Esmerelda Smudge and the Magic Pepper Pot

by Mandy Martin

attic was reached by a rickety ladder that Maud pulled down onto the landing. One at a time the three of them clambered up, coughing at the dust and cobwebs. Overhead a single bare bulb threw more shadow than light, and the attic’s corners remained eerily dark.

  “Do you have a torch, Auntie Maud?” Esme said in a quiet voice. There could be anything lurking up here. Mice she could deal with, even bats. But who knew what ghosts and spirits lived in an old school house?

  Aunt Maud handed Esme a little ladybird wind-up torch. Even after winding until her hand hurt, the tiny light made no difference except to make the dark even darker.

  “Maybe I’ll head down and make us all a cup of tea, yes?” she said brightly.

  “You’re not afraid of a few cobwebs are you?” Maud laughed. “I thought you were a brave mighty girl, not a simpering little miss!”

  Esme swallowed hard. “Of course I’m brave,” she said. And then, to prove it, she pointed at a stack of old chests in the furthest corner. “I’ll start over there. What am I looking for?”

  “Anything shiny or old-looking,” Maud said vaguely as she leafed through a stack of faded vinyl. “Look! I remember this record. My Eyes Adored You by Frankie Valli. Harold and I danced our wedding dance to this.” She hugged the square cardboard sleeve to her chest and swayed dreamily with her eyes closed.

  “She’s gone,” Mum murmured to Esme. “Honestly, she’s more of a daydreamer than you are, and that’s saying something.” She sighed. “Just have a rummage and find an ornament or two. Then we can go and have tea and cake.”

  Esme nodded and tiptoed through cardboard boxes and dusty furniture to reach the chests. They looked even older up close. The metal bands holding them together were fighting a losing battle but the clasps refused to budge. Esme pushed and pulled until she was panting, but they wouldn’t open.

  Leaving the chests, Esme was about to head back to the circle of light in the centre of the room when a sparkle caught her eye. Deep in the gloom behind the chests was a box of kitchen pots. Nothing special she thought disappointedly. Dosh in the Loft was hardly going to get excited over a saucepan. As Esme turned to go, her foot snagged on the strap of a crocodile skin handbag and she fell in a clattering heap amongst the pans.

  “Be careful!” Mum called, “You’ll fall through the ceiling!”

  At least that would be more exciting than this, Esme thought as she shoved the saucepans back in the box. A little metal object rolled away past Esme’s hand, trailing an exotic fragrance, like the incense they burned in the gift shop in town. The smell made her feel warm and dizzy. She picked it up the thing and examined it. It was the size of her palm and it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. Two deep-set eyes and a bulbous nose and mouth nestled in some kind of shawl. It looked like a gnome or goblin. What was it? As she turned it over, a flap at the top flipped up and powder trickled out. It stung Esme’s nose and made her eyes water: pepper! It was just a horrid little pepper pot. Bor-ing! Except, weren’t there sometimes silver salt and pepper pots on Dosh in the Loft? It might be worth something. It was certainly unusual. She turned it over, trying to find a hallmark, feeling like a proper antiques expert. There were definitely marks there, like they showed on the TV, although they looked different. Almost like Arabic writing. As she held it up for a closer look, more brown powder sprinkled all over her shorts.

  Rats! Mum’ll go bonkers.

  Esme blew the pepper away, and sneezed as some got up her nose. The sneeze made her wobble again and she cracked her head against a roof beam.

  Could this day get any more pants, she thought grumpily, rubbing her head. I wish I was at the park! She sneezed again and suddenly the room tilted sideways.

  Esme was falling. Had Mum been right? Was she falling through the ceiling? It was dark and cold and her ears buzzed uncomfortably. Then she landed, for the second time that day, in a pile of wet grass. How had she ended in the compost heap? It was nowhere near the attic.

  Freezing water pummelled her head and ran down her top. Her t-shirt clung to her skin and goosebumps raced up her arms. Maybe she had broken a pipe as well? Mum would go spare. But where was Mum? She should be shrieking by now.

  As Esme looked around she realised that she couldn’t see the house anywhere. She was in an empty field being drenched by pouring rain.

  “What the-?” Esme stood up, clutching something in her hand. The pepper pot. She looked at its little face suspiciously. Was it smirking? Had it looked like that before? And how had she gone from sneezing in the attic one minute, to lost in a soggy field the next? Maybe she’d actually been knocked out when she bumped her head and this was all a weird hallucination.

  But what now? She couldn’t just sit and wait to wake up, she’d die of hypothermia first. Esme started walking, huddling her arms around her to keep warm. A shape loomed in front of her out of the rain. It was vaguely familiar. It looked like. No, it couldn’t be. But yes, it was! It was the zip-wire at her village park. She was at the park!

  I am going crazy, Esme thought. Then a memory sprang up in her mind. She’d wished she was at the park when she picked up the pepper pot. Staring wide-eyed at the silver goblin in her hand, Esme whistled in amazement. It was magic!

  Wishful Thinking

  Esme rubbed the silver pot. Despite the icy rain it felt warm and dry. What was Great Aunt Maud doing with a magic pepper pot in her attic? More importantly, how was she going to get home? It was miles from their village to Maud’s house. Mum would be hysterical. And she couldn’t just go to her own house, she didn’t have a front door key. It wasn’t like she had a dad to let her in or a brother or sister to bail her out of trouble.

  Normally Esme would do anything to avoid a telling off. But, right now, she’d quite like a hug from Mum. Trekking through imaginary jungles was one thing, but being stuck in the rain in soaking shorts wasn’t an adventure at all.

  After a few minutes Esme decided she either had to go home and wait for Mum on the doorstep, or she had to wish herself back to the attic.

  Feeling daft and glad no one was watching, Esme clutched the silver pot and closed her eyes. “I wish I was back at Great Aunt Maud’s house like before,” she said out loud. Nothing happened. Perhaps she needed to wish in her head, like last time? She repeated the words silently. Still nothing, just a faint whiff of incense.

  “Stupid thing doesn’t work!” Esme pulled her arm back to pitch the pepper pot across the field. She had an ace throwing arm. Pepper flew in her face and she sneezed, twice. The pot had just left her hand when the earth tilted again.

  “Argh!” a voice yelled. “Esmerelda Smudge, did you just throw this ugly little ornament at me?” Mum stood rubbing her head and glaring at the pepper pot. A familiar musty smell replaced the sharp tang of wet grass. She was back in the attic.

  Esme felt too confused to answer properly. “Er, I think it’s silver,” she mumbled, clambering over to join Mum.

  “That’s no reason to throw it at me,” Mum said sternly. She turned the pot over and tutted as pepper sprinkled all over the floor. “There isn’t a hallmark. It’s probably just tin, Esme. Worthless. I’m sorry.” She handed the pot back to Esme. “Put it back, please. Is that all you’ve found? You were over there for at least fifteen minutes.”

  “Sorry, the chests were locked,” Esme muttered, gingerly accepting the silver figure. Where had the marks gone? Esme looked at the bottom of the pot, but it was smooth, not so much as a scratch never mind tiny writing. Weird. Thankfully Mum also hadn’t noticed she was soaking wet. Then Esme realised she wasn’t wet. Had it been a dream, or had the magic returned her to how she was before? Perhaps that was it. Sort of like a day-trip.

  “Oh, we’ve never been able to get into those chests,” Great Aunt Maud explained, breaking in on Esme’s thoughts. “They were up here when we moved in, along with boxes of kitchen paraphernalia and old curtains. Harold thought it might all be worth something, but he never got round to looking into it. It’s all junk if you ask me.”
>
  Esme wasn’t so sure she agreed with that, but she didn’t want to share her secret. Not yet. Besides, a pepper pot that granted wishes – who would ever believe her?

  Potty Pirouettes

  Esme sat in her bedroom staring at the pepper pot. She tried to think what she would wish for, if she figured out how to make it work again.

  I would wish for Mum to stop dressing me up like a princess, for one, she thought, giving the pink dress on her wardrobe door the evil eye. Or maybe I’d wish that I could do gymnastics instead of stupid ballet. I’m never going to learn how to arabesque and pirouette, no matter how many times Madam Jeté shouts at me.

  Ballet! She had her class in an hour. How she hated the tights and the bun and the being graceful. But Mum said all girls had to learn ballet and she would have given anything to wear a tutu when she was little.

  But I’m not you! Esme wanted to shout at Mum. But of course she couldn’t. Mum was all she had.

  “Esmerelda, it’s time for ballet!” Mum yelled on cue. “And please remember your shoes this time. Madam Jeté is going to burst a blood vessel if you forget them again.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Esme called down. It didn’t do any good, but she said it every Saturday just in case.

  “I know,” Mum said wearily as she climbed the stairs. She peered round