by M S C Barnes
into the gravel at his feet. “Some snake, Aiden!” He sounded confused and tried to cover it with a mocking tone.
Aiden blurted, “It was a snake. I mean, I saw a snake. Now it’s a stick! How did that happen?”
“Aiden, it’s a stick!” Zach was examining the object more closely.
Scarlet and Nat were speechless.
“Maybe I imagined it …” Aiden’s voice was quiet, then he looked eagerly at Seb. “You saw a snake too Seb, yes?”
Seb was uncertain. “Maybe. I thought I saw one. You said snake and I saw the stick. I thought I saw a tongue and yellow eyes. But maybe I just imagined it because you said snake.” He turned to Scarlet who was staring at Zach. She shrugged, smiled and linked her arm through Nat’s.
“Just your imaginations,” she said, but sounded uncertain too.
Nat seemed lost, staring at the stick Zach was now holding between two hands. Her voice, when she spoke, was faint.
“Did you know that rowan trees are supposed to be guarded by snakes and dragons?” The others looked at her, confused. “That’s what my grandmother told me. She’s quite into things about ancient tree magic and wisdom – bit hippyish really,” she sounded apologetic. “Well rowan trees protect us but in turn snakes and dragons protect the rowan.”
“Not getting it.” Zach shrugged.
“You squished the berry, Zach. Rowan is a protecting tree and you squished one of its berries.”
“I squished a berry, and now the tree seeks vengeance by sending a … stick to get me?” Zach was laughing.
Aiden interrupted, “Zach, in ancient times people also carried small crosses made of rowan wood to protect them or carried a switch made of rowan.”
“A switch? A light switch? In olden times? Really!” Zach was still laughing.
“Zach, a switch is a stick or a staff.”
Zach gaped at him.
“A stick … or a staff!” Aiden pointed at the branch Zach was toying with.
“What are you two talking about?”
“Zach, I saw a snake. That stick was a snake!” Aiden was more confident now.
Zach suddenly threw the stick to the floor. “Aargh … a snake! Save me!” He pretended to bite his fingernails. “I squished a rowan berry and now the snake guardian is trying to get me back!”
No one was laughing.
Zach shrugged and bent to retrieve the stick, turning it in his hands. “It’s a good stick though – smooth, straight. I’m gonna keep it.”
“How old are you, Zach? Four-year-olds collect sticks!” Scarlet criticised.
“Well I’m keeping it to see if it will turn into a snake for me.” He grinned at her and then frowned, cocking his head to one side. “Hey, what’s going on with your eyes?”
Scarlet immediately turned her head to one side, lowering her eyes to the ground. Now Nat and Aiden looked at her and she began to blush slightly. Then her brows lifted and she smiled. Facing them all square on she began telling in great detail what happened in the moonlight the night before and what she could now see. All thoughts of berries, sticks and snakes were gone. She had only just finished when the bell went.
An Abstraction
All of them were in the same Maths set and they scrambled to sit on a table together. The teacher, Mrs Tilbrook, was a roly-poly female who wore a strange pair of silver-framed glasses perched on her stubby nose and clothing that looked as though she had rummaged through her grandmother’s wardrobe.
The class were silent. They had been since she had walked through the door and placed a cream canvas bag onto each of the desks.
“Today our subject is transformations,” she stated and bewildered expressions appeared on many faces. “You may remember this from middle school.” Seb vaguely did.
The opening of the classroom door diverted everyone’s attention. Mr White stepped in. He hadn’t knocked. He didn’t address Mrs Tilbrook but simply hovered in the doorway. She observed him with what Seb thought was amusement.
“Mr White?”
The teacher gazed around the room and, spotting Aiden, pointed a skinny finger at him then gave a beckoning motion. Aiden nervously stood and started edging his way towards the dull teacher. Two more jabs of the scraggy finger and Seb and Zach were summonsed, then a further two and Nat and Scarlet were called to join him. Without a single word, and certainly no acknowledgement or apology to Mrs Tilbrook, Mr White turned and left the room, Seb, his sister and their friends following.
The seemingly doddery old man was actually very sprightly and as he marched out of the Year Nine block and down the ramp they all had to trot to keep up. His long strides took him swiftly into the main building and down the ogre corridor.
“I guess the rule about not using the main corridor didn’t get through to the old man,” Zach mumbled as they raced after Mr White.
Following him up the stairs to the Heads’ offices Seb wondered how he could be visiting this place for the second time in a day.
Mr White opened the door to the Deputy Head’s office. Like everything else on this level it creaked and the teacher ushered them inside.
The room was amazingly bright but Seb hardly noticed the furnishings or objects within it. The scene offered by the floor-to-ceiling window opposite the door was what drew his attention. The elevated view was on a level with the yellowing canopy of the oak woods and through this vegetation the long avenue of the approach road to the school cut like a grey scar.
As they all clustered within a foot of the doorway a figure rose from a small alcove seat recessed in the left wall and came to stand in front of them.
From the few school assemblies he had attended and from the times he had glanced up to this window to find himself being observed, Seb recognised the figure of the Deputy Head: Miss Angel. The female looked as decrepit as Mr White and the contrast between the suggestion her name evoked and the actuality of her appearance was a source of amusement for all students who attended Oakwood; she was elderly and emaciated. Her face was almost skeletal; the wrinkles in the skin across her forehead, cheeks and jaw seemed to have been carved aeons ago. Her silver hair was held back in a long, wispy ponytail and around her hairline were patches where she was almost bald it grew so sparsely. Her eyes were masked by a pair of delicate, tinted glasses.
There was silence. Seb’s eyes flicked around the room and now he realised why it was so startlingly bright. Covering every wall were mirrors – many, many mirrors – some ornate, some simple, some designed in the shape of familiar objects or animals, others plain rectangles or ovals of reflective glass; small, medium, large. Hundreds of mirrors. Scarlet was nudging him as she too looked around the room. Why on earth would Miss Angel, so old and so … Seb tried to find a kind way of describing it but couldn’t … so ugly, want so many mirrors to remind her of the fact?
Miss Angel spoke, “I have had a report from the caretaker that minor damage has been done to an area beneath the old oak on The Beach and something has been removed.” She waited. Aiden lowered his head. Zach snorted. “You have something to say, Master Orwell?” Zach’s chin dropped and he shook his head. “Master Lord?” Aiden coughed but said nothing. “You must return the object you took,” Miss Angel said.
Seb wondered if the compact Aiden had found belonged to Miss Angel. None of them had thought to ask if it belonged to anyone – and why would she bury it? He looked at the frail figure and started to feel sorry for this strange woman who surrounded herself with mirrors and seemed to have such an obsession with them she had taken to burying them around the school grounds.
Aiden pulled the small tin out of his trouser pocket and gingerly held it towards Miss Angel, who tutted.
“I didn’t think it belonged to anyone,” Aiden almost whispered.
Another tut. “Not that object. That is yours, Master Lord. You found it, so it must have been meant for you.” She turned to Zach, waiting. “Master Orwell. You must return it,” her voice was soft, not angry or challen
ging. It sounded more like advice.
“The stick? Are you talking about a silly old stick? It fell out of the tree!” Zach snapped his head up.
“And where is it now?” Miss Angel took a couple of steps towards him. Zach leant back slightly as she stopped about two feet from him. Skeletal she may be but she was also tall.
Seb tried not to stare at her paper-thin skin and the cluster of five or six long, wiry hairs sprouting from her jaw line.
“In my bag, in the classroom,” Zach sounded uncertain.
“You must return it,” Miss Angel said.
“Are you serious? The stick! You want me to put a tatty old stick back in a tree?”
Seb was shocked at Zach daring to challenge the Deputy Head and held his breath, waiting for her response.
“You will get the item; you will return it to the tree. You will fill in the hole left by Master Lord and Master Orwell,” Miss Angel took another step towards Zach so that she now towered, in all her prehistoric glory, over him. “You will remain under that tree and will not speak until the caretaker says you can go. Am I clear?” She had still not raised her voice.
Zach gave a brief nod.
Miss Angel returned to the alcove and sat on the plump, green cushion that covered the seat there, pulling her knees up to her chin and clasping her legs with her arms, like a young girl.
Mr White stepped behind them and Seb heard the click and creak as he opened the door. He ushered them out.
Closing the door he mumbled, “Did you all eat a berry?” They stopped still at the