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.”

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

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."

The worst morning...ever

Eleven fifteen and twenty seconds. That was the time that Lucky Dae arrived at school on Friday. She didn't plan on being late, she just was, and judging by the state of her, she wasn't too happy about it either. Her hair was deshevelled, her blue school skirt torn and her woollen jumper riddled with holes and so sodden it hung about her shins like a dress. Most kids would have been delighted to miss half the mornings lessons, but Lucky wasn't.
She schlepped, exhausted and defeated into the girls locker room.
"Woah, you're lookin' a bit...rough," quipped her best friend, who was dragging a paddle brush through her long blonde hair.
"Don't even dare to make another comment, Ange," snapped Lucky as she threw her rucksack onto the floor. Water dripped from the straps, forming a small puddle of water that spread out across the grey linoleum. "I'm so not in the mood."
"You know the teachers are looking for you? I think they've been on the phone to your mum, wondering where you are."
"Typical," she spat and plopped herself down on the bench beneath her locker.
"How come you're so late anyway?" asked Ange as she peered into a mirror and diligently applied layer after layer of deep red lipstick.
Lucky leaned forward and with her elbows on her knees she rested her heavy head in the palms of her hands.
"It's the last day of that 'walk to school week' competition today. You know the one the Rector talked about in assembly last week, where you could win an ipod if you completed it," Lucky said. She pulled the shoe off her right foot and poured out a trickle of dirty water.
"Oh, yeah."
"Every day I've walked to school."
"That's five miles!" exclaimed Ange.
"I know!"
"You never said you were gonna to do that."
"You never listen. Anyway, I was doing great until today."
"I can see," said Ange.
Lucky could feel Ange's eyes scrutinising her appearance. She was used to it. Ange scrutinised anyone that wasn't as well turned out as her; sometimes with pity but mostly with derision.
"So what happened? Or shouldn't I ask?" asked Ange.
Lucky took a deep breath and then let out a long drawn out self-pitying sigh. "I knew I should never have left the house," she said. "As soon as I saw the heavens open this morning and the rain beat off the road I should have just gotten a lift in with mum."
"But you had your eye on the prize."
"Yeah at a cost though. I completely forgot the main road into town was closed for resurfacing. It wasn't until I got to the Chapel and saw the roadsigns that I realised."
"So then what did you do?"
"Tried to take a shortcut. Stupid idea."
"I didn't know there was a shortcut from your place. It's so far out, in the middle of nowhere, you'd have to cut through the fields to take a short cut."
Lucky gave her a knowing stare.
"Oh you didn't do that did you?"
"I tried, but I got lost when I came to Bishop's Woods."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. I just stood there looking around, trying to get my bearings while the rain beat down all around me. Fortunately Mr Orr spotted me. You know, the farmer. He was trying to round up his sheep himself cos his dog was sick. I told him I was trying to walk to town, with the road being out, so he gave me directions. Of course I couldn't just walk off, what with him struggling an' all so I tried to catch a couple of his sheep. I climbed over the wall and almost rounded one up when I stood in a damn muddy patch," said Lucky, holding up her muddy sodden shoeless left foot. "I sank down over my ankles in the stuff. But when I managed to pull my foot out my shoe didn't come with it."
Ange clamped a hand to her mouth and sniggered.
"You can laugh. It was awful. I was so embarrassed I hid my foot behind my leg so he didn't see. I scuttled off, out of the field and hobbled along the path down to the river. I was so fed up. Soaking wet with only one shoe. But to get to the river path I had to cut through another field."
"Not more mud," Ange giggled.
"No. A bull," said Lucky.
Ange clutched her stomach and bent over laughing. "You got chased by a bull, in a field."
Lucky leapt up and thrust her hands upon her hips. "It ain't funny, Ange. You wouldn't have liked it."
Lucky paced the locker room. "I was terrified. That damn thing was tearing after me. It's nose snorting, it's hooves pounding the ground. Tbought I was gonna die."
"But you didn't."
"No, I tore my clothes instead," said Lucky. She pointed to holes in her jumper, and the torn threads of her skirt. "Tryin' to get over the damn fence."
"Could have been worse."
"It was. When I reached the road a bus screeched past me. Drove straight through a muddy puddle and soaked me to the skin. At that point I'd really had enough. I screamed at the top of my voice as that bus drove off. I grabbed a stone and threw it at it. Probably shouldn't have but I was so mad. Only problem was I startled a gaggle of geese."
"A what?"
"Geese. A whole damn flock of them. They flew up, out from behind a wall. All around me they were. All beaks and white wings. One flew right at me. So heavy it knocked me off my feet. I fell to the ground, out cold. The next thing I knew I felt something rough and wet rubbing the side of my face. When I came to there was a cow's face right beside my head. It's huge pink tongue was licking me."
"Euew," Ange said recoiling. "That's gross."
"Yeah, well. I took a look at my watch and saw it was just before eleven," said Lucky, shaking her head. "Couldn't believe it. After all that I never made it to school in time."
No sooner than she said it but Mrs Gillory, the Rector, appeared in the doorway of the locker room.
"Lucky," she said. "You're here. You had the teachers worried. I was just about to call your mother."
"Yeah, well, no need. I'm here...of sorts," said Lucky.
"And a little worse for wear."
Lucky looked down at her mud splattered, sodden and torn uniform. "That'll teach me for walking to school in crappy weather."
"I believe you completed the five days then."
Lucky gave a dejected nod. The mere mention of why she walked in the first place made her jaw clench. Self-inflicted torture. Never again, she thought.
"I'm glad I found you as I have something for you. You're name was drawn out of the hat."
Lucky looked up as Mrs Gillory dug her hand into her trouser pocket and pulled out a clear plastic box. Lucky's eyes opened so wide she thought her eyeballs might fall out. There in Mrs Gillory's hands was the prize she'd been hoping for; the reason she put herself through what was most definintely the worst morning ever. An Ipod.

Chilli, Nippy and McCoole

In the middle of a freezing February night, as the moon shone down on the blanket of snow that covered the town of Dartminster, something stirred in the garden of Number 52 Hartley Street. Three snowmen, plump and white, were awake. They were alive. They looked left and right. No-one was in sight. They looked down at themselves, at their compact, rotund bellies and chunky white arms that made a crump, crump sound when flexed, then they looked at each other.
"Chilli, is that you?" said the one with the tweed flat cap on its head.
"McCoole!" replied the snowman with the stubby carrot nose. "Good to see you again. Like the hat."
Chilli flicked his cap proudly. "I'm a proper country gent this year."
"You look a proper fool," snapped the third snowman. He was thinner than the others and wore a holey, red woollen hat on his head.
"Oooh, hark at you," replied McCoole. "Feeling a bit bitter this year are we, Nippy?"
"He's never happy," said Chilli. "Every year he has something new to moan about. 'Oh they've only given me twigs for arms this year' or 'Oh they've made me out of dirty snow again'. Nothing is good enough."
"No, it isn't," said Nippy. "And I tell you something else that bugs me. Every year we're here and every year we only get to see the ravages of a cold, bleak and grey winter. It's depressing. I want to see a bit of sun, a bit of colour. Have either of you two heard of a thing called Spring?"
McCoole and Chilli frowned at each other.
"What's Spring?" asked Chilli.
"Isn't it a kind of vegetable," said McCoole.
"No, you're thinking of Spring Onions. I think it's something bouncy, isn't it?"
"Oh, quit it you two. Jabbering away like...like, a pair of jabbering things. Spring is neither a vegetable nor a bouncy thing. Spring is the next season. It's the time when everything comes alive," Nippy explained, waving his arms around in a theatrical fashion. "The trees bud deep green, glossy leaves, the flowers bloom in sprays of red, yellow, orange, purple and pink, the birds sing to the heavens from dawn to dusk, and the sun shines like a radiant ball of life."
"Oh boy, you've been dormant for far too long, Nippy," said McCoole.
"I think he's delirious," replied Chilli.
"If you two don't believe me perhaps we should have a challenge to see who can stay alive until Spring. What do you say?"
Chilli and McCoole glanced at each other, then shrugged their shoulders.
"Sounds easy enough," said Chilli.
"Oh you think so do you? You do realise that when Spring comes it gets warmer. And when it gets warmer, you will melt," said Nippy.
"So, er, how long do we have to wait, until Spring's here?"
"Three weeks."
"Three weeks?"
"It's doable," said McCoole. "All we have to do is stay cool."
All day the three of them sat as a gentle flurry of snow fell from the leaden sky above, and thought about how each might survive until the buds of Spring.
Nippy was the first to stand up. "I, have the perfect idea."
"Which is?" asked McCoole.
"Why should I tell you? You might copy me."
McCoole stood up and made a cross sign across his chest. "Cross myself and hope to melt!" he said. "Anyway I have my own idea."
"Me too!" squealed Chilli, jumping up and down.
"So let's hear it then, Nippy."
Nippy paused before he answered. McCoole sensed his mistrust.
"If I'm going to stay cool I have to be where the snow is," Nippy began. "So when the snows recede, so will I."
"Eh?" said Chilli.
"It means he's going to follow the snow."
"Up the mountains. It'll be cooler up there."
"Well, I've got a better idea than that," said Chilli as he laid down on the thick snow and began to roll around. "Extra padding will make sure I don't melt quite so quickly."
Nippy rolled his eyes.
"It's better than your idea," said McCoole.
"Oh and what's your idea, then?" asked Nippy with his hands thrust so far into his hips his arms disappeared.
"I don't know, yet."
"I thought you had an idea!"
McCoole clamped his snowy lips shut. He knew exactly what his idea was, he just wasn't sure he would be able to pull it off, so saved face by keeping quiet about it.
"It was something I was mulling over but I don't think it'll work."
A week past by and when the sky skies cleared and the sun shone through, millimetre by millimetre the snows began to melt. Nippy had left, in search of snows on higher ground.
"It's not looking too promising is it?" said Chilli, who was now a couple of inches shorter.
McCoole looked back at him. "I'm gonna have to go, Chilli. I have a plan and I need to see if it works. I'd really like to see if Nippy was right. About Spring and the colours."
"I understand," said Chilli. "I'll see ya next year then. Same place."
"Same time!"
With that McCoole left Chilli in the garden. He walked through the night, when it was coldest, and took shelter beneath bushes or bridges during the day to stay out of the heat of the sun. Every back garden he passed he checked in the shed, until he came across one that suited him perfectly. It couldn't have happened at a more opportune time as he too was shrinking, with every passing day.
Fortunately the shed he found was open and judging by the amount of dirt and cobwebs it wasn't often used. At the far end was a large chest freezer. The humming sound coming from the back was indication enough that it was working. He lifted the lid and a gust of frosty air blew in his face.
"Perfect," he said. He climbed inside, snuggled up and fell asleep.
When finally he woke his lifted up the lid of the freezer and poked his head outside. The light streaming through the dirty window of the shed was bright and warm. He could feel it on his face.
He climbed out and saw flashes of colour through the window. With a spring of excitement in his step he bounded outside and was dazzled by the sight before him.
Flowers as bright as the sun, grass so green he couldn't compare it, and trees so abundant with leaves they no longer looked skinny, but full and flowing.
McCoole sat down on a wooden bench and marvelled at the sight before him.
"Nippy was right," he said as a fleeting image of Nippy in his holey hat, passed by his minds eye.
He looked up at the hills, wondering if he was still up there, admiring the sight, but saw nothing but green fields and fluffy trees. A pang of sorrow twisted his gut. He knew if Nippy was no longer around, neither was Chilli.
He glanced down at his white feet and noticed an ever widening pool of water form beneath them. He knew what was coming, but rather than run back to the safety of the chest freezer he sat where he was and admired the glory that was, Spring, after all, he'd be back next year to see it again.

Charge of the mice brigade

Slick crouched behind a mound of straw in the strawberry patch to eavesdrop on the Mouse Council meeting. He wanted to know exactly what was going on and exactly how the elders proposed to rid the land of the vile Ratscal and the rest of the rodent population.
"You're going to get us into trouble, Slick," whispered his sister as she nestled herself amongst a twist of golden straw.
"I don't care, Tawny. That rodent killed our brother and I want to know what's going to be done about him," Slick yipped as he stamped a paw down into the small squishy strawberry, half eaten by birds, that lay at his feet.
Slick pricked his ears and listened as his father spoke from on top of a rock pedestal beneath the canopy of a pink-veined rhubarb leaf, down to the elder mice that gathered on the ground below him.
"Alas, I have to warn you, fellow residents of Mousewell Hill, that we are indeed under threat," announced his father with his head hung low.
The gasps from the growing crowd of mice that scurried in from every direction was clearly audible.
"We will have to evacuate the house. The rats are closing in on us, lured in by the abundance of food, and we are powerless against them. They are too many and too mighty. The death of my beloved son, Twitch, is a sad testament to that fact. So I urge you now, one and all, to pack your belongings and move away from this place."
Slick was indignant.
"He's giving up?"
"Don't be sore, Slick," said Tawny as she reached out a paw to comfort him.
"I'm not sore, I'm angry. How can he just give up? Why should we be the ones to leave."
"Dad just probably thinks it's for the best."
"He's a coward."
Tawny gasped. "How could you say such a thing?"
Slick sighed and twiddled the end of his whiskers, the way he always did when he realised he'd either said or done something wrong.
"I'm sure dad didn't take that decision lightly. I'm sure he just thought there was nothing else that he could do."
Slick gave her a sly look and then sat up on his haunches. "He might not be able to do anything, but we can," he said before bounding through the straw away from the elders.
"What do you mean we?" shouted Tawny behind him.
Slick had a master plan. All he needed was help to carry it out. It didn't take long to convince Littlefoot, the promise of food was enough to assure his allegiance, and Woody was easily swayed to Slick's way of thinking too, anything so that he didn't have to move "yet again". With them on board Slick knew that other kinlings would join them. Soon he would have an army.
That afternoon, whilst the elders were busy sorting their own affairs, Slick gathered his troops beneath the kitchen floorboards. With just a faint light streaming through a crack in the oak above him, Slick delivered his manifesto for the defeat of the rats.
"Are we united?" he shouted.
"Yes!" everyone cried.
"Are we gonna let them drive us out?"
"No!"
"Can we defeat them?"
"Yes!"
The air was thick with optimism and as Slick explained the various parts of his plan he was envigorated by how excited everyone was. But whilst he was riding on a cloud his sister quietly pointed out the dangers he was exposing everyone to.
"Someone might get hurt, Slick. Are you really prepared to carry that weight on your shoulders? the responsibility? You saw how deflated dad looked just now in front of the elders. He blames himself for Twitch's death. It was him that ordered Twitch to guard the entrance to the den."
Slick stretched out his neck and stood as tall as he could. "This is different. This is attack, not defence. We have the advantage of surprise. And besides, there's safety in numbers."
Nothing could dissuade Slick from carrying out his master plan. It was now or never.
As the sun began to set and the house they lived within quietened Slick gathered his army.
"Woody, you're in charge of the trap. Scratch, you need a wooden spatula and a rock. Whiskers you get to the windmill, and Littlefoot you're with me."
Littlefoot raised a paw. "Slick, how do we know when to start, the assault?"
"You'll see them."
Littlefoot frowned and scratched his head. "But where are they coming from?"
Slick tapped his paw impatiently on the dusty earth of the house's foundations. "The first rule of combat. Know your foe. The rats live in the sewer. That grate in the yard on the otherside of the back fence leads to their home, their present home. They don't like the sewer as it's smelly, which seems strange to me because they stink. Anyway, they want to move. They want to move to somewhere nice."
"Like here!" chirped Littlefoot.
"Exactly, Littlefoot," said Slick, shaking his head. "But here is nice. Here is dry and warm and cosy and not smelly and wet. But if they move in, we have to move out."
"But we don't wanna move out," retorted Littlefoot.
Slick clapped his hands. "Exactly, we don't want to leave. So the only want we can stay here is if we fight them, to the death...or as close as we can get to it."
"Yeah!" everyone cried and barged past Littlefoot, sending him into a spin.
Slick climbed up the drainpipe beneath the sink and broke through into the kitchen cupboard behind everyone, except Littlefoot.
Slick heaved him up. "Aw Littlefoot you need to lay off the nuts. You're turning into a real porker," he said.
"I can't help it. I don't burn it off as quickly as I used to," replied Littlefoot.
"Well, you'll have plenty of opportunity to shrink that waistline tonight. That's for sure."
By the time they climbed out of the cupboard and into the kitchen everyone had disappeared. With only the stream of silvery moonlight shining in through the kitchen window to guide him Slick skidded across the smooth linoleum to the cupboard on the other side.
"What are we lookin for, Slick?"
Slick squeezed himself through the narrow gap between the door and the unit, feeling grateful that the owners of the house didn't have cupboards that closed properly. "We're looking for an incentive," he said just as he spotted something that would work perfectly.
With his jaw clamped round the bag he pulled and heaved and dragged it out of the cupboard, practically crushing himself beneath it.
"Peanuts!" whispered Littlefoot, with eyes as wide as marbles.
"They're not for you, so keep your grubby little paws off," Slick said and dragged the peanuts out through the cat flap and across the lawn.
On route they passed Scratch who'd swiped a wooden spatula from the jar in the kitchen and was resting it over a rock amongst the grass. Then they passed Whiskers in the flower bed. He'd tipped a miniature windmill over until it rested on the concrete edging. Just ahead was Woody and a few others. They's just finished digging a large hole and were busily lining it with black, plastic bin liners.
"On schedule, Woody?" asked Slick.
"Just about, Slick. Few more minutes I think."
"Excellent," he replied before gnawing a large hole in the bag of peanuts.
"I thought we weren't supposed to eat them," said Littlefoot.
"I'm not," said Slick. He spat out a lump of clear plastic and carried on gnawing.
"He's making a hole," said Woody.
"So are none of us getting to eat the nuts then?" asked Littlefoot.
"No," replied Woody.
Before Littlefoot could ask yet another question about the purpose of the nuts, Slick dragged the bag toward the fence at the back of the garden, leaving a trail of them on the grass, as they slid out of the bag.
When the bag was empty Slick tossed it to the side and scurried back through the grass. Behind him he could hear the pitter patter of fat paws and the grating sound of plump tails dragging through the grit. It was them. There were on their way.
Slick was so busy making sure he was out of harms way he forgot about Littlefoot. But when he turned to find him he heard a squeal and then saw a plump, brown rat with black beady eyes and sharp white teeth clamped round the pink tail of Littlefoot.
"Ratscal," hissed Slick. "Let him go!"
"Or what?" spat another Rat. It stepped out from behind Ratscal and sneered at Slick.
All Slick could think about was his brother. The sight of Ratscal clutching Littlefoot made his blood boil and his stomach twist itself up into a knot. As Ratscal advanced Slick puffed out his chest to make himself bigger and meaner.
Ratscal tossed Littlefoot into a clump of dandelions and let out a wicked chuckle.
"There's no escape, Slick, brother of Twitch," he sneered.
"You're right there," Slick said and turned towards Whiskers. "Let 'em have it, Whiskers," he yelled.
Slick ducked as Ratscal and his followers were pelted with rocks. They smacked off their heads, their rumps, their stumpy legs and anything else that was in their path.
Slick could hear the yelps and squeals of Ratscal's cronies as they tried to shield themselves from the stony missiles. But as they darted to and fro some ran headlong toward Scratch. The moment one of them stepped onto the end of the spatula, Scratch jumped down onto the other end and propelled through the air. Others headed toward Woody who was waiting, the string of the plastic bag clenched between his teeth and when two rats fell into his hole and into the bag he pulled the drawstring tight, sealing them inside the bag.
Ratscal narrowed his eyes and skulked towards Slick. He ran a rough tongue over his pointed nashers. Slick stood his ground. He wasn't about to run away. But just as Ratscal crouched down, ready to pounce at Slick a clear bag was pulled over his head causing Ratscal to stumble forward. He knocked his head against a large rock jutting out from between two dandelions. When he got up his eyes seemed as though they were rolling around in his head and he staggered two and fro before tipping over and passing out.
Everyone began leaping and jumping about, celebrating their victory over their foe, everyone except Slick. From behind him approach Tawny.
"I heard the fracas from inside the house," she said. "So you got what you wanted then?"
Slick stared at the still body of Ratscal. "Not everything," he sighed. "But then the biggest Mouse Army in the world can't give me that."
Tawny raised a paw and placed it on his shoulder. "You avenged him. I think he'd be pretty darn pleased with that," she said.

Fireproof

Aidan was completely unaware his house had burnt down with him in it, until he awoke and found himself in a hospital bed surrounded by his anxious parents.
His mother was clutching his hand, her face was ashen, drained of life. His father was standing behind her resting his hands on his mother's shoulders. A shadow of stuble covered his chin. It wasn't like him to be unshaven.
"How ya doin', kid?" his father said.
A weary, listless smile drew on his face. "Okay, I think," Aidan replied before taking stock of his surroundings. Full hospital beds, plastic chairs, floral curtains drawn, nurses padding up and down carrying clipboards and trays of medicine. "What happened? Why am I here?"
His mother looked away, resting her head on her shoulder. She took a deep breath in and let a shaky, lip trembling one out. His father reassuringly rubbed her shoulders and cleared his throat.
"Ah, Ahem...there was a fire, son," he said hesitantly. "At the house."
"Fire!" exclaimed Aidan. "When? What happened?"
"It was a faulty plug in the hallway on the landing. Nobody's fault," he said. The shake in his voice indicated otherwise.
"You're both okay?" Aidan asked.
His father couldn't give an answer. All he could do was bite his trembling lip and nod his head.
"We thought we'd lost you," whimpered his mother as she gripped his hand tighter. Tears poured down her cheek.
Aidan looked down at his arms. No bandages. There were no drips. No machines. He brushed his fingers over his face. Nothing. He didn't even feel any pain. "I feel fine though," he said. "Why am I here?"
"The doctors just wanted to check you over," said his father. "Before you come out."
"But how come I'm in here. I must have gotten out of the fire. I'm not injured. I don't have a scratch on me," Aidan said with increasing frustration.
"You were trapped, son," explained his father. "In your bedroom. I...I couldn't get you out. The fire...it was so intense. The heat. I thought I'd lost you. I thought..."
"I don't understand," Aidan cried, shaking his head. He pulled the covers off his bed. "There's nothing wrong with me."
Aidan's father tried to calm him by easing Aidan back into his bed. "I know Aidan. I know. You are fine. But that's exactly what's got the doctors perplexed. You're survival is nothing short of miraculous."
Miraculous. The word was lost on Aidan. It seemed to hover on the periphery of his brain, failing to sink in. But it was all he thought about. When his parents left and he was alone in his bed he tried to rewind his memory, back track to the fire, but there was nothing to see. Just black. It was as though someone had erased it.
Even when his parents took him home from the hospital to his aunt's house he could claw back nothing of the incident.
It seemed he wasn't the only one stunned by the event. His entire family spoke nothing of the fire. They treated it as though it never happened. It if wasn't for the fact that his father had to deal with insurers and recover what belongings weren't destroyed they would have blanked it out completely. But nothing was said of Aidan's escape. Aidan garnered what little information he could from newspaper reports which showed pictures of the burnt out shell of his parents home. It frustrated him. He wanted answers but ever time he asked about that day his parents would clam up. So one afternoon, whilst his mother and father had an appointment at the bank and his aunt was out grocery shopping, Aidan rifled through draws in the kitchen, hall and lounge, and found a gas lighter is aunt used to light candles. He clicked the button and a little blue flame ignited at the end. With a deep breath he closed his eyes and held a finger over the flame. Nothing. He felt absolutely nothing. The only conclusion Aidan could draw was that he was impervious to fire, inflamable.
The notion of being different for unexplainable reasons filled him with horror at first. He felt like those people on telly that were afflicted with incurable and disfiguring conditions. But the more he thought about it the more he came round to the fact that there could be many upsides to being fireproof. He could become the world's best firefighter, or be like that guy that plugged blazing oil wells. He could be a hero.
Suddenly his reclusive, confused self was shattered and made way for supremely confident Aidan.
He strode into the school grounds, bracing himself for a barage of questions from other kids eager to know how he cheated death. But instead of being venerated he was shunned. The kids looked at him as though he was a freak. They muttered and mumbled to each other before giving him a wide berth, as though his condition was contagious.
Even his best mate, Ronnie-his friend since primary school-wouldn't go near him. He kept giving Aidan lame excuses to avoid being near him, like he had detention, or had a dentist appointment, or had football practise.
And the teachers were no better. They gave Aidan top marks in all his essays just so they didn't have to coach him on how he could do better.
He felt like a pariah. At lunch time he sat outside on the lawn beside the football pitches and listlessly flicked the gas lighter he stole from his aunt's house. He'd planned on wowing his classmates with flame tricks, but as no-one was interested he entertained himself. One by one he held each finger in the centre of the flame, silently wishing his skin would burn just so he could be normal again. When on the last finger he heard a scream coming from the school. He looked across at the main building. A plume of white smoke was snaking up into the clear blue sky from the back of the school.
Instantly Aidan leapt up, dropping the gas lighter to the ground, and ran toward the building. The alarm was blaring and kids were running out of every door followed by anxious teachers trying to usher them to the appropriate fire points. Aidan paid no attention to repeated calls for all children to evacuate the school. He ran inside,darting between panic-striken kids, following the acrid smell. It got stronger and stronger until soon Aidan could actually see the smoke. It was coming from one of the chemistry labs.
With his hand over his mouth he ran down the corridor, through the thick, grey swirling smoke. The lab door was open. Inside one of the benches was alight, burning brightly, strongly. Behind the teachers desk, laying on the floor, unconcious, was Miss Hartley. She was his science teacher. Nice but a bit of a pushover when it came to dealing with unruly kids. But that wasn't her fault. Without a second thought he dived into the room just as a glass jar on the flaming table exploded. Flames shot through the air, in front of him and behind him. But Aidan didn't worry. He knew he'd be alright, but Miss Hartley wouldn't be if he left her in here much longer. He grabbed her arms and pulled her over his shoulder. Although she was only slight she was still a dead weight on his back. He wavered, struggling to stay upright in the midst of the choking smoke. He staggered out of the lab and down the dark corridor, searching for a break in the smoke, searching for fresh air. He twisted and turned down every corridor, completely disorientated and by pure luck, found the back door that lead to the sports block. Outside he dropped Miss Hartley to the ground. He coughed and spluttered, breathing deeply the fresh clear air to cleanse his charred lungs. His eyes were stinging, blurring his vision but he could make out bodies running toward him. It was the Headmaster and Miss Higgins, the School Secretary.
"Aidan," screamed Miss Higgins. "What are you doing? You could have got yourself killed."
"Is she okay?" Aidan spluttered. "Miss Hartley."
The Headmaster was administering CPR to the stricken science teacher, pounding her chest, trying to get her to breath.
"I'm sure she'll be fine. She owes you a great deal of gratitude, as stupid as your actions were," said Miss Higgins as she stroked Aidan's shoulder. It was the first time anyone had come so close to him since the accident.
Aidan smiled.
"What about you? How are you? Or is that a stupid question," asked Miss Higgins.
Aidan laughed. "You know, obviously."
"About your...talent? Yes," she replied.
Aidan glanced down at Miss Hartley and then back at the burning science wing of the school. He smiled, meekly. "I'll be fine. Just fine."

The Gingerbread Village

It was the worst winter storm the town of Honnigskake had ever seen. All night the blizzard howled round houses on the top of Honnigs mountain and by the time the townsfolk awoke in the morning their homes and shops were buried beneath ten feet of snow. Whilst the adults fretted about digging their way out of the deluge, Erik Lars fretted about something else.
"But what about the village, ma," he said, tugging at his mother's jumper.
"Village? What do you mean, Erik?" his mother huffed as she pulled on her boots.
"The gingerbread village!"
"Oh Erik, I think it's safe to say its gone."
"Gone? Where?"
"Erik I don't mean its moved I mean..." she paused and looked down into Erik's eyes. With a soft hand brushing his cheek she said,"Erik, I think it'll be destroyed. The weight of the snow will have crushed it."
Erik fought to keep the lump from rising in his throat. His lip quivered. He knew how much effort he and his school mates had put into creating that structure; the weeks of planning, the baking of the six hundred and fifty houses, the snow frosting painted on each roof and each window pane, the delicate and precise arrangement of them on a bed of inch thick icing sugar, even the moulded sugarpaste people. The idea of it being lost was too hard to contemplate.
"Your father and I need to help everyone with the dig, Erik. I want you to stay here and keep warm by the fire," his mother stated before climbing out through a first floor window onto the thick drifts of crystal white snow.
Erik sighed as he stared into the licking flames. Images of the crushed village flashed across his minds eye. They tormented him, mocked him until an idea exploded in his mind like an enormous firework and blocked out his sorrow. He grabbed his jacket and a trowel and crawled out into the crisp morning air.
On route to his school he met with other kids. All were equally saddened by the thought that their village had been crushed, some more disappointed that they'd never had a chance to eat it before the weather claimed it.
"I have an idea," Erik beamed. "Go and get trowels or whatever you can find to dig with."
One by one Erik amassed a small army of kids all wielding shovels, spoons, trowels or anything that they could use to scoop snow.
Through a rise of trees Erik could make out the snow capped roof of his school. Sweeping drifts banked up against its side, most touching the guttering. Blunt confirmation to Erik that the gingerbread village was certainly consumed.
"What's your idea, Erik? What are we gonna do?" said one girl.
Erik looked out across the smooth snow where the gingerbread village used to be.
"Are we gonna dig out the village?" asked a small boy. From the year below him, Erik thought.
He glanced across at the sea of expectant faces, poised for his response.
"We're gonna recreate it," Erik announced. "If the snow wants to claim our gingerbread, let it have it. But we can build our miniature Honnigskake in snow."
Erik's recruits exchanged confused looks. He could hear them muttering to each other. All except the boy in the year below. He stepped forward.
"I think that's a brilliant idea," he beamed.
One by one the others stepped forward too until all were united in Erik's master plan.
Within a couple of hours the miniature snow village was taking shape. The spire of the church was pointing, majestic and proud into the blue sky and the snow school was complete. The more the snow village resembled Honnigskake the louder the laughter became until they attracted the attention of the rest of the residents.
Erik saw his mother climb up through the trees. He felt his feet suddenly take root in the snow and his heart sink into his stomach. But as she trudged through the snow toward him, she spotted the snow sculpture beside him and the rest of his classmates. A wry smile drew on her face.
"I might have known I couldn't trust you to stay inside."
Erik smiled. "I think this is better than the gingerbread one," he said.

Bonnie and Clyde

In the thick of the night, as the rain beat down from a charcoal grey sky, a rusty pickup truck pulled up alongside a grassy verge just outside the town of Babbleston. The driver's door opened and a dirty man with hobnailed boots stepped out, trudged round to the back of the truck and pulled down the tailgate.
"Come on out, the pair o' ya," he grunted.
Soaking and trembling Bonnie crept toward him from the back of the truck, her claws tapping on its corrugated floor. Behind her followed Clyde, his head resting on her smooth-coated rump, allowing her to guide him to the edge.
"Com' on. I 'aven't got all night," roared the man.
Bonnie jumped down and barked twice in quick succession, a signal to Clyde. Clyde was at the edge of the truck feeling his way before he leapt down.
A moment later the truck was gone and Bonnie and Clyde were alone on a dark country lane, standing paw deep in a swelling puddle of murky brown water.Clyde whimpered. Bonnie turned to him and licked one of his ears to reassure him she was there. She would always be there.
With nothing but the soft orange hue of the town lights to guide her, Bonnie followed the road, driving through the sheet rain, stopping every now and again to check Clyde was behind her. He was slow and unsteady on his paws, occasionally tripping over loose rocks and stumbling in potholes. But she would never leave him. She knew he wouldn't survive without her.As she trudged toward the town, keeping close to the verge, she could hear Clyde's belly gurgling over the patter of the rain and knew hunger had gripped him.
She too was hungry. It had been hours since she last ate and even then it was only scraps that her gruff owner had hurled at her; bones that had barely any meat on them. She sniffed the air deeply, hoping for a scent but all she could smell was her own damp fur and the fust of muddy rain. Inside her heart sank. What had she done wrong? Why wasn't she and Clyde wanted anymore? She didn't know. All she could do was put one paw in front of the other and take each minute as it came.
By the time she and Clyde reached the outskirts of the town the rain was lashing so hard she had to squint her eyes to keep the rain from stinging them. She guided Clyde onto a pavement to give his paws respite from walking through the rushing waters that turned the road into a river, and nudged him toward a hedgerow to give him a little shelter.
Clyde sat his rump down and whimpered. Bonnie knew what he wanted. She didn't like leaving him on his own but knew if that she wasn't there with him he wouldn't move an inch. She barked back at him and trotted down the street with her head low, sniffing the pavement for food. At times she struggled herself against the force of the wind as it whipped around her, blowing her to and fro, and she had to duck and dart out of the path of empty dustbins as they were hurled around like disgarded drinks cans. She turned the corner of the street into a dark alley and caught sight of a black bag on the roadside flapping in the breeze. Its strong mildewy scent carried though the air toward her, enveloping her with the promise of satisfaction. She cantered toward the bag and buried nose inside it, gorging on mouldy apple cores, crispy pork fat, mashed potatoes covered in ash and coffee grounds and withered carrot peelings. It was a veritable feast, like nothing she'd ever tasted before.
When she had her fill she dragged the bag along the street to where Clyde was still faithfully sat waiting for her. As soon as he sensed her approach his tail gently beat the pavement and he let out a whimpery bark.
Bonnie drew the bag up to Clyde's feet and yapped at him, telling him to eat. Clyde sniffed it languidly before turning away and curling himself up into a ball on the cold, wet pavement.
Bonnie nudged his head with her nose but he didn't move. She fished out of the bag a soft banana, some chunks of beef and a lump of mouldy bread and presented them to Clyde, dropping them in front of his nose. But Clyde wasn't interested. He closed his eyes. Bonnie knew he'd lost all hope. She stepped off the pavement and waded through the torrent of water that rushed down it, to a row of houses on the other side. One by one she walked up to the house's front door and barked and scratched at the wood, hoping to attract attention, but she was either ignored, shooed away or had objects pelted at her. It seemed the town wasn't interested in two lonely old dogs either.
Bonnie gave up. With her head low she schlepped back along the road to Clyde. But before she knew what was happening she was suddenly washed down the road by a torrent of water. The nearby river had burst its banks and was channelling itself through the streets of Babbleston, relentlessly sweeping up everything in its path, including Bonnie. She scrambled and beat with her legs, struggling to keep her head above the fast flowing rapids. Every time she took a breath her mouth filled with dirty water. As she was tossed about she could feel her energy ebb and with no knowledge of what had happened to her companion she lost the will to live. Just as she closed her eyes and let the river carry her way she felt a jolt to her neck. Her collar had caught on the railing. It held her afloat. As the waters began to subside she heard someone call out. Slowly she opened her tired eyes and saw a lady on the other side of the road wading through the water toward her. Before she knew it she was lifted up and carried to the dry land. But when the woman laid Bonnie on the ground Bonnie leapt onto her paws and barked at the woman. Her reprieve from death had given her hope that Clyde was alive. She knew she had to get to him, she knew he needed her. She cantered off, following Clyde's weak scent, with the woman trailing behind he and she she rounded a corner, Clyde's scent getting ever stronger, she spotted him. He was where she had left him, curled up beside the now sodden black bag of rubbish, dozing happily.
Bonnie stopped at his side and licked his head. He lifted his chin and nuzzled against her, grateful that she was by his side once more. The woman, who had followed Bonnie all the way, saw her and Clyde both sodden and dejected.
"My goodness, you two are both wet through. You'd both best come with me and I'll get you warm and some good food in you," she said and slapped her thigh, urging Bonnie to follow her.
Bonnie barked twice at Clyde who hauled himself up and rested his chin on Bonnie's back. With Clyde safely in tow, Bonnie knew he'd be okay, and her as well.

The Countess's teacups

The Countess of Fingraz was a particular woman who was obsessed with the number ten. And because she loved the number ten, she had ten of everything.
She had ten castles in ten counties with ten maids and ten bedrooms in each; she went to bed at ten, on a bed of ten mattresses; she awoke at ten and wore ten pairs of knickers, ten pairs of socks and ten dresses; she ate ten strawberries for breakfast with ten small pancakes; she had a bunch of ten flowers in ten vases and ten candles in every room, all her clocks chimed ten times no matter what the hour and she had ten place settings of her finest pink with gold trim bone china tea set.
But one day a new maid called Tabitha accidentally knocked two of the delicate teacups from the Countess's tea table and they smashed on the ground. The Countess was furious. Her cheeks flooded a deep shade of purple and she scolded Tabitha ten times.
"Replace those cups, immediately," she roared. "I want ten cups. No more no less."
The maid scuttled off and explained to the other nine maids what happened and what the Countess wanted.
"Then we must find two more cups," said Tina, one of the maids.
Everyone searched the castle from top to bottom but all that could be found were mismatched cups.
Tabitha returned to the Countess's tea room and showed her the cups. The Countess swept them clean out of Tabitha's hand, and they smashed on the wooden floor.
"That simply won't do. They don't match," was all the Countess said.
Tabitha reported back to the kitchen and another plan was hatched.
"We could ask the castle's portrait painter to paint two plain china teacups to match them," said Teresa, another maid.
The portrait painter took the two plain and two broken cups and returned later that morning with two pristine, newly painted cups.
"I'll take them up," said Tabitha.
Apprehensively, Tabitha approached the Countess and showed her the new cups.
The Countess peered through the spectacles perched on the end of her nose and examined the cups.
"These are no good. They're the wrong shade of pink. They don't match," was all the Countess said.
So Tabitha returned, dejected and told the others the new cups were no good. Again the ten maids scratched their bonneted heads and paced about the kitchen, anguishing over their problem.
"How about we find the potter who fired the cups and ask him to make two more," said a maid called Tara.
"A great idea!" said Tabitha.
Tara called for one of the ten coachmen to ride into town and ask the town potter to make two more cups. But the coachman returned at noon to say that the potter had died only last week and there was no-one to throw a pot.
"Alas," said Tara shaking her head. "I've no idea what we can do."
"Why does the Countess insist on having ten?" Tabitha asked.
"Because she thinks it's a 'well-rounded number'," explained Teresa. "She has ten fingers and so loves the number ten."
Tabitha pondered the reason whilst the other nine maids tried to come up with another way of appeasing and pleasing the Countess. Then, like a bolt of lightening, Tabitha came up with an idea of her own.
"Does the Countess know that in fact she only has eight fingers?"
The other nine maids looked at Tabitha with disbelief.
"Only eight," said Teresa holding up both hands and counting her digits. "I think you must be mistaken, for as you can clearly see I have ten fingers."
"Ah!" said Tabitha as she made to leave the kitchen. "That's depends on what you understand a finger to be."
Tabitha returned to the Countess empty handed, closely followed by the other nine maids who were eager to hear what Tabitha had to say to the Countess. They loitered by the door to the tea room whilst Tabitha entered.
"Why have you the gall to return with nothing to offer after you carelessly broke my precious china," blustered the Countess as Tabitha approached her.
"I do sincerely apologise for my lack of diligence in going about my duties, Countess, but I came to ask why you love the number ten?" asked Tabitha.
"That is an impertinent question from someone as lowly as you."
"Lowly I am but I learn through curiosity. If I knew your reason I would be better placed to find a solution to the problem."
The Countess considered Tabitha for a moment, eyeing her up and down.
"You have intelligence, girl," she said, sounding surprise by the notion. "So I'll answer you."
The Countess explained her reason exactly as Teresa had told it.
"Forgive my impertinence, Countess, but you only have eight 'fingers'. This here is an index finger," she began holding up her forefinger, "the second is your middle finger, the third is your ring finger and the last is your little finger."
"But what of the one next to your index finger?" asked the Countess a little bemused.
"That's a thumb."
"A thumb?" said the Countess. "So it's not a finger."
Tabitha shook her head. She knew well that medically a thumb was indeed a finger too but decided that was information the Countess didn't need to know.
"So all this time I've loved the wrong number," said the Countess, downheartedly.
Tabitha shook her head.
"Then it'll have to be changed. Eight will now be my new favourite number," the Countess announced. "Make sure that there is eight of everything in the house. At once."
Tabitha nodded her head before adding, "I've made a start already, Countess, for your tea set already has eight tea cups."

Shooting the moon

Jed was a capricious kid when it came to hobbies. He always said he would try anything once, and he usually did- whether it was canoeing, rock climbing, skating or carting. Nothing held his attention for long enough.
"I think you need a hobby that will give you more than broken limbs," said his grandmother one Christmas. "So I bought you this. You're dad had one when he was a kid, and with you being very much your father's son you'd probably be just as into it as he was."
She handed him a large rectangular box wrapped up with a big red bow. Jed kept reminding himself -'big doesn't necessarily mean better.'
He tore open the wrapping, tossed it to the side and examined the lettering on the box. It was an Excalibur V3 metal detector.
"They tell me this is top of the range. It has an absolute maximum depth of four feet," his grandmother said with a proud smile on her face.
Jed tried to disguise his surprise at receiving something he'd never shown an interest in before by smiling weakly back at her. "Thanks, Grandma," he said.

To please his grandmother he took the detector out of the box on Boxing Day and skimmed it across the garden, not expecting it to beep back at him; but it did. He unearthed a rusty spoon. It wasn't much but the find ignited something inside him that he'd never felt before-passion.
The following day and every day after that Jed ventured out into parks, fields and woods, skimming the earth and uncovering various bits of metal-buckles, coins, badges. But unearthing a bronze arrow head supposedly on the site of a roman fort forged Jed's addiction. He devoted every minute of daylight to search for bigger and bigger finds.
"It's out there, Rob," he said to his brother one night as he sat up in bed. "The big fish is out there and I'm gonna catch it."
Jed fished out an archaeological magazine from beneath his bed, flicked to the relevant page and handed it to Rob.
"Look at this. They're looking for amateur detectors to help at a dig outside Lakewich. I had no idea the town was an Anglo-Saxon village.Apparently the archelogogists can't afford to pay people so they want volunteers."
"They're archaeologists, dummy," stated Rob. "And you're gonna go?"
"Of course I am."
Rob tutted. "Stupid question."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Rob laid on his bed with his back to Jed and threw the covers over his shoulder. "You know exactly what it means."
It seemed to Jed that he couldn't win. Was he being criticised for having an interest? Was his brother jealous? Jed wasn't sure. He lay awake most of the night puzzling over his brother's indifference, feeling a mixture of guilt and anger before coming to the conclusion that he was going to show his brother his pastime wasn't purposeless.
A week later, on the first day of the dig Jed determinedly packed a day bag with sandwiches, chocolate and juice and caught the number sixty-four bus.
When he hopped off the bus, at the outskirts of Lakewich, he was surprised by the turnout in response to the advertisement. An army of other ardent detectors, most of whom looked considerably older than him, were gathered in a field, awaiting instruction. Jed milled about amongst them: buzzing cliques of men and women clutching various models of detectors, some old, some new. He listened to their cordial chatter and exchange of stories of recent finds, and although he felt a little left out, not knowing anyone, he was comforted by the warmth of community spirit.
As he cut through two large groups of people he was approached by a kid not much older than himself.
"Hey," the kid said with a casual flick of his head. "What's yer name?"
"Jed," Jed replied.
"I'm Steve.You here with yer dad?"
Jed shook his head. "I'm on my own."
"Wow, you came to one of these voluntarily? you must really be into this detecting malarky."
Jed held up his detector. "Wow. You've got an Excalibur. Dad says they're the best. He's got a Nexus 2000."
"Do you not have a detector yourself?" Jed asked, noticing that Steve wasn't holding anything. "Nah. I'm with me Dad. Since my parents broke up this is the only time I get to see him. It's not much but its better than nout, I s'pose. But it makes a change to see someone me own age at one of these things."
Jed smiled and looked around him. "Yeah, I feel a little out of place," he said as a woman with a dark green waxed coat and a flat cap passed him a slip of green paper. Nothing was written on it. Before Jed could ask her what it was for she had disappeared into the crowd.
"They divide everyone up into teams," said Steve. He had obviously sensed Jed's confusion. "Makes it easier to manage."
"Steve, son. We're in the greens," yelled a short man wearing blue spotted Wellingtons and a long brown mack.
"Great dad," said Steve before grinning at Jed. "You hear that. We're in your team."
"Is that your dad?" asked Jed.
Steve nodded. "So how come your dad didn't come? Is he not into detecting?"
Jed shook his head. "No. He died. Last year. Cancer," Jed explained solemnly. He could still only manage laconic explanations when it came to his dad, for self preservation reasons. His mother had repeatedly tried to get him to talk things through but Jed was defiant. If he didn't have to talk about it he could imagine that it never happened and that his dad just moved away to another place, which was true, of sorts.
Steve scuffed the cap of his boot on the soft ground. It was clear to Jed that Steve was feeling a little awkward.
"So do you reckon there's gold here or what?" Jed asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Well, it looks like we'll soon find out," he said pointing to a man approaching the eager crowds from a cluster of tents.
The man climbed up an A frame ladder, presumably to get a better view across, and yelled, "Right, can I have everyone's attention please? You'll all have been given coloured slips of paper. There are four colours, hence four teams. We've roped off sections of the field according to the four colours. I'd be grateful if you could make your way over to your coloured section where you'll be given further instructions.
Jed walked with Steve and his dad to the far right corner of the field where a rope with green ribbons tied to it was strung between flimsy metal rods driven into the soft ground.
A portly gentleman approached wearing a green jacket buttoned so tightly Jed was sure the buttons would ping off if he took a deep breath.
"Can I have you lined up in a row at the far end by the hedgerow firstly," began the stout man. "Then if you could slowly sweep over the ground until you reach the other end of the cordoned area. If you find anything our assistants will be on hand to unearth, bag and tag it. Now, does anyone have any questions?"
There was a deathly silence amongst Jed's group.
After two hours of repeatedly going over the same ground, neither Jed nor anyone else from the green team found anything more significant than a few musket balls. Jed's disappointment was obvious.
"You win some, you lose some," said Steve optimistically.
Jed shrugged his shoulders. He really hoped he'd be able to go home and at least say he found something. He was about to give up and follow the other detectors as they made their way back to the tented area, but something stopped him; a feeling that his day wasn't over yet. He wasn't sure if it was hope or instinct that held him back, but whatever it was he decided to sweep the out edge of the field; the one area that nobody had covered.
"What ya doin'?" asked Steve.
"Just checking something out, that's all," said Jed as he waded through the thick, dry grass that skirted the field. With wide sweeping motions he skimmed the ground, slowly, purposefully, inching his way along. He stumbled and knocked the detector a couple of times over hidden stony areas and stung his knuckles on patches of tall nettles that peppered the ground.
"It's pointless, Jed," said Steve. "There's nothin' 'ere."
Jed didn't answer. He was too busy listening for the familar beep. And just as he was almost at the end of the green cordon his detector buzzed wildly. Jed hovered it over the spot. His heart raced, his pulse quickened, he gasped for breath as the excitement coursed through his body. 'What was it?'
He crouched down and brushed the grass aside.
"That sounded shallow," said Steve, who suddenly appeared at Jed's side. "Go on dig."
"They said to wait, if we found anything."
"Wait, shmate," said Steve. "You found it, you dig. It must only be in the topsoil."
Steve began yanking up clumps of grass and tossing them impatiently over his shoulder. As the grass was cleared Jed spotted something glinting in the fading sunlight. He reached down and plucked a round, golden object from the soft mud.
Steve peered over his shoulder. "What is it? What is it?"
Jed delicately brushed the dirt aside and examined the piece. He really had no idea what it was but in the centre was a red stone, and fanning from the stone were intricate engravings.
"I've got no idea. But it looks old."
Steve scrabbled around the ground and found more pieces; golden rings, buttons, belt buckles, and all manner of other strange objects all inlaid with ruby red stones.
"My god, you've found buried treasure!" gasped Steve.
Jed was so taken aback by the growing mound of objects spilling from the ground he couldn't breathe. In the distance he could see the portly man in the waistcoat trotting towards him.
"What've ya got there boys?" asked the man.
"Jed's a millionaire," replied Steve, as Jed, gobsmacked, held out a handful of gold objects.
"Oh, dear god," said the man and slapped a hand on Jed's shoulder. "It looks like you've just hit the jackpot, boy. That looks like Saxon gold to me."
Jed stared down at his find barely able to comprehend that what was resting in his palm had been living in the ground unseen and untouched by humans for the last twelve hundred years. But it meant more to Jed than anyone could understand.
He held his palm up to the fast setting sun.
"This one's for you, dad," he said

The house of leaves

It was the time of the year that Alex Winter dreaded: the end of summer. It wasn't because the nights were about to get shorter or that the days were going to be colder. No. It was because he knew what his mate Paul Wilson was going to talk about.
"I reckon we should grab our tents and head for the House of Leaves at the beginning of September this year. We'll get there well before those Denback Daredevils," sneered Paul.
Alex scuffed the tip of his shoe on the pavement as he and Paul waited for the number sixty-four bus to school.
"Aren't you, like, a bit bored, like, of...um...that hut," Alex said, hesitantly glancing up at his friend who frowned back at him.
"No. I ain't lettin' them nerds get the better of us. They had it last year. It's our turn this year."
Alex sighed. He knew there was no getting out of it or arguing. Paul was unlikely to forget being outwitted by the kids from the other village and was certainly not going to let Alex get out of helping him.
When the first of September came and Alex heard Paul's familiar Morse code knock on his front door Alex felt like he had just swallowed a rock.
"Come on, Alex," Paul shouted through the letterbox. "Grab your gear and lets go."
Resignedly Alex scooped up his bag and schlepped behind Paul, who strode, dressed in his camoflage combat gear, down the main street of Strathcraig village as though he owned it. Alex sometimes wished he had Paul's forthright confidence and tenacity, but most of the time he wished that Paul would just not get so wound up by the smallest, most insignificant of things, like gang rivalry.
It was midday by the time he and Paul had cut through the thickest part of the woods, where the conifers grew so closely together it was like being surrounded by a wall of dark green fur. They climbed over a loose wire fence and scrambled down a shallow rocky cliff, the legacy of a bygone trade in sandstone, to where a circle of bronze leafy trees were growing.
Paul held Alex back from approaching the trees with an outstretched arm. "I just wanna check that they're not around," said Paul, his eyes narrowed, scanning the area.
"I can't see anything," said Alex. "I think we got here first this time."
Paul chuckled to himself. "Beatcha!" he said and clambered over the mossy rocks at the base of the cliff toward a felled, tree that looked like a giant, fleshless rib cage, swathed in a coat of bronze and golden-coloured leaves.
Alex trudged behind but was distracted when he heard a hissing sound coming from behind a crop of ferns.
"Psst!"
"What's that?" Alex whispered.
"Over here," said a voice coming from a cluster of ferns.
Alex left Paul and followed the voice.
"Oi, Alex. Where're ya goin'? The hut's over here," yelled Paul.
Bob Granger, the leader of the Denback Daredevils, pop his head up from behind the ferns. "Keep your voice down, you idiot, and get over here," Bob hissed.
"You," tutted Paul. "What are you doin' 'ere?"
"The same as you. Now get over here if you want to leave this wood with your life," Bob snapped.
Alex scrambled toward the ferns. He had no idea what Bob was talking about but whatever it was it was scary enough to prevent the Denback Daredevils from claiming first dibs on the House of Leaves.
"What's going on?" asked Alex, breathlessly.
"There's a hunter in the hut," giggled George, Bob's Deputy Daredevil. George leaned back on his elbows on a patch of spongy moss and crossed his legs, as though completely unaffected by whatever the 'hunter' was.
Paul threw his back on the ground, aiming for George but narrowly missing him. George raised his eyebrows and grinned back at him. "What hunter?" Paul said with a sneer.
Bob handed Paul his binoculars. "Take a look for yourself," Bob said.
"What is it, Paul?" asked Alex as Paul gasped.
"Big cat!" said Paul.
Alex snatched the binoculars from him and took at look for himself, hoping it wasn't true. But his wish wasn't granted. There, gnawing on a bone that Alex prayed hadn't once belonged to another kid, was a large, black, panther-like cat, with glassy black eyes, pointy white teeth and a lolloping pink tongue.
"I knew there was a big cat in these woods!" declared Paul.
"Like puddin's you did," said Bob. "You didn't know that any more than we did."
"Yeah I did. My oldest brother said he saw it one night when he came home from work. Saw its marble eyes glint in the headlights he did. It looked him square in the eye," said Paul with his hands on his hips.
"It's a pity that's not your brother its eating over there. That'd be one less Wilson in the world," quipped George.
Paul lunged for him but Alex grabbed Paul's arm and held him back. "Don't let him get to you Paul. You know he just saying to make you react like that."
George snickered and sat up. "So what are we gonna do about that thing then?"
Alex could see Paul grinding his teeth together and clenching his fists. "I know what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna catch that cat and prove to the world that Big Cats exist," he spat and marched toward the House of Leaves before Alex could stop him.
"What's that idiot doing?" hissed Bob. "That thing is gonna make a meal out of him. You don't just march up to a feral cat and evict him whilst he snacking."
Alex trembled as he watched Paul gingerly approach the felled tree. His heart was racing and his mouth was so dry his tongue felt like sandpaper.
"I hope gets him. I hope it gets him good," said George.
Alex gave George a swift punch on the shoulder before peering back into the binoculars again. But the second he did he leapt back and gasped. The black cat hissed and had swiped a paw at Paul's body.
"It got him, it got him," Alex stammered as Paul stumbled back to the cover of the ferns, clutching his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" asked Bob.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Paul sheepishly as he sat down on a mossy rock and examined his shoulder.
Alex could see his t-shirt was partially slashed, exposing two clean, red gashes to his skin.
"You should get that cleaned up," said Alex.
"It's okay!" Paul snapped, wincing as he pulled a sweater over his body.
"We need to get that thing out of the hut," announced Bob.
"What do you mean we?" said Paul. "That's our hut. You got it last year it's ours this year."
Bob stood up and glowered at Paul. "Look, you idiot, it pains me to say this but we have to work together if we're going evict that cat. I'd rather share the House of Leaves with you than leave it to that four-legged furball."
"We need to lure it out," said Alex, "with food."
Alex reached into his back pack and pulled out an plastic ice cream.
"What are you gonna do with that?" sneered George. "Freeze the cat or give it a tooth ache?"
Alex pulled out a roll of sandwiches and plucked the buttered ham from between the slices of bread. He held up the thin slivers. They looked like limp tongues. "We have meat!" he declared. "Except I don't really know what to do with it."
Alex knew that wasn't strictly true. He did know he just didn't want to be the one to do it or admit it.
"Oh give it here jellylegs," said Paul as he snatched the ham from Alex's hand and tromped off toward the Big Cat. "Here, kitty kitty," he said in a girlish voice and tore strips of ham off and laid them across branches and on the bed of leaves on the ground.
Alex watched the cat through the binoculars. It wasn't long before it caught the scent of fresh salty meat and padded, cautiously, out of its lair.
Paul fell back to the cover of the bushy ferns and crouched down beside Alex.
"Can you see it?" Paul asked. "What's it doing?"
"It's following the trail. It's eating the meat," said Alex.
"Come on then. Let's go," Paul said.
Alex could see the excitement light up Paul's eyes. This was the time of operation Paul craved. Like a stalking cat Paul crept out from the ferns.
Alex looked at George and Bob, wondering if they were actually going to brave taking over the House of Leaves. They both shrugged their shoulders at him and followed Paul. "It's now or never," Bob said.
With no sign of the cat, Alex gingerly stood up and darted over logs, mounds of moss, rocks and branches and dived head first into the opening of the felled tree.
Inside it smelt of wet fur and fatty meat.
"How do we keep it out?" said Paul. "It'll just head back in here when were not around."
"Orange peel," said George, matter-of-factly.
"Don't be stupid. What's orange peel gonna do, apart from make the hut smell sweet?" said Paul making faces at George.
"No. He's right," Bob said and began to ferret inside his rucksack.
Alex peered over Bob's shoulder and watched him pull out two plump, round oranges.
"Quick, get peeling," Bob said and handed one of the oranges to Alex.
Alex dug his nails into the thick flesh and peeled off big chunks of pithy peel which George scooped up and scattered around the house of leaves, finishing off scattering them outside the entrance just as the big cat padded through the trees toward them.
Under the cover of the house of leaves, Alex crouched down and watched. The weight from his body was resting so awkwardly on his legs he started to lose all feeling in his feet, but he was too terrified to move in case it drew the attention of the cat.
With its glossy head hung low, its long curved tail swishing gracefully behind it and its big round paws snapping twigs and parched leaves, the cat slinked towards the hut. It came within a few feet from Alex, Paul and the Denback Daredevils and stopped suddenly.
"It's working," whispered Bob.
The big cat sniffed the air and recoiled. It sniffed again and backed away and then turned and cantered off into the thick conifers.
Alex breathed a sigh of relief. "That was close," he gasped.
"I was never in any doubt," bragged Bob.
"I guess we call it a draw this year then," said George as he laid back on the carpet of crunchy leaves.
Alex glanced over at Paul who begrudingly nodded his head.
"Although next year is another story," Paul said.

Paw prints

Louis was known as the town menace to everyone except Louis's owner, David Barker. David was Louis's best friend and was responsible for teaching him to paint. Now I know what you're thinking; that's not so unusual. But Louis wasn't a boy: he was a brown and white patched Beagle. David had pestered his parents to death after seeing Louis at a dog home. Day and night the only thing David said to his parents was, "Can we get Louis?". Nothing more. Eventually they gave in and surprised David one evening after dinner by handing Louis to David with a big red bow tied round his neck.
"You must promise to train him now, David," said dad. "That's the deal."
And train him he did. David taught Louis how to do the regular things like sit and stay, but also taught him to balance a ball on his nose, walk on his back legs, and peel an orange with his teeth. But the trick David taught him that he was most proud of, but which earned Louis with his notorious reputation, was how to paint.
Louis loved it. He got so excited when David got the paint pots out of the cupboard and spread paper on the kitchen floor that he started yapping, wagging his tail and dancing round in circles. He would paint for hours on end. At first he used his paws, dipping them in the paint and padding around on the paper until David put a long brush between his Louis's claws and showed Louis how to dip his brush into the paint.
Dab. Swipe. Splodge. Swish. Blob.
Louis splattered red, blue, yellow, orange and green paint across page after page. Louis made so many paintings that David managed to completely redecorate his bedroom.
David's parents despaired not just because of the mess that Louis created but because they could never get into the kitchen to cook. For weeks they all lived on take out pizza.
But when the townsfolk noticed Louis's talent they commissioned him to paint something for them. David wasn't particularly keen on making Louis paint on command. That wasn't his intention, but David's parents said that Louis could earn them all some money.
"Times are tough, David," said mum. "Tourists aren't visiting Drabness anymore. The hotels are all closing down and sadly it won't be long before we have to close our doors to visitors too. We have to find another way to make ends meet."
It seemed okay at first as Louis only had a few commissions but when everyone in the town wanted a Louis Barker original Louis started to rebel. He refused point blank to paint. One day Louis was so fed up he dashed out of the kitchen through the dog flap with the paint brush still in his mouth.
All day David searched for Louis. He went to all Louis's favourite places, the park, the river, Drabness Art Gallery but Louis was nowhere to be seen.
"What would a dog with a paint brush do?" David asked himself. And at that moment David spotted something on the pavement: a red splodge painting of a stick man.
"Louis!" David muttered as he looked ahead of him and spotted more red pictures on the ground. As David followed them across the town the paintings became bigger and bigger until soon they were no longer on the pavement but on the walls of the shops, daubed across glass doors and windows. Louis was rampaging through the town painting everything in sight. He painted houses, street lights, park benches, bus stops and even painted a man asleep in a shop doorway. David weaved through the streets in search for his runaway dog and everyone he passed had some complaint to make about his dog.
"You should keep that thing locked up," one elderly woman said and held up her handbag that had a red painted smiley face on it. "Look what he's just done."
"Where did he go?" asked David, hurriedly.
The woman pointed towards the town's ancient, ruined castle.
David shuddered. "I'm in big trouble if he paints that," he said and ran as fast as he could.
Just as he reached the crossroads he spotted Louis heading into the grounds of the castle.
"Louis! No!" yelled David.
Louis stood stock still, with the red brush in his mouth. But before he could dash through the gate David spotted a tall man in a suit reach down and grab his dog.
"Hey," David yelled and ran across the road. "He's mine. Leave him alone."
"You have a talented dog there," the man said. "I take it he's responsible for this graffiti art?"
David wasn't sure whether he should own up to the fact that Louis had done it or not. He didn't want Louis to be taken away and locked up.
"He might have," David said hesitantly. "What of it?"
"He's just what I've been looking for. He could make your town very popular indeed."
"Really?" asked David, his eyes widening with excitement.
"Oh yes. Tourist love this kind of thing, especially American tourists. And with our artist being a dog, I think we could revive the fortunes of this town."
David was so proud he was sure he had just grown a foot in height.
"You hear that Louis. We can put Drabness back on the map and mum and dad will never have to close their hotel. You'll never have to do another commission again."
Louis dropped his paint brush and leapt into David's arms and gave David a big, red-tongued lick to his face.

The purple pirates

I used to hate getting into the bath. Not because I'm unclean or like to smell, it's just that bathing is always such a chore-fill the bath, undress, wash, dry, dress, dry hair. So I used to come up with all sorts of excuses to get out of it. I'd say I had a sore stomach, or I had an invisible rash that reacted to water, or that I had already had a bath even though really I hadn't. But one day my excuses wore thin and my mother resorted to desperate measures. Don't worry she didn't fling me into the bath, she gave me an incentive.
"Here," she said handing me a wrapped box."I think this might entertain you."
Eagerly I tore open the wrapping.
"I got it on the internet. I believe you just add water and watch," mum said.
The box read 'Purple Pirates' and had a picture of a pirate ship on the front with a captain dressed all in purple standing on the bow.
Curious to see what was going to happen I stripped off, leapt into the warm water filled almost to the overflow pipe of our deep bath and opened up the box. Inside was an intricately built wooden pirate galleon. It had tall sails, a tiny wheel no bigger than my pinkie, gangplanks, captain's cabin and even a pile of pirate booty on the polished deck. The only thing it lacked were actual pirates.
"I wonder what it's supposed to do then?" I said as I placed the ship on the water.
The second the ship got wet it shuddered, then sparks flashed all around it and with a loud pop the ship came to life. It's sails billowed, powering the ship across the gentle waves, over my feet. As it neared me I saw something move across the deck.
"Pirates!" I beamed.
No sooner had the word left my mouth the little pirates stood stock still and stared up at me. To them my voice was probably loud and booming and frightening but they didn't seem scared. They seemed as curious of me as I was of them. One of them ran to the bow of the ship and climbed up onto the rail. It was dressed entirely in purple and wore a wide purple pirate hat on its head and had long blonde hair.
"Who be you?" it asked in a dry voice.
"I'm Phillipa," I said. "Queen of the bath. Who are you?"
"I am Captain Carol of the Marley," it said.
"You're a girl. I've never heard of girl pirates before."
"That's because we are not braggarts like boys. We don't make up stories about out travels or how much booty we've captured from other ships."
"You don't like boys?"
"No. They smell."
"Not all boys smell."
"That's because of us, you see," said Captain Carol as swept a hand toward the rest of her crew curiously looking up at me from the deck. "If it wasn't for us every boy in the world would stink. And I have to say," she added, leaning a bit closer to me and taking a deep sniff, "you are pretty ripe too!"
Feeling a little stunned by the insult I shuffled back in the bath to get out of range of their acutely tuned noses.
"I don't smell. I just don't like baths. That's all," I said trying to defend myself.
"Well, we can soon take care of that, can't we girls?" said Captain Carol to her purple clad crew.
"Aye, aye, cap'n," they all chimed before everyone of them scuttled across the deck like ants.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Captain Carol smiled at me. "You'll see," she said. "Ready the guns, ready the cannons."
"Aye," came the cries from the crew.
My eyes darted about the ship wondering what was about to happen but I couldn't see any of the crew, they all disappeared below deck. Before I was able to brace myself Captain Carol shouted 'FIRE' and hundreds of purple cannon balls and bullets peppered by body, exploding on impact and creating a purple soapy mess all over me.
"More cannons," cried Captain Carol.
Her order was carried out and cannons were fired up at my face hitting my cheeks and forehead with pinpoint accuracy.
"Get her nice and clean, girls. That's it," yelled Captain Carol.
The missiles were so continuous I was afraid to open my mouth in case a stray one landed inside it. When finally they stopped I looked down and noticed, with chagrin, that I had turned the water a kind of grimy purple colour.
"Our job here is done, girls," announced Captain Carol. "Clean as a whistle, as they say!"

As surprising as it was to be sharing my bath with a live pirate ship and crew I had to admit that it did make the experience a whole lot more exciting. Maybe I should bath more often!