Chapter one: Deadlock again

Rain clouds, dark and puffed-up like turkeys, had been threatening to unleash their wrath on the dreary town all day, but so far had remained all threat and no action, as if to annoy everyone even more. Anne-Firecurl, herself gloomier than even the darkest cloud, had spent hours searching for someone to quarrel with, but luck stubbornly refused to smile upon her, despite her best efforts.

Ever since she had celebrated her tenth birthday – and that was only a few months ago, shortly after she had returned from the Ghost Forest for the second time – her life had imperceptibly turned into something as grey as autumn weather – and almost as interesting. The magical land where she had experienced such astonishing adventures had vanished without a trace, leaving her without even the tiniest token to show off to her friends.

The days dragged by sluggishly, at first filled with summer heat and dust, later with brooding clouds and autumn rains, until inevitably, the start of the school year arrived. Boredom – sheer boredom! Worse still, Mum, who for some reason had got it into her head that a girl of ten was vastly older than a girl of nine, kept burdening her with new tasks. Always smiling, but as stubborn as a mule whenever a discussion came up.

‘No excuses, please,’ was the only reply Anne ever got to her perfectly reasonable questions. The bed had to be made every day, even though everyone knew it would have to be unmade again just a few hours later. Fruit and vegetables had to be bought daily, but only in small quantities – just try buying enough tomatoes for the week ahead and you were guaranteed a scandal. And finally, the most annoying of all chores – Anne had to tidy her room every week! Even though Mum only tidied her own room once every two or three weeks. A glaring injustice – the whole world was one vast, immovable, black injustice!

She gritted her teeth, considered rebuilding the tepee in the garden again, but gave up – she had rebuilt it so many times that she knew every last corner of it by heart. Besides, she already knew that no matter how hard she tried, she could not come even close to imitating the magical structures of the Forest. She had tried often enough. And she wasn’t even aiming at the great palaces of Heinoland Park – heavens, no! All she had ever tried to recreate were far simpler things – Grandpa Hedgehog’s little water mill, Maggie the Magpie’s house, the eagles’ nest… Without even the slightest success, of course.

The only thing she had managed was to attract the ridicule of all the local children. That is, even more unbearable ridicule than before. They were always looking for any excuse to tease and insult her anyway, especially ever since she had tried to tell them some of her adventures. ‘The Fantasist’ – the spiteful nickname that pestilent Emil had attached to her – now followed her everywhere, as if everything she said had been made up!

Yes, wall-clocks do fly in the Ghost Forest – or at least one of them, Mr Quirk, her good friend. Yes, there you could meet talking animals and plants – if words like ‘animals’ or ‘plants’ weren’t too insulting for beings like Madam Owl, Buzz the Fly, or the great prima donna Justa Diva, who was in fact a potted flower. Not to mention the four flying elves and the ghosts themselves. Ah, why had she started? If only she had known what trouble she would get herself into! She would never have opened her mouth! Never, never! But now it was too late – she couldn’t take a step at school without hearing from somewhere: ‘The Fantasist is coming!’

‘Fantasist’, ‘fantastic’, ‘fool-brain’, ‘freak’ – the children practically competed to invent ever newer, ever more irritating nicknames for her, just to curry favour with Emil, that pompous turkey. Who, of course, was simply asking for a good thrashing – boy or no boy! If it weren’t for his gang, that band of toadies who stuck to him like glue, he would have had it long ago! But that was no use – no matter how much her hands itched. Alone against ten? Ah, nonsense…

She swallowed a sigh as bitter as medicine, slung Pouchy over her shoulder, and headed for the yard. At least there she could talk to her friend in peace.

Pouchy! Her best friend, her companion on so many incredible and dangerous adventures. The dear, sensible, and endlessly resourceful Pouchy, a faithful comrade even in the gravest trouble. Of course, for everyone else, she was just a fluffy teddy bear – and a rather worn and scruffy one at that. No one could guess what lay behind that humble appearance, for Pouchy came to life only in the Ghost Forest. Here at home, she reverted to being an ordinary object, as if she had never been so vividly alive and fascinating.

Anne often wondered whether Mr Nerod Laptsev, the old wizard whose visit had started it all, was watching her from somewhere – just checking to see if she was managing to crack the next puzzle, of course. Mr Laptsev, the teacher. At such moments, no matter how hard she tried, she could not suppress the irritation rising in her chest. No doubt for him it was mere child’s play – the simplest thing in the world. A wave of the magic wand, a mumbled spell – and it was done. But she? What didn’t she have to come up with to fight Heino the Beaver, the greatest villain in the Ghost Forest – and all she had left was a plucked, voiceless Pouchy – and the nickname ‘The Fantasist’. And that was supposed to be justice?

She looked around the room, found the glass sphere Mr Laptsev had left her, carefully lifted it before her eyes and, for the umpteenth time, tried to peer through it. In vain, of course – the magic ball had become completely cloudy, almost black. Seeing anything through it was now impossible – unlike the last time, when she had been able to communicate with Pouchy through it. Only in gestures, of course – she could see the movements, but could not hear her friend’s words. Which would have been more than enough even now – if only the wretched sphere were not broken! Complete deadlock, whichever way you looked.

Firecurl was about to throw the sphere away (she had done it hundreds of times and knew perfectly well that it could not be broken), but then changed her mind and carefully placed it on the floor. Pouchy saw and heard everything, of course. It was better not to irritate her with unnecessary petulance; otherwise, she would soon be treated to another round of scolding, the way Pouchy always did. She would start again about how pointless such childish tantrums were. Easy for her…

Anne cast a final look at the chaos in the room and hesitated for a moment, wondering whether it might be better to start tidying today. Then she decided that would be too great a sacrifice and dragged herself outside. All the faster, for it was about to rain. And there was nothing more unpleasant than rainy weather.

At the door, she was met by Mum, who had two large bags of groceries loaded onto her bicycle.

‘Where are you off to?’ Mum asked shortly. ‘Finished your homework?’

‘Uh-huh,’ Anne replied and tried to slip away before she could be caught and roped into helping.

‘You’re dressed too lightly again. Just look at the weather – and your cold hasn’t even cleared up yet.’

‘Oh, leave me alone! T-shirt, shirt, and jacket – what more do you want? If I put anything else on, I’ll start melting.’

‘Yes, yes, I know that talk. And then when you get seriously ill, you’ll start whining. Wait a moment, I need to tell you something. You’re not in a hurry, are you?’

Anne pricked up her ears. ‘I need to tell you something’ usually meant ‘expect trouble’. However, this time there was no hidden threat in Mum’s tone. She shrugged, almost spat between her teeth – a trick she had recently learned – but caught herself in time and replaced it with a casual whistle. One had to be careful with Mum if one wanted to avoid trouble.

‘Sit down, sit down for a minute – stop fidgeting,’ Mum said nervously. ‘I’ll be ready in a second.’

She placed the heavy shopping bags on the kitchen table, quickly washed her hands, and, throwing the towel over her shoulder, sat down next to Anne.

‘How are things at school? You haven’t told me anything for a long time.’

Firecurl gave her a suspicious look. What was that supposed to mean? Mum knew very well that everything was fine at school – at least as far as the grades were concerned. She could manage the rest on her own.

‘All right, I won’t beat about the bush,’ Mum added, sensing her daughter’s confusion. ‘I just met Mrs Schlemihl, Peter’s mother. She’s quite concerned.’

Anne looked at her in surprise. Peter! That toady who was always buzzing around Emil? What had he done now?

‘I hear he’s been struggling with maths lately,’ Mum went on.

Anne nodded.

‘Well, Mrs Schlemihl asked me for a favour. The thing is, he needs help. I promised her I would talk to you. Only once a week, of course, no more often – if you don’t mind.’

Firecurl was so astonished that for a moment she couldn’t even protest. Peter? Here at home? No way! No, no, and no again!

Mum, clearly under no illusions, hurried on.

‘By the way, I spoke to your father on the phone a couple of days ago.’

Anne suddenly went still. Whenever her father was mentioned, it was serious. She hadn’t seen him for about a year.

‘I told him you wanted a new computer. You’re always complaining that your games won’t run on the old one, aren’t you? Well, he promised he would help us. If everything goes well, we’ll get you a new, more powerful computer for Christmas.’

‘What’s wrong – aren’t you happy?’ Mum asked, clearly uneasy at Anne’s silence. ‘Come on, don’t be so stubborn! After all, it’s just a little thing. Oh, before I forget – this letter arrived for you today. I don’t know who it’s from – there’s no sender’s name.’

***

Firecurl was practically bursting with anger, but now it was too late. That she had let herself be tricked so easily! The moment she heard about the new computer, she had forgotten everything and agreed in a flash. And now she was convinced she had made the biggest mistake of her life. How was she supposed to get along with Peter – especially if he started teasing her? Ah, he wouldn’t get away with it this time! Just let him try one sharp remark… He had long since earned himself a good lesson.

Her gaze slid to the letter, lying untouched on the table. Who could have thought of her? She turned it over curiously. The old yellowed envelope was dirty and crumpled; there was no stamp, and the scrawled letters on it looked like bird tracks. Anne wrinkled her nose and opened it. Inside there was only a small scrap of paper, hastily torn off from – what exactly? She had never seen such strange paper before: marbled with veins and rough patches, like the skin of a sick person. Slightly disgusted, she picked it up with two fingers and brought it closer to her eyes…

‘What nonsense!’ she exclaimed furiously after making sure the envelope contained nothing else. ‘What kind of joke is this?’

She read the short message again, this time aloud:

‘Beware… of the black… light.’

Complete nonsense! There was no such thing as black light – even children knew that!

Out of habit, she glanced towards Pouchy, hoping for some help, then tapped herself on the forehead: she kept forgetting that here, Pouchy was just an ordinary object. She searched the envelope again, even considered examining it with a magnifying glass, but gave up.

An idea struck her. What if the letter had come from the Ghost Forest?… Oh, nonsense! Still – why not? The last time she had heard a voice from nowhere, she hadn’t wanted to believe it either. And then everything had turned upside down… The boredom had vanished. She looked around tensely, searching for some hidden clue…

But miracles, of course, never happen when you are expecting them… Anne waited a minute or two, then sighed bitterly and headed back outside. Suddenly, Mum’s voice startled her:

‘Anne, come here right away, please!’

This time there was no doubt – behind the polite invitation lurked a clear threat. She hurried downstairs so as not to make matters worse.

Mum was waiting for her in the middle of the kitchen, holding the porcelain sugar bowl in her hand.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ she asked threateningly, showing the bottom of the empty container. ‘You haven’t started experimenting, have you? Where’s the sugar? Only two days ago the bowl was half full.’

Anne looked at her, completely baffled. What sugar? What experiments?

‘I don’t understand,’ she retorted curtly. ‘I haven’t touched the sugar. I’m not a baby, you know.’

‘O-o-o, stop the theatrics, please!’ Mum flared up. ‘No one lives in this house but you and me. So who, then, has gobbled up all the sugar?’

‘I have no idea, I’m telling you!’ Anne replied, equally annoyed. ‘If you don’t believe me – here you go: my word of honour!’

She solemnly raised her hand. For some reason, Mum refused to be impressed by the dramatic gesture, though her tone softened a little.

‘Hmm, we’ll see about that later,’ she muttered, still rather edgy. ‘All right, off you go to play. But don’t stay out too long – it’s a school day tomorrow. And from now on, the sugar stays under lock and key. I want to make sure there are no ghosts sneaking about, you understand?’

Anne snorted indignantly and rushed out into the garden. Ghosts – easy for her to say! If only she knew what she was talking about.

***

Peter, tall, blond, and skinny as a beanpole, had his hands buried in the pockets of his wide trousers and was staring out of the window. He was tapping his foot nervously and stubbornly avoided looking at Anne.

‘Well, what now? Are we just going to stand here gawking at each other?’

She pushed a pile of books off the floor and moved the freed chair closer to Peter.

‘You can sit down if you like. Relax, I don’t bite.’

He snorted but sat down nevertheless – seemingly exhausting his supply of goodwill in the process. In any case, he scowled and snorted even more loudly, evidently deciding that this was the best way to show his displeasure.

‘Look, I didn’t exactly beg you to come here,’ Anne said rather irritably. ‘The idea wasn’t mine.’

Seeing that she wasn’t going to get an answer, she silently began pulling notebooks and schoolbooks out of her bag.

‘Let’s get on with it, so we can be done quicker.’

Peter looked even gloomier, but he opened his school bag and pulled out a few exercise books, wearing the resigned expression of someone well accustomed to the blows of fate.

The two of them set to work separately, each bent over their own notebook. Anne tried not to look at him, but it soon became clear that he hadn’t even started writing. She waited a little longer, then turned towards him and gave him a long, pointed look.

‘If that seems too easy for you, we can try the other exercise book. It’s a bit more interesting.’

‘This is stupid,’ he said, slamming his notebook shut with finality. ‘I hate maths.’

‘What, do you think I spread maths on my toast every morning?’ Anne snapped. ‘We all hate maths. But you can’t do without it – at least not at school.’

‘Haven’t you got anything more interesting?’ he asked, looking her in the eye for the first time. ‘What games do you have on the computer?’

‘Well… it’s a bit old,’ Anne admitted reluctantly. ‘But Mum’s already promised me a new one, a more powerful one. Then I’ll finally be able to play The Hobbit.’

‘The Hobbit is rubbish,’ Peter remarked bluntly. ‘The graphics are good, but otherwise it’s an insult to the brain cells. Games like that were old news on Nintendo ten years ago.’

‘And how would you know?’ Anne asked mockingly.

‘My cousin told me,’ he admitted grudgingly.

‘In any case, the book’s brilliant,’ she replied sharply, irritated by his cocky tone. ‘If the game’s anything like it, it’ll be well worth trying.’

‘Well, never mind that your computer’s old,’ he said, once again avoiding her gaze. ‘So – what games have you got?’

‘Well… it doesn’t have a 3D card,’ Anne mumbled. ‘And the processor’s weak too. Actually, it’s Mum’s old computer. About the only thing that runs on it is Worms.’

‘Ah, Worms is a classic!’ Peter suddenly brightened. ‘An evergreen, you know what I mean? Go on – fire it up. Let’s play a few rounds. I’m a grandmaster with the bazooka.’

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ Anne protested, though not very firmly. ‘We have to show we’ve done something, don’t we? Otherwise, our mothers will turn green.’

‘The work’s not going to run away,’ Peter cut in. ‘Come on, don’t be so stingy. If you agree, maybe one day I’ll even show you what I’ve got on my computer.’

He narrowed his eyes and looked at her slyly.

‘Nvidia GeForce Extreme, fourth generation, and the processor’s so fast it practically flies. The Lord of the Rings runs like a dream – I’ve got all the versions. Not to mention all the strategic stuff, which is boring as anything. I’ve already conquered every era and empire.’

Anne bit her lip.

‘Do you have Harry Potter?’ she asked timidly.

‘Harry Potter?’ Peter laughed. ‘What century are you living in, girl? It’s even worse than ‘The Hobbit’! All you do is run around empty halls collecting junk to make spells with. Complete boredom. Well, Quidditch is a bit of fun, but only the first two or three times. After that, it’s dead dull.’

‘That can’t be!’ Anne protested, almost in tears. ‘The books are so wonderful!’

‘Books, books,’ Peter snorted disdainfully. ‘And then you wonder why people call you a fantasist…’

‘Hey, watch your mouth!’ Firecurl snapped, clenching her fists. ‘This isn’t school – so be careful you don’t get hurt!’

Peter gave her a surprised look, thought about it, then slid his chair back.

‘All right, all right – no point falling out over stupid things,’ he muttered. ‘Come on, fire up Worms. If you’ve got nothing else…’

‘Out of the question!’ Anne cut him off, still blazing. ‘When you’ve learnt how much two plus two is, maybe then I’ll let you touch the computer. But before that, you’re going to have to work for it, mister!’

When Mum brought in fresh biscuits and orange juice an hour later, the silence in the room was so thick that ice flowers could almost have bloomed on the windows.