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Great Writing - Home > For Kids > Peter Pan II - the Sequel according to bagheera ................
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For Children
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| Peter Pan II - the Sequel according to bagheera ................ | |
| By Bagheera | ||||
| 18 October 2006 | ||||
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Here's another chapter to compete with the published "winner" .......... Chapter Three They alighted in a small, pleasant woodland glade, bounded on one side by a busy stream or small river. It was wide enough to merit a hump-backed bridge in well-weathered stone, which John thought he recognised from their earlier adventures; however, there were no distinguishing features which might have identified it as the scene of any one of their adventures during their first visit to Neverland. Peter settled on the grass, put his hands behind his head and stared for a moment at the sky as if trying to decide where and how to start explanations. “Tinkerbell’s never been …. Completely the same since – since you left: how long ago did you say it’s been in your measure of time?” “Just over a year, I suppose” said John. Wendy nodded agreement, and Peter continued: “I mean: yes, she was always cranky, but girls are like that, aren’t they Wendy?” About to explode with her objections to Peter’s innocent (and sincerely meant) remark, Wendy suddenly realised how it would appear to Peter if she lost her temper at this: he had no experience of girls, other than her, really: so if she appeared “cranky”, it would only confirm for Peter what he already held to be true. Peter continued, blithely: “But worst of all: like me, she’s … changing. I hate to say it, but I think she might also be …. growing up. Wendy, can you imagine being just the age you like being for …. for as long as you can remember …. and suddenly finding it’s no longer possible? Believe me, it frightens me: and it’s having an even worse effect on Tinks!” Wendy had a sudden, intuitive insight. “What makes you say that, Peter? Is she …. getting bigger? Growing … bigger ….?” Her hands strayed momentarily towards her own chest, where the onset of puberty was beginning to define her natural female curves more precisely. Flustered, she dropped her hands back to her lap, hoping Peter hadn’t noticed her embarrassment. She was saved from what could have been an awkward silence when John asked in his turn: “Is she … getting bossy? Bad- tempered, specially when she just wakes up?” The question sounded innocent enough, but it was asked with a significant hint of a challenge in the tone which left Wendy in no doubt that her brother had noticed changes in her behaviour recently which he placed in this category. Rather than rise to the deliberate barb, she let it go, sensing that Peter was likely to pursue an answer to this line of questioning rather than concentrating on changes of a more physical nature which she had recently become aware of in her own body. Peter crossed his legs and – in a very ‘grown-up-human’ mannerism - put a hand pensively alongside his jaw. As he was still hovering in mid-air, Wendy could almost see an invisible toadstool beneath him. “Yes” he murmured, after a few seconds’ thought “that’s just how she is, every day!” John stooped closer, and inspected Peter carefully. “I’m sure I see … lines and …. wrinkles? – which I don’t remember noticing before, Peter: unless you’ve been … I don’t know, screwing your eyes up in strong sunlight?” Peter’s pale complexion ruled out this possibility. He showed no hint of a suntan, or any other evidence of being outdoors for longer than normal (whatever ‘normal’ might be for fairy folk). Sighing, Peter dropped his head; his whole body seemed to wilt, and his air of bravado disappeared. “You remember that Tinks – nearly died? And how you all managed to save her?” All three nodded. Seemingly encouraged, Peter continued: “She was never the same afterwards; perhaps she never can be. And ever since then, I’ve also seen … “ his voice trailed off. A pleading look from Wendy was necessary before Peter was forced to complete his thought. “ ……… ever since then, more and more often, I’ve seen both her reflection – and my own! – in pools, on windows, reflected from ice: Wendy, I’ve even felt my shadow trying to escape, from time to time! Will you please check your stitching, now you’re here?” One thing Wendy had done for Peter was to capture and sew back his shadow. Feeling more than a bit silly (and very self-conscious), Wendy did as she was asked. Her small, delicate stitches along the heels of Peter’s plimsolls seemed as fresh and strong as the day she had sewn them in. For a moment, neither John nor Wendy could follow what Peter was trying to tell them: then, suddenly, John saw the connection. “Wendy! Remember: you can’t see reflections of Fairy folk! But Peter, what I don’t understand” he carried on “ .. is you telling us you’re seeing them ‘more and more often’ – but not all the time? Surely with reflections you either see them or you don’t?” Peter shrugged. “It’s hard to explain: but sometimes I’ll fly over a still pond, or past a window, and there’s nothing to see. Other times, I catch a glimpse of … of movement, if nothing more definite – and several times I’ve definitely seen a reflection, which could only have been mine!” “Only yesterday morning I flew up behind Tinkerbell just before breakfast: I wanted to make up with her after a silly quarrel – something else we never used to do!” “She didn’t hear me coming, she was sitting in front of a glass admiring herself, and pouting about lines around her eyes and the shape of …. her nose, I think!” “You mean a mirror” corrected Wendy “A vanity mirror, I should think!” Wendy had recently bought one herself, and started to experiment with make-up. In spite of herself, and the gravity of Peter’s worried expression, she laughed lightly, unconsciously, at the thought of Tinkerbell applying lipstick and other cosmetics. Peter stared. “Don’t you believe me?” he protested, angrily. “Why are you laughing at what I say?” “I’m not laughing at you, Peter!” Wendy declared, shaking her curls into some sort of order. To cover her embarrassment she started digging in her bag for a comb or a brush. “When girls get to – shall we say, about my age? – they start to pay much more attention to their ….. their appearance, both their clothes and the impression they make on others.” “They become vain!” interrupted John “and that’s why she called it a Vanity Mirror!” “Oh, be quiet, you!” exploded Wendy. By virtue of being the eldest, she was still marginally taller than John, and on occasion – especially during an argument – was quite shameless about using her size advantage. “Just because you don’t care about your appearance is no excuse …. !” She turned back to Peter. “Do you want to see if … if your reflection can be seen in my mirror?” Peter shuddered, and seemed about to refuse. Wendy scurried over, laying a big-sisterly arm around Peter’s shoulders to give him an encouraging hug. Firmly and decisively, she brought out her mirror. Peter flinched, covering his eyes with his hands: but after a few seconds, in a semi-comical manner, he peeked at the mirror through his fingers. It showed Wendy, with her right arm apparently draped around a shoulder’s width of empty air: of Peter there was neither sign nor trace. Wendy glanced back and forth, from Peter’s face beside her and the void space on her mirror where she had expected to see his reflection. John crowded round behind them, and observed the same: his image, which quite clearly should have been at least partly obscured by Peter, was clear and distinct. A look of relief passed across Peter’s features. “You said, it doesn’t always happen” said John, thoughtfully. “Is there anything you’ve noticed about when it does happen? Like the time of day, for example, or where you are at the time? After all, magic must be …. stronger in some parts of Neverland than it is in others? Or at certain times of day?” Peter cocked his head. This was quite evidently something he had not considered before. “The first time I noticed it was a pool in the Petrified Forest. That’s always been a bit of a nasty place, so I suppose any “good” magic would be a bit weak out there!” “So far it’s never happened at a time of day – such as dawn, for example – when we know that magic is at its strongest.” “And how about .. this place, this clearing where we are? Is there any special Magic about it? You can see there’s no reflection in Wendy’s mirror.” A red-hot spark zoomed low over the tops of the bushes on the fringe of the clearing. As it touched the grass before them it became a furious Tinkerbell. “Where have you been, Peter? I’ve been looking for you for ages! And why have you brought these troublemakers back again? Didn’t they cause enough fuss last ti…….” Peter waved a languid wrist, and Tinkerbell was suddenly cocooned in a transparent, sound-insulated sheath or bubble of some sort. The children could see that she was still gesticulating angrily, and her lips were still moving, but she could no longer be heard. Peter deliberately turned his back on the outraged fairy. “I’ve had to …. protect myself from her tongue since we last met!” he admitted ruefully, “… and I’m pretty sure she can still lipread even through the bubble, which is why I turn my back on her – and I’m going to ask you to be careful what you say, as well!” “But she’s not suffering, is she? I mean: she won’t – suffocate in there, or something?” Peter laughed: a genuine laugh, the first one John or Wendy had yet heard. “No, Wendy, she’s in no danger: I might have changed, but I’m not mean or spiteful to those I know! But Tink’s temper has been getting the better of her, and it was the first sign of change I noticed, probably the biggest single problem I’ve had either with her, or with anything else that’s happened in Neverland since you left!” “But can you say when you first started to notice these things?” Peter paused, thinking deeply (which, for him, was no mean feat). “It all seemed to start just after I defeated Hook .. again, that is, but as you know I … ” “But Hook’s dead!” chorused Wendy and John (this time without any trickery or teasing from Peter). “We saw the Crocodile get him!” insisted John. “Don’t you remember how the last battle finished?” “He escaped” insisted Peter, with the simple finality of someone who has both seen the impossible performed and even performed it himself on a number of occasions. “As we fought, he bragged that he cut his way out of the croc’s stomach using his hook, and swore vengeance on you both once he’d dealt with me … but of course, I was too good for him, as usual ….. ” “So, what happened?” “Nothing special, Wendy: as usual, I defeated him and disarmed him …. ” “ … but you couldn’t finish him off.” “No, John, I couldn’t bring myself to take advantage of a defenceless opponent… ” “ … who had just been trying his best to kill you!” “Should I be as evil as him, then?” John was immediately ashamed of his instinct for revenge compared with Peter’s more compassionate feeling for ‘fair play’. On a calmer note, he continued: “So what happened next? Was that when things started to go wrong?” Peter shook his head. “Not immediately – at least, not as far as I can tell.” He rubbed his left forearm just above the wrist and winced, as if at some painful memory. Wendy noticed he seemed to be rubbing at what looked like a tiny scar. “As he lay there, beaten” Peter continued, “He picked up something lying on the strand at his side, and threw it at me.” “ ‘Damn you, Peter Pan!’ he cried, as it hit me on the arm: it was only a scratch!” “Did you see what it was?” “Yes, Wendy: I kept it as a trophy. Look!” and he brought forth a bracelet – made from sea shells – on which a tooth of some sort was mounted. The tooth was curved and somehow looked evil. “I believe it’s probably from the Crocodile” said Peter. “After all, Hook boasted he’d sliced his way out of its belly. And it was sharp enough to cut me: I don’t remember that ever happening before!” “Let me see your arm” said Wendy, in the no-nonsense-I’m-the-boss type of voice which nurses use on young patients. Peter submitted docilely, without protest, and John noted this as it was also something unexpected. “Have you never been hurt, fighting Hook?” she demanded. Peter shook his head. “Nothing that’s ever left a mark, anyway.” “Well, this is a scar, and I don’t believe it’s going to fade!” she declared, after a brief inspection. The crescent-shaped white pucker mark was small but clear against Peter’s natural outdoor tan. “Strange!” murmured Peter, “ … and, as you just saw, it aches a bit from time to time and that’s never happened before, either!” “Peter, I really, really think you ought to let Tinkerbell out of that bubble!” said Wendy, suddenly “I’m sure she’s been trying to tell us something for the last few minutes!” Peter, who had forgotten Tinkerbell’s imprisoned status entirely, had the grace to blush with embarrassment. Sheepishly he waved his hand in Tinkerbell’s direction. “ … and about time, too! Peter Pan, how dare you do that to me again! And don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been telling these – these mischief makers! – all sorts of fibs about me, thinking you’re so clever by turning your back so I can’t read your lips …..!” “Tinkerbell, you’re wrong!” Wendy interrupted “Peter wouldn’t dream of telling us anything wicked about you: especially if it wasn’t true! Isn’t that right, John?” “Yes, Tinkerbell, Peter told us about his last battle with Hook but he honestly hasn’t said anything nasty about you! He hasn’t had time, anyway, with all he had to tell us about Hook and why he needs our help!” Stopped in mid-complaint, but looking as if she was far from finished, Tinkerbell glowered suspiciously at Peter but held her tongue for the moment. “Tinkerbell” said John, looking for a diplomatic way to appease the still-furious fairy “If there’s anyone who’s an expert on Neverland, and Magic, it surely has to be you!” Still glowering, Tinkerbell sat on a nearby mushroom and looked at John in silence. Taking what encouragement he could from her apparent willingness to listen, he continued: “Tinkerbell, can you sense any – charm, spell, enchantment, perhaps? – which might be connected with this tooth? Because I’m sure that, if there’s anyone who can tell if something’s got magic properties, it has to be you!” Tinkerbell shot Peter a look which John was glad wasn’t meant for him. “He never asks my opinion about anything, you know!” she grumbled. “I’m sorry, Tinks!” Peter said, and indeed he seemed genuinely contrite for once. “I’m asking you now, though, and very nicely: please, help us?” Tinkerbell settled back onto her toadstool, and her aura, which had so far been well into the red end of the spectrum, eased to a more calming golden/greenish tint. “But don’t ask me to … touch the - thing!” she said, firmly and with more than a touch of fear in her voice. “It’s definitely dangerous … and … I don’t know, almost unclean!” Wendy glanced in her mirror once more, and then back at Peter. Wordlessly she signalled to John: Peter’s image had suddenly appeared in the glass, but it was Peter as she had never seen him before, and the background was no longer their present location. Wendy’s mirror showed a black and white image of a young adult, dressed in clothing identical to that which Peter habitually wore and standing in exactly the same manner as Peter stood at that moment. Peter shifted slightly, rubbing the scar on his wrist: the image on Wendy’s glass mirrored his movements exactly. In the bottom left corner of the glass sat a hideous, hard-to-define shape, which aped the small unconscious movements made by Tinkerbell. Wendy and John stared at each other, horrified. What could this mean? Peter started to move from where he stood so that he too could peer into Wendy’s mirror. His counterpart – for so it seemed it must be – also began to move to one side. “Stop, Peter!” warned John. “It’s important – I think! – that you stay just where you are for a moment while we try to understand what we’re seeing in the mirror.” Briefly he tried to explain to Peter and Tinkerbell exactly what they were looking at, and what had happened when Peter started to move away from where he stood. “It’s you .. both of you – at least, I think it is! – but it’s as if it’s another Time, another Place. We’re seeing you, Peter – or at least someone moving exactly as you do, and at exactly the same time! – but this person’s older …. a real Grown Up, it looks like!” “And what about Tinkerbell?” John hesitated. “That’s …. more difficult” he said, after an awkward pause. He tried to explain what they could see in the glass. “Whatever it is, is copying Tink’s movements in exactly the same way as the Grown Up is mimicking you, Peter” said John “but there’s something else which isn’t right. Even if these – shapes – are supposed to be you and Tinkerbell, why can’t I recognise the background? Even without the colour, it should be the same clearing in the woods, surely? But there’s no sign of any trees, bushes, anything!” Wendy looked closer. “Could it just be – a different time of year?” she wondered, almost speaking to herself. “It looks pretty barren to me” said John “almost as if it’s somewhere …….. indoors? Even underground? It’s almost as if there’s never been any bushes, or anything else growing there.” As suddenly as they appeared, the images on Wendy’s mirror began to disappear, becoming fuzzy around the edges and fading swiftly to a central dot like an old-fashioned television screen. “Peter, Tinks: it won’t make any difference if you come over here now!” said John “the picture on the glass has gone, anyway.” Peter shuddered, as if he had been held for some time against his will. He hopped off his toadstool and went to clutch Tinkerbell by the hand, leading her towards Wendy. Wendy examined both of them, looking for any signs of change in their appearances, now she thought she knew what she was looking for. Despite his still-healthy outdoors tan, Peter’s skin seemed a bit mottled, tired even. And Tinkerbell ……. “You don’t look well, Tinks” she murmured. “Your skin – and Peter’s – is dull, tired. It’s almost as if you’re …. “ “Starting to fade?” Peter completed the sentence when Wendy paused, unsure how to express her feelings. All Wendy could do was to nod, mutely. “That describes exactly how we have both been feeling for some time now!” he added, with a note of bitterness in his voice which Wendy could not remember ever hearing from him before. Wendy reached past Peter to pick up the discarded bracelet from the grass beside him. “Wendy, be careful! That thing’s dang…. ” “I don’t think so: at least, not for us mortals!” she added, with a confidence she was far from feeling “ anyway, it can’t be left lying here, and I’m not going to permit either you or Tinks to touch it again: look what it’s done to the pair of you already!” There was no obvious consequence as she grasped the bracelet, and she felt nothing herself (though she was still unsure whether she ought to feel anything or not). “There! That’s that taken care of!” she announced, as she placed it out of sight (though not out of mind) inside the jewellery case which had been a last-second addition as they left the bedroom ………. When?? The previous night? A century ago? ght to feel anything or not). “There! That’s that taken care of!” she announced, as she placed it out of sight (though not out of mind) inside the jewellery case which had been a last-second addition as they left the bedroom ………. When?? The previous night? A century ago?
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