Emily Feather and the Enchanted Door

by Holly Webb

  The girl smiled at Emily, but when she spoke, her voice was very serious. “Don’t touch things you don’t understand,” she whispered in Emily’s ear, her voice hissing and soft. Then she slipped down the little bank and stood ankle-deep in the river, staring back at Emily. She flicked her waterweed hair and dived smoothly into the deeper part of the river, her silvery dress sliding into the water as though it was made of water itself.

  Emily saw her swimming away – nothing like the splashy, energetic sort of swimming she had been taught when they had lessons at school, but a slow, strong weaving of her body, like a seal. The girl glanced round one more time, and then she was gone, into the depths of the river.

  Emily stared after her, and then something was scratching at her foot. When she looked down at it, she was wrapped up in her thin quilt, and Gruff was stretched over her feet again, staring at her with huge black eyes.

  Emily woke up still tired, her eyes gritty and sore. It was an effort to drag herself out of bed and go downstairs for breakfast. She could only half remember her dream, but it must have been a very vivid one, to have left her feeling so worn out. Gruff followed her out of the room. Emily ran her fingers over the great dog’s rough fur, wondering why Gruff was still sticking so close to her. Was it something to do with the mirror, and the dream? Could he tell how strange she was feeling? He was very good at looking after people – he had hauled her out of the garden pond once, when she was tiny. She couldn’t remember him ever being as watchful as this though – usually he spent most of his time with Robin, although he liked to curl up on Ash’s feet while he was working.

  “Emily, are you planning to brush your hair this morning, or are you going to school with a bird’s nest on your head?” Lark asked, twirling a strand of Emily’s knotted dark hair around her finger.

  “Don’t…” Emily muttered crossly. “I’ll brush it after breakfast, I’m too tired now. I had weird dreams all night, and I feel like I didn’t sleep at all.”

  Eva looked up from the piece of toast she was eating with one hand, while she scribbled in a sketchbook with the other, and asked lightly, “What sort of dreams, Emily love?”

  Emily flumped down into a chair, and Gruff nosed closer to Eva’s knee, where he could sit and beg for toast.

  “I can’t remember them all.” Emily sighed. “They were really odd. I kept going to places, strange places, and I met a girl. A girl with webbed feet. And the funny thing was,” she added slowly, realizing it herself for the first time, “it’s really strange, but I think I’d seen her before. When I wasn’t asleep. I saw her –” she glanced around the table, to make sure that no one was going to laugh, but her family were all staring at her, their faces blank “– I saw her in the mirror on the landing,” she finished, in a hurried mutter.

  “In the mirror?” her father asked sharply, nearly upsetting the huge mug of tea that was in front of him. Gruff leaned over the edge of the table and licked up the wave of tea that had slopped over the side.

  “What, that big old flowery one?” Lory asked curiously.

  “Mmm.” Emily nodded, ducking her head so she didn’t have to see them laughing. But no one did. “It must have been a mistake…” she faltered. She had expected them all to tell her she was being silly, or that she was making it up. When no one seemed to think it was funny in the slightest, it all seemed a lot more real.

  Eva reached out and stroked Emily’s rough hair, gently teasing out the tangles. “Was that yesterday, Emily? Was that why you were so quiet at dinner? Rachel said something about you feeling sick. It’s this heat, isn’t it? I’m sure that’s what it was. And that landing is very dark, with the stairs, and that small window…”

  It wasn’t, but no one said so. Even Robin nodded solemnly, and Emily gazed around at them all, suddenly wondering if they thought she was a bit stupid. The ditzy one…

  “Anyway, it’s time for school. You need to get your stuff or you’re going to be late,” Eva said, standing up and sweeping all the cereal bowls off to the sink, even though Robin had his spoon halfway to his mouth. For once, he didn’t argue, just took the spoon over to add it to the pile, and went out into the hallway to get his shoes.

  Emily stared after him, gaping, and Eva flapped her hands at her. “Go on, Emily! Rachel’s going to be here any minute!”

  Emily swallowed. “But, Mum…”

  “Not now, Emily. Really. Not now.”

  And her mum sounded so serious that Emily just went to get ready for school.

  “I don’t think I want to go out, it’s so hot…” Emily murmured, hesitating at the door to the playground at break. “I’m going to go to the library.”

  Rachel nodded. “I know what you mean. I don’t mind. It’ll be nice and cool in there.”

  They wandered off along the corridor to the library, and Rachel curled up on one of the beanbags with a book, but Emily couldn’t settle. She kept picking books up and putting them back again. Nothing sounded interesting. Not as interesting as her odd dreams, and the strange way her family were behaving, anyway.

  She ran her fingers along the spines of the books, hoping she could find one to take her mind off things. The plastic book covers felt sticky in the heat, and the titles swam in front of her eyes.

  But then Emily’s fingers ran across a bumpy, frayed old book that felt pleasantly cool. The leather binding had gilt letters pressed into it, but they were so faded she had to take the book off the shelf to read them. It was heavy, even though it was quite a small book, and as she picked it up the cool leather seemed to warm and glow in her hands, as though the dusty maroon had turned blood red.

  Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Emily read, peering at the letters. She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. It didn’t look like any book of fairy tales she’d read – shouldn’t it be pink, and a bit sparkly? And Grimm? She giggled to herself. Not the best name for somebody who was going to write about fairies and unicorns and stuff. Still, she wanted to read the book – really, really wanted to, actually, which was weird when a couple of minutes before, all the books had looked boring.

  Emily took the book over to the beanbag next to Rachel and huddled up in a patch of sunlight. The sun made the gilt letters on the front cover glitter, and Emily drew in a hungry breath, fumbling at the cover to open up the book. She blinked as the pages fell open, surprised at how small the type was, and how black against the yellowy cream of the fragile paper. Words and enchanting phrases sprang out at her here and there, and Emily frowned, forcing herself to start at the beginning of the story.

  It was “Cinderella”, she realized with a little smile. It had always been one of her favourite stories, and she loved the Disney film, with all those silly singing mice. But this wasn’t the version of the story she knew, she discovered as she kept reading. She’d never known that after Cinderella’s mother died she’d haunted a tree… And there was no fairy godmother in this version; the mother’s tree shook its leaves and ball dresses floated down. Emily read on to the end of the story, fascinated. There was a little illustration close to the end, a picture of the prince on his horse, with a girl behind him, but her foot was dripping blood. Uuurgh! Cinderella’s sisters had cut bits of their feet off to try and fit into the slipper! That definitely wasn’t in the film… It was the strangest version of the story she had ever read.

  The one that came after was “Snow White”, and Emily eyed the illustrations cautiously. Even in the versions she’d read, it was a bit gory. The wicked queen made the huntsman bring back Snow White’s heart. It couldn’t get much more horrible, surely?

  Apparently, it could. The queen actually ate it – it wasn’t really Snow White’s heart, of course, but still. Yuck. No illustration of that bit, though, luckily…

  Curious, Emily turned over the page to find the next story. The title was drawn in a garland of flowers, very pretty ones that reminded Emily of the mirror on the landing at home. She ran her f
inger over the letters and shivered. “The Changeling Child”. She had never heard of this story – it wasn’t in any book of fairy tales she’d ever seen before.

  Once upon a time, a woman longed to have a child. Then after many years of waiting, her baby was born. The mother loved the little girl so much that she told everyone she met how perfect her baby was, how beautiful, how well-behaved, how clever. Even though her husband warned her not to make so much of their daughter, in case it should be unlucky, she couldn’t stop herself.

  Until one morning, when the mother woke, and looked into the baby’s cradle, her perfect child had gone. Left behind in its place was a strange baby that seemed to have been carved out of wood, with ugly staring eyes, and a mouth full of sharp little wooden teeth.

  Emily caught her breath, staring at the illustration. The wooden baby looked like some sort of horrible doll, but even in the picture, she could see that it was alive.

  What had happened to the real baby? That was what Emily really wanted to know, but the story seemed to be all about the family that was left behind. Emily skimmed through the next few lines. The mother walked into the deep woods to find an old woman who might be a witch, to ask her how to get the baby back. But the witch’s remedy cost the mother all the money she had saved up, and even then all it did was cause the wooden baby to fly up the chimney and disappear, back to the underground world of the fairies.

  The real baby never came back. The witch told the mother that she had loved the little girl too much, and that the fairies who had taken her would never give her up.

  When the mother had a second child, she dressed him in ragged clothes, and smudged ash on to his bright hair, so that this time the fairies wouldn’t steal her darling away.

  And as for the little girl – Emily’s heart beat suddenly faster – she was still in the land under the hill, never growing older, never going home.

  Emily slammed the book shut, gasping. She had been so sure that the little girl would be saved in the end – it was a fairy story, after all! Even though the story said she never grew up, the face of the child in the illustration at the bottom of the page was old. Old, and terribly sad, although she was only two or three, in an old-fashioned long dress and a little cap. There were long-eared fairy faces drawn around her, and fairy fingers stroked her arms. She had stared out of the page at Emily, as though she could see her watching.

  Emily shook her head. That was stupid. It was a printed book, that was all. How could the little girl have been looking at her? She brushed her fingers over the pages, trying to decide whether or not to open the book again. She had the strangest feeling that the little changeling girl wanted her to … that she felt Emily understood her story.

  The bell shrilled for the end of break, and Emily jumped so suddenly that she almost dropped the book.

  “Come on, Emily.” Rachel had already slipped her library book back on to the shelf, and she was holding out her hand to pull Emily up.

  Emily hesitated. They weren’t supposed to take books out of the library when there wasn’t a teacher there to scan them. But this book felt special, almost as though it had been put in the library just for Emily. She wanted to take it home, so much. She couldn’t just put it back on the shelf. What if someone else took it out? She pulled the book close to her, cradling it fiercely. She needed it!

  “Emily, come on!” Rachel was giving her a weird look, and Emily swallowed and forced a smile, and took Rachel’s hand to let her friend pull her off the beanbag.

  She would come back at lunch, and get the book out of the library then to take home. She wanted to read all of it. There might even be another story about the changeling child. One where she got back home.

  For now Emily waited until Rachel turned round, and quickly shoved the book underneath the beanbag. No one would find it there.

  Emily sped back to the library at lunchtime, eager to find the book again. The room was dark after the corridor, where the sun was pouring through the big windows, and it was completely empty. Emily hurried over to the beanbag. She ferreted under it for the book, her breathing tight until she found it, the leather cool and silky under her fingers. She pulled it out and it fell open at the same page, the changeling girl staring out at her again.

  Emily drew in a sharp breath, sure that the little girl was about to ask her something, to tell her secret. It was the oddest feeling. Emily loved books, and she sometimes liked to imagine herself into them, but this was different. Now she felt as though the book knew she was there. The changeling girl wanted to talk to her, Emily was almost sure.

  “What are you looking at? What book’s that?”

  Emily tried to close it, but Robin grabbed it first, snatching the book out of her hands and staring at her furiously.

  “It’s just a library book…” she stammered. “An old fairy-tale book. Give it back, Robin!” How had he even got here? She hadn’t seen him come in, or heard him, even in the silent library. He was just there.

  “You can’t have this.” Robin didn’t sound like her little brother, Emily thought. It was as though someone much older was talking from inside him. He was angry. Not cross, in a you-ate-the-last-biscuit kind of way. Deeply, really angry. And scared.

  “I don’t understand…” Emily started to say, and then Robin wasn’t there any more. Or rather, Emily wasn’t. Now she was outside on the grass with all the others, and there was a half-made daisy chain in her hands.

  But I wasn’t here! I was in the library! Emily thought, staring down at her fingers, which were threading daisies all by themselves. I was!

  But at the same time, she felt as if she had been outside since the beginning of the lunch. Making the daisy chains was really annoying; all the daisies had those skinny stems that it was hard to make the holes in. It had taken ages to make a big enough chain for a necklace.

  Then a shadow fell over her daisy chain, and she looked up to see Rachel leaning over her. Emily smiled up at her gratefully. Rachel would know she hadn’t been outside. Emily opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but Rachel spoke first.

  “I thought you were asleep there for a minute!” Rachel yawned, and lay down on the grass next to her. “Actually, I feel quite sleepy too. Nice daisy chain. Can you make one for me?”

  Emily felt like she was sleepwalking through the rest of the day. She watched herself working on a history project with Rachel and the others, and was amazed at how normal she sounded. It must have been another dream. Rachel had said that Emily looked sleepy. She’d had lunch, then fallen asleep making daisy chains, and dreamed the way the girl in the book had been waiting for her. But it wasn’t just any dream, was it? It had meant something.

  There had been so much weird stuff happening, Emily thought to herself, as she tried to draw a Roman chariot to go on to their wall display. She was the only one who could draw horses, Rachel said, so she had to do it. It was a good thing – the other three were arguing about where to put stuff, and Emily could draw and think at the same time.

  First the odd girl in the mirror. Then she’d turned up again in Emily’s dream, by the river. And there were other dreams, she was sure; she just couldn’t quite remember them. And now the girl in the book.

  If she’d brought someone in a book to life, maybe she had some sort of power? Emily wondered, as she rubbed out one of the horse’s legs, which wouldn’t go properly the way it was supposed to. She smiled to herself. The power to talk to – well, what was that greenish girl? Emily sort of wanted to say she was a fairy, but fairies sounded like pretty, glittery things with wings. There hadn’t been any glitter. At all.

  Did it mean she would be able to do magical stuff herself? That might be exciting – once she’d got used to it. She was a good cook – brilliant, Mum said. Maybe there was something extra in her cooking! She’d been mixing up spells and cake… Emily smiled to herself and stretched out her fingers, letting her pencil roll on to
the table. Nothing looked any different. Her hands weren’t glowing; her fingers didn’t look like they were going to shoot sparks out of the ends or anything. The pencil didn’t hover in the air. She didn’t feel magical. She just felt confused. And desperate to talk to Robin. He’d been in her dream, after all. Maybe he’d felt something too?

  In fact, she was going to have a serious talk with him on the way home. Rachel was staying at school for netball, so Emily could ask him if he knew what was going on. And if he did know, how he’d… . done whatever it was he did. And why! She’d been in the library, she knew she had, and then somehow Robin had made her move.

  As soon as the bell went for the end of school, Emily hurried to grab all her stuff and get out to the gate, which was usually where they met Robin to walk home.

  He was there already, waiting for her, but there were too many people around to ask him what had happened. Emily didn’t want anyone listening. So she had to settle for staring at Robin meaningfully, with a “we need to talk” look.

  Robin opened his eyes very wide, so that the sun shone on them and they looked pale and silvery and flat.

  Emily gritted her teeth. She knew that look. It was the one Robin always used when he was trying to avoid doing something. He had an amazing ability to slide out of things – small spaces, arguments, jobs he didn’t fancy doing. He would be there one minute, and the next he would have disappeared, so quickly and cleanly that people usually forgot he’d been there at all.