by Joffre White
He held the box to his face and whispered. ‘Chris.’ Nothing happened. He paused for a moment and then whispered again. ‘Frog.’
The top of the box silently hinged back to reveal his Tamagotchi, marbles, half a rubber, conker, wine bottle cork and finally the chewing gum. He pushed the objects into the pockets of his jeans, then, placing the glass whistle and the talisman and neck chain into the box, he whispered to it again, ‘Frog,’ and it silently closed.
There was an old chest of drawers in the shed and the bottom drawer was used by Chris to store any toys that he and Billy might use in their den. He pulled it open and, pushing a radio-controlled car and a frisbee to one side, placed the bundle and the box as far back as possible and slid the draw shut. ‘Plenty of time to figure out what to do with it,’he thought. ‘Now it’s time to face the music.’
He walked around the house and into the kitchen, standing just inside the door. He took a deep breath and called.
‘Mum? Mum, I’m home.’
He heard the door to the living room open and his mother’s footsteps approaching along the hall. Then she was in the doorway, looking at him intensely.
‘Hi Mum,’ he said, giving a feeble little wave. Then it hit him, right in front of his face. Four and a half fingers!
‘What’s happened, Chris?’
‘I can explain, Mum. Honest,’ he said.
No you can’t,’said a voice in his head.
‘I thought you said that your clothes were ruined?’ she said, looking him up and down, ignoring his hand.
‘She can’t see it,’ he thought. ‘Otherwise she would have gone ballistic!’
‘The truth, Chris.’
His mind was racing in overtime. What a twit he was. He should have changed into the other clothes that were still in the shed.
‘I ... I ... I ...’ was all that would come out of his mouth.
‘Well?’ she asked, impatiently.
The idea popped into his head and before he could help himself it was coming out of his mouth.
‘I felt so bad about what had happened and what you said about looking after my clothes that I put everything into a bag and took it down to the launderette, first thing this morning. I wanted to be wearing them as a surprise for you.’
Her expression changed to one of suspicion.
‘You put your trainers in the washing machine?’ she asked.
‘Yes, and then in a tumble dryer. They’re still a bit warm though,’ he added.
‘Where did you get the money?’ she quizzed.
‘I’ve got loads of pocket money saved up. I used some of that.’
‘So, what was that note about you going to save the world?’
‘I meant that I was going on a mission. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.’
She looked him up and down again. After what seemed a long silence, she half smiled at him.
‘Okay, well done for trying to put things right. But, you’re not completely let off. That garden’s still a mess, you’d better finish what you started.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ He ran forwards and wrapped his arms around her.
‘It’s so good to be home,’ he said, without thinking.
She leaned forwards and kissed the top of his head. ‘You are a strange boy.’
He allowed himself to savour the comfort of holding his mum. He wished that he could share his adventure with her, tell her everything. But he knew that he couldn’t, not now. ‘Maybe one day,’ he thought. He finally stepped back and, holding out his hands, he said, ‘Mum, can you see anything wrong with me?’
She frowned and a worried look came over her face.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. I just wondered if you thought that there was something wrong with me.’ He wiggled the fingers on his left hand.
‘You mean apart from your unpredictable episodes of disobedience and your untidiness?’ she said, her face relaxing. ‘And if that’s a new rude sign that you’ve picked up from school, you can stop it now.’
‘No, I’m not being rude, just testing something, that’s all.’
‘She can’t see what’s happened to my finger, she really can’t see it,’ he thought.
‘Well you go and test it in the garden, I want that mess cleaned up by tea time.’ She turned to unpack the bags of shopping that she had brought in.
As he reached the kitchen door, he said. ‘I love you, Mum.’
‘And I love you too,’ she said, looking after him, but he was already gone.
He ran down the path to the trees at the bottom of the orchard, where it had all begun, the piles of grass scattered everywhere, the tools from the shed lying where he had left them. Suddenly he felt tired and his eyelids grew heavy.
‘I’ll just have a rest before I start,’ he thought and sat himself down, propping his back up against a tree trunk and letting his eyes close against the morning sun.
That was how his mum found him, an hour or so later when she brought him a drink and some sandwiches. Before she woke him, she took a moment to study her son. He looked so peaceful. ‘There is something different about him,’ she thought. ‘But what is it?’ There was a small flash. ‘His forehead, there’s something on his forehead!’ She leaned forward to look closer and a beam of sunlight reflected through the leaves and dappled across his face. The mark was gone in an instant. ‘Just a trick of the light,’ she assured herself. She gently shook his shoulder.
‘Chris? Chris? Wake up, it’s time for lunch.’
Chris slowly opened his eyes and smiled as his mother’s face came into focus.
Epilogue
During the autumn of that year, a group of ground staff, working at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in Richmond, England, were clearing a long untouched area of land, just behind the famous Pagoda. A series of oriental-style water gardens were to be constructed as a new feature for the following spring. It was here that one of them discovered a metal, life-size figure of a woman, her features resembling an old witch, her hand outstretched as if casting a spell.
The statue was carefully unearthed and taken to the research centre for examination, and after a series of tests it was concluded that it was crafted by an unidentified artist, its age unknown. Because of the fine detail and craftsmanship, it was decided to erect the statue on a sandstone plinth in a wooded grove, adding some novelty value to the woodland walk. There it spent its time, amusing those that stumbled across it and putting fear into smaller children who wandered too close and gazed upon the grotesque facial features.
Then, the following year, a gardener, while planting a young willow sapling near one of the recent water features, unearthed an object in the shape of a small, metal, twisted wand with delicate markings engraved around it.
Again, despite extensive research, its origin remained a mystery and it was stored in a cabinet in the science centre with other artefacts that had been discovered over the years. There it remained until, one evening, after the gardens had closed to the public, a science student had an idea as to where the wand belonged. She removed it from the cabinet and walked out into the gardens, following the woodland path until she finally reached the witch’s statue.
She hesitantly reached up and placed the wand into the witch’s outstretched hand. It fitted perfectly. As she stood back admiring the now complete statue, a green glow began to spread along the wand.
The next day, the gardens were closed to the public as police interviewed staff about a murder and a missing statue. The girl, or at least her remains, had been found that morning by one of the ground staff who had been emptying the litter bins on the woodland walk. She had been identified only by her clothes and a small silver cross which she wore around her neck; otherwise, it would have been impossible to know who she was as she had aged beyond recognition.
The plinth had been reduced to a pile of sand, and one word had been angrily scrawled across its surface:
REVENGE
nbsp;
Joffre White, Frog