Catherine Fisher: The Ghost Box

Mom smiled.

But as Sarah followed her in, a tiny sound came from behind. She turned quickly, looking up. For a moment she was sure she had heard the rustle of leaves. Just there, by her window.

When she went to bed she remembered, and stood for a moment looking out. It was raining again now, and the countryside was black, hidden by slashes of rain on the glass. All she could see was herself.

Jumping into bed, she flicked the lamp off. All at once, she lay in a black space. Her room was quiet, at the end of the corridor, in the part of the house built onto the barn.

Her bed was right next to the window. She liked it there. She could lie back and stare up into the sky, seeing the stars. Sometimes she could hear the owl hunting in Holtom Wood, or a fox barking. Once she had sat up and seen a badger in the moonlight, crossing the lawn. But tonight there was only the rattle of rain running down the glass, its soft tap-tap on the roof.

She turned over. The bedroom was still, her wardrobe a black mass with her coat hanging from it, arms out. The wind chime turned without a sound. A faint smell of perfume drifted from her cluttered vanity table.

She closed her eyes.

She must be asleep, she thought, because she was dreaming about a creaking in the room. It was soft at first, and then it grew, a harsh, struggling sound, as if something was trapped, trying to get out.

She didn’t move, gripping the pillow.

The sound grew. It ripped open the darkness. It burst into the room.

Sarah snapped her eyes open wide. She saw that a split was tearing in the carpet next to her bed. Something began to slither through. As she sat up with a gasp of fear, she saw that it was a tiny green shoot, with two leaves. It pushed its way up, growing fast. Branches burst out from it. Buds exploded into golden leaves.

The tree grew quickly, rustling upwards. Young leaves opened all around her, cool on her lips and face. As she stared in wonder, the room filled with a damp earthy smell of soil and worms. The tree soared high into the roof. A branch punched through a window. Tiny tinkles of glass fell in splinters.

How could this be a dream?

She could feel the cold rain, taste pollen. As she put her hands out she caught leaves, falling all around her, on the bed, on her pillow, on the bedside lamp.

With one last mighty effort the tree smashed through the roof, and now the birds rushed out of it, blue and gold birds, flying around her, soaring into the sky.

Sarah stared up.

In the top of the trunk, wedged between two branches, she saw something small and bright.

She stood quickly, gripping the wet trunk to keep her footing on the bed.

Yes. There it was. Just as it had been in the picture, though now no one held it.

“Hello?” she said quietly. “Are you up there?”

No answer.

She put her foot on a bent branch, pulled herself up, and began to climb. After all, it was safe. You couldn’t fall and hurt yourself in a dream. And if she did she would only land on the bed.

It wasn’t easy. Soon she was out of breath and her arms were hurting. Twice she slipped, scratching the palms of her hands. Leaves fell on her face, and she had to blink pollen out of her eyes. But still she dragged herself upwards until her reaching hand could slither around the branch and touch the box.

It was icy cold. Her fingers slid along the damp metal, feeling a key-hole. She could only just reach it. She tipped it out and it fell down. She grabbed it, quickly, gasping for breath, her hair in her eyes.

Then, very softly, someone tapped her on the back.

Chapter 3

A Shadow

Sarah screamed and sat up in bed.

Matt jumped back. “Whoa! What’s wrong with you?”

For a moment she had no idea where she was. Then she saw her bedroom, quiet and normal, the windows full of morning sun-light.

“What are you doing in my room?” she snapped.

Matt shrugged. “Waking you up. Your mom called, but you were dead to the world. It’s nearly 9 o’clock.”

He wore black jeans and a black t-shirt. He was always in black, she thought, a creeping shadow in the bright house. Now he said, “I won’t bother next time.”

“No. Don’t. Get lost.”

Half-way to the door he said, “Where did that come from?”

She looked where he was looking.

The silver box stood on the bedside table, next to the lamp. It looked heavy and expensive. She stared at it, astonished, and the dream of the tree came back to her in all its brilliant color.

Matt reached out his hand to it but she snapped, “Don’t touch it! It’s mine!”

The cry was so sharp she even shocked herself. Matt stood very still. She could sense his anger. His eyes were dark and bitter.

Suddenly he said, “Look, Sarah, l didn’t want our parents to get together either. Dad and I had a good place of our own – we didn’t need to come to this classy dump. But don’t worry. I won’t be sticking around to mess up your pretty life. Next year, when I go to college, you won’t see me here ever again.”

He slammed the door as he went out and her bathrobe fell off the hook on the back.

Sarah stared at it lying in a heap on the floor. Just for a moment she felt bad about being spiteful to him. Then she swung her legs out of bed and picked up the box.

It was real. Silver, by the look of it, and very old, its lid made of silver leaves overlapping each other. Oak leaves. Around its rim were words in a strange language. She couldn’t read them.

She ran her fingers over them, feeling the cold metal. How could she have brought the box out of a dream? Or had Mom put it here last night, perhaps from the gallery, and forgotten about it, and Sarah had dreamed of it? It didn’t seem possible.

There was a key-hole but no key. She tried to open the lid but the box was firmly locked. Feeling let down, she shook it.

Something rolled and rattled inside.

She held it still, afraid what was inside it might break. From downstairs her mother called “Sarah! Breakfast!”

There was no school because it was fall break. Gareth had gone to work and she didn’t know about Matt. In the kitchen the dogs, Jack and Jess, lay sprawled on the mat by the door, looking in hope at their empty food bowls. They sat up as Sarah came in but she shook her head at them. “You’ve already been fed.”

“Let them out, will you?” her mom said.

As she opened the door a gust of wind blew wet leaves against her feet. Drops of rain spattered from the gutter. “It’s autumn,” she said, surprised, because the storm of the night had stripped the trees, and a new carpet of leaves clotted the lawn.

Mom smiled, and turned as the phone rang.

“Go on,” Sarah said to the dogs.

Jack growled. The sound came from deep inside him. He bared his teeth, and Jess barked, two sharp, worried barks. They were looking at the corner of the barn towards her bedroom, but there was nothing there apart from the leaves, whipping up in the wind.

“Oh go on!” Sarah pushed them out.

Then, after a moment, she walked down the path and stared at the glassy corner of the building. The windows here were floor-toceiling. Through them she could see Mom on the phone, talking and laughing. She could see her own reflection too, looking cold and puzzled.

And there was a shadow.

It lay on the grass behind her, and it wasn’t hers.

It was small, and close, and for a moment she felt a chill at her back, and turned quickly.

The lawn was empty.

Inside, Mom said, “I have to run over to Marston. Will you be all right?”