by Susie Bower
‘Nah.’ Saddo hunched his shoulders up, his mouth turning down. ‘Can’t be bothered.’
‘Come on, Antsy,’ said Rule Boy. ‘We’re meant to be exploring.’
I sighed, and slipped down from the swing. I ran my fingers over its rough wooden seat. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ I whispered to it.
We followed the path further. The trees, their thick old trunks covered in moss and ivy, grew closer together and soon became a proper wood. It was squelchy to walk in, what with the muddy earth and boggy places. Suddenly, it opened out into a clearing and we all stopped in our tracks.
A big grassy circle lay before us, perfectly even and flat. And all around it were rows of stone seats, rising up in tiers, just like in a circus.
‘W-what is it?’ whispered Custard.
‘Don’t you know?’ said Rule Boy.
‘Oh, just tell us!’ I said. Why did he always have to be so superior?
‘It’s an Amphitheatre,’ said Rule Boy.
‘A what?’ said Saddo.
‘They had them in ancient Rome,’ said Rule Boy importantly. ‘They were sort of theatres. The audiences sat in the seats around the stage, and they’d have chariot races and athletics competitions and stuff.’
‘Why is this one here?’ I said.
But even Rule Boy couldn’t answer that.
‘I d-don’t like it,’ said Custard. ‘It’s creepy.’
‘Chicken,’ said Rule Boy.
‘I’m not!’ said Custard, sucking her thumb.
‘Leave her alone,’ I said.
Saddo and Rule Boy, with Custard trailing behind them, wandered over to the lowest row of stone seats and sat down.
‘Ugh, they’re hard,’ moaned Saddo.
My body was bubbling with excitement. The grass circle was just like a circus ring, perfect for performing. I ran full pelt right around it. Then I cartwheeled from one side to the other. Last of all, I stood on my hands and walked around, waggling my legs in the air.
Custard clapped, and even Saddo looked impressed. I took a bow. But Rule Boy looked put out.
‘Show-off,’ he muttered.
I ignored him. ‘Come on.’ I grabbed Custard’s hand. ‘Let’s explore the wood.’
‘What if we g-get lost?’ said Custard.
‘What if there are w-wild animals in the wood?’ Rule Boy mimicked her. ‘What if they eat us for s-supper?’
‘Take no notice,’ I whispered to Custard. ‘Let’s pretend we’re brave explorers.’
We walked in single file through the trees. It was dank and dark here, and my trainers were soon sticky with mud. Rule Boy’s polished shoes were speckled with dirt and splashed with water from the puddles. The wood was silent, except for the distant drilling of a woodpecker. The wind made a rustling, murmuring sound, as if the trees were whispering secrets to one another. The trees grew taller and closer together and the path ahead got darker and darker. Every now and then, a flurry of wings sounded from the trees above us. Was something following us?
‘I d-don’t like it here,’ Custard said, pulling her blanket tighter round herself. I could actually hear her teeth chattering and she jumped a mile every time one of us stood on a twig or kicked a stone.
Saddo looked up at the sky. The dark clouds were right overhead now, and the air had gone very still.
‘There’s a storm coming,’ he said. ‘We’re going to get soaked.’
‘Never mind soaked,’ said Rule Boy, frowning at his ruined shoes. ‘We’re going to get in Big Trouble for going so far. And it’ll be all your fault, Antsy.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I said.
Suddenly, the path came to an abrupt halt in front of an ancient, crumbling stone wall. Beyond the wall were trees as far as you could see, so tall that they blocked out the sky.
‘It’s the forest!’ I said. ‘Where they captured the lion!’
There was a long silence.
‘The l-lion?’ quavered Custard.
‘What lion?’ said Rule Boy.
‘There was a lion, living in the forest,’ I explained. ‘But it’s all right. They caught it and took it away to a safari park.’
Custard clutched my hand. ‘I d-don’t like l-lions.’
Suddenly the wood lit up as if someone had switched on a bright light.
‘W-what’s that?’ Custard whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
‘It’s lightning, of course,’ said Rule Boy. ‘I told you we shouldn’t have come this far.’
Then a huge rumble of thunder sounded right above us. Custard threw herself at me.
‘M-make it stop!’ she yelled. ‘M-make it stop right now!’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It’s only thunder. It won’t hurt you.’
‘I w-want to go back,’ Custard said tearfully.
‘Here comes the rain,’ said Saddo.
Heavy drops began to fall.
‘At least we can shelter under the trees,’ I said.
‘Are you stupid, Antsy, or what?’ snapped Rule Boy. ‘You must never, ever stand under a tree in a storm. If lightning strikes the tree, you can get electrocuted.’
Custard began to wail and twist her hands. ‘What shall we d-do? Whatever shall we d-do?’
The rain was now teeming down through the thrashing leaves. Saddo pulled his hoodie over his face while Custard hid under her blanket.
Another flash of lightning lit up Rule Boy’s face, reflecting in his glasses.
‘We’ve got to get out of the wood, quick!’ he shouted, setting off at a run, followed by Saddo.
I grabbed Custard’s hand as another bellow of thunder made her squeak.
We’d only been running a short while when Saddo shouted, ‘Wait for me!’
We turned to find him leaning against a tree trunk, huffing and puffing and clutching his side. ‘I’ve got a stitch!’
We all stopped. The tree trunk that Saddo was leaning on was thick and ancient-looking. Its huge roots twisted across the path.
Then we heard it.
A terrible roar, echoing round the treetops, right above our heads.
THE RESCUE
‘It’s a l-lion!’ screamed Custard. ‘Up in the tree!’
A cold shiver dropped into my tummy. Could there have been more than one lion living in the forest?
Another roar seemed to split the air apart.
I peered up. At first all I could see were the dark, whipping branches. Then a lightning flash lit up a creature, crouching on the highest branch, tossed around by the wind.
‘It’s not a lion,’ I said. ‘It’s far too small.’
The creature gave another roar. It really did sound exactly like a lion.
Custard stuck both her fingers in her ears and shut her eyes.
‘I think it’s in trouble,’ I said.
‘Who cares?’ snapped Rule Boy. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Don’t leave me!’ moaned Saddo, who was still clutching his side.
Then, as a roll of thunder boomed above us, and another flash of lightning lit up the figure, I saw that the creature had long hair, and that a hank of it had got twisted and caught in a high, swaying branch.
‘It’s trapped,’ I said. ‘Its hair is caught in the tree—it can’t move.’
The creature gave another howl, even louder than the thunder.
I turned to the others. ‘Someone must run back—get Mr Gold.’ I looked at Custard.
‘No!’ she said. ‘I can’t run through the wood on my own—I c-can’t!’
Saddo stepped forward. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘But I can’t run fast or I’ll get another stitch.’ And he set off down the path at a slow jog, already huffing and puffing.
‘Why didn’t you go?’ said Rule Boy. ‘You’re the fastest runner.’
‘Because,’ I said, ‘I’m going to climb up and try to get it down.’
‘Are you crazy, Antsy?’ said Rule Boy, looking horrified. ‘That’s a wild animal. It’ll probably attack you. And anyway, climbing’s against
the rules.’
‘Who says?’ I rolled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and searched the tree trunk for footholds.
‘You can’t!’ Rule Boy sounded scared. ‘I told you. You must never, ever climb a tree in a thunderstorm.’
‘What do we do then?’ I said. ‘Leave it up there?’
I found a knothole in the tree trunk and pushed my foot into it. Far above us, the creature howled again.
‘Don’t g-go up there!’ said Custard, streaks of water running down her cheeks. ‘Stay here until Mr Gold c-comes.’
Rule Boy was still chuntering on about electricity. ‘If a tree gets struck by lightning, the electrical charge will run right through it and pass through any body that’s on it or near it…’
I reached up and grabbed a branch, then scrabbled with my other foot until I found a foothold, and another. The bark was slippy with rain. My heart was beating very fast, partly with fear and partly with excitement. It was like I was climbing Tree again, back in Sonia and Claude’s garden. My hands and feet knew what to do.
Below me, Rule Boy was still droning on. ‘Human bodies are full of water and that means the electricity can go into them… then they die…’
I was halfway. Holding on to the trunk for support, I looked up. Rain splattered down onto my face. My sweatshirt was already plastered to my skin. But the creature was closer now. It was about the same size as me, drenched to the skin and thin as a stick, and it had the longest hair I’d ever seen, whipping around it in the wind. The tree rocked and creaked and the creature opened its mouth wide and gave another huge roar.
‘I’m coming!’ I yelled.
The creature gave a yelp, before another roll of thunder, right above us, drowned its voice.
It was harder, now, to climb. The branches were thinner and more wiry and the wind was rocking the tree more violently. I looked down and saw Custard and Rule Boy’s faces looking up. Rule Boy’s mouth was still opening and closing.
I searched for the next foothold, and the next. Now I was just below the creature. It was sitting astride a thin branch which was waving crazily in the wind. It tried to turn its head to look at me, but the strands of its hair were wound too tightly round the branch. Then I realized that it wasn’t a creature at all. It was a boy.
I clung to the slimy trunk as tightly as I could and reached up to where a big hank of the boy’s hair was wound round and round a branch.
Then I saw the worst thing. The branch that the boy was sitting on was bending and creaking, and a narrow crack was forming in it. Every time the branch dipped in the wind, the crack got a bit bigger. Any minute, it would break right off and he would fall.
With wet, shaky fingers, I grabbed the boy’s hair. He began to struggle, his eyes narrowed into slits, baring his white teeth and growling. Was he going to attack me? If he did, we’d both end up falling to the ground.
‘It’s all right!’ I said, trying to make my voice sound calm. ‘Stay still.’
The boy stopped struggling and stared at me. A flash of lightning lit up the tangled hair, which helped for a moment. It seemed to take forever, what with the branches swaying and bucking in the wind and the crack in the branch getting bigger and bigger.
The last strand of hair came free. The boy shook his head and gave a great roar.
‘QUICK!’ I shouted. ‘Get off the branch! It’s going to break!’
The boy stared at me. He didn’t understand what I was saying. I pointed at the branch beneath him and he looked down at it, his eyes widening with fear. I held out my hand and the boy turned and grabbed it. With his other hand, he grasped the trunk and his legs circled it. As he did so, there was a tremendous crack and the branch he’d been sitting on broke in two and plummeted to the ground.
Custard gave a shriek.
Getting down was difficult. The wind seemed to blow even harder and the bark was slippery and wet leaves slapped our faces. I went first, and the boy followed. He was just as good at climbing as me. At last I slithered down the final few metres and landed, panting, on the ground.
Custard threw her arms around me. ‘You nearly got k-killed!’
Rule Boy glared at me. ‘That was the stupidest thing ever!’
As soon as the boy’s feet hit the earth he turned to run.
But Rule Boy was too quick for him and grabbed him by the waist. ‘Not so fast!’
The boy wriggled and twisted and growled, but he didn’t bite. Rule Boy stuck his foot round the boy’s ankle and brought him crashing to the ground. Then he pulled the boy’s arms behind his back and sat on him.
Custard cowered away from them, whimpering.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ said Rule Boy.
The boy growled and spat.
‘He can’t talk!’ I said.
‘Or he won’t,’ muttered Rule Boy, tightening his grip on the boy’s arms.
I stared at the boy. He wasn’t dressed like us. He was wearing a sort of tunic which looked like it had been woven from sheep’s wool and grass. His arms and legs were strong-looking but very thin. His feet were bare, and his fingers and toes had the longest, dirtiest nails I’d ever seen. His hair hung down over his body in thick, wet, matted sheets. He was shivering all over.
At that moment we heard approaching footsteps. It was Saddo, puffing like a steam engine, his face beetroot-red and wet, with great patches of sweat under his arms. He collapsed, panting, at the foot of the tree, his eyes goggling at the sight of the boy. Right behind him, a hooded figure limped towards us, leaning on a stick. Mud streaked its face and covered its body.
‘It’s the b-bogeyman!’ Custard yelled, grabbing my hand.
‘Don’t be daft!’ I said. ‘It’s Mr Gold.’
The figure limped up to us, throwing back its hood to reveal Mr Gold’s curly hair and pale, worried face.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, peering from one to the other of us in that strange way he had.
Custard and Rule Boy were like drowned rats, and the boy and I were covered in slime and stains, our hair plastered to our heads and our hands blistered from the climbing. But Mr Gold looked even worse. His raincoat was filthy and dripping wet, and his face and hands were streaked with mud.
‘Mr Gold tripped over!’ puffed Saddo. ‘There was a branch on the path and he fell right over it!’
Then I remembered Mr Gold couldn’t see properly.
‘It’s all under control, sir!’ Rule Boy settled himself more firmly on the boy’s back.
‘Who is that?’ said Mr Gold, moving closer.
‘It’s a wild boy, sir. He’s very dangerous indeed. Lucky I’ve caught him.’
‘She r-rescued him!’ said Custard, pointing at me. ‘He was t-trapped up a tree.’
Mr Gold crouched down beside the boy. Gently, he reached out and took the boy’s hand. The boy snarled, glaring at Mr Gold with narrowed eyes.
‘Hush,’ Mr Gold said very softly, as if he was gentling a terrified animal. ‘It’s all right. You are safe.’
‘I think he’s hungry,’ I said.
‘Aren’t we all?’ muttered Saddo.
‘You can let him go now,’ Mr Gold said to Rule Boy.
Reluctantly, Rule Boy got off the boy’s back.
Mr Gold gently took the boy’s hand. ‘We’re going to get you warm and dry and find you something to eat. You look as if you haven’t eaten for a while.’ He mimed eating to the boy, who cocked his head to one side, listening.
Then he gave a little nod.
Mr Gold stood up, still holding him by the hand.
‘Come with me,’ he said.
And we all trooped back to school.
A FERAL BOY
When we walked into the kitchen, Miss Cruet glared at us.
‘You are all late!’ she barked. ‘And filthy! This will not do! It will not do at all!’
Then she spotted the boy, who was staring around the room with his mouth open and his eyes—which were a strange tawny-brown colour—like saucers.
> ‘What is this?’ she snapped.
Mr Gold stepped forward. ‘Euphenia, the children found this boy in the wood.’
‘What was he doing in the wood?’ Miss Cruet bent down and stared at the boy, who stared right back at her. ‘Who are you? Where are your parents? Did you lose them?’
‘He doesn’t talk,’ I said.
Hearing my voice, the boy turned to look at me, gazing at me with wide eyes. Then he raised one filthy hand and pointed to my cheek, where my burn was. I turned my face away.
Mr Gold drew Miss Cruet aside and began to speak with her in a low voice. I heard the words police and social services and abandoned. Miss Cruet kept saying a word I’d never heard before: feral. Then Mr Gold went out of the room, and she harrumphed a few times, and turned to us.
‘Under normal circumstances, I would send you all straight up to have a shower. But you clearly need a hot meal. Luckily,’ she added with a glint in her eye, ‘I’ve prepared one of my Extra Specials.’ And she bent down to the oven and drew out an enormous pie.
We all sat down, keeping one eye on the pie, just in case it exploded or something scary jumped out of it. The boy stayed standing up. Maybe he didn’t know about chairs. I took his hand, and gently pushed him down into one. Miss Cruet took a large knife and serving spoon, and cut the pie open. Green steam poured out of it.
We all stared as if hypnotized.
‘Wh-what’s in it?’ whispered Custard, as Miss Cruet ladled portions of the pie on to plates and passed them round the table. ‘Is it a-alive?’
‘It looks like… spaghetti,’ muttered Rule Boy.
‘With jam,’ said Saddo.
‘And bananas,’ I said.
Then a strange thing happened. The boy began to eat. He didn’t use a knife or a fork—he just grabbed the pie with his fingers and began to gnaw at it, making hungry growly sounds. He chomped and chewed, and when he’d finished his own portion, he grabbed Custard’s and ate that too.
Then Saddo, who’d been watching the boy with his mouth open, took a bite of his pie.
‘Surprisingly,’ he muttered, ‘it’s not too bad.’
Rule Boy pinched his nose between his fingers and began shovelling in mouthfuls of pie.
I took a deep breath and put a forkful in my mouth. Saddo was right. It may have been the oddest pie ever, but it actually tasted OK.