Whoosh
The squeak of hospital trolleys echoed through the corridor. Doctors and nurses bustled past. We huddled together. Waiting.
I shut my eyes and tried to block out the accident, but it played over and over again in my mind. Screeching tyres. The thud of impact. Michael’s body dragged across the pavement. His broken bike skidding into the gutter. Please let my brother be okay.
When they wheeled Michael into Intensive Care, we crowded around his bed. Heartbeats pulsed across the screen of his monitor.
‘We’ve done everything we can,’ the doctor said. ‘His chances are slim. The next couple of hours are critical.’
Mum sobbed softly. Dad wrapped his arms around her. Rocked her gently back and forth. Tears welled. I bolted from the room and blundered down a staircase.
Outside a door, I paused. Whoosh. Click. Whoosh. Click. A man lay hooked to a machine. Whoosh. Click. Whoosh. Click. Breath forced mechanically into his lungs.
A teary-eyed woman sat beside him, stroking his limp hand. In the background a nurse scribbled on a chart while a doctor prodded and poked, checking for vital signs. When he shook his head at the woman, her lips trembled. Then she nodded.
Whoosh. Click. Whoosh. Click.
Stooping over the machine, the doctor flicked a switch.
Whooshhhh…
Dread swept over me. Crushing me. Something dark lurked at the bottom of the stairs.
Deeper than shadow, it moved like mist, floating past the nurse’s station. Hair prickled on the back of my neck as it wafted down the corridor. Searching.
I held my breath. Kept still. Hoped it wouldn’t notice me.
So close. Only a whisper between us. I could have touched the long, hooded robe that covered its nothingness. Please don’t look this way.
The creature glided past me. Air hissed from my lungs. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream.
It swooped into the room, drifted through the woman, past the silent machine, then hovered at the foot of the hospital bed.
‘James.’ Icy breath coiled like rope around the victim.
I felt the tug of its voice and shuddered.
‘James,’ it repeated: louder, stronger; impossible to ignore. Yet, somehow, the dead man found the strength to resist.
The ghoul tried reasoning with the corpse. ‘There’s been no mistake, James.’ Leaning forward, it plucked out from under one sleeve, a book. ‘See? Written here, under today’s date. James, you can’t deny this. Now will you come with me?’
Howling like a blizzard, the ghoul vaulted upwards. As it hovered over the lifeless body, the tone of its voice intensified. Stern and powerful, it surged inside me like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep me away. I realised then, why it had come. A hospital is the perfect hunting ground for a collector of souls.
I thought of my brother and strength returned to my legs. I dashed towards the nurse’s station. Empty.
A glance over my shoulder confirmed my worst fears – the Reaper had collected that soul and now hunted others.
As it moved back along the corridor, I guessed where it was headed – for my brother! I raced to the staircase and bounded up the stairs. I bent over the rail.
Its robe dangled inches above each step as it glided upwards. I fled to Michael’s room.
Through the doorway, I saw a flat line stretched across the screen of Michael’s monitor. No heartbeat. My parents gripped each other, watched helplessly as doctors and nurses fought to revive him. I swallowed my fear. I knew what I had to do.
Standing sentry outside the door, I waited. Dread spread like a tumour inside me. The Reaper was near.
Down the corridor it came, slinking unnoticed by the nurses at their station. Searching. Room by room. I waited until it hovered in front of me. I raised my arms to block the doorway.
‘No!’ I choked. ‘You can’t have him!’ I stared into the emptiness inside the hood. Eyes glowed like hot coals.
‘You are brave, Thomas.’ Then nodding at Michael, it whispered, ‘Perhaps brave enough to peek inside my book.’
The volume appeared, as if by magic and the pages flipped, fanning my face.
‘Ah, ha!’ said the Reaper.
I scanned the list, desperately searching for Michael. When I spotted his entry, all my hope disappeared – today’s date was engraved boldly next to my brother’s name. But even as I looked, the date wavered and blurred. The ink began fading. Within the space of a few heartbeats, only a faint smudge remained upon the page.
‘I admire bravery, Thomas. I’m postponing my appointment with Michael.’ The book snapped shut. ‘So, until we meet again ...’
With footsteps lighter than cloud, the Reaper drifted away, and vanished at the end of the corridor.
I shrank against the wall and waited for my heart to stop pounding. Then without a sideward glance, I walked through the doorway. ‘Michael’s going to be okay,’ I said.
Blinking back tears, Mum slipped her arm around me. ‘The doctors are surprised at how rapidly his condition is improving.’
I leaned over my brother's bed. His eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sleep. ‘I had the strangest dream,’ he whispered. ‘I was kidnapped and you rescued me.’
I shivered. Perhaps, one day, I would tell him.
Gilbert's Garden
‘Phew! It’s going to be a scorcher today.’ Gilbert, the tooth fairy stashed the bag of teeth he had collected during the night, then flew to the top of the canopy.
SQUAWK! SQUAWK! Birds burst through the branches. Gilbert was trapped in a flurry of wings. Below, he spied creatures leaping, creeping, hopping, and slithering as they fled the forest.
‘Something’s wrong,’ said Gilbert.
The sky was smudged with smoke. An eerie glow flickered between the trees.
‘Fire!’ cried Gilbert.
‘Ooooooo,’ moaned an owl collapsing beside him.
Gilbert reached for his magic drops. ‘Singed feathers!’
PFFFffffff.
The owl winced.
‘I know it stings,’ said Gilbert. ‘But magic clings and fixes wings.’
‘Thank you,’ hooted the owl.
Thick black fumes oozed through the bush. The fire was spreading. Gilbert flexed his wings. ‘Owl, we must fly for help.’
‘Whooo? Whooo? Who will help?’
‘Summon the pelicans,’ said Gilbert. ‘I’ll fetch the fairies. Meet me at the inlet.’
By the time Gilbert found the fairies, dark clouds billowed over the forest. ‘Fire! Fire! Help, fairies. Fly!’
Gilbert’s wings whirred as he zoomed along the coastline. Hovering above the inlet, he scanned the sky. Soon, the air rumbled with the thunder of heavy wingbeats.
‘Pelicans, fill your bill-pouches and follow me!’ shouted Gilbert.
The pelicans dipped their wings and skimmed across the inlet, scooping up seawater. With pouches overflowing, they followed Gilbert into the forest.
Like a greedy monster, fire gobbled up the trees. Gilbert splattered magic to clear a path through the smoke.
Pelicans dive-bombed, dumping seawater over the flames. Gilbert guided the birds down, again and again.
When the other fairies flew in, wisps of smoke curled above blackened bushes. Hundreds of frightened faces peered out from the ashes.
The fairies poured magic over burnt paws and claws, scorched fur and feathers, scalded scales, and blistered tails. Sprinkling the last drops of magic over the blackest patches of bush, the fairies finally headed home.
Gilbert’s weary wings ached. ‘This backpack feels like it’s full of rocks.’
‘Nearly there,’ said a fairy as they swooped over Gilbert’s yard.
‘My garden!’ shrieked Gilbert.
Wilted wallflowers. Roasted roses. Sizzled snapdragons. Not a drop of magic remained. Gilbert slumped to the ground—his backpack flipped open. Teeth spilled out everywhere.
Gilbert shook his head sadly. ‘All ruined. All gone.’ But it was almost dark and there were more teeth to collect. So, Gilbert grabbed a new backpack and flew away.
But the other fairies lingered where a moonbeam glinted on a tooth half buried in the dirt.
When Gilbert returned at dawn, the fairies hollered, ‘Over here, Gilbert.’
‘Remarkable,’ murmured the butterflies.
‘Sensational,’ whistled the birds.
‘The most cheerful garden ever,’ buzzed the bees.
‘Whooo? Whooo? Whose garden?’ asked the owl.
‘Gilbert’s garden,’ replied the fairies.
‘But how?’ gasped Gilbert.
‘You know the teeth that spilled into your garden?’ said the fairies.
Gilbert nodded.
‘Well, last night we watered them. And this morning up came hundreds of pearly smiles!’