignment, please," said Jerry in a monotone, tinny voice.
Milo handed Jerry his homework diary, his english text book, a pad of lined paper and a pen.
Within three minutes Jerry had scrawled words across two pages; the answers to three questions on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
"Cheers, Jerry," Milo said as he took the pages from Jerry's tweezer fingers.
Milo had high hopes. He knew it was risky, not just because Jerry's handwriting didn't match his own but that he had no idea if Jerry had provided plausible answers to his essay questions. Not too accurate, but accurate enough to gain a good grade. He knew he wasn't the brightest light in the room when it came to arts. He was better at science. So he never bothered to read what Jerry had written before he handed it in.
When the moment came for Mrs Norris to hand back the essays Milo felt his palms get sweaty. His heart quickened and his breath became rapid and shallow. He was sure he'd been caught out. As Mrs Norris walked towards him a wry smile formed on her face.
"Well, well, Milo," she said. "Your essay was the biggest surprise of all, especially as it was the same sentence written over and over again."

Crop circles

"Who is she, Pa? said Tom as he stared through the iron bars of Clear County's only jail cell.
"No idea, son," said his father as he unclipped his gun belt and slung it on the table. "Cricker brought her in."
Cowering in the corner, with her knees clasped to her chest, was a young girl in dirty rags and with a mop of tangled, sandy hair on her head.
When Tom's eyes met hers his body jolted, like a bolt of lightening had just speared him. In his mind's eye he saw his mother mopping his brow when he was sick.
He shook his head.
"Where did he find her?" Tom asked.
"Wandering through one of Hamley's corn field. Damn old coot thought she was making crop circles."
Tom laughed. "Like Mom," he muttered.
"Now, now, Tom, what did I tell you about dragging up the past. It's a whole world of hurt. You've gotta move on. She would have wanted that."
Tom sat back on a wooden bench, unable to take his eyes from the girl.
"I wish you had let me see her, before she died."
"What good would that have done?" said Tom's dad as kicked back and lit a pipe. As ribbons of wispy smoke curled through the air the girl stood up.
She unfurled her body and in doing so her tangled hair blossomed into flowing golden tresses, and her tattered dress burst into a riot of floral colours. As she stepped forward she held her arms out toward Tom.
Mesmermised, Tom walked towards her, drawn in by her angelic form and her soft voice, like a feather on a breeze.
"Goodbye Tom," she said.