RiverSparrow's Stories

I opened my mouth, expecting some sound to escape, but all that emanated was a strangled gurgle.

"Yes, that's a highly intelligent response," said the fox in an irritated tone. "You sound like a broken dishwasher," it said matter-of-factly.

I attempted to shape words. "Era bu herrm..." I failed. Instead I clasped my hands over my mouth.

The fox waited patiently while I tried to let everything sink in. Eventually, when I could co-ordinate my brain and my mouth, I whispered "What are you?" My voice was shaky and the ground was spinning.

"What? I am clearly a fox, my dear. Although I have been mistaken for worse in these situations. I suppose I should formally introduce myself. I am Frederick Percival, but you may call me Freddie."

I slumped down onto one of the wooden crates. "You're British," I managed at an even volume.

The fox rolled his eyes. "English, my dear. And yes, over the years I have managed to maintain my original accent. You would too if you stopped watching all of those American crime dramas."

I glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Have you been spying on me?" The spinning sensation was wearing off so I managed to fix my eyes directly on the fox.

Freddie averted his gaze. "Erm... We had to ensure you were safe."

"We? So there are more of you?" The fox had made a mistake. Whilst I was still a little overwhelmed by this creature, a vicious curiosity had taken root in me.

Freddie appeared to be getting gradually more frustrated. Clearly this was proving more difficult than he had anticipated. "No... well yes, but that is not what I meant-"

"Oh," I interrupted sarcastically, rather enjoying myself, "So no more talking foxes. What's it to be then? Badgers? Giraffes? I know, I'm going to find an elephant hiding in my closet aren't I."

The fox's head snapped up. "Closet? You mean wardrobe. You see I told you you were watching too much American television."

Now I was the one getting frustrated. "Stop avoiding my questions."

"I have no intention of answering your questions my dear. I am here to give you a warning." For the first time he truly regarded me, meeting my eyes. His eyes, while still a sparkling green, were deadly serious. "We believe you are in danger. For eleven years you have been kept safe; kept hidden. For this reason it gives me great sadness to inform you," he paused, seeming to muster up the courage to continue, "that you have been found." He spoke the last word as though it caused him physical pain.

I held his gaze. "Who's found me?" Even before he answered, I felt that I should already know. But that made no sense. I had lived in the small town of Turapton all my life.

Freddie was now pacing the width of the alley. He appeared not to have heard me. Every few seconds he would glance nervously around as though looking for someone. His whiskers quivered anxiously. "You need to understand that this rarely happens. The power you possess must be quite extraordinary." He glanced up at me.

While his pointed face was clearly full of worry, there was also something like admiration there which puzzled me. "It is important that we get you out of here as quickly as possible, but we must be careful." He had begun pacing again. "If we move too suddenly, this will surely attract yet more attention which, take it from me," He glanced up, "Never ends well."

I had no clue what he was talking about. "What are you looking at?" I asked, following his gaze as he eyeballed the square yet again. It looked deserted to me. I stood up and began creeping towards the alley exit.

"Wait!" yelled Freddie in a shrieked whisper. I stopped and turned. He sighed, seeming to come to a decision. "You need to go to school."

I stared at him. Out of everything that he had said so far, including that fact that he had said anything at all, this was by far the most shocking.

"What?" I breathed, walking back to him. "You just told me that there's a group of lunatics out to kill me and you're suggesting I go to school..."

"Yes."

Jaw set, I raised my hands to prompt him to say more. "There is a reason you were placed here," Freddie continued. "Turapton has some source of naturally condensed energy. It acts like a vacuum; once you are here it is near impossible to leave. Unfortunately it also makes it very difficult to get in if you are one of us." I raised my eyebrows but Freddie ignored me. "Your scout is obviously having difficulty getting here." He dropped his head again and in a near inaudible voice murmured, "We thought once you were here, you would be safe."

None of this made sense. Still, I crouched down beside him and gingerly placed a hand on his fury back. "I'm not dead yet," I said, managing a smile. Wow, never thought I'd say that. "I'll go to school. I'll wait for this scout."

Freddie looked up at me. "Thank you. All I can do is hope I will see you again soon." He turned to face me and bowed. Sighing I bowed back. As I did so I knew that Freddie had vanished, and sure enough when my eyes scanned the alley, it was empty.





I barely remember walking the remaining distance to school. Everyone was already in class so the corridors were deserted. I found myself glancing over my shoulder as I jogged down the halls.

This was ridiculous. I should go to the police, the army. Something... Anything.

And tell them what? No one will believe me, let alone help me.

I peered around the corner. Guessing that everyone was still in morning registration, I dashed to the door of my classroom. I wouldn't believe me.

As I placed a shaking hand on the door, a shiver ran down my spine. I jerked my head to the side and caught a shadow disappearing around the corner of the hall.

Breathing hard, I pushed the door open and scrambled inside, slamming it behind me. A variety of curious faces looked up and someone sniggered at the back of the room. I felt my hands clench against the painted wood of the door. Others had started to giggle too, giving me sardonic glances as I made my way to the empty desk in the far corner.

I sat down stiffly in the plastic chair, my hands shaking. And as I turned I could see my reflection in the window. My skin was blotchy and black hair was sticking out at all angles as though I had slept in a bush. The tendons from my ears to shoulder blades were stretched to visibility under the skin. A thin layer of sweat had formed along my hair line and, I realised with disgust, under the school shirt I was wearing. It was sticking to my skin which was already prickling with heat.

Without realising, my fingers slipped into the pocket of my jumper and desperately gripped the silver statue. The cold metal was soothing so I leaned back and closed my eyes.

The teacher had begun droning out the morning announcements. I lifted the statue from my pocket and held it lightly in my lap, interlacing my fingers around it. It amazed me that the metal of the statue never seemed to absorb the warmth of my skin; it remained frigid to the touch.

"Miss West, are you still with us?" I looked up. Mr Morgan was standing in front of his desk, his arms crossed in a superior manner over his chest, a piece of paper held loosely in his hand. He raised an eyebrow at me.

My throat was too closed up to speak so I nodded awkwardly. Mr Morgan sighed, opened his mouth as though to say something, then apparently thought better of it. Grabbing a marker from the desk, he walked to the whiteboard and started scribbling out notes from the paper.

A familiar voice grunted from the front of the room. Without lifting my head, I glanced over to see Marcus Stingly swaying his neck, hands raised to his cheeks in a sleepy gesture. His eyes were crossed, tongue lolling on his chin.

The goon sitting next to him snorted, sending spittle splattering across his book. They were mocking me. Nothing new there.

But not today. Not today. I shoved my chair backwards, the screeching sound turning all heads in my direction.

I was clenching the statue so hard that the metal felt like a frozen dagger against my skin. I felt a warm wetness travel down the crease of my palm. Frustration, confusion, terror, excitement even, were all fuelling one inevitable emotion. Anger.

Standing there, my eyes drifted around the desks. They met with every person individually, just for a second, long enough for them to shrink away. In that moment, it was clear to everyone that I was on the verge of cracking. Breaking eye contact, I moved slowly around my desk and walked up the aisle.

"Miss West. Sit down immediately!" To my left, Mr Morgan was standing as straight as a board, glaring at me. My anger subsided slightly. I liked Mr Morgan. He refused to take nonsense from anyone including me.

I took in a shaky breath. As I made my way back to the flipped over chair, Marcus Stingly swept his foot out from under the table, attempting to trip me. I looked at him with hate and before he knew what was happening I whipped my raised foot back, bringing it under his outstretched leg. I flicked my ankle up and out, taking his leg with it and brought down the second foot just above the side of his ankle. As he twisted from his chair, my fist connected with the underside of his jaw.

Marcus crumpled; falling backwards his head thudded loudly against the vinyl flooring. Shocked at myself, I knelt down beside him (even if he did deserve it). My heart was beating so loudly that I was sure everyone in the silent room could hear it.

For a moment Marcus seemed too in shock to move. Then he unleashed a hoarse wail and burst into tears. He drew his legs close to his chest in a foetal position. A shaking hand clasped his knees as though holding him together.

But what confused me was that his spare hand was not protecting his injured ankle. It was clawing at his throat, just above the Adams apple.

I leaned in closer. Marcus didn't even seem to notice. His eyes were squeezed shut against the pain and he was murmuring incoherently between choking sounds.

A vicious red blotch was forming where I had punched him, but this was not what Marcus was apparently attacking with his fingernails. Grabbing his wrist, I prised the thrashing hand away from his neck.

The skin was pale, smooth and completely blank. Glancing around, the class were beginning to move slowly towards the fallen boy.

I tentatively brushed my index finger over the skin. It was frozen. I recoiled with such force that my arm collided with the chair leg behind me. I barely registered it. I stared from the skin of Marcus's neck to my fingertips.

My mouth gapped open at the bloody mess of my right hand, the surface of which now had a deep, ragged cut running down to my wrist. I hadn't realised how tightly I had been gripping the statue, but the jolt of the punch had caused it to tear into the skin of my soft palm.

I felt a firm grip on my shoulder, pulling me up. It was Mr Morgan. He crouched down beside the fallen boy and proceeded to move his hand towards the frozen skin.

"Wait!" I yelled, taking a clumsy step in his direction. But it was too late. Mr Morgan's hand connected delicately with the precise spot and... nothing. Nothing happened. I stared, open mouthed. "What?" I breathed, too quietly to be heard. The teacher gave me a stern glare before turning back to Marcus.

No no no no. My head was spinning again, the windows blurred streaks of light across my vision. This was too much.

I staggered backwards until a sharp desk corner caught me. Twisting to regain my balance, my eyes finally came to rest on the glass pane set into the wooden door of the classroom. And on the face starring back at me. In shock I felt on the floor for my bag, charged to the door, yanked it open and burst out into the hallway. It was empty, but after this morning's events, this hardly fazed me. Before I knew it I was running out of the grey school building, heading towards the alley.