Tag Archives: Magic

Once Upon a Wish – Chapter 4

Chapter 4

shoe-1519804__4801Willie, Jack and Jill pushed the trunk over the top step and ran after it as it bumped down the rest on its own. The trunk landed on its side on the grass. Quickly, they heaved it back upright and dragged it towards a blackberry bush not far from the staircase. Tick Tock donged again, warning them of trouble.

They hid behind the bush and looked through small gaps. Willie watched the boot’s door swing open and Dame Nettle march out. She stood on the raised platform, looking in all directions – scowling.

The estate agent started to thump on the inside of the trunk. Willie’s insides flip-flopped.

‘We’ll let you go if you stay quiet for a wee minute,’ he whispered. ‘Starting from now.’

The banging stopped.

Pinocchio followed Dame Nettle outside. ‘I told you it wasn’t Mr Sprat. It’s dwarf miners. Their tunnels stretch for miles underground.’ As he spoke his nose grew.

‘See his poor nose – that always happens when he lies,’ said Jill. ‘Oh, I hope she doesn’t look at his face.’

Luckily, Dame Nettle didn’t. She spun on her heel and headed back inside. ‘Tick Tock, if you don’t stop donging at the wrong time I’ll chop you up and turn you into firewood,’ she shouted.

Pinocchio hurried after her.

‘Leave the door open,’ she said to him.

Willie glanced at Jack. He held a hand to his forehead and said, ‘Phew – that was close.’

Jill kneeled beside the trunk. ‘Are you okay in there?’

‘I stayed quiet as you asked. Now, please let me out,’ the man’s muffled voice begged.

Willie squatted down and spoke into the keyhole. ‘There’s one more thing – you’ve got to promise to go straight home.’

‘And not come back,’ added Jack.

‘Come back! Do you really think I want to see you lot again?’

Willie turned to the other two and they both nodded. He slowly lifted the lid.

The estate agent sat up in the trunk and took several gulps of air. He had a bulging red bump on his forehead and his eyes were unusually wide. ‘Where am I?’ He frowned. ‘Who am I?’

Willie and Jill turned to Jack.

‘It seems that bump on his head has made him lose his memory,’ he said.

‘We hit him with the lid!’ Jill covered her mouth with a hand.

‘Sorry. We didn’t mean to hurt you,’ said Willie. ‘You should have ducked.’ He thought again how odd it was for an estate agent to wear a stethoscope around his neck.

‘Your name is Mr Sprat and right now you’re at Old Boot House,’ said Jack slowly.

‘And you’re on your way home.’ Willie straightened back up.

‘But he can’t go home now,’ said Jill. ‘We need to take care of him – fix his head with vinegar and brown paper.’

‘No – he has to go,’ said Willie.

Jack nodded in agreement.

‘What if he can’t find his way home? It’s so cold out here he could freeze to death,’ continued Jill.

At that moment, Pinocchio darted around the bramble bush. Willie hadn’t heard anyone leave the boot and it gave him a fright.

‘I thought you were going to stop the estate agent.’ Pinocchio paused to catch his breath. ‘He’s just flown in on a flying carpet.’

‘He can’t have. This is the estate agent.’ Willie gestured at the man being helped out of the trunk by Jill.

‘It’s not,’ said Pinocchio.

Willie looked at their estate agent and so did his friends. He was stocky, middle-aged and had wiry brown hair. His clothes and shoes were soaking wet. A name badge fell out of his trouser pocket as he climbed free of the trunk. Willie picked it up and read: ‘Doctor Foster’.

‘We’ve got the wrong person.’ Jack took off his glasses, squeezed the bridge of his nose and put his glasses back on again.

Willie cringed and Jill said, many times, how sorry they were.

‘Come on, quick. We’ve got to get back to the boot,’ said Willie.

He sprinted off with Jack and Pinocchio.

‘I’ll come back,’ he heard Jill say to the doctor and she ran after them.

 

***

 

Willie and the others charged through the door together. Dame Nettle stood with the estate agent, staring up the boot’s leather ankle at the circle of daylight showing through the roof. Mr Sprat didn’t look anything like the man they’d locked inside the travelling trunk. He reminded Willie of a grasshopper on account of his bald head, skinny body, long legs and the lime-green tailcoat and tight brown trousers he wore.

Dame Nettle’s head snapped in their direction. ‘Back from the market so soon,’ she said and gave them a fierce glare. Her hand instinctively reached for the whip in her pocket, but then her eyes flicked to the estate agent and she let go of it.

‘Jack Sprat. I sell homes in one second flat.’ He gave them a wide, toothy smile and strode towards them and shook each of their hands in turn.

Willie hoped he really couldn’t sell a house this quickly.

The estate agent headed back across the room to Dame Nettle and peered up at the roof again.

‘To achieve the marvellous price I mentioned, you’ll need to get that fixed,’ he said. ‘And the sink unblocked and – ’ he examined the floor ‘– the insole re-glued in places. We want property buyers falling for your house not falling in it.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Do you have a man about the house who can do these things for you?’

Dame Nettle rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve always thought men are more trouble than they’re worth.’ The wrinkles on her forehead grew even deeper as she thought. ‘But I do want someone to pay a lot of money for the boot. Perhaps I should wish for one.’

‘Well, you won’t be granted a wish unless you try.’ Jack Sprat scribbled something down in a notepad. ‘Some lucky person’s dream will come true.’

Dame Nettle walked him to the door, passing Willie and his friends.

‘I just have one last question. Will you be leaving any fixtures and fittings, like curtains and carpets?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes.’ Dame Nettle smiled a huge smile. ‘I’ll be leaving the children.’

Jack Sprat frowned, tapped his ear and said, ‘Excuse me?’

‘The children, an ugly bird and a few animals come with the house,’ she explained.

He took a step away from her. ‘You can’t leave children or creatures behind – you’ve got to take them with you. The house needs to be left empty or no-one will buy it,’ he said. ‘Is that a problem?’

Dame Nettle pressed her thin lips together and she cast a sideways glance at Willie, Pinocchio, Jack and Jill. Then she looked back at the estate agent and said, ‘No, it’s no problem at all.’

 

Story dedicated to Tom Donovan.

Story by Kim Donovan. (C) all rights reserved. Image: Pixabay

 

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Once Upon a Wish – The man who arrived by travelling trunk (Chapter 3)

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Willie had fallen asleep imagining what his family would be like. His dad would be a music man and he’d teach Willie how to play the piano – pia, pia, pia-ano – and the big bass drum – bumdi, bumdi, bumdi-bum. He pictured his mum and him rowing a boat gently down the stream, and stopping his sister from pricking her finger on an enchanted spinning wheel. He thought about them arriving on a flying carpet to collect him.

‘Keep wishing. Dreams do come true!’ he’d shout to the boys and girls, as he flew off to his new home – over the rainbow.

But his wished-for family didn’t arrive at breakfast time, by mid-morning or lunchtime.

‘Are you all right?’ Jill touched Willie’s arm.

He spun away from her. ‘It’s just something in ma eye,’ he said, and quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his nightgown. Daft to believe in magic, anyway, he thought.

At half past two, Dame Nettle singled out Pinocchio and Princess True Love. The princess wore a dirty ball gown. ‘You two stay here,’ said the dame. ‘You’ll make the place look homely.’ Then she shooed the rest of the boys and girls out the door. ‘I want you go to market to buy a fat pig,’ she said to them. ‘The last thing I want is for Mr Sprat to think the place is overrun with horrible children and – ’ she glanced at the bird with muddy-brown feathers ‘– ugly ducklings.’

Willie tried to catch Enid’s eye to tell her not to listen to Dame Nettle, but she bent her long neck towards the wooden slats and didn’t look up.

Jill stretched out her hand, clearly expecting some money to pay for the pig. But Dame Nettle touched the pocket with the whip in it, and Jill’s arm shot behind her back.

‘The market’s in Banbury. It’ll take at least two hours to walk there,’ Jack whispered to Willie, as they headed down the outside steps by the shoe’s heel.

‘She’s only sending us there to get us out of the way,’ replied Willie.

The North wind blew through his flimsy nightshirt, making him shiver. Pale grey clouds hung like heavy sacks in the sky.

‘I think it might snow,’ said Jill.

Willie heard the door to the boot shut. ‘Quick! Let’s hide under the staircase.’ He ran around the side and ducked underneath it.

‘She might see us.’ Jill didn’t follow him.

‘No, she won’t. This is our chance to stop the estate agent; come on!’

Jack and Jill joined him in the small space. The rest of the children waved goodbye and carried on across the field on their long walk.

Jill pulled her sleeves over her hands. ‘Do you think it would feel this cold if we lived under a bridge?’

‘Yes, and we’d have trolls to worry about too.’ Jack peered out of a gap between two steps.

Willie did his best to give her a reassuring smile. ‘We’re not going to live under a bridge or a staircase or in cardboard boxes. We’re staying where we are.’

Inside, Tick Tock donged three times and Princess True Love started to sing like an angel.

‘Dame Nettle must think music will put the estate agent in a good mood,’ said Jack.

‘Aye. She’s after the best price she can get for the boot.’ Willie looked out from their hiding position as well. He scanned his surroundings for a pumpkin carriage bumping across the field or a flying house twirling to the ground. His chest felt like he had fairies fluttering inside of him.

But he had not expected the estate agent to arrive by travelling trunk. The wooden box appeared as a dot in the sky one second and before Willie had time to say Jack in a Box it landed with an almighty bump on the raised platform above their heads.

Tick Tock donged twelve times in warning even though it wasn’t midday or midnight. He’d obviously heard the noise too. Hopefully, Dame Nettle hadn’t.

‘Quick, get him!’ Willie sprinted up the steps to the trunk, his friends at his heel.

A middle-aged man sat wedged inside the box with his arms and legs dangling over the sides, trying to pull himself out. He wore odd clothes for an estate agent – a white cotton coat and a stethoscope around his neck. His clothes were also very wet, like he’d been for a swim fully dressed. A leather briefcase and a plastic carrier bag lay on top of him.

‘Thank goodness you’re here. Please help me,’ he said, breathlessly.

‘We’re very sorry to do this to you.’ Willie grabbed one of the man’s legs and started pushing it inside the box.

At the same time, Jack worked on forcing his arms inside too. Jill half-heartedly tried to push the lid closed.

‘Oh, please lower your head,’ she said to him. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘We will let you out again,’ said Jack.

‘Help! Someone help me!’ The man kicked Willie and hit Jack with the plastic bag.

The boys stopped what they were doing and helped Jill try to force the lid shut. Eventually, it started to close… the estate agent only just managed to pull his fingers inside the trunk in time. But by the thump and the yelp he let out, he didn’t lower his head fast enough.

‘Sorry!’ whispered Jill.

Willie stopped dead still. The princess had stopped singing part way through the song.

‘Something’s wrong,’ he said. Quick – push. Down the steps.’

 

Once Upon a Wish is dedicated to Tom Donovan

Story by Kim Donovan. (c) All rights reserved. Image: Pixabay

 

 

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Once Upon a Wish – Chapter 2

By child request, here is chapter two for bedtime stories. I’m so pleased you want to read more!

Chapter 2

shoe-1519804__4801Dame Nettle held the receiver to her ear and spoke in the posh voice she only used on the telephone. ‘Old Boot House. How may I help?’

Willie took a step closer to her so he could hear better.

Dame Nettle didn’t notice. She was too busy listening to the person on the other end. ‘Oh, thank you for calling me back,’ she said. ‘I’m planning on retiring soon, and I’d like to sell the boot I live in and move to Mermaid Creek.’ She started to walk, hunched over, towards her private room at the toe end. ‘An estate agent will visit tomorrow – hey diddle diddle!’ She tucked her grey hair behind her ear to hear better. ‘It’ll be Mr Sprat, the manager – cock-a-doodle doo! Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon – ’ She headed through her door and knocked it shut behind her with her whip.

‘What’s an estate agent?’ Jill asked Jack.

‘It’s someone who sells a house, castle or boot for you.’ They all listened to him. ‘The first thing he does is decide how much money people will pay for it. Then he puts it up for sale.’

‘Hoorah! She’s leaving us,’ said Patience Muffet, a girl with orangey-brown hair and freckles. The seven-year-old had ended up at Old Boot House after she ran away from a spider that sat down beside her. She had never been able to find her way back home again.

Children slapped hands and hugged each other.

‘It’s not a good thing,’ said Willie. ‘If Dame Nettle sells the boot we’ll have nowhere to live.’

‘I’m sure she’ll take us with her,’ said Jill.

Jack marched over to the table Dame Nettle had been sitting at. ‘I saw her circling some pictures of houses,’ he said, picking up the copy of Home Sweet Home.

‘Perhaps she’s looking for a bigger place for us all,’ said Puss in Boots. He was a silky grey cat in leather boots.

Jack started to leaf through the pages and Jill joined him at the table.

‘She’s not after somewhere bigger,’ he said, eventually. ‘All the houses she’s drawn rings around are tiny cottages.’

The boys and girls stopped celebrating and Jill pulled out a chair and flopped on it.

‘It might take ages for Dame Nettle to find someone who wants to buy the boot. It does smell of sweaty feet,’ said a boy made of wood. ‘By then we could all be back at home with our families.’

Willie turned towards him. ‘I’m sure your da will be found at sea, Pinocchio – and that he’ll come and get you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t even know who my family are.’

Jill gave him a small smile. ‘You could wish for one.’

Willie shook his head firmly at her suggestion. ‘What good will that do? No-one’s going to wave a magic wand and make everything better.’ He noticed Patience Muffet and Tom Thumb looking at him. Their bottom lips were trembling. ‘Don’t worry yourselves.’ He paused to think. ‘All we have to do is stop the estate agent from coming here. That way he won’t be able to put it up for sale.’

Jack nodded. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘Oh, please don’t get us into trouble,’ said Jill.

The two boys stared at her and Willie said, ‘Do you want to be homeless?’

 

***

 

Later that night, when all the other children were fast asleep, Willie lay awake in his hammock with the scratchy wool blanket pulled over him. He kept turning from side to side. He had far too many thoughts swarming in his head to sleep.

‘It’s daft to make wishes,’ he muttered. ‘They never come true.’ He wriggled onto his back and looked up through a hole in the roof at the moon and the stars. ‘So, all I have to do is ask for a palace and a teapot will magically turn into one!’ He made a false laugh. ‘I can’t believe even Jack made a wish before bed.’

He checked the hammocks nearest to him to make sure everyone was asleep and pulled a torn magazine picture out from under his thin pillow. He held it in the beam of moonlight coming through the roof. The photo was dog-eared and crumpled and showed a family : a mum, dad, a girl slightly younger than Willie and their pet unicorn. They were holding hands and flying through the air together with the aid of fairy dust. Willie always imagined being part of their family. Over the years, the picture had become fixed in his mind. As far as he was concerned, they were his family.

‘Ach, maybe I could make one wee wish… it’s only words.’ Willie chewed his lip. ‘Just a bit of fun to pass the time. That’s all.’

But his face looked deadly serious as he held the picture to his chest, stared up at the stars and whispered,

‘Star light, star bright,shooting-star-147722__4801

The first star I see tonight;

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight.’

 

He paused and said, ‘I wish for a family.’

 

This story is dedicated to Tom Donovan, my fantastic nephew.

I’ll post chapter three soon.

Story by Kim Donovan. All rights reserved. Image: Pixabay

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The Shoemaker’s Secret

heels-1236641__4801The Shoemaker’s glass slippers and soft leather boots were coveted by celebrities and the very rich. Other shoemakers wanted to know the secret techniques and materials he used to craft them, but his big secret was he didn’t make the shoes; they were the work of elves.

He had found the elves working in his shop late one night, stitching fabric. They were no bigger than dolls and wore tatty, green tunics over woollen tights. He thought he should pay them in some way and presented them with new clothing; they were like excited children on Christmas morning.

Over the next few months the elves produced more and more new designs while The Shoemaker took the credit for their craftsmanship, gaining considerable wealth and status. He continued to pay his workers in tiny shirts, trousers, underwear and socks, but then one night the elves turned the tables. They took something belonging to him before they made the shoes: the book he was reading. He bought another copy and thought no more of it.

But the following evening, the same thing happened. This time they chose a framed picture of his baby daughter and paid him five pairs of sandals. The day after, they took a curl of her blonde hair.

The Shoemaker held his child tight to his chest and said to his wife, ‘I’ll put a stop to it.’

The next night he waited up for the elves. They appeared on the stroke of midnight.

‘I don’t need your services any more,’ he said firmly. ‘Please go.’

They smiled smugly, bowed and left the shop. He hoped this was the end of it all, but in the morning he discovered a pair of sparkly silver shoes taking pride of place in the shop’s display window. His daughter’s beloved teddy bear had disappeared.

He tried moving his family to a nearby coaching inn, but that night they took the child’s little toe. The Shoemaker wept, not knowing what to do. The elves would take her bit by bit; he was sure of it.

The bell tinkled as the shop door swung open and a young man walked in.

‘I’m enquiring to see if you have any jobs?’ he said. ‘I want to be as good a shoemaker as you.’

‘Do you have a wife, children?’ asked The Shoemaker.

‘No, it’s just me,’ he replied.

The Shoemaker sighed with relief and smiled. ‘You can have my business for free,’ he said.

He handed the bewildered man the keys to the shop and left immediately with his wife and child. They were never seen again.

The new shoemaker was the talk of town. His glass slippers were exquisite.

 

Story by Kim Donovan. Image Pixabay. All rights reserved.

 

 

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The Ride of a Lifetime

Here’s another piece of flash fiction – a twist on fairy folklore. I hope you like it! Kim.

the-ride-of-a-lifetime

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Be Careful What You Wish For!

My love affair with flash fiction continues!

be-careful-what-you-wish-for

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One ring to rule them all…

ring-1671094_1920

The Ring is a collaborative novel born in the imaginations of the creative writing society at King Edward’s Senior School, Bath. The concept is simple. The novel follows the story of a mysterious golden ring from thousands of years BCE to the present day via Ancient Egypt, Shakespeare’s Globe, the wreck of the Titanic…and much more. The chapters are written by pupils, former pupils, teachers, parents, and some local authors (including me).  I also typeset the book for them. It certainly ruled my life for a while (80,000 words, 56 chapters, 41 different authors). But it is still my precious!

Here’s my story.

1911

Mary hadn’t meant for the fruit to topple out of the painting on the wall. She’d only been looking at it, thinking, What if? Apples, pears and plums thudded onto the mahogany dresser, like the sound of feet on stairs. The fruit was no longer two-dimensional or made of cracked paint, but round and smooth and sweet-smelling.

The boring dinner party conversation stopped abruptly and everyone turned towards the picture, eyes wide and mouths open. Mother tried to divert the guests’ attention by asking in a loud voice, “Do you think women should be given the vote?” But Mary didn’t get to see if it worked as Father took her hand and dragged her outside, banging the door closed behind them.

“When are you going to learn to be normal?” he hissed, his freckled face red with anger. “Go to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”

Mary pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her lace dress. She still remembered the stinging pain from being given several sharp swats to her palm with a tennis shoe when a stone lion disappeared from the Italian Garden and a real one had been found prowling through the local village on the same day. She sprinted up the stairs, her eyes bright with tears. She felt sick, knowing Father would keep his word.

For a long time she sat on the edge of the bed, waiting in the candlelight, still wearing her lace-up boots and the big bow in her brown hair. She could hear the sound of muffled voices and laughter in the dining room below; the party was still going on. If only she could run away and find a happy place to live where she could be herself.

Eventually, she picked up what was left of the candle and walked over to the bookcase. The guttering flame illuminated titles and authors’ names on the spines of the books. She ran her fingers over Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Grimms’ Fairy Tales and stopped on Nonsense Songs, Stories, Botany and Alphabets by Edward Lear. Her hand tingled when she touched the cover, and a pins-and-needles sensation travelled up her arm as she pulled the book off the shelf. She flicked through the pages and stopped at the first black-and-white illustration: an owl with a small guitar, serenading a cat in a wooden rowing boat at sea. Stars winked in the night sky. She had a vague recollection of her mother singing The Owl and the Pussy-cat to her as a very small child, but she couldn’t be sure if it was a real memory or if she’d made it up for herself. Still, it was comforting.

As Mary looked at the picture she thought about the curved sides of the boat, the smell of 4c6ad17ccfa7d7830a50cafc2f162c261salt water and sweet honey, rough wood and silky-soft cat fur. She pictured the owl’s talons plucking the guitar strings and the sound the instrument made.

“The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat,” she whispered.

A boat, the size of a small ornament, appeared on top of the book. Mary quickly looked at the door and listened – no-one was coming. She turned back. The boat remained black and white and shaded in charcoal grey, as it had been in the book. The owl had a white, heart-shaped face surrounded by a ring of short dark feathers, black eyes and shaded upper parts, and he strummed a simple wooden guitar. The cat sat opposite him, staring into his eyes. She had the stripes of a tabby and a mark on her forehead resembling the letter M. A big jar of honey rested between them. Mary thought this an odd choice of food for a bird of prey and a cat. Surely, a few dead mice would be much more agreeable to them. Two oars stretched across the benches they sat on, dripping water onto the paper.

She continued reading. In the top corner of the page an island rose covered in bong trees with purple, heart-shaped leaves and hairy trunks. The owl and the pussy-cat went ashore and soon they met a pig with a tarnished ring, inscribed with tiny letters, at the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?” asked the owl.

Said the Piggy, “I will.” He wriggled it free of his snout and handed it over.

The owl wiped the ring on his feathers and the cat admired it and purred with pleasure.

Mary smiled at her. “If you’re going to get married, can I be your bridesmaid?”

She was so lost in the story that she didn’t hear her bedroom door open.

“You’re in so much trouble, young lady.” Father’s bellowing voice made her jump.

Desperately, she tried to squeeze the book shut, but neither the creatures nor the bong trees would lie flat. She tried to push them down with the palm of her hand. The owl pecked her little finger and the cat clawed her skin; they weren’t going back into the book without a fight.

“Please, I’m trying to help you,” said Mary.

Her father lunged forward, holding a tennis shoe. He grabbed Mary with his free hand and smacked the characters into the air with the shoe. They tumbled over and over; the owl let go of the ring as it stretched its talons towards its sweetheart.

“Let me go!” Mary pulled herself free.

She reached for the owl and the pussy-cat and, as she did so, the ring grew bigger, and then it slipped onto her finger. The moment it touched her skin it turned from black and white to dazzling gold. It was as bright as the sun. The three characters disappeared into thin air with a pop and a moment later Mary vanished from the room too.

 

*

 

Mary found herself standing alone on a soft white beach. Bong trees rustled in the breeze and the air smelled of coconut and the sea. The pig sat in the boat, but there was no sign of the owl and the pussy-cat – she would give them the ring the next time they met. She now examined the ring more closely. It fitted her finger perfectly and a few words ran along the shiny gold band: Mary sailed away for a year and a day…

She hesitated for a brief moment and thought about home. Then she smiled, climbed into the wooden rowing boat next to her new friend and set off on an adventure.

 

The Ring will be on sale from October 13th in Topping bookshop, Bath.

Copyright (c) 2016 Kim Donovan. Ring image: Pixabay/ColiN00B. Original illustration of the Owl and Pussycat by Edward Lear

 

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