Short and Tall Read online

  Short and Tall

  Stories for ‘tweens’ between 8 and 12 years

  by

  Ellie B Morris

  and

  Kate Milner

  and

  Emma Quittenton

  and

  Ann Perry

  Comprising

  3 spoofs, 3 original stories,

  2 Limsagas

  And 1 Versaga

  The Wishing Cave

  Little Fred Hyden-Good and the Big Sad Worf

  Bear-faced Cheek

  Jessa and the Wo-bugs

  Grannyzilla

  Twinkle, Twinkle

  Rapunzel

  The Leopard

  The Knight in Training

  The Wishing Cave

  It was the day of the school outing: a trip to the seaside, and it was gloriously hot. All the children of Year 6 were happy and excited – all except Timothy Jones. He was miserable, as usual.

  It was always the same. They teased him because he was overweight; they ragged him until he felt like running away. The sight of him is his swim trunks had caused a fresh bout of mockery – worse than usual. But he couldn’t help being fat; he couldn’t help being ugly, and it wasn’t his fault that he had to wear glasses with ghastly thick lenses that made his eyes look minuscule. They called him names: awful names like ‘Fatso’ and ‘Four-eyes’. But the latest one was the worst: ‘Hippo’. This had inspired someone who had seen him floating on his back in the sea. Raging with humiliation, he had hurriedly changed back into his shorts and had run away from the others, still hearing the taunting cries behind him, “Hippo! Hippo!”

  He had found this deserted beach, strewn with rocks of all sizes that must have fallen from the cliff at some time, and he was exploring, glad to be alone and away from the other kids – glad of this brief respite from their cruel goading.

  The rocks almost filled the beach, nearly down to the water’s edge, and there was no sand here – only grey, oozy mud. Tim wondered what had happened to cause such desolation. He imagined a terrible storm with gigantic waves battering the cliff to pieces. Maybe ships had been wrecked. He might find some wreckage if he looked carefully, or even treasure. Although this did not seem very likely, Tim was intrigued by the idea. He began to climb over the rocks, most of which were covered in slimy green algae and small shelled creatures. He climbed laboriously, sweating in the hot sun. Some of the rocks were as big as he was. He slowly made his way towards the cliff face; then he found the cave.

  He would have missed it completely except for the sudden whiff of fragrance that stopped him in his tracks. He sniffed harder, trying to identify the smell. It was like flowers, honey, apples and newly-mown grass – yet not quite like any of these, and it seemed out of place on this devastated beach. Then he saw the opening – almost half concealed behind a large green rock, yet still wide enough for him to squeeze through, and the lovely scent came from within.

  Tim peered inside cautiously, although madly curious. Sunlight reached a little way in and he was able to see a sandy floor, slightly dropped from the opening and stretching back into darkness. The fragrance was very strong here. He noticed that some of the smaller rocks at the cave entrance were black and shiny on one side, as if they had recently broken away. He became quite excited. This cave could have been hidden for hundreds of years. It could be a real smugglers’ cave, complete with treasure. An ancient cask of perfume might have leaked, causing the fragrance. If he made this startling discovery, he could become rich and famous. That would teach those kids to laugh at him.

  He checked his shorts pockets. Like all sensible boys, Tim always carried a few useful items – among these, a small torch. Then torch in hand, he squeezed through the opening and jumped, rather clumsily, down to the sandy cave floor. It was pleasantly cool inside and quite dry; the sea had obviously never reached this far. The sounds of seagulls and sighing surf were suddenly remote, and the sweet smell enticed him. It seemed to come from much further back inside the cave.

  Tim flicked on his torch and began to follow the length of the cave, playing the beam of light along the walls, searching for cracks or fissures where treasure might be hidden, but there were none; the walls were smooth, black and shiny. After a few minutes, he reached a dead end. He was faced with a solid wall of rock, and the cave contained nothing – except another rather large rock which sat on the floor, close to the rear wall. What a disappointment! Then the beam of torchlight caught a silvery glint, and he saw that there was writing on the wall. This might be an ancient message – a clue to buried treasure. He began to read, following the words with the light beam:

  When Earthling comes, a child of Man, he’ll carry moonlight…

  Tim did not bother to read further. It was written in silver paint – obviously modern. Someone had written a silly poem; someone had been here before him.

  Disappointment overwhelmed him. He sat down on the large rock, feeling more miserable than ever. He thought he would just stay a while and think about things. It was cool and peaceful in the cave and the sweet fragrance was soothing. It was good just to be alone. He wouldn’t tell the others about his discovery; they would only come here and spoil it. This would be his own secret. He suddenly wished that the cave was nearer home, then he could come here often. This could be his secret place, his thinking place. This could be his wishing cave.

  He thought of his schoolmates with resentment and envy. Every one of them seemed to have some special gift or talent. Tommy was handsome and charming – everyone liked him, even the girls. Then there was John: brilliantly clever and always top of the class. He wore glasses too, but his were trendy, gold-rimmed ones that seemed to suit him somehow. David was the skateboard champion, endlessly showing off his ollies and tic-tacs, and that was just on street level. In the skateboard park, he could make that board fly. He was also the best all-round sportsman in his school year, and played centre-forward in the football team. It seemed that David could do anything with his lithe, athletic body. And even little Michael, skinny and freckled, was always grinning and telling good jokes; he made everyone laugh. Rebecca was the raving beauty of the 6th year: the disco queen, and she had sharp wit and a scathing tongue to go with it, which she often used against Tim. Yes, they all had something – except him. Timothy Jones was fat, ugly and stupid. It was so unfair.

  I wish I was someone else and not me, he thought wretchedly, as two big tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed onto the black rock.

  “Aaahh,” said a soft whisper inside his head. “At last you have come.”

  Tim was startled and looked around for the whisperer, playing the torch beam on the surrounding walls, but there was no one else in the cave. Could he have imagined it?

  “Welcome, Earthling,” the whisper came again, louder than before. “Welcome…”

  Tim was feeling rather nervous by this time. Was the cave haunted? “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I am a faerie,” came the soft reply.

  Tim couldn’t help himself; he laughed aloud. Someone was playing a joke. “Pull the other one!” he chortled, “And come out, wherever you are!”

  The whisperer sounded puzzled. “I cannot come out for I am unable to move. Neither can I pull anything. I am trapped here – I need your help.”

  Tim didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused; the whisper had sounded sincere. If someone really was trapped then he ought to help. But a fairy? He was eleven years old. How could he believe in fairies?

  “Where are you?” he then asked.

  “You are sitting on me,” the whisperer informed. “I sensed your sorrow – you are the promised Earthling.”

  Tim j
umped up in alarm and shone his torch across the smooth black rock, searching for something insect-sized, but there was nothing.

  “Ahh, the moonlight…” the whisper came again.

  “Are you under the rock?” Tim asked worriedly. He would never be able to move that; it was much too big.

  “No, foolish one. I am the rock.”

  “You’re having me on!” Tim was getting rather cross. “Rocks don’t speak – and I don’t believe in fairies!”

  “But you must…” The whisper was frantic now. “You must believe or I am doomed. Please read the condition on the wall.”

  Tim turned back to the silvery writing and shone his torch there. This time he read the entire message.

  When Earthling comes, a child of Man

  He’ll carry moonlight in his hand

  He will wish and he will grieve

  But most of all he will believe

  He must believe.

  Only then will you be free

  Oh fair enchanted Emmalie.

  “Well,” he finally said, “I know there’s something weird going on, but how can you expect me to believe in fairies at my age?”

  “What has age got to do with it?” The whisper was scornful. “I haven’t seen a human for hundreds of years, but I believe in you, don’t I?”

  Tim was suddenly intrigued. “Tell me the whole story,” he suggested. “That might convince me.”

  “Very well,” the whisperer assented. “Please sit down. I don’t mind you sitting on me.”

  He reseated himself a little gingerly. It didn’t seem right to sit on a living rock. But he was longing to hear the story. Like most kids, he loved a good fantasy tale.

  “My name is Emmalie,” the whisper began, “and I am a female faerie of the first order.”

  “So you’re a girl?” Tim was more sympathetic for knowing this, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t like girls much, usually.

  “Hardly a girl,” she corrected. “I am, in fact, much older than you can imagine.”

  Tim did not argue, but in his mind she remained a girl.

  “My home is the planet Faera, and my people were at war with the goblins from the world of Vektrom.”

  “Then you’re an alien? Like ET?” Tim was fascinated.

  “What did you think faeries were then? And who’s ET? Do you know another faerie?”

  These questions were fired too fast for Tim, but he did his best. “I thought fairies were just a legend – everyone thinks that. And ET is a character in a film. It’s short for Extra-terrestrial.”

  “So, humans do have racial memory,” she mused. “We did, in fact, visit Earth frequently when the human race was very young – that’s where your legend comes from.”

  Tim was enthralled in spite of his former scepticism. She made it sound so feasible. “In space ships?” He bounced on the rock with delight.

  She was scornful again. “Who needs those? We do use them sometimes for sport, but actually travel across the universe through cosmic time tunnels – it’s much quicker.”

  “Wow!” Tim was well impressed. She told a good story for a girl. “Please go on. How did you get to be a rock?”

  “There was a great battle here at the dawn of your creation. The goblins tried to take the Earth for their own use. We came to help the young human race. The goblins were defeated, but naturally a few survived. I was cornered in this cave by the warlord, Zork. He was a goblin commander, as well as a powerful sorcerer. He took me by surprise just as I was about to enter the cosmic tunnel, and he cast this spell on me. Fortunately the rules of war demanded that he make a condition. But I have been here ever since – nothing but a rock. I am lonely and helpless, and now I know that his condition was a clever one. Children of these times do not believe. I am trapped forever…” The whisper ended in a sob.

  Tim was overcome with pity for this sad lonely creature. How well he understood the meaning of loneliness. He stroked the smooth black rock as his tears welled up again. “I wish I could help you, Emmalie.”

  A whoop of sheer joy screeched through his head, “Wooo-wooo-weee!” followed by a blinding flash of light, and the rock lurched beneath him. Tim was thrown onto the sandy floor where he rolled unhurt, closing his eyes against the brightness. Then all was still and silent.

  When he dared to open his eyes he saw that the rock had disappeared, leaving a hole in the floor through which streamed rays of beautiful coloured light which danced and played like a fountain. The cave was filled with swirling rainbows. As he gazed at this wonder, the soft voice came again close to his right, outside his head this time: “Thank you, Timothy Jones.”

  He turned and there she was – Emmalie restored – a real live faerie, and she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen or imagined. Tim just stared.

  She was several inches shorter than he was, delicate and fragile as a flower. Fire-gold hair wafted about her head, as if stirred by the breeze, yet there was no draught in the cave. Small pointed ears could be glimpsed beneath this glory. Eyes of darkest forest green sparkled like jewels. Pale beige skin, almost honey coloured, had a golden sheen – she glowed. She wore an outfit of green leather which he could only describe as shorts and a muscle shirt; not that she had any muscle to speak of, she was slender as a gazelle. And her fragrance was like a garden of apple blossom and roses.

  “Faeries haven’t changed much,” she informed, “but I can see that humans have. Why are you wearing viewports on your face?”

  Tim was already feeling gross and ugly beside this fabulous creature and was floored by this question. “I need them to see,” he mumbled. “My eyes are bad.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said kindly. “You are now entitled to three wishes in good old faerie style. You can wish your viewports away right now.”

  Could this be true? Tim could hardly believe his luck. Nor did he feel like he deserved it. “But what did I do?” he protested. “I never said I believed.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she enlightened. “You could not have felt so sincerely sorry if you had not believed in me. It was enough. Go on – make your first wish.”

  Tim needed no further prompting. “I wish I didn’t need glasses,” he said at once.

  The lenses immediately clouded over, obscuring his vision, but they were still there. “It didn’t work,” he complained.

  “Yes it did,” she assured. “Just take them off.”

  He did so and everything sprang into sharp relief: the rainbowed walls, the dancing lights, the beautiful faerie and every grain of sand. “That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I can see perfectly.” He threw his hated glasses away. “Now I wish I was slim like everyone else.”

  “Close your eyes,” she instructed. “It might be disturbing to watch yourself disappearing.”

  Tim obeyed; then felt a warm tingling at the back of his neck. Suddenly his shorts began to slip. He grabbed at the waistband and tightened in the belt. A few moments later he had to do it again. Then he became aware of aching hunger. The tingling stopped and he opened his eyes to look down at his new self. He saw with delight that he was not only slim, but sturdy and supple. He looked better than David, the skateboard whiz. Emmalie certainly knew her stuff. But then a disturbing thought struck him. “No one will recognise me,” he told her, “maybe not even my mother. I won’t dare go home.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” she said. “It will have to be your third wish – that everyone will remember you as if you’ve always been this way. It’s a shame to waste a wish, but this seems necessary.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. I was going to wish to be clever, but that doesn’t really matter. I know I’ll be happy now.”

  Emmalie closed her eyes briefly, then re-opened them. “It is done.” She regarded him thoughtfully with her jewel-green gaze. “Are you a brave boy, Tim?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never tried anything brave. Why?”

  “The well of light that you see in this cave is the entranc
e to a cosmic time tunnel,” she explained. “There are many of these scattered over the Earth, but they are normally hidden from humans. The only reason you see it now is because I wish it. This leads back to my world, Faera. Only there will I be restored to full power. If you dare to come there with me, there is a special gift I would like to give you.”

  “What’s that?” He was over-awed.

  “Knowledge,” she said. “Knowledge yet undiscovered by mortals. Not only will you become the cleverest boy in the world, you will grow to be the greatest man. You will be rich, famous and successful – a legend in your time.”

  “That’s fantastic!” he enthused.

  “But as with all great spells there will be a condition,” she warned.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Should you ever use your knowledge for evil purpose, it will be instantly withdrawn, and you will become just as you were when you entered this cave.”

  “I swear I never will,” he said excitedly. A cosmic time tunnel – a magical faerie world – great knowledge. His mind boggled. Then came a moment of doubt. “Why do I have to be brave?”

  She smiled enchantingly. “The journey is a bit unnerving for humans,” she explained. “To you, it will seem like spinning very fast. You may become dizzy. You might even faint – but you will be quite safe, so long as I hold your hand.”

  Tim felt reassured and smiled back at her – his first real smile in ages. “Have you got any food on Faera?” He’d suddenly remembered how hungry he was.

  “Only the best,” she boasted. “I will see that there is a party in your honour.” Then she grabbed his hand and led him to the edge of the radiant pit. “Come on, brave Earthling,” she encouraged.

  And together they jumped into the colourful light.

  Little Fred Hyden-Good and the Big Sad Worf

  This spoof was written especially for Carl Richard Quittenton who (in childhood) had the most tremendous imagination.