by David Smith
Tom recalled the feel of the man’s hand squeezing his shoulder and, while he felt certain it had meant nothing at all, he had to admit that he had been touched by The Mad Maestro. It didn’t seem much but his mother obviously thought it was. She asked him to explain exactly what had happened. He was enjoying being the centre of attention and found himself exaggerating a little.
***
It had been a long time since any vehicle had travelled along the dirt track but the police car made its bumpy way towards Richard Jarvis’s cottage where they found him hunched over his mysterious writings. He was astonished by this new visit and couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he was gentle and obedient as they led him away.
Released from police custody the following day, confused and upset by questions that had shocked him deeply, Richard Jarvis appeared crumpled and more than usually odd. His appearance caused great excitement amongst the small group of reporters and photographers who were waiting outside the local police station. Their pictures and stories of this freaky-looking character accused of child abuse would make headlines that evening on the regional news programme and the front pages of the national newspapers the next day. Journalists moved into the village and interviewed everyone who would speak to them, trying to make the story more sensational. They surrounded Richard’s cottage where he cowered inside feeling under attack and very frightened.
After three days he had not left his house or been questioned again. The police announced that they had no evidence against him, the reporters and photographers left and the story faded from the news.
Tom, shocked that he’d caused such a scandal, admitted to his parents that he had been caught trespassing by Richard Jarvis, who had done nothing wrong. He pleaded with his mother to call the local television station to tell the truth. But the news people were not much interested and with no complaint from Richard himself they did not bother to correct their stories.
***
The day before the family holiday ended, Tom decided to pay a second visit to the little cottage by himself and in secret. He was determined to apologise for the trouble he had caused. He wasn’t sure he was brave enough to do it in person, so he took a pen and a piece of paper with him.
The track looked different since so many cars had been up and down it during the trouble, but the cottage looked exactly the same. It was only when Tom approached the door that he spotted the padlock on the outside. He tried knocking, though he knew the house was empty. Peering through the dusty window the room appeared the same as before but he noticed that the photograph was missing from the mantelpiece. At first he felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to speak to Richard Jarvis, but then he realised that he really needed to apologise. All Tom could do was write him a note and hope that he would come back and find it.
So one new note was added to the others on the window, but this one was clear for anyone to understand: ‘I am very, very sorry.’
***
Tom felt much better for having put things right as he cycled back to the holiday cottage. He was glad to be going home and getting back to normal. He was even looking forward to going back to school and seeing his mates again.
Whether Richard Jarvis ever read Tom’s note is unknown: after the events of that summer he was no longer seen in the village. What became of him was as mysterious as the man himself, but he never returned home to the house on the marsh.
A Day in the Life of Josh Slug
By Enrique Reilly
While walking home from school, Josh Slug’s attention was distracted when he heard someone yelling from an alley, and noticed three bullies known as the Crazy Gang picking on a younger schoolboy.
‘Come on, give me your pocket money, you little mummy’s boy,’ shouted one of the gang members, called Lurch, as another of the thugs filmed the event on his mobile phone.
‘But I haven’t been given my weekly allowance by my parents yet!’ the boy protested as the leader of the gang, Spud, picked him up by the lapels of his school blazer and the third bully, Bug, started pulling his hair.
‘Hey, stop picking on him!’ Josh Slug shouted to the gang.
‘If you don’t want a slap too, I suggest you get lost!’ Lurch yelled out to Josh.
‘I will, as long as you three stop picking on that boy and let him go,’ Josh replied coolly.
‘Okay, how about you take his place then, Mr Brave Boy,’ Spud said, dropping the pupil hard onto the ground, excited at the thought of beating up this annoying, have-a-go hero.
Josh heroically agreed to the exchange, ushering the young boy off home.
Suddenly, before the gang had enough time to lay a fist on Josh, he pushed past the three of them and bolted out of the alley like a greyhound – running as fast as he could.
The thugs gave chase, but it was no good: the boy Slug was far too quick for them. He ducked his head instinctively when he heard a whizzing noise as two metal objects just missed his ear. This continued as the gang continued to throw a handful of two pence coins at him, which he had to skilfully dodge, as those little metal critters really hurt.
After a few minutes of flat-out sprinting Josh had to stop for breath; his heart pounded inside his ribcage, while his lungs screamed for more air. But this rest could only last for a few precious seconds as the three bullies entered the small, quiet street.
‘Your time is up,’ Spud shouted, as the three of them slowly closed in on their prey like a pack of wild hyenas.
‘Ouch!’ Josh cursed after tripping on a kerb, slightly twisting his ankle, while momentarily looking back. He then realised, to his horror, that this particular road was a cul-de-sac and it was quickly coming to a dead end. With nowhere to go and a sharp pain now coming from his sore ankle, the hunted boy hopped through a side gate and limped to the bottom of the garden at the rear of the bungalow. The outside light came on abruptly, exposing him in the darkness, and he heard a dog barking aggressively and jumping up at the back door.
‘Who’s there?’ a concerned voice shouted from the house.
Desperate to get away, Josh tried to leap over the fence into the woods at the end of the garden, but to his dismay he couldn’t put any weight on his right foot, and the end result was a SPLAT as he fell over and landed face down in a smelly compost heap. With sweat now pouring off his muddy forehead, he lay still, breathing heavily while listening to the commotion coming from the bungalow.
‘Let me go, you old codger, or I’ll deck you!’ one of the gang members shouted.
Josh quietly crawled on his stomach like an army commando and hid behind the garden shed. He peeked through the shed window, and smiled when he saw that the German Shepherd had managed to grab Lurch by his jacket sleeves. Seeing the dog in action stopped the other two boys in their tracks, and they quickly ran away.
Josh slowly massaged his sore ankle while listening to the raised voices of the angry man and Lurch.
‘What’s your name?’ the old man asked.
‘Justin Bieber,’ the boy replied sarcastically.
‘Well, Justin, I’m going to have a word with your father; you can’t just come barging into my garden like it’s a common play area,’ the naive old man said.
Smiling at the distraction and the house owner’s confusion, Josh managed to slowly climb over the fence and limped through the thick undergrowth back to the safety of his home.
By the time he arrived at his house, Cedar Hall, it was dark outside and he was cold, smelly, wet and in pain. He hobbled up the gravel drive and quietly sneaked in the back door, still limping heavily, making his way to the utility room to remove his muddy shoes, wash his face and change his dirty school uniform before his mother found out and gave him the Spanish Inquisition.
‘Pooh Josh, you stink; what have you been up to?’ his annoying stepsister Janie shouted loudly, holding her nose with one hand and her pet cat Rhodi with the other.
‘Mind your own business and shut up or that cat will end up at the taxidermist,’ Jos
h whispered, ushering the Ugly Betty clone out of the utility room.
Janie slammed the door and went off to spill the beans to his mum.
Josh started to count under his breath. ‘One, two, three, four, five.’ The door burst open on cue.
‘This is the second time this week!’ his mother, Judith, complained. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Nothing, Mum. Don’t listen to Janie; she’s a troublemaker,’ Josh snarled.
‘Janie just told me that you threatened Rhodesia. Is that true?’ she asked angrily.
‘Ouch!’ Josh groaned while standing on one leg as he took the sock off his sore foot, ignoring his mother’s question.
‘What have you done? Let me have a look at your ankle. It looks really swollen, darling.’
‘Ow! It’s nothing, Mum,’ Josh insisted, gritting his teeth in pain as his mother continued to prod and poke it.
‘Go and have a bath and then I’ll put a bandage on your ankle. That looks painful.’
‘Mum, can you stop fussing?’ Josh said, while staring disapprovingly at Janie, who was hovering in the background with a grin on her face.
‘Have those Tullington school boys from the Brookland Moor Estate been chasing you again?’
‘Mum, please get off my back. No one has chased me.’
‘Then why do you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge and smell like a sewer?’ Judith shouted.. .
‘I took a shortcut home and stumbled down a ditch in a dark lane at the back of the school, twisting my ankle,’ Josh explained, hoping that his mother wouldn’t press him any further on the issue.
‘Well, I’m glad that you’ve taken my advice and avoided those bullies. Now please go and have a bath – you stink,’ Judith said, thrusting a towel into his hand.
The thugs were determined to beat up and rob any Little Widdlesham School pupil at every opportunity. Apparently, there was a bounty on one of the local social networking sites: FaceAche. The first to beat up a pupil and send the photographic evidence to the website would get two packets of cigarettes and a large bottle of white cider.
Since his mother remarried, Josh hated living with his stepsister, Janie, who really was the stepsister from hell, and he didn’t get on with his stepfather either.
After he had washed and changed, Josh limped down into the kitchen, where his mother put some cream on the swelling and bandaged his ankle.
Rhodi hissed as she flew through the kitchen and out of the cat flap, followed by Josh’s pet Jack Russell, who barked playfully while chasing the annoying feline.
‘Judith, can you get Josh to control that wretched dog!’ Janie screamed.
‘Get a life, Janie. It’s your cat that’s responsible. I’ve seen it antagonise Ingrid by stealing her food and sleeping in her basket!’ Josh shouted dismissively.
‘Can we please have a truce, just for one evening,’ Judith said, raising her voice. .
Not getting the response or support she had hoped for from her stepmother, Janie stormed out of the room in a huff, slamming the door.
‘Mum, is it okay for me to go to Cambridge for the day on Saturday with Freddie and Jack?’ Josh asked, trying to calm the situation.
‘Only if you promise to stop winding Janie up and your ankle is better.’
‘Great, if in doubt, blame Josh,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘Don’t you come the innocent with me, young man; you know exactly how to pull the right strings to provoke a reaction from Janie,’ Judith retorted.
‘Fine, I’ll back off. Can I now please go to Cambridge?’ Josh asked.
‘How are you going to get there?’
‘Freddie’s aunty Dolly is taking us in her new convertible. She goes every couple of weeks to the tanning gallery to have her skin sprayed orange,’ Josh replied.
‘What are you boys going to do while Aunt Dolly is being resprayed?’ Judith asked, smirking.
‘We’re going to a really cool amusement arcade that Freddie knows called the Galleria, and we’ll also check out the latest smartphones and computer games,’ Josh said enthusiastically.
‘As long as you don’t get into trouble, which seems to happen a lot these days, and to be honest, I’m fed up defending you to your father when you do. If those thugs start picking on you, just walk away.’
‘Mum, Gerald is not my father, and you don’t know what it’s like out there: sometimes it’s a war zone and you can’t let these bullies push you around all the time,’ Josh said.
‘Well, I’m happy to talk to their parents or the head teacher at Tullington and report them,’ Judith said, putting her arm around Josh.
‘Mum, if you do that, I’m dead meat. Instead of picking on all the pupils at Little Widdlesham School, they’ll just pick on me.’
‘I don’t know what this world is coming to,’ his mother muttered as she walked out of the room to go and answer the telephone that had just started to ring.
Josh was really proud of the way he defended the young schoolboy from the crazy gang, and would definitely continue in his belief that good always overcomes evil.
The Collector
By Joanna Pope
Billy and Charlie lay awake listening to the storm. They had the sinking feeling this was going to be another wet, boring family holiday away from home. When they heard the grandfather clock strike midnight they crept out of bed and tiptoed across the room. They inched their way across the landing, past their parent’s room with the snoring, down the creaky staircase and into the kitchen. In the dark Charlie fumbled his way towards the cupboard under the sink. He opened the door, stuck his hand in as if it was the lucky dip at the school fete and rummaged around until he felt the torch handle. Turning it on, he aimed the strong beam of light around the room until he found the biscuit tin on top of the counter. Billy pulled over a chair, climbed up and claimed the tin. Feeling triumphant they cleared a space at the table and settled down for some serious snacking.
While munching on his second biscuit Charlie whispered, ‘ssshh, did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ mumbled Billy with big bulging cheeks full of his mother’s homemade cookie.
Charlie tiptoed across the cold stone floor to the far end of the room. He cupped his hand around his ear and leant against the closed door.
Slurp, slurp.
‘That noise,’ he mouthed, ‘can you hear it?’
Loath to leave the feast before him Billy shuffled over. Charlie turned the handle and the door swung open to reveal a large room, with a soft flickering glow coming from behind a cover draped across the fireplace at one end.
‘I’m getting out of here!’ whispered Billy, trying to make a dash for it, but Charlie grabbed his dressing gown cord and pulled him further into the room behind him. ‘Sometimes I can’t believe you’re my older brother,’ he whispered. ‘You’re such a coward.’ The boys were now standing in the middle of the room wondering what to do next when a small high-pitched squeaky voice called out, ‘who’s there?’
The cry startled the boys who froze on the spot. Their eyes, now the size of saucers, were transfixed in the direction of the flickering light. Then without warning a tiny oval face framed by a stack of unruly multi-coloured hair appeared from behind the drape. The face had a sizeable upturned nose protruding from below a huge pair of soft brown eyes. She gave them a cursory glance before disappearing. This was followed by a lot of banging, clanging and whirring before the head reappeared.
‘Can I help you?’ said the tiny woman to the quivering boys in front of her. Seizing Charlie’s arm Billy tried to pull him away but Charlie stepped forward, legs beneath him now feeling as weak as strands of spaghetti.
‘Wh… wh… who are you?’ said Charlie desperately trying to sound brave.
‘My name’s Raggi,’ she squeaked. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Ch... Ch... Charlie and this is Bi... Billy. Do you live here?’ Charlie’s mouth felt as dry as when he took part in the playground c
ream-cracker competition.
‘Yes, I live in this chimney.’
‘No one lives up chimneys,’ piped up Billy.
‘I have lived up there,’ she said tilting her head and raising her eyebrows in the direction of the chimneybreast, ‘long before you were even a twinkle in your mother’s eye. All disused chimneys have guests. Gosh it’s unbelievable - you humans are so wrapped up in your own world that you never notice what else is going on around you.’
‘What are you doing?’ enquired Charlie.
‘I’m packing,’ she sniffed, visibly crumpling at the thought. ‘The Collector is coming tomorrow to move me. My chimney is being cleaned and being put back into use which means he will relocate me to another disused chimney. I’m sorry to be leaving as I’ve become quite fond of the old place,’ she snuffled disappearing back behind the drape. ‘I don’t get many visitors apart from the odd lost bird and the annual stopover from Father Christmas,’ she continued from behind the curtain. ‘His visits are always hilarious,’ she hooted, ‘but rather troublesome as he’s become so fat over the years. All those presents he brings take up so much room that it gets to be a bit of a squash up there but he’s a jolly old soul for the most part.’
Slurp, slurp.
‘What’s the slurping noise?’ asked Billy.
‘I’m drinking tea,’ she said, reappearing. ‘You can come up and have a cup if I can have one of your biscuits.’
The boys retreated to the kitchen, quickly returning with the biscuit tin.
‘Good, I will take that as a yes. But you can only come up on one condition. You must never tell anybody about me. Is that clear? It will be our secret and if you tell ‘ANYONE’ your house will burn down one day. I can promise you that.’
This sounded serious but without hesitation the boys agreed and the tiny woman pulled back the drape to make an opening just large enough for them to crawl through. Once in, they jostled for space. They were all now squeezed into the base of a fireplace and Billy, clutching the biscuit tin, took up most of the room. Raggi, with her tiny frame, only took up half the space of Charlie. The boys were now able to get a better look at their host. Her large eyes and wild curly hair made her look slightly comical but she looked gentle and kind too.