What awful luck! Just moments ago, the weather had been glorious, but now, as if from nowhere, thick, dark clouds had gathered, swiftly blotting out the sky with an ominous speed. The wind grew stronger and stronger. The trees and bushes in the garden bent and groaned under its force; clouds of dust, old newspapers, and plastic ice-cream cups swirled chaotically down the street. With furrowed brows and lips pressed together in her usual stubborn manner, the red-haired Anne, known to everyone as Firecurl, tried to continue working on her tepee, but it was clear she would soon have to give up.

Chapter One: The Voice from Nowhere

What awful luck! Just moments ago, the weather had been glorious, but now, as if from nowhere, thick, dark clouds had gathered, swiftly blotting out the sky with an ominous speed. The wind grew stronger and stronger. The trees and bushes in the garden bent and groaned under its force; clouds of dust, old newspapers, and plastic ice-cream cups swirled chaotically down the street. With furrowed brows and lips pressed together in her usual stubborn manner, the red-haired Anne, known to everyone as Firecurl, tried to continue working on her tepee, but it was clear she would soon have to give up.

‘This shack won’t be ready before I retire!’ she muttered angrily, quickly gathering the scattered tools from the grass and hurrying home, chased by the first raindrops.

And just in time! The wind was already hurling handfuls of water through the open window, and surely, her drawings would have been soaked if she hadn’t returned quickly. Outside, a real summer storm was brewing, fierce and noisy. The bright, sunny day had vanished in minutes, leaving only a grey veil of rain visible through the window, pierced by the jagged swords of lightning. Anne switched on the small lamp on her workbench and began preparing to paint.

About a month had passed since her return from the Ghost Forest, the enchanted land she had fallen into after attempting to break the game that the mysterious Mr. Nerod Laptsev had given her. The memories of the incredible adventures she had lived through there still haunted her every waking moment. She longed to share her experiences, but doubted anyone would believe her, and feared it might bring trouble. So, she kept quiet and preferred to paint. Her desk was covered in heaps of drawings, each more colourful and fantastical than the last: the spider’s meadow, Grandpa Hedgehog’s little watermill, Madam Owl’s tree house, the anthill, the Ghost Mansion… Mum, who was utterly stunned by her daughter’s sudden burst of creativity, had immediately suggested private painting lessons. But Firecurl had only snorted in disdain. Painting lessons? Ridiculous! What she truly needed, the thing she dreamt of day and night, was to return, to see her beloved friends again–just for a moment. What were Mr. Quirk, the flying wall clock, and his friend Boo up to right now? And the elves? Was Buzz the Fly still so crazy about honey? Oh, if only she could see them…

She sighed in frustration and glanced at the coat hook, where Pouchy – her old teddy bear-shaped backpack, made of fuzzy fabric – hung. No, she showed no sign of life… Pouchy, her truest friend in the Ghost Forest, the loyal companion who had saved her more than once in difficult situations, had become just an ordinary object now they were back home. Anne still couldn’t come to terms with the immense loss. Life without Pouchy’s friendship and advice seemed so dull that she still cried – whenever she was sure no one could see her. Ah, what wouldn’t she give to speak with her friend just once more!

Damn it! She shooed away the gloomy thoughts and bent over the drawing again. This time she had decided to draw Nerod Laptsev – the way she remembered him from that last night when she had had to fight off Heino the Beaver and his band of spiders. She had already sketched the old sorcerer’s gaunt but strong figure; now she wanted to finish the altar and the Fire of Eternal Change. Mum would probably look at her again with that uncomprehending gaze that so annoyed her, and then ask where she got all these incredible pictures from. Luckily, Mum didn’t like reading ‘children’s books’, so Firecurl always managed to wriggle out of it by claiming that they were scenes from Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings.

The thunderstorm had by now turned into a real downpour, and the thunder was so loud that the windows rattled. Mum, being the scaredy-cat she was, would surely come running any moment now to check if everything was all right.

As if she had read Anne’s thoughts, she appeared at the door.

‘You’re not scared, are you, dear? It’s just a summer storm – it’ll thunder a little and then pass. You’re not worried, are you?’

Anne snorted contemptuously. To be afraid of a thunderstorm? That would be the last straw. If Mum had seen her that night, alone in the dark against a whole gang, she surely wouldn’t be asking such questions.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ she replied over her shoulder. ‘I’m just drawing, can’t you see?’

‘Okay, okay. Shall I make you a salad for dinner, or would you prefer a slice of bread and butter?’

‘I’m not hungry yet. I’ll call you when I am.’

‘All right then, I’ll carry on working. Call me if you need me.’

Phew… Finally, Firecurl could continue painting. With precise, confident strokes she drew the outlines of the altar, built from rough, unhewn stones. Then came the fire, lighting everything with its ghostly blue-green glow. Now only the spiders blocking all the exits, and the enormous shadow of Heino the Beaver looming hungrily over the little red-haired girl, remained.

‘Anne, help!’ came a wheezing voice, right beside her ear, taut with pain and tension. ‘I can’t get out of here! Help me, Anne!’

Firecurl gave a violent start. She jumped up so abruptly that she smeared the nearly finished drawing. With one kick, she knocked the chair backwards, grabbed the large scissors from the table, and looked around wildly, ready to defend herself. Her freckles stood out sharply on her pale, frightened face.

But there was no one else in the room. She stood still for a while until her pounding heart calmed a little, then took a few stealthy steps to and fro. She was sure she hadn’t imagined it. After all, this wasn’t the first time she had heard voices out of nowhere. But until now, she had believed such things could only happen in the Ghost Forest. She had never thought that inexplicable events could haunt her here, in the real world.

Crack! A tremendous thunderclap shook the whole house, and from the next room came Mum’s frightened scream. At that moment, all the lights went out. Anne forgot everything else and rushed headlong into the hallway. In the semi-darkness she collided with Mum, who was also hurrying towards her. The two of them, both scared out of their wits, clung to each other and whispered reassurances. It took some time for them to calm down enough to check the fuse box. Luckily, everything there was fine, and after Mum flipped a few switches, the lights came back on. Meanwhile, the storm had started to subside, and slowly their fear ebbed away.

Nevertheless, Mum insisted that Anne sleep with her that night. Firecurl agreed with silent gratitude, because she herself was still feeling deeply unsettled by the strange events. Of course, she wouldn’t dream of telling Mum about the mysterious voice, but the thought of sleeping alone after such an uncanny day was more than she could face. She nibbled a few bites of food, leafed through a comic book just to put on a brave front, and then snuggled thankfully next to Mum and fell asleep at once.

Strange dreams pursued her all night: huge furry figures on spindly legs flashing past her before she could take a good look at them. At last, after much tossing and turning, she fell into a deep sleep. But when she woke in the morning, she was left with a strange feeling that something here had changed – and not for the better.

Mum, already sipping coffee in the dining room, greeted her absent-mindedly and returned to her newspaper. Firecurl trudged wearily towards the bathroom, splashed her face quickly, and was just about to head back to the kitchen when a sudden pang of dread seized her. She raced upstairs to her room.

At first glance, nothing seemed to have changed. Although slightly less untidy than a month ago, Anne’s room was still what Mum called a ‘kingdom of creative chaos’, meaning only Anne was able to find anything there. Of course, Firecurl was not at all bothered by this – at least on normal days – but today everything felt strangely different, and she gloomily began tidying up the toys scattered around.

Her eyes fell on the top shelf – and she froze… The shelf was empty. For a second or two she stood petrified, then rushed headlong down the stairs, screaming at the top of her lungs:

‘Mum, Mum!’

‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ Mum came rushing towards her from the kitchen, white as a sheet.

‘My toys are gone! The toys I… fixed.’

She was so upset she almost blurted out: the ones I saved in the Ghost Forest. For a moment, terrible scenes flashed before her eyes… But that was all in the past now, thank goodness – a story that had ended happily, though only after many trials.

‘You gave me such a fright, child! I thought the house was on fire. When will you finally learn to distinguish between important things and trifles? You’ll soon be ten years old, and you still behave like a little girl!’

‘Mum, are you sure you didn’t move them somewhere?’ Anne said, ignoring the biting tone. ‘It’s really important – please try hard to remember!’

‘Of course I’m sure. We agreed long ago that you take care of your own room. If I need anything from there, I always ask you first… unlike you.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Mum went on, seeing Anne’s eyes fill with tears and her slumping hopelessly onto the stairs. ‘Is it the first time something has gone missing? You’ve probably tucked them away somewhere – they’ll turn up in a day or two. Or maybe you left them outside in the tepee?’

Anne sat there staring blankly. The toys were gone! So that was why she had felt that dreadful sense of wrongness all morning – some irreparable loss. Even if she still didn’t understand what lay behind it, she already knew this wasn’t a coincidence. What should she do? Whom could she turn to, who would understand? If she even tried to explain it to Mum, she would surely think she had gone mad…

Anne swallowed back her tears and struggled against the despair that was threatening to crush her.

Mum looked at her scrutinisingly.

‘Come on, let’s look together,’ she said, concerned. Clearly she had sensed that Anne’s dismay was more than childish whimsy. ‘They can’t just have vanished into thin air. They must be somewhere.’

They searched every nook and cranny of the room, left no drawer unchecked – but it was no use. The toys were truly gone, and nothing seemed able to change that sad fact. At first, Mum couldn’t quite take the disappearance seriously; she kept insisting Anne would find them after a day or two. But after combing through everything, her disbelief gave way to confusion – and then even to genuine irritation. Eventually she decided that burglars must have broken in during the night and began insisting that they call the police. Firecurl managed to persuade her not to, but only after asking how she intended to explain why thieves would be interested in a bunch of old children’s toys.

At that, Mum became truly embarrassed and, trying to cover her confusion, buried herself back in her work. Anne, who for her part wanted nothing more than to be left alone, didn’t mind at all. Though she understood nothing yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened must be connected somehow with the Ghost Forest. And if that really were the case, Mum would not be able to help her – that much was certain.

She sat down on her bed, buried her face in her hands, and tried to think. If her fears weren’t baseless, then she absolutely had to find a way to contact Mr Nerod Laptsev. He was the only one who might be able to help her in this muddle. But how? Last time they had met, the old wizard had made it very clear that he didn’t intend to maintain contact. He had even said that he hoped they would never meet again! Not because he was angry with her – nothing of the sort. On the contrary, he had been very grateful: it was thanks to her intervention that the Ghost Forest had become once again a bright and peaceful place.

But from his words it had been plain that the magical world of the Forest needed visitors only when something went wrong – and, thankfully, those times had passed.

And yet! Too many things had happened since yesterday that needed explaining. Without the wizard’s help, she would hardly be able to find her way through this confusion. So she would have to disregard his instructions and find a way to contact him herself.

But how? She looked around helplessly. Where to start? Oh, if only Pouchy could come back to life! She would surely think of something clever straight away… Anne gazed feverishly at her, hoping for a miracle…

But Pouchy remained lifeless on the hook, and so the red-haired girl soon had to lower her eyes and look for a less magical solution. The Ghost Forest, the Ghost Forest… What else was left of that enchanted place apart from the toys?

She slapped her forehead. Of course! On his last visit, Mr Laptsev had given her another small toy – a final souvenir from the Forest and its inhabitants. Where had she put it? She feverishly began rummaging through the shelves. Ah, there it was, thank goodness!

The toy was a miniature model of the forest, sealed inside a little glass sphere. Anne grabbed it and shook it impatiently. Yes, everything seemed fine: the sphere filled with a cloud of snowflakes, which slowly began to drift down again and cover the hilly landscape. But… wait, something wasn’t right! This wasn’t the Ghost Forest! Or not exactly… Yes, now she could see it more clearly: it really was the forest, but strangely altered – neatly arranged and divided into large rectangles, like a well-maintained park. Fortunately, she could still make out the familiar places, otherwise she might have thought it was a completely different forest.

How strange… what could it mean? Had something unusual happened there? Or was the toy simply damaged? Anne tried to peer more closely at the miniature scene, but the details were so tiny that even her sharp eyes couldn’t make out anything special. She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a large magnifying glass, and began methodically examining the inside of the glass ball.

What she discovered left her shaken. Not only had the forest been rearranged and neatly reshaped, but there were now all kinds of new structures she had never seen before. Strange domes glinted here and there: dull-glowing spheres, gleaming pyramids, spiral towers like giant corkscrews, even a bizarre castle standing on an island in the middle of the river… Wide, comfortable roads crisscrossed the area, little boats glided along the river, and near the waterfall there was a factory – clearly built to generate electricity.

But all these marvels would probably not have shocked Anne so deeply if it hadn’t been for the giant display she spotted near the river. On it was clearly visible the plump face of Heino, and above it, in large shining letters, were the words:

Welcome to Heinoland™

***

Firecurl paced her room feverishly, trying to figure out what to do. The Ghost Forest – turned into Heinoland? No, that couldn’t be – what madness was this? Even if all the Forest’s creatures had lost their wits, surely Nerod Laptsev wouldn’t have allowed such disgrace! Heinoland! As if!

‘I must do something, I must do something!’ she repeated, striding back and forth. ‘This can’t be right!’

But what? She looked around helplessly. Out of habit, her eyes fell first on Pouchy, still hanging limp and battered on the hook. Oh, if only…

No, Pouchy couldn’t help her – she would have to manage on her own. She grabbed the glass ball again and shook it helplessly.

‘You may be stubborn, but you’ll crack in the end – I just know it.’

She lifted the ball close to her eyes and peered into it. There was Grandpa Hedgehog’s little mill, a bit further off the swamp and the orchid meadow… And what was that moving in the corner?

Firecurl nearly dropped the sphere. From inside, Pouchy was waving her arms and legs wildly, staring straight at her. It was clear she was trying desperately to shout something, but no sound came through the glass. Anne wondered whether she was dreaming. Out of the corner of one eye, she could still see Pouchy hanging motionless on the hook; but the other – the one peering into the sphere – showed a completely different Pouchy: alive, frantic, trying to say something she couldn’t understand.

She lowered the ball and glanced again at the hook. No doubt – Pouchy was still. She raised the sphere again. There she was: struggling, gesturing, alive!

‘Pouchy,’ Anne said, her voice hoarse with excitement. ‘Can you hear me?’

The distorted figure inside the sphere nodded frantically. Anne’s ears rang and her knees turned to jelly.

‘You mean… you were alive all this time?’

Another wild burst of movement. Every fibre of Pouchy’s tiny body screamed: ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

Anne tossed the sphere onto the bed, rushed over to her friend, and hugged her tightly. Yet the strange feeling didn’t quite leave her – the silly sense that she was embracing nothing more than a battered old rucksack lingered even now that she knew Pouchy was alive. She needed something more than just seeing her move; without a real conversation, the whole thing still felt like a silly, childish pantomime…

‘Wait. First we need to talk properly. I have so many questions to ask you.’

She picked up the sphere again, held it up to her eyes, and said:

‘Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll ask questions, and you answer “yes” or “no.” That’s all we can manage for now. All right?’

Pouchy nodded eagerly.

‘Good. First: do you know who stole the toys?’

The answer was an emphatic ‘Yes.’

‘Was it Heino?’

Pouchy hesitated for a moment, then shook her head uncertainly.

‘I didn’t quite get that. If it wasn’t Heino, then who? Wait – could it have been the spiders?’

Pouchy began bouncing with excitement. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

‘Easy now, easy – you’ll end up tearing yourself apart. So, at least we know who we’re up against. I don’t know how he managed to get them over here, but that’s not the most important thing right now. Do you have any idea what’s happened to the Forest?’

Pouchy looked at her in surprise and shrugged: ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Aha, so you haven’t seen what’s going on inside the sphere yet. Here, have a look – but be careful not to fall off the hook. I warn you, it’s not a pretty sight.’

Anne held the glass sphere up to Pouchy’s face.

‘Well? What do you think?’

The look of horror that spread across Pouchy’s face needed no explanation.

‘To be honest, I feel my knees buckling too, just thinking about what might have happened. Heinoland… Nice name, huh?… By the way, do you have any idea who that voice belonged to yesterday?’

Pouchy shook her head.

‘All right, we’ll worry about that later. But I really don’t like the look of what’s happened to the Forest. If only we could somehow find out what exactly’s been going on there…’

Pouchy waved her arms and legs as if preparing to leap into thin air. Anne stared at her in amazement.

‘What, are you saying we should go back there?… Hey, hey, you’re serious?… Hm, actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ve been wanting to for a long time. But how? Any ideas?’

Pouchy pointed to the glass sphere, then swung her paw as if wielding a hammer.

‘I’m such a fool!’ Anne exclaimed. ‘Such a simple idea, and I didn’t even think of it myself! Oh, thank goodness we can talk again. Sometimes I wonder how I ever managed without you.’

She slung Pouchy over her shoulder and started scanning the room for the big hammer. Her heart was pounding, part with excitement, part with fear. New adventures were about to begin.