Wednesday, October 28, 2015

The Veil of Reality - part one

I had felt his eyes on me already before the ceremony had started, and now as I’m searching through the crowd I am reminded of the eerie feeling I get whenever he is close.
   The ceremony had been so filled with love and joy, the pinnacle of success of the festival; people dancing everywhere, children laughing, all the people filling me with excitement and true happiness.
   There is a young girl who is about to break out in a fit of laughter at one of the singers from this morning; he has just fallen head first into a pit of mud. Before I even see her I know she is there, her laughter comes at me and fills my chest with bubbles that overflows and pours out of me and I can’t stop my own giggles. The bride, hair in a wreath of autumn leaves, is kissing her groom with such passion I cannot help but to fall in love.
   There it is again, that intense feeling of nothingness. He must be watching me for never have I felt so aware of a man, never have a man made my heartbeat slow down to an almost halt, shutting out all other people, all other feelings.
   There is something with his eyes. I first noticed them last night when he was playing with the band of folk singers. The bow danced over his violin with such tenacity and fire, he had the whole crowd on their feet, yet his eyes remained calm, fixed on mine and I could swear there were shadows around them for I could not see a thing but his eyes.
   Some children are splashing water at each other as they play by the lake and I’m brought back from the spell. The eerie feeling I had moments ago has abandoned me and I’m suddenly very aware of the cold autumn breeze, the vivid colours of red, yellow and orange that made the festival even more glorious suddenly don’t feel as bright.
   The sun is setting and the crowd is drawing to the tents for the wedding feast as someone lays their hands on my shoulders and turns me around. Even though I already know who it is my heart skips a beat, I gasp and tell him how he has frightened me!
   It‘s strange, I didn’t sense him walk up to me. His presence has dumbfounded me the entire weekend. His hands are large yet delicate and just as pale as his face. His hold on my shoulders is quite tight and he’s looking me deep in the eyes. If only I could tell what he’s feeling.
   We start to walk away from the festival grounds, he’s taken my hand in his and he’s leading me into the woods, there’s an enchanted glade there where he must be taking me.
   I do wonder if this is what it’s like to fall in love. It’s a sense of peace, a quietness I’ve never heard before. I can feel it all through my body, I have ever since I first saw him and I’ve not been able to think of much else. Even my sense of time is askew, how did it get so late? The stars have come out and I have to stop and light my lantern.
   He has brought me to the edge of the glade, I can still hear the festivities, the music is loud and cheerful and I can’t help but smile at the stranger in front of me.
   His face is stoic and does not reveal a thought, not even as he’s grabbing for something under his overcoat. The eerie feeling is back and I take a step backwards and through the light of the lantern I see something glimmer in his hand as he pulls out a dagger. For a second I’m mesmerised by the strange looking thing. I’m frozen in disbelief and I’m just about to simply ask what is going on as he thrust for me.
   I push him, both hands right in the chest, and I run. It’s dark and I cannot see, but I can hear the music. I run, but don’t know where. I scream, and I choke on my tears. I don’t know where he is, I cannot see.
   I listen for the music, my breathing, my crying, and my gasping is all I hear. I have to be silent. I have to hear where I should go. I hide behind a tree, the moss is cold and wet.
   I hear the music and I can see some light from the moon through the leaves. I run. My heart is in my throat and the woods are spinning. I think I hear him. We didn’t walk this far, it has to be here. Why didn’t I stay on the path?
   I run for the light; it’s the edge of the woods. I think I see lights from the tents, I scream. I scream and I run, the dress has tangled my feet. I’m running and I’m trapped, I’m screaming but I cannot hear my screams. Where am I? Someone please help!
   He’s behind me! I turn but he’s not there. There’s a flash and I’m on the ground. He has my lantern, I see his face and I scream. He’s standing above me and now he’s smiling, the glare from his eyes is all I see. I’m kicking empty air, I pull and punch and tare and kick, I try to get up.
   He plunges the dagger into my chest and my heart explodes. I am trapped. I cannot breathe. He plunges again, and again. He plunges the dagger into my gut and I cannot feel a thing,

I wake up from my own screams. I am screaming, and coughing, I have to gasp for air. I can breathe. My heart is racing, my limbs are shaking, I am weeping, but I can breathe. I take several deep breaths. From the moonlight I can see my own hand cramping and holding my now partially torn sheets.
   Slowly I realise where I am, who I am, and what has just happened. I am beginning to breathe normally again, I can let go of the sheets, and on shaky legs I manage to get out of the bed. I am soaking wet.
   What in the name of all the deities was that? I was at a wedding, no a festival! A queer looking man, a very intense man, murdered me and to make the whole situation queerer still, I was a woman. Never have I had such a queer dream.
   I stagger through the room and fumble for my cigarette case, I can scarcely make it out by the pale moonlight. It is still early, not even midnight yet, I only got two or three hours sleep. As I light a cigarette and begin to analyse what had just happened I can only be sure of one thing, I will not be getting anymore sleep tonight. And with that realisation I put on a pot of coffee and I think to myself that I do not have to be down at the newspaper until tomorrow afternoon, I am just picking up a couple of pay checks anyway, I might just skip it all together and wait a few days.

A few dozen old newspaper articles, half a thick war novel (of which I do not recall a thing) and several pots of coffee later, I still cannot let go of that dream. I decide to head down to the office after all.
   I grab my hat and my scarf and the heavy overcoat; this October has been really cold (as most Octobers are) and shut the door to the apartment and hopefully the dream behind me.
   My trusted and rusty bicycle is still leaning against the brownstone as I get out on the street. No one would want to steal an old and rusty thing like that I tell myself for the hundredth time.
   I get to the newspaper a little after one o’clock. The other reporters are just coming back from lunch and the first one I see is “Fat Eddie” Hamlin, a man of many words and few I find of interest, a middle age man who like to drink too much and recent everyone’s successes except his own, should he ever have any. I hurry my way through all the buzzing, trying to avoid them all but Eddie in particular, and as I shut the door to the Boss’ office I scarcely hear him murmur something about the “boy wonder”.
   The Boss is sucking on a fat cigar, as he always is, shouting at people over the telephone with his booming voice that commands authority and tell the tale of a man who has done this job for a very long time.
   After he has slammed the receiver and voiced his wonder for why I am at the office on one of the few days I have off he hand me my pay checks and expresses his gratitude. Well earned money he tells me, more than he could say for the rest of the sorry group of misfits. He calls me Parker. He is the only one who has ever called me by my surname. Ever since I started working for him I have seen it as a sign of respect. All my life I have only ever been called Billy, or William by my late mother and by my professors.
    We have a rather lengthy conversation about the last couple of articles I wrote. He was amazed how I managed to out-scoop all the other papers in the city several times in the last few months, something I have wondered myself. Recently I seem to stumble across evidence and find witnesses and other people who would like to talk without making the effort one would think it takes, it is almost as though I know where to go even before it comes to mind.
   I feel uneasy about it all and I change the conversation to work, new work and I ask him for a new assignment; something to keep my mind off last nights dream. I can tell he is hesitant to give me something, instead he gives me a speech on how nothing is really happening except for the situation in Europe, how war is hell and we are selling papers on how people are fleeing for their lives. The only tip he has gotten all day from any of the informers down at the police station is not all that reliable. The informant is a semi-corrupt cop named Thompson who sells stories to feed his gambling habit. Finally he tells me that there supposedly was a murder last night, a woman was stabbed to death at a wedding down at the Garden Festival.
   Needless to say I was utterly dazed, I felt all the colour drain from my face, for a moment it was as though time slowed down to a halt and I must have looked whiter than a ghost.
   I must not have spoke for what seemed as several minutes. The Boss looked upon me with a inquisitive face and proceeded to tell me that he was sending Hamlin down there to investigate. All I could bring myself to do was to protest and demand that I be put on the case. I could tell the Boss did not entirely believe me when I told him that I simply needed a distraction and that this story might be good for a crime novel I was writing. I had to agree to take Eddie with me and let him take charge on this.
   After I found Eddie, slumped over his desk drinking Scotch from a paper cup pretending it was coffee, I explained the situation. I could tell he was not happy about it as he shoved me into the back of a cab, but then again; neither was I.

Thompson was waiting for us when we arrived at the downtown police station, the Boss must have phoned ahead. Looking at his rat-like face, with pinpricks where eyes should be, I am not sure if I managed to hide my detest for the man during our questioning.
   The body of a young woman was found early this morning on a field close to the festival tents. The killer had not bothered hiding the body and they believe she was murdered right on the spot where she was found. She had been found by a couple of wedding guests who had returned in the morning to collect some personal belongings they had left behind.
   As Thompson told the tale I just stood there and could not get the image of the glaring man standing over me in the field, with a twisted smile and a tortured face he stabbed me in the chest. As I think of it now I can still feel her pain, the jagged blade cutting through my flesh and scraping my bones. I’ve got a very queer feeling about all of this, but who can I tell that would not think me mad?
   Her name was Madeline Stuart, a girl from a wealthy family that own and operates the rubber factory and half a dozen other businesses in town. The police have tried to contact her father but he is out of the country. Her brother, Patrick, is up at the sanatorium where he has apparently been a patient for years. They have sent officers there but Robert refuses to talk to any of them, he is tied to a bed and has been for years. He’s a “nut-job” as Thompson so delicately described it, but he cannot have killed her or witnessed any of it.
   Eddie decided to go to the coroner’s office for the final report. I have to admit I was glad Eddie took it upon himself, I am not sure I could face Madeline’s dead body just now. Eddie also thought I was wasting time for wanting to go and see this brother of her's. Robert could not have killed her or seen who did, Eddie told me, something I need not be told since I did see who the murderer was, but this queer feeling of mine tells me there is something more going on here, something terribly foul and something I believe Robert will know.
  
The rain fell heavy when I got back out on the street, I waved down a cab and the driver gave me a queer look as I told him to take me to the sanatorium, the asylum as the people in the city always called it. I could not be sure whether the driver thought me to be a patient or a doctor, either way I could tell he had preferred another route.
   The Bellevue Sanatorium is housed within a mid-century neo-classical building. The façade is quite magnificent, frightfully so with its tall columns and large windows; all barred to keep people from attempting escapes. The private cemetery within the tall stone fence did not take away from the overall intimidating and jarring feeling I got when I walked up the steps to the massive iron-barred doors.
   Originally I had planned to introduce myself as the worldly newspaper reporter I believe myself to be, but I quickly decided that I would have a greater chance to get to see Robert if I instead pretended to be an old friend of his. A fool-proof plan I believed until the nurse who greeted me looked upon me with great scepticism. In the end she did send an orderly to find out whether or not Mr Stuart would see me. Now the plan hung on the thread of hope that Robert was either a man in desperate need of company, and just so happened to carry a greater than the average person’s grudge against the police (who he had refused to see), or that he was mentally disabled enough to believe I was indeed an old friend of his. Surely I would not be so fortunate that he actually had a friend by the fictitious name I gave the nurse.
   Walking through the corridors the thought struck me that this is not a good place to regain one’s sanity. I could not decide whether the walls were a dark green or dirty-grey colour, the grit and grime in the crevices played their part in the illusion.
   Robert Stuart is a very thin man. Exceptionally tall (his legs and feet did not fit entirely in the bed!) and very thin with hollowed out cheeks, a razor sharp chin, grey sickly skin and greasy hair. Bathing the patients did not seem to be a high priority, the room reeked of sickness and filth, human filth.
   I told the orderly who had brought me to Robert’s room to leave us to ourselves. Once he had shut the door I introduced myself as a reporter investigating the death of his sister.
   At first Robert had remained very calm, a man of few words I thought, either that or he was heavily medicated which would better explain the restraints that tied his arms and legs to the bed, but he soon got agitated when I began my inquiry into who could possibly have wanted to hurt Madeline.
   “Wicked men everywhere, after us all, no one else could see. Only Madeline could feel them. They are there; everywhere. Always looking, always plotting. Behind you, behind you!” Robert shrieked.
   Possibly it was my imagination getting the better of me; I felt a chill on my neck but when I turned around there was nothing there.
   Had it not been for my dream last night I would have written off these words as the feverish ramblings of a man cursed with delirium.
   I was hesitant to ask, by now I was plainly aware that the answers I would get would create even more confusion, but I had to know who these men were, where they are and why they wanted to kill Madeline.
   “Not men. Not anymore. They are everywhere, they are keeping me here. The screams! The screams from the others! Always screaming, Madeline could feel them, that is why she is dead. She only told me and dr. Bailey.”
   Bailey? I recognised the name. A further inquiry into Roberts mind confirmed what I had suspected.
   Dr. Arthur Bailey was a disgraced anthropology professor and archaeologist who had been shunned from the university after many years for “baseless results, fabricated evidence, threatening witnesses,“ among other allegations. He had once been the expert in his field but everything had come into questioning at the hearing where he lost his seat at the university, the lawsuit against a former colleague and the respect of the entire academic world.
   It would seem the rather peculiar coincidence that I happened to come across this very article in the newspaper this morning.
   Robert on the other hand did not describe dr. Bailey in any manner or form; he had only confirmed Bailey as a doctor from the university, someone who had seen Madeline regularly. Unfortunately Bailey had never been to see Robert, that much I gather for he could not tell me what Bailey and Madeline had discussed.
   Robert was slipping in and out of consciousness, continuing on in incoherent ramblings. Every now and then he would seize-up, let out a shriek and curse the demons for keeping him here.
   I scarcely wanted to believe it but no matter how much I tried to convince myself that these were all just coincidences, that this husk of a man was simply insane, I could not. The murder of Madeline, which I had experienced in a dream, was too frightful to ignore. I have to find Bailey.



Monday, December 17, 2012

The three little foxes: Christmas in the glade


Here it finally is; the third of four independent Christmas stories I'm using to restart this blog. This one is a children's story about the same three little foxes that I wrote about months ago. 


The three little foxes: Christmas in the glade.

Christmas is just a few days away as we visit the three little foxes that live under the great big tree. They have anxiously been waiting for the first snow to fall; especially George who has been dreaming of snowmen and sleigh rides ever since he first heard of snow from the wolf cousins.
   The three little foxes had never seen snow you see, they were usually sleeping during the winter, or hibernating as most little foxes do. But this year they had decided to stay awake and celebrate Christmas with their cousins.
    Christmas was just a few days away and George had been standing by the window for what seemed like days, waiting for the snow.
    I think they were funning us” he said. “I think they made up all those stories about snow”.
    “Don’t be silly, George” said his sister Sally. “Why would they make up a story like that? We’ll just have to wait.” But George didn’t want to wait, he wanted to make snowmen and have a snowball fight and celebrate his victory in his very own snow cave, just as the wolves used to do.
    Come and have your milk and cookies before we go to bed” shouted Henry from the kitchen. “You can’t stand by that window all night, it won’t make it snow any faster.”
    So George and Sally joined their brother for chocolate-chip cookies and milk in the kitchen, and after they had finished a whole tray of cookies they all crawled into their big bed and drew their even bigger blanket up under their noses. They huddled together to keep warm before they fell asleep, all dreaming of snow.
    Maybe it was by luck, or maybe it was by magic, or maybe it was Father Christmas who granted George’s wish, but that very night just after the three little foxes fell asleep the snow began to fall. And it fell all through the night covering everything in sight and by the time it was morning the whole forest was covered under a thick blanket of snow.
   Henry was the first one out of bed this morning. “Oh, look!” he shouted with joy and ran up to the window. “It’s snowing! Wake up George! There’s snow everywhere! Sally! Come look at the snow!”
    Henry was jumping up and down with excitement.
   “Wow. It’s so pretty” Sally exclaimed when she got to the window. “George, come and look at the snow!” But George wasn’t there; he was nowhere to be seen.
   “Where’s George?” Sally asked. But when she turned around Henry was gone as well.
   “Boys?” Sally called out confused. She searched through the room but the boys were gone. She searched until she heard a soft thump and then a louder one when a snowball hit the window and when Sally looked outside she saw the boys running around throwing snowballs at each other. They were having a snowball fight, and without her! Sally quickly put on the winter clothes they had been knitting all through the autumn and ran out the door to join her brothers.
   “Boys,” she called. “Wait for me! And remember no snowballs to the head like the wolves said, it’s against the rules!”
   But as soon as she got outside a snowball almost hit her on the nose “Hey! Cut it out, Mama Wolf said it could be dangerous!” And so the three little foxes started their first ever snowball war.
   Henry who was a very fast little fox could throw more snowballs at the others every minute than they could ever count, and George who was super strong could throw snowballs so fast that he managed to hit Henry even though he could move at the blink of an eye.
   George and Henry could match each other’s skills pretty well but Sally who wasn’t super strong or super fast had more trouble; Henry ran around her throwing ten balls before she managed to throw one, and George would hit her really hard and he could even hit her snowballs in the air making himself impossible to hit.
   “This isn’t fair you guys!” Sally cried out. “You keep hitting me and I haven’t hit you once! You hit too hard George and you’re too fast Henry, this isn’t fair!” She said angrily.
   “It’s you who are too slow!” Shouted Henry.
   Yeah, it’s not our fault that you’re no good! George agreed.
   “But you don’t have to run so fast or throw so hard. Why can’t you play nicer so we all can have fun together?” Sally asked.
   Why should we play poor just because you’re so bad?” Henry replied.
   Maybe this isn’t a game for girls!” George said. “If you can’t keep up with us then maybe you should go and play inside.”
   “Hurmf! You boys are just being mean!” Sally cried out. “I’ll show you who’s not good enough!” She said as she walked away in a huff.
   Where do you think she’s going?” Asked George.
   “I don’t know. Probably to go and read or something she’s good at,” giggled Henry and threw a snowball at George; and the boys continued their snowball war in a terrible furry.
   While the boys where hard at their game Sally had gone over to the tree house that she had turned into a laboratory and workshop. Well inside she started to put all sorts of nuts and bolts together with various other items she had in her scrap-pile. She was sawing and hammering and welding as she was muttering that she’d “show them who was bad at snowball wars”.
   Henry and George were laughing and running around and hiding behind trees and bushes all while trying to hitting each other with snowballs, they were having such a good time that they didn’t notice Sally as she was coming towards them with a really big robot that looked a little like her.
    Henry ran up behind George and just as he was about to launch a snowball at his brother he saw Sally and the robot coming close to them. Henry stopped just as he was about to throw the ball.
   “Yikes! George!”
   “What?” George asked.
   “L-l-look at that!” Henry shouted and pointed with his paw at the machine coming towards them.
   W-w-wh-what is that?” Stammered George.
   “It’s my latest invention,” Sally said proudly. “It’s a snow-rolling, snow-throwing, super-deluxe power machine, with turbo. I call her Matilda!” Sally said with a great smile.
   “Run George,” Henry whispered.
   “What did you say?” George asked.
    “RUUUUN!!” Shouted Henry as he ran away at the speed of light.
   Sally was steering the robot with a remote control and as the machine rolled across the snow it made snowballs by the dozens and throwing them even faster than Henry could, and by the flick of a switch Matilda the robot started to pepper snowballs at the boys. George hid behind the nearest tree and Henry tried to out run Matilda’s fire but wherever he ran a snowball hit him. George threw his snowballs as fast and hard as he could out from behind the tree but the robot seamed impervious to his attacks and for every snowball he threw there were three more coming at him.
   Henry ran up to George behind the tree. “Sh-she’s nuts!” Henry panted. “We don’t stand a chance alone. We have to work together!”
   “But how?” Asked George. “If I try to lure away her fire you make sure to hit Sally’s remote and knock it away from her so I can run and catch it. Right now I can’t get passed the robot.”
   “Shhhhh,” said George. “Do you hear that?”
   “What is it? I can’t hear anything,” Henry asked.
   “That’s just it. She’s stopped firing at us. Take a look if she’s still there.” George demanded.
   “No you look!” Henry exclaimed. “I’ve been hit too many times on the bum already, I won’t be able to sit for a week!”
   “Maybe she went inside. Do you think she gave up?” George asked. But as soon as he had said it a big robot head popped up through the snow in front of them.
   “Eeeeeeekk” the boys cried. “She’s under the snow!” Henry shouted and grabbed George by the tail and started to run. A hailstorm of snowballs spurted after them as Henry ran dragging George by the tail. The boys hid behind the great big tree that grows over their house.
   “Look!” cried Henry. “Look at what she’s done to my tail! And my beautiful orange fur is now completely white! Why does she have to aim at my behind?”
   “Do you think we should have let her join our game?” George asked.
    “Probably. But that’s too late now. She’s ruined my fur, and my bum hurts. Now it’s a war!”
   “Have you boys given up yet?” Sally shouted from somewhere on the others side of the tree.
   “No way! Henry shouted back. “Let’s stick to the plan,” he whispered to George. “I’ll run out that way,” he said and pointed to his right, “and you sneak around the other way and take out her remote.” By the blink of an eye Henry had disappeared around the tree; all George could hear were the snowballs hitting Henry and him shouting “ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch” whenever they did.
   “I better cover myself in snow so she won’t see me” George thought to himself. His dark-grey fur would be seen immediately by Sally if he didn’t.
   After removing his sweater, hat, scarf and gloves he started to roll and cover him self with snow until he was completely white. George crawled out from behind the tree where he spotted Sally. She was laughing and giggling as she steered Matilda after Henry who was busy running around in circles; throwing snowballs at the machine.
   Sally didn’t see George as he crawled closer to her, and when he was close enough he carefully rolled a really hard ball that was almost pure ice, and then he jumped up and threw the ball as hard as he could at the remote control.
   Sally hadn’t seen George until he jumped up from the snow and by that time it was too late, the remote control was shot out of her hand. “Oh, no!” she cried out. The remote flew away and smashed against a tree. “You broke it! George!”
   “Whoo-hooo!” Shouted Henry. “Victory! Hahaha.”
   Only the robot didn’t stop. Out from it’s head came another snow cannon.
   “Eh, sis? What’s it doing?” George asked. “I built Matilda so she could shoot at two or more targets at once. So I’d run if I were you. Hehehe” giggled Sally.
   But Matilda didn’t fire at George at first, the robot locked its aim at Sally, and after the first snowball hit her Sally exclaimed “Ouch! Matilda! What are you doing?” Matilda was now firing at all three little foxes at once.
   “Run!” Shouted Sally. “I can’t control her and with out the remote she’s going to fire at everything that moves!” Sally and George ran behind the tree and hid where George had left his clothes.
   “Nicely done, sis!” George said as he put his winter clothes back on.
   “Me? How is it my fault? You destroyed my remote!” The two of them could hear Henry shouting as the tried to destroy the machine with snowballs; “You’ll never get me you stupid machine! Aha! Take that! And That!”
   “What are we going to do?” George asked. “I don’t know, but Henry’s snowballs are never going to brake Matilda.”
   “Oh, no! Not that big! Heeeelp!” They heard Henry shout, and half a second later Henry came running to join his siblings.
    Henry was panting. “Sh-she, she’s crazy! She threw a snowball at me that was bigger than George!”
   “We can see that” Sally giggled. “You look like a snowman. It’s only the carrot that’s missing.
   “There!” Said George and brushed of some snow from Henry’s nose so his orange fur shone through. “Just like a carrot!”
   “Haha. Very funny, George!” Henry said. “There’s a war out there and the two of you are hiding here when I’m taking all the heat!”
   “What would you have us do?” George asked.
   “I don’t know, I didn’t build that thing!” Henry replied.
   “OK, we can try and cover Matilda in snowballs, maybe that will stop her” Sally said. “I can roll ice balls for George and you continue to throw as many as you can and maybe that will do it.”
   “OK. On three, ONE, TWO, THREE!”
   And the three little foxes ran out to meet the fire of the snowball throwing super-deluxe robot Matilda. And they fought a brave snowball war; snowballs were flying everywhere, braking windows, hitting trees and houses all around the woods. The three little foxes surrounded Matilda and threw as many snowballs at her as they could, but so far all it did was to cause a terrible ruckus.
  
   The snowball war was heard all over the forest, all the way inside the great Mr. Crowley’s cave.
   Sleeping deep inside the cave was the forest caretaker, the bear Mr. Crowley. He was dreaming of honeycombs and sugarplums when he was awakened by the terrible noise. 
   Mr. Crowley woke up in a stir and he wasn’t sure what was going on. “Oh for Pete’s sake! What’s going on now? Can’t a bear ever get to sleep in these woods?” He growled.
   Mr. Crowley got out of bed and slowly dragged himself out if his cave.
   “Burrrr. It’s snowing! Its still winter! What’s going on?” The bear tried to focus his ears to hear where all the noise was coming from.
   Oh, no.” he cried out. “It’s those rascally little foxes again. Those children will drive me crazy one day! I better go see what they’re up to this time.”
   The three little foxes lived quite close to Mr. Crowley’s cave so he didn’t have to walk far, but when he arrived he was met by a terrible sight; the entire glade was overrun by snowballs, all the trees and houses looked like they were covered in giant marshmallows and there were broken windows on every house. “Oh for Pete’s sake” the bear said as he was hit by a snowball.
   The snowball had come from one of the three little foxes and he saw all three of them hurry behind Sally’s shed. And as he stood there watching the foxes Marty the hedgehog walked up to him.
   “Marty! What are you doing up? What’s going on here?
   “I couldn’t sleep. It’s those foxes at it again. They’re having some kind of snowball war and they woke up the kids and the Mrs. and she woke me up to go and see what was going on,” said the hedgehog.
   “That’s it!” Said Mr. Crowley. “I better go and talk to those children and put an end to all this ruckus!”
   When Mr. Crowley reached the shed the three little foxes were all standing with their backs to the wall and they were all panting and looking tired.
   “Mr. Crowley!” Sally said as she saw the bear. “What are you doing here?”
   “You three! I’m here to see why the three of you are making such a ruckus! You woke me up, and you woke up the hedgehogs. Some of us are trying to hibernate you know? Why aren’t you?”
   “We wanted to see the snow,” said George.
   “And we’re having a snowball war.” Henry added.
   “But it got a little out of hand.” Sally finished.
   “Well, stop it!” The bear demanded. “You’re keeping the whole forest awake with all this noise. And look at what you’ve done to this glade!”
   “We can’t Mr. Crowley! Sally built a robot that’s throwing snowballs at us.” Henry cried.
   “The boys wouldn’t let me play. They were too strong and too fast for me so I built Matilda to play for me. But the boys broke her and now she won’t stop attacking all of us,” Sally said in her defence.
   “She’s really good.” George said as he glanced over his shoulder to see if Matilda was close by.
   “But why couldn’t you dumb-dumbs just play with your sister?” Mr. Crowley asked the boys.
   “Hey, they’re no dumb-dumbs!” Sally exclaimed.
   “Yeah! Besides she was no good!” George said in his defence.
    “Hush, you! Dumb-dumb!” Sally said and threw some snow at George.
   “OK. I think I know enough now. I better go and talk to this Matilda and reason with her so she’ll stop this,” Mr. Crowley said and walked back out on the yard.
   “Reason with her?” Henry asked. “Who’s the dumb-dumb now?”
   She’ll turn Mr. Crowley into a bear-popsicle!” Cried George.
   And the three little foxes listened as Mr. Crowley approached the robot.
   “Oh Miss Matilda,” they heard the bear say. “Hey! Stop that. You’re being quite rude, Madame!
   “He’s talking to a robot.” Henry said and shook his head in disbelief.
   “Oh, no! That’s too big, Miss. What are you doing? Put that down!”
   “Yeah, he’s gone for sure” George agreed. And they heard Mr. Crowley being hit by a giant snowball.
   “That’s it! No more Mr. nice Crowley! Bear-attack!!”
   “Bear-attack?” The three little foxes asked themselves and heard what sounded like an explosion from the yard, and they ran out to see what had happened.
   They saw Mr. Crowley standing among the pieces of what used to be Matilda.
   “She was really quite rude, your Matilda” the bear said.
   “She was a robot,” Henry answered.
   “Still no excuse for rudeness” Mr. Crowley responded. “I’m sorry I had to destroy her.”
   “That’s OK” Sally said happily. “I probably should stop building robots anyway.”
   “Now boys; what have you learned from all of this?” Mr. Crowley asked.
   “That robots are no fun!” George said with a smile.
   “No. You have learned that even though you’re really good at something you should let others play too. We’re all good at different things but if we don’t give others a try or let them play we’re all going to end up playing alone because no-one is going to want to play with us. Take George for an example; He’s really strong but he can also paint and draw beautiful pictures, but he’s not as good as Sally at building things. And Henry, he’s really fast, but also very clumsy.”
   “I don’t know what you’re talking about” Henry said and didn’t mind where he put his feet and fell head first into a pile of snow.
   “Thank you for proving my point, Henry” Mr. Crowley said and continued; “As I was saying we’re all good at different things. When Henry cooks or bakes everyone in these woods wants a bite. And when Sally was going to cook for us the last time I was here she ended up serving a black-kind-of-soup that no one could eat.”
   “Yeah, and one time she almost burned down the kitchen!” Henry added.
   “Thank you for reminding us, Henry” Sally muttered.
   “And that time she burned our cocoa and put salt in it instead of sugar. Eeeuugh!” George added.
   “We get it, George!” Sally said angrily.
   “So you see,” Mr. Crowley continued. “The next time you should let everybody play, even if they’re not as good as you are, they might be better than you at something else. Mr. Crowley wisely pointed out.
   “But now you all have to clean up this mess! You’ve awakened half the forest from their hibernation so the least you can do is make this glade beautiful for Christmas because now everyone is going to want to come here to celebrate with you, and have some of Henry’s delicious food!”
   And so they did. All three little foxes started to clean up the glade. Sally collected all the broken bits from the robot and all the broken glass, she always made sure to keep everything; even if it was broken she could use it for one of her inventions or recycle it into something good.
   Henry and George started to repair the windows with the help of Mr. Crowley who knew where they could find new glass for the frames.
   Even the hedgehogs helped to shovel snow away from the yard, leaving only a little on the ground to still keep it white.
    Everyone had to work hard to remove what was left of the snowballs from all the walls and tree-trunks; it wasn’t pretty having them there. Instead they started to put up glitter, fairy lights and other ornaments around the glade to make it beautiful for Christmas.
   “Now this is much better,” said Mr. Crowley. “Now we need chairs and tables so we’ll have somewhere to sit. And we’re going to need a Christmas tree with decorations as well. If George comes with me it shouldn’t take very long, I could use his strength to carry it. If we go and get one and the rest of you can get the decorations.”
   Whilst Mr. Crowley and George were away fetching a Christmas tree Sally and Henry collected enough tables and chairs to seat half the forest and the hedgehogs brought more boxes packed with ornaments.
   “So much glitter!” Sally exclaimed and wrapped some around herself. “Isn’t it beautiful against my red fur?”
   “You look like a really pretty Christmas present,” said Mrs. Hedgehog and unpacked another box of glitter and added, “at least I think you do. We’ve never been awake for Christmas before now.
   “Oh look at this beautiful star!” Said Lisa, one of the hedgehog children.
   “It’s very pretty, Lisa.” Henry agreed. “We’ll put it at the top of the Christmas tree like Mr. Crowley said. It’s going to be perfect up there! Mr. Crowley and George should be back soon so I better start supper.” Henry said and went inside.
   “I think that might be them!” said Marty the hedgehog as they all saw something stir at the top of the hill behind the foxhole.
   But it wasn’t Mr. Crowley and George; it was two baby-wolves stirring in the bushes.
   “That’s not Mr. Crowley. That’s two of our baby-cousins; Flip and Fib.” Sally pointed out. “Does your mother know you’re here?” She asked when the wolves had joined the group.
   “She sent us to wish you a merry Christmas,” said Flip. “And invite you to our snow-fort for a snowball fight,” said Fib.
   “Oh, no. Not another one” Marty sighed.
    “I don’t know if we can, I have to ask Henry. He’s in the kitchen,” Sally said. “Wait here and I’ll go and ask him.”
   Sally was only in the house for a little while but by the time she got back out the baby-wolves were already halfway up the hill again.
   “Are you leaving already?” Sally shouted.
   “Yeah we have to get back to the fort now,” said Flip. “We already got what we came for,” said Fib.
    “I wonder what they meant by that,” Sally said as the wolves disappeared over the hill.
    George and Mr. Crowley returned just as the hedgehogs had unpacked all the ornaments. George carried the Christmas tree all by himself and Mr. Crowley only had to tell him where to walk since George was so little that he didn’t see anything from inside the branches.
   “OK, George. Now you can put it down and we’ll raise it in the middle of the yard.” And George raised the tree with ease and it was a beautiful tree. Everyone helped with the decorations, and by the time it was finished the tree looked like a jewel and really tasty treat all at once with the glitter swirling from the bottom all the way to the top and with candy canes, ornaments and fairy lights on every branch, all it needed now was the star right at the top.
   “Where’s the star?” Sally asked after looking through the empty boxes.
   “The wolves must have taken it!” Marty exclaimed. “That must have been what they came to get!”
“Do you really think so, Marty?” Sally asked. “Why would they take our star?”
“Which wolves?” Asked Mr. Crowley.
“Our baby-cousins. But I really don’t think they took it,” Sally answered just as a snowball came flying and hit Mr. Crowley in the head.
   “Oh for Pete’s sake! Would people just stop throwing snowballs at me!”
   When Mr. Crowley removed the snow from the back of his head he discovered a note that had been put in the snowball. “We have your star. If you want it back you have to come and get it from our snow fort, bring lots of snowballs. –Mother Wolf.” “How rude!” Mr. Crowley said. “Your nasty cousins have stolen our star and now they want a snowball war!”
   “They’re not so much nasty as they are naughty and mischievous,” Sally said and read through the note. “What do you think George? Should we have another snowball fight today?”
   “I say we take back our star, and we do it now!” George answered. “Who’s with us?”
    “We’ll do what we can!” Said Marty as Henry came running out from the house.
   “Let’s do this thing!” He shouted with glee.
   “Oh boy,” Mr. Crowley sighed. “No robots this time!”
   “We promise!” The three little foxes all said with a smile.
   The three little foxes lead the way as they, together with the hedgehogs and Mr. Crowley, made their way towards the wolf-glade.
   “Oh wow! Look at that” George exclaimed as they saw the wolves’ snow fort. “It’s huge!”
   And it truly was a magnificent sight; thick walls towering high in the sky; wolves standing on top of the walls, and one wolf in each of the four turrets.
   “L-l-look! Shouted Lisa the hedgehog. “Our star!”
   The wolves had placed a Christmas tree in the middle of the snow fort’s courtyard and at the top of the tree they had placed the stolen star.
   “I can finish this in no time!” Said Henry as he ran towards the snow fort. But when he tried to use his lightning-like speed to climb the walls he fell to the ground, head first as always with Henry, and into a pile of snow, and as he was stuck in the snow the wolves threw a couple of snowballs at his behind.
   “Oh, no. Not again” they heard Henry say muffled by the snow.
   Henry quickly got on his feet and ran back to the others.
   “The walls are made of ice! They are too slippery to climb!” He panted.
   Flip and Fib were playing outside the gate to the fort as it opened and a big black wolf, dressed in camouflage gear came through the gate.
   “Look at Mother Wolf!” Sally gasped. “She looks like a General, I wanna be a General too!”
   “Welcome to our fort little cousins!” Mother Wolf shouted. “If you want your star back you have to win it in a snowball war.”
   “What are the rules?” Mr. Crowley shouted back.
    “The rules are simple; if you reach the star you have won. But no throwing snowballs at each other’s heads. And remember to have fun, it’s the whole point.”
   “I better sit this one out,” said Mr. Crowley. “I think it would be unfair if we used both my strength and George’s.
   “Let the games begin!” Mother Wolf shouted and returned back inside the fort followed by Flip and Fib.
   “What’s the plan then, General?” Asked Marty the hedgehog.
   “I think we should try and get close to the gate and push it open. It looks like it’s just hanging there with a rod straight through it holding it in place. So if we push at the bottom it should flip open, but to do that we need to distract the wolves at the walls and in the turrets. That will be Henry and George’s job. Marty and Tom (Tom is the second Hedgehog child who rarely talks or does anything, he’s awfully shy) can roll snowballs for supply, we’re going to need loads of them. And me and Mrs. Hedgehog and Lisa will sneak up to the gate.”
   “Sounds like a good plan!” Henry cheered. “Everybody huddle up and put your paws in and on three we shall attack! One. Two. Three. Go team!”
   And off they went; George and Henry picked out a couple of wolves each and they were throwing snowballs at them as best they could. Marty and Tom kept giving them new snowballs to throw, which gave the girls the cover they needed to get to the gate.
   “OK, girls,” Sally said as they reach the gate. “Let’s push it open!” And they pushed and they pushed but the gate didn’t move an inch.
   “It looks like it won’t push open from this direction. Maybe if we got some rope with hooks over the top of it we could pull it open.” Sally pondered.
   “Maybe you could” they heard a voice say. “But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
   “Eeeek” Sally shrieked when she saw that it was Mother Wolf standing at the top of the wall with Flip and Fib, all three loaded with snowballs.
   “Retreat!” Sally shouted and all the girls ran away with snowballs at their heels.
   “That didn’t work,” said Mrs. Hedgehog as the boys returned from the battle as well.
   “Well, what happened?” Henry asked.
   “We can’t push the gate open from this side,” Sally replied. “But maybe George can brake it,” she added. “If we take the heat off of him.”
    “Let’s do it!” George said eagerly.
    So the whole gang approached the snow fort once again. By launching snowballs at the wolves George managed to get close to the wall undetected, but as he approached the gate, just as he was about to strike it, the wolves revealed a giant snow cannon, which spurted snow like a fountain; and with the power of a tornado the snow sent George flying back up the hill from where they all had come.
   “George!” Sally cried, and the whole gang ran up the hill to see where he had gone, and they found him under a great big pile of snow.
   “Anymore bright ideas? Miss General?” George muttered.
   “That snow cannon is way too powerful” Mr. Crowley said as he walked up to the gang. “I believe I have to join your side now that the wolves are playing unfair. Besides I’m hungry!” He said and smiled at Henry. “Let’s finish this!”
   “Yeah!” Shouted George and Henry eagerly.
   “We’ll help you by drawing the cannon fire our way,” George said and jumped up on Henry’s shoulders.
   “By forming the super-deluxe dynamic fox duo, with turbo!” Henry said and gave Sally a wink.
   Henry ran down the hill with George on his shoulders and as the others watched George kept throwing fast balls at the wolves, clearly distracting them as they tried to hit the dynamic duo with their cannon.
   Now it was Mr. Crowley’s turn to run down the hill and he ran as fast as he could building up a tremendous amount of power.
    “Watch out for the bear!” Shouted one of the wolves and the others steered the snow cannon towards Mr. Crowley.
   Mother Wolf was standing with Flip and Fib on the inside of the fort, quite close to the gate when they heard Mr. Crowley shouting; “Bear attack!”
   “Bear attack?” Said Flip and Fib and looked at each both confused.
   “Wooaaoh!” They heard the bear shout as the snow from the cannon hit him and made him trip, and half a second later Mr. Crowley came crashing through the wall.
   “He missed the gate,” Sally said as she was watching from atop of the hill.
   “Are you OK, Mr. Crowley?” Mother Wolf asked as she helped the bear to his feet.
   “Oh yes, at least I think so.”
   “Are you sure? Because you just went through a wall…” She added.
   The wolves on top of the wall were laughing and rolling around at the sight of the bear as he crashed through the wall. That is until they heard the cracking of ice and when they saw that the wall was about to fall apart.
   “Uh, oh! Flip and Fib are out of here!” The baby-wolves shouted and ran for cover as the wall came tumbling down over Mr. Crowley and Mother Wolf.
   When Flip and Fib returned they saw their mother and Mr. Crowley crawling out from the snow.
   “Hehehe. Look at mommy! She’s a snow-wolf now!” Said Flip.
    “And Mr. Crowley is a polar bear!” Giggled Fib.
    As Mother Wolf was brushing of the snow from her fur she saw a dark-grey and orange whirlwind come through the broken wall, and it twirled up the Christmas tree and when she glanced at the top of the tree she saw that it was Henry with George on his shoulders and Lisa the hedgehog in George’s arms.
   “We won!” Lisa exclaimed as she grabbed the star.
   “You sure did,” said Mother Wolf. “Aaaatchooo!” She sneezed. “I think I’ve caught a cold…”
   “Aaaaatchooo!... Me too” said Mr. Crowley and sneezed even louder. “I think we’d better get back to the fox-glade and get something warm in our bellies” the bear said and rubbed his tummy.
   And so they did; the wolves, the hedgehogs and Mr. Crowley all followed the three little foxes back to their house where they threw a giant feast. The Christmas tree finally got its star back and it stood tall in the middle of the fox-glade as all the animals danced around it singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. After a few hours of dancing outside they brought the celebrations indoors where Henry served hot cocoa with marshmallows to each and every one. George and Sally were singing by the piano together with a group of wolves as Mr. and Mrs. Hedgehog danced to their tunes. And Mother Wolf was seated in the den by the roaring fire, wrapped up in a blanket; she was sipping her cocoa and listening to Mr. Crowley as he read from an old storybook.
    Mr. Crowley had Flip and Fib on his lap, and the hedgehog babies by his feet, as he read old stories about the great adventures of brave little hobbits, fair elves and powerful wizards.
    All the animals in the woods could hear as they danced and sang and laughed all through the night. And that is the story of how the three little foxes came to celebrate their first Christmas together with the wolves, the hedgehogs and the great Mr. Crowley.

The End


I'm going to edit the story at a later date since I feel I rushed it on the count that I've posted it almost two days late. I'm also going to highlight some of the words in bold, just as I did with the previous attempt at writing a children's book, in order to point out words that might need explaining, since if I'd actually decide to write a children's book I'd like to include a glossary to explain "difficult" words instead of using "simpler" ones, all in the name of expanding children's vocabularies. Talk about pretentious, eh? Well, at least I know it. I might not even follow through with it. It all depend wether or not it's a good idea, which is why I need more criticism and hints at what I'm doing wrong. Anyway it's late and I'm about to fall asleep on the keyboard and I'm afraid I've stopped making sense, if I ever did. Good night.