“Here he is,” said his mother. “We knew you would work out what to do in the end. You found out that you must never turn left into the flowers. When you do that, you disappear. They are magic flowers. If you turn right, everything is all right. We’ve been waiting for you. You’ve been a very clever elephant. Now, let’s go inside and have lunch.”
The End
© 2014 Alan Hardy
T TOWN
By Jade M. Phillips
Have you ever heard of a small town called T?
Where turnips and tangelos hung from the trees?
Tiny little bugs were called twittling-tinkers
And ballerinas were twinkle toes and scientists called thinkers?
I’ve heard of such a place
Long, long ago
When my Na Na and Pop Pop
Told me where to go
The little town called T is wrapped up in trees
On a tiny T-shaped island out in T sea
It cannot be found by just looking around
But by a teetering telescope stuck in the ground
It can only be reached by a tough little tug
And only on a Tuesday after a kiss and a hug
After toughing the torrents, the tug I tied up
On terrific terrain near a giant tea-cup
And when I arrived at this quaint little town
The boys wore tuxedos, and the girls in teal gowns
They welcomed me with a feast of tapioca and truffles
Turkey and tomatoes served on platters with ruffles
Tea-berries and teacakes on tiny tea carts
Along with toffee and coffee and tasty tea-tarts
Trivets topped with tacos, toast and tofu
There was so much T food I didn’t know what to do
Their names all started with the letter called T
Like Tommy and Tara, Tim and Teree
After filling our tummies with tons of tasty treats
I joined the children of T-town to twirl in the streets
Tight-ropers tip-toed across tight thin threads
High above the city with trinkets on their heads
Just then the town teacher called for a toast
To turn loose the T-animals and then turned with a boast
As tiny-toothed toads in low croaks that they throated
And turtles with heavy tops on their backs that they toted
High in tall trees the tipsy turtle doves trilled
And low on the ground tigers roared, I was thrilled!
Time ticked away to the trumpeters’ tune
The tawny-colored sun gave way for the moon
My tug awaited near the giant tea cup
For my time at T-town was already up
The tuxedo dressed boys and tressed girls in teal
With the teacher and tight-ropers tight on their heels
Along with the tigers and the tiny-toothed toads
While slow-toting turtles on their backs toted loads
I knew when I left, I’d have a tall-tale to tell
I had tears in my eyes as they cried out fare well
Too-da-loo! I called back, truth to be told
As the tight-tangled ropes let go the tug’s hold
Back in my tug and trolloping away
Stars twinkled in the twilight promising a new day
Tuckered and teetering I traipsed through my door
And took of my tennies, laid them tidy on the floor
My tired eyes twitched as I turned out the light
And my Nana and Pop Pop tucked me in tight
So if you ever cross the sea to the town called T
Give them my thanks and hug them for me
© 2014 Jade M. Phillips
THE SECRET SOCIETY OF POSTOV FEECE
By Adam Bigden
“Mummy, it took it, it took it right out of my hand!” The young boy said excitedly.
“Yes dear, of course” Said the boy’s Mum, sounding distracted.
Sammy was seven years old and he had just posted a letter to his Grandad to thank him for his Birthday Card and Present. Sammy’s Grandad lived at the Seaside a long way away and couldn’t always get to see him, but he never forgot to send him something on his Birthday. It was Grandad who had told him about the Post Boxes, the red upright soldiers that stand proudly on street corners.
Sammy remembered what his Grandad had said to him:
“You see them everywhere don’t you? That’s because they are all connected. How else do you think the letters get from one place to another, except through the secret tunnels that run under our towns and cities. They join the whole country together. There are special messengers that live inside the Post Boxes that take the letters you put into the slot and pass them on to the next box, who pass them on again and so on.”
Grandad’s story had made him look at every Post Box he saw, trying to catch a glimpse of the messengers. Sammy had once placed his ear to the cool painted metal, straining to listen for any unusual noises that may echo through the tunnels.
He was sure he had heard whispers and clanks, movements and scraping, but he had seen nothing. He kept on looking though.
One day, when Sammy was out with his Mum in town he stopped to study a Post Box near the Bus Stop where they were waiting. The bright red cylinder took up all his attention. Mum was chatting to a lady who was also waiting at the bus stop and Sammy walked the few steps to the Post Box to investigate further. As he placed both hands on the red surface he looked up to the dark slot. There was something moving there.
He took a step back to see better and saw that a spider was looking at him with all eight of its black shiny eyes. It was huge, the size of his hand, with big black hairy legs. What was curious about it though, was the red velvet collar that was fastened around its neck. There was also a little brass disc dangling from it, like the ones you see on cats and dogs.
Sammy turned around to see if anyone was paying attention to this strange sight, but no one else appeared to be in the least bit interested. He looked back and the spider had moved. It had crawled to the keyhole on the front. As he watched it produced a large red key from nowhere, and unlocked the door.
Sammy tugged on his Mum’s skirt, trying to get her attention, but she was too busy talking.
The red door swung open, squeaking a little. The spider looked at him as though inviting him inside. He looked at his Mum again, making sure she was still talking, then leaned into the dark opening, trying to see what was inside.
The spider landed, plop, onto Sammy’s head. He jumped in surprise, tripped and fell head first into the darkness. He felt like he was falling, but he landed on his feet as though he had jumped in the air.
It was dark at first and as he strained to look he saw a dot of light that grew into a flickering flame atop a candle. A pointy face with light green eyes appeared beyond the light to examine him and in a croaky, sing song voice it spoke.
“Well then, it appears we have a visitor hmmm? Who might you be young man?”
Sammy saw that the light got a little brighter. He could now see that the pointy face and green eyes belonged to a spindly old man with a pointy beard and a pointy red hat perched above his pointy ears. He had a pointy kind of smile too.
The pointy man looked upwards and spoke again, smiling warmly the whole time.
“What you doing eh? Letting children in here again. I know you get lonely, but you can keep doing this.”
There was a noise from above Sammy that sounded like a fast clicking noise. The pointy man listened for a moment until it finished, then shook his head sadly.
“Young man, it seems you have made an impression on my friend here.” Said the pointy man.
“What friend?” Said Sammy, looking around.
Sammy jumped as the spider with the red collar plopped down in front of him, made a clicking noise and started to approach him.
“Help! I don’t like spiders!” Gulped Sammy nervously.
“I
t’s ok, he likes you, he wants to be your friend. He says he saw you looking at the Post Box like you knew we were here. Did you know we were here?”
Sammy blushed. “My Grandad told me you were here. I just wanted to see you.”
The spider crept forward to Sammy and started rubbing its head against his leg. It began to purr, just like a cat would do. It was a little scary at first, but Sammy realised that the spider did not mean any harm and that it was just like having an eight legged, eight eyed cat. He carefully reached out to scratch it behind its eyes as he couldn’t see any ears. It responded with contented purring noises and clicks.
Looking back up to the pointy man Sammy started to feel a little bit safer in this strange place.
The pointy man smiled warmly again as he spoke. “Well, where to start. I should introduce us. I am Sorr Ting of Feece, and that friendly fellow is one of our messengers, Foolscap.”
Sammy looked down at Foolscap as he started to snuggle into Sammy's leg. The brass tag glinted in the candle light and he could now make out ‘Foolscap’ engraved into its surface.
“We are citizens of these tunnels which we call Feece. If your Grandad told you about us, then you know what we do I suppose?” Sorr questioned.
“Well, he said you take the letters and parcels from the Post Boxes. Grandad says you pass them on until they get delivered. Have you really got tunnels that connect the whole country?” asked Sammy curiously.
“Hehehe, I think your Grandad must be a wise man. He is absolutely correct. We belong to the most secret of secret societies. You humans think your letters travel by van and aeroplane. That’s not really what happens though. The members of the Secret Society of Postov Feece deliver your post.” Said Sorr with pride in his voice.
“Wow, that sounds like such fun, could I perhaps help one day?” Said Sammy gleefully.
“Of course you can, that is why Foolscap brought you here. He has a letter for you to deliver.”
Foolscap stopped purring and started to make clicking noises again. Then, from nowhere, he produced an envelope that simply had ‘Grandad’ written on it. He held it up to Sammy to take.
Sammy was confused as he picked up the letter. Sorr saw the confusion on his face and explained.
“This is a letter to your Grandad. Foolscap says he knew him once, when he was a little boy. He used to help us back then to deliver some special messages. Foolscap would like you to give him this to say thank you. It can’t be delivered by normal ways.” Sorr looked nervously at Sammy, hoping he hadn’t asked him to do too much.
Sammy grinned from ear to ear though. He was so happy at being asked to help and tucked the letter into his pocket. He would be a good boy and help, he always liked to help.
“Anyway young man, its time you were getting back to your Mum. Don’t worry, she won’t have missed you, things work a little differently here when it comes to time. Take care now. Just follow Foolscap to the door.” Sorr pointed to the spider that was starting to scuttle along the passage. Sammy followed.
Sammy saw a bright light and walked into it. He found himself standing in front of the Post Box once again. He saw the spider in the slot at the top and gave a little wave goodbye. His Mum called his name from behind and he turned to find the bus had pulled in to let them on.
“Coming Mum” he called and darted to the doors, got on and sat down.
“You look happy.” Said Mum.
“I am happy; I just met some new friends.” Sammy said with a smile on his face.
Mum looked confused, frowned, then smiled back at him. “Of course you did dear.”
The End
© 2014 Adam Bigden
HELLO FRIEND
By Peter John
Hello my friend who will you be,
When you are big and as strong as a tree?
Will you be an astronaut and fly into space?
Will you be an athlete and win every race?
Will you be a detective and solve every case?
Will you be famous and known every place?
Hello my friend who will you be,
When you are big and as strong as a tree?
Will you be a cobbler with shoes to mend?
Will you be a soldier with land to defend?
Will you be a doctor with patients to mend?
Will you be a banker with money to lend?
Hello my friend who will you be,
When you are big and as strong as a tree?
Will you be busy, will you be free.
Will you still be a friend to me?
© 2014 Peter John
THE UNSTOPPABLE TURFUNKEL TWINS!
By Kristina Blasen
“Oh, Mimba, my tooooth,” the lion moaned. “It huuurts!”
With his shaggy paw, he carefully cradled his jaw and tried to rub his tooth to ease the ache.
“You’re going to have to let me look you know, you’ve been complaining for three days straight!”
“No, it hurts too bad! I thought it was just something I ate, but now it hurts all the time!”
“Well, you do have a sweet tooth, you know,” the mouse said.
“But, it huurts. And I love sweets! I have to have my Hershey’s Chocolate for breakfast or I don’t know what I’ll do!”
“It’s not just that—the Coke you love and jelly beans and sugar right off the spoon!”
“Mmmm, I getting hungry now, I can just picture it—Oww, my tooth! You jabbed me,” he accused.
“Well, you have to open up and let me see!”
Reluctantly, he opened his jaws the tiniest bit. It didn’t matter though because Mimba was just a tiny little mouse and he could see just fine. Since he was pretending to be a dentist, he conjured a bright light and a giant tongue depressor. (Well, it was giant to him.)
“Hmm, I think I see the problem,” the medical mouse said thoughtfully.
“Wha-ath, isth, ifth?”
Coughing and holding his nose, Mimba shouted, “YUCK, phew! Don’t say anything else!”
He added, “Geez, what have you been eating lately?”
Forgetting, the lion started to list everything he’d eaten since this morning, “Cornfakes wifth milk, Co-oke, a Hershey’s Chaw-co-late bar, tfo shine-ey re-head affples--”
“Stop!” the mouse yelled, tapping around in the lion’s mouth with a teeny-tiny stethoscope that just appeared.
“Wha-ath, isth, ifth?”
“Just a second, I need to yank on it—“
“Ow! Tha-th’s ifth!” With a great swipe, claws tucked in of course, the lion swept his friend into the air and lowered him unceremoniously to the ground with a “Thunk!”
Rubbing his jaw, he asked, “So?”
“Hmm? Oh, well, you need to go to the dentist. Your tooth is all rotten.”
“Oh, no! My life is over, I can just hear the drill now,” he moaned.
“Actually, the dentist will probably just pull it!”
“Ack, you’re no help!”
Moaning and rolling on the grass feeling sorry for himself Sambala complained all afternoon until the pain got so bad he sat up like a rocket and said with conviction, “Okay, okay, I’ll do it, I’ll go to the dentist!”
“Well, now that you’ve come to your senses we’ll just call and make an appointment,” the mouse said.
He used his imagination and out of the air, a phone book and an old fashioned rotary telephone complete with a brass dial and a telephone stand appeared.
“Of course, we’ll have to do something about your mane…”
“What about my mane?” the lion asked with a frown.
“And your fur…”
“What about my fur?” he cried.
“Well, you can’t exactly expect a regular dentist to be willing to pull a lion’s tooth you know. They might think you’ll eat them!”
“Eww, yuck!”
“We’ll need a disguise! Any ideas?”
“A harmless housecat?” he said with a grin.
Unfortu
nately, that grin turned to a grimace as his tooth started throbbing even more.
“It huuurts so bad...OK Mimba, Let’s do it! Oh!”
“Well stop talking so much silly.”
“H—ow! —Do we do it?”
“It’s easy really, you just plug your nose and blow hard and ‘pop’ you’re a harmless cute and fuzzy housecat.”
“What about you?”
“Me? A cat? I don’t think so! I’ll just have to hide out in that extra tangly mess of fur you’ve got!”
“So I plug my nose and blow? Here we go...OW!” he roared, but mid-roar there was a loud “POP” and a pitiful yowl coming from the homeliest housecat with giant matted fur around its neck and a big red squashed in face and a puffy lion’s mane sticking out all around its head.
Mimba hopped on his back and snugged down right into the puff of shaggy fur.
The cloud they’d been riding on dissipated just at the top of a big maple with a branch that came close to the window of a certain little boy and little girl whose mom taught middle school band and whose dad was a veterinarian—just what Simba needed for his aching tooth!
It was a little hard for Simba to talk in his small cat form, but he managed to whisper, “Now what?”
Mimba reached around and poked his cheek eliciting the biggest, saddest most forlorn meow tuned yowl you ever heard. So loud that the Turfunkel twins leapt off their bunk bed and ran to the window to look out and see what in the world was in the maple tree just outside their bedroom window.
It was the biggest, ugliest ginger cat with paws wrapped about its head that they’d ever seen. It was weaving dangerously on the high branch. Without a thought at all, they threw up the big heavy window, popped out the screen and grabbed him up. Before he knew what was happening Sambala was given his very own pillow, a soft blanket, a nice bowl of cold water and some really stinky looking CAT food! “Eww!” Nobody noticed the little mouse Mimba hidden in the fur at all.
The boy twin Christopher (Chris for short) was what grown up’s call tow-headed. Tow-headed means he has blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his twin sister Penelope. Penelope was “Pen” for short and “Pig-pen” to him, but she did punch him in the arm for it quite often. That’s OK; he punched her when she called him “Stinkifer” so they were even.
They’d just turned eight in the summer and it seemed a rather awkward age to be. Not a little diaper-baby needing mommy and daddy all the time, but not a big kid allowed to play in the neighborhood alone yet—well, at least not at their house. Their mom said they were too much trouble together to foist them on an unexpecting neighborhood. She said things like that—“foist”—they even had a secret dictionary hidden at the very back of the top dresser drawer just to look up weird words mom liked to use.