Winnie SWW chapters 1-4 Senses
It was a cold white day. The type of day that the frost would creep up on you with its cold icy fingers. The sky was white like a blank canvas, beckoning for a fresh streak of colour. Thick fog hid the gentle flickering of gas lamp. Leaves blew in the wind, crumbling and crunching in the dirty potholes. Dense air lingered in the dirty faces of slaves and faint groans and loud bangs sounded in the distance.
Peter Moby cautiously walked forward hoping he would get through the checkpoint. New guards would be standing in for the old man who had died from the slave trade. He had been a nice man that would let him through the gates whenever he wanted but he had been too good to be true. He hoped that this man would be some what the same. He pulled his hands deeper into her pockets and felt the two gold shillings. That wouldn’t be enough for his family to pay the rent.
He could see the tall, tough man looking at him with a sharp milky eye. She could see red veins run through it like blood flying from a bullet. His spine shivered. His mother’s words rang in his head as he walked closer to the daunting checkpoint.
Keep your head up, be observant and be careful.
“Next,” ordered the chief, his shout was loudly ringing in Peter’s ears. ”What is your name and why are you here? ”
“Peter, Peter Moby,” he replied hesitantly, “I work here and deliver all the sugar to the village,”
“You work here,” he said with a childish smirk on his face, his voice even huskier than before, ” You look as if the you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwords, not working in this grand old house like this.” He started laughing, and Peter could feel himself go back in to his shell again.
Something fell to the ground and unfortunately the guard saw what it was. He saw two gold shilling fall from Peter’s pocket. “Two gold shillings,” The man fake accent fell and a squeaky “Wow,” came from his mouth. “I’ll be taking those,” and with one swipe he knocked the pennies into the gutters below. “Let him through,”
The gates slammed behind him. A shiver travelled down his spine. This would be harder than before, he thought to himself. He cried. His main job was to get money for his family but now it was too late. His family would have to move. They would lose their job and have to take to the streets.
Peter walked closer to the grand house. It was way more looked after than the other side of town: flat, evenly spread gravel lay on the drive; short green grass was well cut and each blade was better looked after than Peter was; the tallest monkey puzzle tree was gently swaying in the middle of a roundabout at the front of a grand stone house; and two large gargoyles followed him like his past waiting to haunt him.
He felt sick. He found the house too grand and that made him feel disgusted. He always felt sick. Like the poor people weren’t allowed all of this. He came up to the door and couldn’t bare to touch the door knob that all the snobbish and rich people had touched. He was just their slave and treated him like a piece of dirt.
Shuddering, he managed to move his arms up to the knocker and was soon let in by the maid. He thanked her and then looked at the well-polished wooden floor under him. He had to get the next bag of sugar to deliver to the next customer.
When he had got to the kitchen, he opened the door quietly. Scanning the hallway to see if anyone was coming, He shut the door, trying to be quiet. But unfortunately, the door creaked shut behind him.
The kitchen was covered in flour, a slippery, sticky puddle of syrup on the floor and a sharp foul smell of rotten fish. Shining frying pans hung from the celling like golden mirrors. A bread roll was perched on the side with a pot of tea and a cream bun waiting to be brought up by the maids. Then he licked his lips. The tart smell of icing was stinging his nostrils, like spices in a curry. He checked the door, hoping that it was locked. Quietly, he walked closer to the food on the counter and dreamed of the sticky cream bun melting in his mouth.
Then the door opened and the maid walked in. His chance would be over. He quickly grabbed the cream bun and hid behind the wooden island in the middle of the kitchen.
“Give me that,” said a man, clipping Peters ear. Peter screamed as blood dripped down his white shirt, like a fish through water. He opened his eyes and tried to gulp down the pain that engulphed him. It was the chef. He wanted his cream bun back. Peter gripped it tighter and then gave up and ended up dropping the cream to the floor.
The chef let go and held him by the scruff of his collar, picked him up and chucked him out of the kitchen with the cream bun and a shilling. He really was a nice man.
Ear throbbing, Peter walked into the nearest maid cupboard, where he hid his secret stash for his family, which was a mess. He opened the door, that was the less creaky of them all, reached for the box, put the money in and closed the lid.
Out of the window, fog would tickle your throat and the wind would cry out to you with its frosty tone. Inside, it felt tense and grim like the world was rapping you up in a blanket, forcing you to stay put and not letting you out of its grasp. The cupboard was full of dirty, dusty mops that lay in the corner leaving wet brown spots on the carpet. Thick cob webs (that were covered in fuzzy dust) and beautiful paintings were discarded and torn straight down the middle. To Peter’s utter astonishment, he really saw how snobbish these people really were. They were spoilt and didn’t care for these amazing works of art. Then the door creaked open!
A plump man stood before him, with a golf club in his hand. His buttons looked as if they couldn’t hold his body in his waistcoat and his face looked as if was going to burst. He readied his golf club and gripped it closer. Without a warning, sharp screeches called out above them. The ear-splitting sound made Peter’s ear throb faster, about to explode. Out of a small crack above the shelves, a flurry of grey filled the room and little wings battered the shelves and knocked over brooms. Peter couldn’t see. He was terrified.
Large paper like wings clattered in the darkness, their large ears listening for danger. Tiny studded fangs hung from their mouths.
The man had gone!
Soon the bats cleared but one was perched on the floor, a large tare in its wing. It could sense him, trust him.
Carefully it came closer. It let out a small squeak and brought its wing in closer. Fear surrounded her and engulphed her in sadness. She opened her mouth and he could see her studded teeth like pinpricks in the black sky. And then it spoke. It was a sharp voice the sort you would speak to your pets. “You’re in trouble, everyone is in trouble,” she said. “unless you help me.” Peter stared back at her, his hands shaking.
“Fine,” right now he would do anything for her. She saved his life and he would save hers.
After an awkward walk through the town, they found a dark quiet corner to rest for the night, his parents would never except a bat in the house. He had to be as careful he didn’t know what the bat had meant. But he was willing to find out.
Peter woke with a start; the bat slept on, curled up in a ball. Peeking through a gap in the wall, he could just about hear the sound of footsteps crunching down the gravel. Sniffing the air, the bat carefully crawled in closer. Her small eyes looked up at him from where she lay on his hand. She was cold and felt light and breakable. He stroked her gingerly and moved back out of the light and into the shadows. Then a gun sounded; the bat screeched; Peter’s heart pounded. Quietly, the bat spoke, “People judge others with their eyes, not with their hearts,” her voice was calm. “And that is wrong.” Then he shrunk back into the darkness.
Without warning, something or someone entered through the door. The clicking and clacking of the someone’s shoes made Peter’s heart beat faster and faster. It was beating so fast that you could feel it echo through the floor. Silence seemed to haunt them as they waited; waited for the person to leave. A lantern cut through the black; something was dragging along the floor; light started to appear around them. He could feel searching hands reach for a box close to them. Tactfully, he peered around the corner and saw the man with milky eyes stare straight at them. It was the guard! He held his breath and thought to himself, ‘It is over, there’s no escape now. We’re done for.’
It was over.
Suddenly, someone shouted, leading the guard away and they were saved.
It felt like hours, but probably fallen asleep, since the guards left. The sun was just rising and the sky was pink like a lavendar. Light was submerging the darkness and tiredness was encouraging Peter to shut his eyes. The bat spoke in a quiet voice and told him, in great detail, that there was a magical gateway that could save this broken world and wide eyes. “It is found in an old structure. Wisdom is from stories, not knowledge.”
Peter had an idea that the gateway might be the old Cathedral in this town. He was christened there when he was brought to England. His parents wanted him to be as normal as possible. It was a long journey but the bat wasn’t ready yet. He needed to keep her safe and protect her at any cost.
Aware that his parents didn’t know where he was, he knew that they would say no anyway, he had to find the gateway so nobody would take the bat away from him.
The Abby’s gates, that has been protecting the crumbling walls for thousands of years, stood watching them like an owl and its beady eyes. This would be the fastest way to get there. At each famous point there is a gateway that can take you between different world; there is consequence, that you can get stuck between worlds. You could get lost; you could die. He knew all the places you could go to get to the cathedral and they would try all the ways to get the Batt to safety. They carried on through the gravel path and towards the iron gate of the Abby. And it was locked.
The fog, as thick as pea soup, was smothering them like they were wrapped in a thick warm blanket. Chills licked his spine. It was really haunting. He needed to save her so she could be the light in the world.
Coming to the gateway, which had stood strong for many years, he heard voices summoning them, speaking in a heavenly whisper. Silence was calling for them. Hiding in the shadows, the bat screeched and shivered in the cool early wind. Peter huddled her in close, his hot scared breath on her skin. She was dying.
It was beautiful. Huge crumbling stone, grand mahogany wooden handles and mighty brass doors stood strong before them. Peter could hear the Gods call for them. Peter, whose heart was beating faster than before, was scared. The bat needed to rest. She was in trouble. They needed to get in.
After all that waiting, light poured out of the crack between the doors, they were like sinews from the sky, the cathedral was glowing. It was amazing: light flickered into golden stars and danced like leaves; the sky turned into a million spotlights; and darkness submerged the light.
Moments later, the sound of a first gun shot was sounded. They were caught. The Bat turned, screeching in pain, and in one, hurtful, swoop the sky was black with millions of fluttering bats. The wind picked up and the guard was loud with the moaning and singing of the pig-nosed creatures. The guards dropped their guns and opened their mouths, scared to the bone. Their screams were silenced and their moaning was ended by the tension in the air. Nobody would know what would happen next.
“Thank you,” she said in a low gruff voice, “I came here to warn you. The world is turning against you, for what you and humanity are doing to it. I thought you would all perish, but now I have realised that you will be safe with hope and love,” She spoke louder know. “Do as I say and stand up for who you are and what you believe in, Goodbye.”
“You can’t go, it’s not fair,” Peter spoke, crying.
“I have to,” She replied “I have to. Goodbye” And with the help of the other bats they flew through the door, with utter astonishment, lifted her up and into infinity.
The light swallowed her up, demolishing her. She had left. She was gone.
Peter stood there, his face hot with tears drying on his cheek. It was hard to see the Batt go and what was worse was that he would possibly never see the Batt again. Pain was riding in his chest and his heart was beating, hurt, like a broken drum. It would never be the same again. He was there in the dark and the rain and the sorrow. He was trying to hold in the pain and in all the sorrow that was building up inside of him.
He started to move, slowly, down the path. He was just starting to feel at one with the Batt and now he was gone. Gone away forever. He felt change in the air. There was no longer a red puff of smoke in the air, not from the anger but from the hurting and the fighting. But there was hope and there was light. All thanks to the Batt.
Years have passed and the world has changed. The present has changed because of the Batt. The world is different and everyone is one. People have changed and become kinder to the world they live in today and that is why the Bat changed the world.
Peter was alone, alone in the Abby. He was waiting against the wall of the Abby waiting for the Batts arrival. And then, when he had lost all hope, a faint screech came from the sky and they were together.
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