Hold on, dear Mother raised an eyebrow as she watched Emily tumble back from her stroll, hair tangled in a fine spiders web. She slipped off her denim trousers, and from the pocket of her jeans an acorn clattered onto the floor. Emily snatched it up, tucked it beneath her pillow, and hurried to her room.
Go wash up; Fatherll be home soon, and well have dinner together Mother called from the kitchen.
Emily plunged into the bathroom, appetite gone. I was glued to my phonebad. I went for a walkbad again, she muttered gloomily.
From the kitchen came a sharp rebuke: When you take a proper walk, you dont end up tangled in cobwebs!
She filled the tub, lathered up, and thought about her mothers words. Wandering alone on the streets was never much fun, especially after overhearing a pair of old ladies at the corner shop.
Mrs. Pennington, theres something strange in that house again! whispered one, her voice tinged with intrigue.
The other, Mrs. Hargreaves, muttered something about the police, but the young cashier, a local named Claire, smiled and handed Emily her receipt. We should let the constable know, she said to the lady in line.
Police? What can they do about a ghost? the woman scoffed behind Emily.
Emily packed her groceries, stepped out, and watched the two women wave their arms and chatter away. She rolled her eyes at the talk of spirits in the twentyfirst century and tried to push the conversation out of her mind.
That evening she slipped onto the balcony of the newly built semidetached house where she lived. The surrounding fivestorey blocks, erected about thirty years ago, housed a small convenience store and the same chatty retirees. The neighbourhoods landscaping was still halffinished, but her flats windows looked out over a line of tall, mature oaks and a few remaining poplars that separated the new flats from an older row of Victorian terraces, now cordoned off for their historic value.
Through the branches she could make out the ragged roofs of an old manor. Perhaps it belonged to a landed family before the war, she mused, recalling the shop gossip. Maybe a witch has moved in! she giggled, picturing the legendary crone perched on a rooftop.
Her mother called, Emily, dinners ready! The family ate, watched a film, and later argued about school. Her parents wanted to move her to the nearer primary school to avoid long bus rides; Emily preferred her old school where all her friends were. After a heated exchange, they promised to think it over and sent her to bed.
Before sleep, Emily returned to the balcony. The dark silhouettes of the trees seemed to flicker; a brief glint caught her eye, then vanished. She stared a moment longer, convinced shed imagined it, and gave up.
The next morning, with her parents already at work, Emily sighed at the prospect of another solitary day. No friends were in town; some were at the seaside, others staying with grandparents. She lingered on the balcony, bored, until the memory of the shop gossip sparked an idea. What if I explore that old house? she thought.
She pulled on her jeans, found her old trainers, and, with a hop, jumped from the twentieth floors balcony. The lift was out of order, but she didnt mind. She sprinted down the stairwell, out onto the street, and headed for the trees.
A hoarse voice called, Where are you off to, child? Turning, Emily faced a hunched old woman in a tattered coat. For a heartbeat she thought she saw the legendary witch, but the womans face seemed to age in reverse before her eyes.
Im just out for a walk Emily replied defiantly. Is that a crime?
The woman smiled oddly. Just dont lose your way, dear. Emily shivered at the word dear and set off down the narrow path, the old womans eyes following her.
The path wound between the trees, which now seemed to close in, their trunks forming an impenetrable wall. The route shed seen from the balcony was nowhere to be found; the forest appeared endless. She recalled the shop ladies warning about spooks and laughed nervously, pressing onward.
Soon a massive, fallen tree blocked her waya towering oak that looked like a giant baobab. Thick shrubs hugged the trail on both sides, leaving no gap to slip through. Panic fluttered, but a sudden, clear voice in her head urged her to turn back. Emily shook her head. I dont believe in ghosts, she whispered, especially not in daylight.
She lay on her stomach, wriggling under the fallen trunk, then managed to pull herself free, coughing up leaves. A gruff voice called, Stubborn girl It was the old woman, now accompanied by a huge black cat with gleaming eyes.
Emily blinked, rubbed her eyes, and the pair remained. The cat, impossibly largethree times the size of a normal house cathissed softly. Stubborn, arent you? it growled.
She reached out, patting the beasts massive head. It twitched its whiskers, then, with a low rumble, nudged her toward a weatherworn fence of fivefoot logs, their tops sharpened like a forts battlements.
Filming a movie here? Emily asked, halfjoking.
The cat snorted, Nope. Follow me. He slipped through a gap between the logs that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Emily darted after, and when she looked back, the fence was whole again. She touched one of the logs; it was solid oak, and an acorn lay at its base. She slipped it into her pocket, wondering how shed get out.
The cat hesitated at the edge of a dim courtyard, then shouted, Come on! They entered a lowarched doorway made of a single massive plank, its grain so thick it seemed impossible. Intricate carvings swirled across the wood, catching the fading light.
Beyond the door lay a spacious chamber lit by dozens of candles in towering candelabras. No electric bulbs glowed; the warm amber light made the room feel timeless. Wooden benches surrounded a long table, all handcarved with swirling motifs. An elderly man with a long white beard sat at the far end, his eyes twinkling.
Do you like it, child? he asked.
Its wonderful! Emily exclaimed.
The cat, perched on a nearby stool, purred, Hes not lying.
The old man nodded. Sit, have a bite. He placed a plate of unfamiliar pastries before her. Emily took a small slice; it melted in her mouth, sweet with a hint of berries shed never tasted. The cat, in a flash, devoured a whole tart whole.
More? the cat asked, eyes gleaming.
Emily shook her head, feeling already full. Thank you, but Im quite satisfied.
The old man smiled. Brave, not greedy, kindhearted. I can grant you a wish. What do you desire?
Emily thought of the kitten her parents had promised. Id like a kitten, she said softly.
The man chuckled. Just a kitten? No jewels, no silks? He teased, but Emily only laughed.
Just the kitten, please, she replied, her heart steady.
The cat, now named Merrick, leapt onto the table, nudged a small, soft bundle toward her. It was a tiny orange kitten, eyes wide and curious. Emily cradled the creature, feeling its gentle purr.
Take care of it, and youll always have a friend, the old man said. Merrick stretched, then leapt toward the door, pausing to glance back. Off we go, he declared, pushing the wooden door open.
Emily stepped through and found herself back on the familiar path, the evening light softening the trees. In the distance, her house glowed warmly. She slipped the acorn from her pocket, tucked it into her bag, and hurried home.
A knock sounded at the front door. Her father entered, holding a small box. Inside was a fluffy orange kitten, its tail twitching.
Ill call him Pip, he said, smiling.
Emilys eyes shone. She named the kitten Pip and spent the rest of the night cuddling, listening to its soft mews. As she drifted to sleep, the kittens gentle breathing filled the room.
The next morning, as she brushed Pips fur, Emily reflected on the nights strange adventure. She realized that curiosity had led her into uncertainty, but also into a world where kindness was rewarded. She understood that wandering without direction could be frightening, yet daring to explore responsibly could bring unexpected gifts.
And so, Emily learned that the best way to face the unknown is with an open heart, a steady mind, and the courage to ask for help when needed. The lesson stayed with her: bravery tempered by prudence turns every mysterious path into a chance for wonder.
