by Jo Cotterill
“Hurry up!” I ordered. “We need to find somewhere to rest.” We scouted a field, and then another and another. The puppies got slower, their tails drooping. I turned back every few steps to check I hadn’t lost one of them. Masked by the falling snow, only their black eyes stood out against the sea of whiteness.
“I can’t walk anymore,” moaned Bouncy.
“Too tired!” whimpered Dribble.
“You can walk if you want to survive,” I told them. “Now lift your paws and get on with it!”
They whined and dragged themselves after me. I hissed at them if they stopped, scared that if I was nice they’d give up and lie down in the snow. I was exhausted too and my body was half-frozen, but I knew I had to keep going.
Finally, on the edge of the fourth field, I found a large barn. The door was heavy but I pushed until there was a gap large enough to squeeze through. Then I hustled the puppies inside, and they curled up together in the hay and fell asleep instantly. I stayed awake, licking the icy numbness off my paws and watching the snow dance through the crack in the barn door. The torch beams prowled across the white flecked sky for a while and then they disappeared.
I looked back at the sleeping puppies, their stomachs rising and falling as they breathed. What were we going to do tomorrow? This barn was not a home. A home was where you went when a human bought you from the pet shop. I’d watched other animals setting off for new homes with new owners and they always seemed so happy.
Some scraps of hay must’ve got into my nose because I couldn’t help sniffing. I lay down and closed my eyes. Maybe I’d feel better after some sleep.
I woke up to a human scent – not a disgusting smell like the pet nappers but something softer and nicer.
A girl.
She was leaning over the puppies and cooing at them. She wore red wellies, and her hair hung down below her bobble hat. The puppies were wriggling and turning over to have their bellies tickled. Honestly, dogs are so un-choosy about making friends. It’s totally embarrassing.
The girl did seem nice though. She stroked the puppies gently and laughed at their squirming. Then she turned to smile at me.
A woman walked into the barn. “What are you doing, Abby? Your brother wants to start opening his presents.”
The girl turned, her face shining. “Look what I’ve found! I wanted a pet for Christmas so much. Did you buy them for me?”
The woman came to look. “No, honey. They must be strays.” She frowned at the puppies. “I’ll have to phone the number for unwanted animals.”
“But mum! They are wanted. I want them!” begged the girl.
“Pets are a big responsibility,” said the woman. “They have to be properly looked after.”
“I would look after them. Oh, please!” The girl’s mouth wobbled and tears sparkled at the corners of her eyes. I had to admit that it was pretty persuasive. We cats know a thing or two about getting what we want, and this girl was doing a great job.
The woman sighed. “The puppies are very cute. I suppose we could keep them as long as they don’t belong to anyone. But what about this scruffy cat? You don’t really want that as well, do you?”
The girl pounced on me and I froze, suddenly afraid that she’d hurt me. Her soft fingers scratched me between my ears and I realised I was completely safe. A deep purr rose inside my throat.
“Course I want her!” the girl said. “We can’t leave her alone on Christmas Day! She needs looking after.”
This girl was a mastermind of persuasion. I decided I’d help her a bit so I gave my most piteous mew, letting it rise and fall like a song. Then I made my eyes go all big and round. Hey, it’s not just puppies that can make good eyes you know.
The woman crumbled. “All right then! Bring the cat too. She can have some turkey. You’ll have to give your brother one of the dogs though.” She picked up the puppies, carrying one under each arm.
The girl beamed and gathered me up. “That was a great meow,” she whispered into my ear, “almost like a tune. I’m going to call you Melody.”
I rubbed my cheek against her smooth neck. I could live with Melody. It was definitely better than Pest.
Guarding Agnes
by Alex Campbell
They ruined Christmas forever.
And I’m mad at them for that. Billy kicks his feet against the ground, making the swing rise higher. I mean, to go and die on Christmas Day? He never opened any of his presents from last year. He doesn’t think he’ll care to open any from this.
“Billy, will you get a coat on?” It’s his aunt, shouting from the back door, hands on wide hips. Her striped apron is covered in grease stains and flour dust. Billy waits till she repeats her question three times more before he relents and goes back inside.
“There’s a foot of snow on the ground! What are you thinking of, out there in hardly anything?” Aunt Jo’s round face is red and strained from stooping in front of the oven. She forgot to get the turkey out of the freezer and the rest of the family will be arriving any minute. “The boys are sat watching TV; don’t you want to watch TV?”
Billy shrugs his shoulders. It’s what she wants. To tidy him away, with his three older cousins who won’t notice he’s there. So she won’t have to either. He sniffs and hurriedly grabs his jacket from the coat rack, all the while twisting his mouth at his aunt; yet another gesture from his growing catalogue of body tics and expressions which supply his answers these days. He’s found facial muscles he never knew existed since he took his vow of silence.
Coat on, he runs back outside; the cold hitting his face like tiny arrows, as if even the weather wants to command him: stay inside.
Billy’s not really focussing on the swing as he hurries back to it; he’s watching his feet as they crunch and mark the thick carpet of new snow beneath. He wishes he could somehow glide swan-like over it – why does everything have to get ruined? His mind’s contemplating that question so hard, he can’t be sure he sees what he thinks he does. Corner of the eye stuff – but he could swear he caught a bright white dove swoop past.
He stares up at the swing; blinks. It’s as if she appeared from nowhere.
A girl.
*
Gently moving on the same swing Billy recently occupied – a girl, who looks around his age – eleven. She’s staring right at him, this girl; almost blending into the white-covered surroundings. Her long feathery hair is the palest that blonde can go before it turns white. Oyster shell pearlescent skin. A long thick coat of white fur – polar bear? Surely not. Isn’t that illegal? It hugs her neck as if still alive, skims her feet that float, swinging above the snow. They are completely bare, a cool blue-white.
Billy’s forehead flexes with shock; his eyes narrow in the only language he speaks these days, trying to ask the question: who are you?
But she asks her own. “Are you any good at hiding people?” Her voice, like the way she looks, is icicle sharp and bright.
Billy dances his eyebrows urgently. Why are you asking me that?
“It’s okay,” she cuts through him, “I know you’re mute.” Unlike his, the girl’s face completely lacks expression; her features might as well be cut from marble. Her mouth barely moves as she adds, “I know all about you,” in a tone that’s not altogether friendly.
The surprise causes Billy to mouth a silent “what?” A strangled animal sound follows in its wake.
The girl lifts her hands higher up the swing’s rope and raises her chin. “I know you’re called Billy. And you’ve not said a word since the car crash that killed your mum and dad. The car crash that happened last Christmas Day when you were travelling here – to spend the day with your aunt and the turkey she never cooks well.” She takes a cool breath. “You were the only survivor and you wish you weren’t. You want to go back in time, to have never left your home that day with its icy roads and snowstorm sky.”
Billy jolts back. He’s not sure he likes this girl.
She shrugs as if she knows that, gradu
ally slowing the swing. Pushing a lily-white palm forwards she lets out a tiny laugh. “Stop! Too many questions storming your head right now, Billy,” she says, her voice arched and knowing.
It makes Billy bristle; he bites down on his lip.
“Yes – so you want to know who I am. You want to know how I got here. You want to know what I am to you.” The last question she puts out quietly, an ominous tone to her spiked voice.
Billy nods more eagerly at each one, anxious for these answers. The only explanation is she must be family. A long lost cousin, invited here today. . .that is how she knows so much about him!
The girl purses her pale lips, as if, again, she’s heard everything he’s thought. “In time I’ll explain, but only if you help me: hide me.”
Billy gesticulates with a shake of his head and his hands lifted up for “why?”
“Because the black raven will be here soon. And he will take me back and I don’t want to go back.” Her mouth makes tiny pincer movements as she speaks.
“He mustn’t find me,” she adds.
Billy tips his head to one side. It’s hard to tell if she is scared – her face shows so little emotion; then it moves sharply. Billy follows her gaze: a shadow of a large bird. It is above their heads; it seems to be circling. Quickly, the girl jumps off the swing. Billy winces for her as her bare feet become buried in the snow.
“We must hurry!” she says.
Billy looks from the girl, up to the black raven in the sky above, then back to the house. Has he a choice?
His three cousins are sitting eyes stuck on the television screen. His uncle’s building a fire in the lounge. His aunt – watching the oven as if that will make the turkey cook. Why not? He beckons furiously with his hand. Yes. He will help her.
They reach the top landing inside before anyone has noticed there are two sets of feet climbing the stairs. Through a narrow door, up again to the next floor, wooden and rickety: the attic room that is used only to house boxes of discarded memories. Billy played hide and seek in here with his cousins, in the days before they became permanently hypnotised by screens. In the days when happiness reigned because he was only ever a visitor in this house. Back when his mum and dad read him bedtime stories every night, and told him there were no such things as monsters.
“You will promise to protect me?” the girl hisses.
Billy nods his head: she is the kind of girl you don’t say “no” to.
“You see, he wants to take me back with him!” The girl rounds on Billy, following him closely as he leads her to a cupboard door in the corner. Her breath is ice-cool on Billy’s face. “Please, don’t let him!”
“I won’t let him take you!”
The words storm out of his mouth so fast Billy hardly realises they’ve come from him. But then he spots the widening eyes of this strange, pale girl. “I spoke,” he says, his voice a trembling whisper.
“Yes, you did,” she agrees, looking satisfied. “I made you speak,” she affirms, looking proud of herself, then her head whips up and around. “Listen: he is here.”
They go quiet. Eyes to the ceiling. A scratching noise persists on top of the roof, the sound of claws scraping tiles.
“Hide me!”
“In here,” Billy whispers, his new voice strange and fragile like a chick recently hatched and trying to walk. He guides her forward. The cupboard was his favourite hiding place in hide and seek.
“You have deserved a name. I am Agnes,” she says, folding herself up to fit before pulling her polar bear fur tighter around her body.
“Stay here, Agnes.” Billy coughs to clear his throat, already sandpaper raw from reuse. “I’ll bring you food in a bit.”
Back on the top landing he can hear the other relatives arriving. He takes in a breath, preparing to be hugged and squeezed and asked repeatedly, “Still not talking, Billy?”
But then he notices it – to his right: a tap-tapping on the window near the main staircase. Upon the white-caked windowsill, a bird is perched regally. Billy freezes. The bird’s bright yellow eyes stare through the glass right at him. Billy can hear his three cousins arguing over the TV channel below; his uncle greeting family in the hall; the soft sounds of his aunt cursing the oven for not softening the hard-as-ice turkey. All the while the black raven and Billy stare at one another.
Finally, Billy uses his new-found voice. “You will not get her,” he says, teeth gritted. “You will not have her.”
The bird taps once more, heavier this time, as if he intends to break the glass; then he flies away.
Billy unfurls his fists.
An hour ago he was dreading today; all of a sudden it’s as if his heart has decided to pump again. His limbs are fidgety as if they are readying to run a race. His mind crackles like a new fire. He has a purpose. He will keep Agnes safe from the monster who is after her.
*
Billy holds his voice to himself through Christmas dinner. His lack of one means no one asks why he keeps leaving the table.
Agnes asks though. “Here again?” she says the fourth time he creeps into the cupboard to offer her something.
She has been keeping herself occupied by reading from the box of stored books in there. A naked light bulb above forms a shining yellow circle of sunshine on her pale blonde head. She examines everything Billy brings her, but eats nothing, although she pulled the Christmas cracker he sneaked out. Billy let Agnes read the joke inside; he laughed even though he’d heard it before. Now, while the rest of the family play charades below – no one wanted the boy without the voice on their team – he has come upstairs with a handful of his aunt’s foil-wrapped chocolates. Agnes sniffs at one, taking tiny mouse-nibbles.
Billy leaves it till this last visit to tell Agnes about seeing the raven earlier. She jerks her head dismissively, her voice stony. “Remember, you promised to protect me.”
“He won’t find you.” Billy says, his own suddenly bolder.
*
Christmas is over. Past midnight, Billy lies in his bed. He found Agnes some blankets to sleep on. He doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep. He’ll simply wait till dawn breaks and he has the excuse to visit her with an early breakfast. He closes his eyes anyway; they’re tired. Before snapping them open again. Even without turning on the light Billy can sense it is here. He shifts upwards, squinting his eyes to make out shapes in the dark. A curved shadow sits on his desk: bright yellow, staring eyes.
As his hand fumbles for the light switch, the black raven caws, unfolding its wings majestically. Within seconds they are flapping wildly around the room. Billy jumps up on his bed. He throws his arms about, trying to hit it; fingers clawing the murky air as the raven swoops and circles him. Black feathers tear off, swirling round his head like pieces of burnt paper.
“You won’t have her!” Billy says, his new voice unpredictable as an untuned piano. “I will not give her up!”
More black feathers shoot into his eyes. Billy rubs at them. When he looks again there’s a face directly in front of him; a face as dark as Agnes’ is white.
“Hello, Billy,” the voice rumbles, low as distant thunder. Like Agnes’, this man’s mouth hardly moves. He pulls no expression, but somehow seems to be smiling all the same. His stare holds Billy’s eyes – Billy finds he can’t look away even if he wants to.
“What am I, Billy?” the rumbling voice asks.
“I don’t know,” Billy answers, his words hoarse.
“I think you do.” The dark eyes search Billy’s and Billy’s search back, darting as rapidly as his breath.
Until he sees. The pounding of his heart slows. He sees it all. Billy releases a long exhalation as if he is blowing air into an instrument. “You are good,” he says finally. “You are all good. And you need to find Agnes.”
*
Billy watches from the attic window as they fly away: a shadow of a black raven almost camouflaged by the dark night, next to the bright whiteness of a dove.
“You let me down!” Agnes ha
d said. But she’d been happy to take the dark stranger’s hand. Holding it in a way that reminded Billy of reluctantly taking his mum’s when they crossed busy roads.
“It’s not your time yet,” the raven man had said smoothly to her. He nodded at Billy. “Thank you.”
Billy couldn’t protect Agnes. He wasn’t supposed to. She wasn’t meant to be here. That’s what Billy now understands. That’s what he saw in the eyes of the man who was all good, the black raven who had come to take Agnes home.
It doesn’t make sense, and yet strangely. . .it does.
Billy finally sleeps, as the sun rises a dim yellow over the blanket of white outside.
*
One year later
Christmas Day. Billy has a voice. He has been using it for the last twelve months. He has presents to open when the relatives all arrive. For once, Aunt Jo has remembered to thaw the turkey, and his older cousins have promised they will play a proper game, with a board and pieces you can hold, after breakfast.
Billy finishes his quickly. Because first, he is drawn to go there – to the swing. Just to see.
“Hello, Billy.”
“I wondered if you might be here,” he says, keeping a distance between them. The snow lies thinly on the ground this year, patchy and already receding. Billy stares at her askance: she is dressed in the same polar bear coat, her pale feet still bare. “Do you need hiding again?” he asks hesitantly.
Agnes’ head tilts the same way as Billy’s. “Not any more, Billy,” she says, a smile to her voice. “I’ve been chosen at last. I’ll be around here all the time now.” She flutters her white hands like wings in the air above her head.
“Here?” Billy takes a step back.
“Of course. Didn’t you guess? I thought you knew.”
Billy shakes his head and Agnes laughs icily, the pale mouth hardly moving.
He is backing away as she jumps down from the swing, shovelling her toes into what is left of the snow. She lifts her chin.