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  But then there was the noise. To get to the kitchen, Rose had to pass the door under the stairs that opened on to steps leading down into the cellar. It could have been the wind in the trees outside, or perhaps it was a door banging somewhere else in the house, but Rose was sure she could hear a low, bumping, thumping sound – and it seemed to be coming from the cellar.

  Rose took her empty cup through to the kitchen, then she tiptoed back to the cellar door. She pressed her ear against the rough wood and listened. There was definitely a sound coming from the cellar – a sort of pulsing humming. Slowly and carefully, Rose eased the door open. She froze as it creaked, and she glanced back towards the living room, but there was no sound from her grandmother.

  The sound from the cellar was louder now that the door was open. Rose decided against closing the door behind her, fearing that it would creak again, and she stepped through and on to the first step. The cellar below was bathed in a warm red glow. Rose carefully made her way down the steep stone steps. She had only been in the cellar once before that she could remember, when Grandma had asked her to put a box of ornamental objects she no longer wanted to have out on display down there.

  When she reached the bottom of the steps, Rose saw that the glow was coming from the far end of the cellar. Against the wall stood something rather like an upright cabinet – except that it looked as if it had not been made, but grown. The material it was made of was like gnarled, twisted wood only it was a deep orange rather than brown. Stepping closer, Rose saw that there was a figure standing inside the cabinet – a figure she recognised at once.

  ‘Grandma?’ she whispered.

  Rose ran down the last few steps. Her first thought was that her grandmother was asleep; her eyes were closed, and what looked like tendrils of the strange orange material were attached to her head. Rose’s second thought was that, if this was her grandmother, then who was sitting upstairs in the living room, ignoring their tea?

  The sound of a footstep on the stairs made Rose turn round. And there, staring at her and bathed in the pale red light from the cabinet, was her grandmother – her other grandmother. But, even as Rose watched, the old woman’s form began to blur and shimmer. Her outline became indistinct, her features running like a watercolour painting in the rain. Gradually, they reassembled into a different shape.

  The hunched, misshapen figure that Rose had glimpsed in the woods now stood on the stairs watching her. Its skin was textured like the cabinet behind her, and its dark eyes stared out from a neckless head covered in suckers and nodules. The creature gave an angry hiss. ‘So the body print did not deceive you,’ it rasped.

  The creature advanced down the stairs, and started across the cellar towards Rose. She felt suddenly calm, knowing that whatever happened she had to get away and find help. She waited until the grotesque creature was almost within touching distance. Then, as it reached out, suckers on the ends of its fingers trembling and constricting, Rose threw herself to the floor and rolled under its outstretched arm. She managed to get her feet back under her and was up and running.

  At the top of the steps, Rose looked back. She hated to leave her grandmother alone and helpless in the cellar with the creature, but she had no choice. She shoved the door closed behind her and ran down the hallway. When Rose tore the front door open, a dark figure was standing there, staring back at her. It took her a moment to recognise the woodcutter she had met on her way to her grandmother’s. Rose tried to stammer an explanation, but the woodcutter put his hands on her shoulders and moved her gently aside so he could come into the cottage. He stared past her at the creature, which was now emerging from the cellar door behind Rose.

  ‘Zygon,’ he exclaimed. ‘I knew it!’

  The creature gave another angry, rasping hiss. It stood, framed in the cellar doorway, as the woodcutter ran full pelt at it. His shoulder struck the creature right in the chest as it stepped into the hallway. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then the creature pitched slowly backwards. It let out a wailing roar as it disappeared through the cellar door. Rose heard it tumble down the steps. There was another quieter wail, and then silence.

  The woodcutter had grabbed hold of the door frame to stop himself from falling through after the creature. He stood and stared down into the cellar for a moment, then he turned towards Rose. A smile appeared on his face as if it had been switched on suddenly. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘Back in a tick.’

  Rose stood in the hallway, arms folded across her chest and trembling as if she was cold. After what seemed an age, she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Then Rose’s grandmother – her real grandmother – stepped through the door. She looked old and pale and weak. But she smiled at Rose.

  ‘That nice man says I could do with a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘And you know, Rose, I think he’s right.’

  They sat down, and this time Grandma drank her hot tea, just as she always did when Rose came to visit. Their conversation, however, was a little different from usual – they both spoke of what they had experienced that day and comforted one another. Grandma told Rose how frightened she had been by the creature, and Rose told Grandma about her mother’s illness, and described her journey through the wood and her adventures in the cellar.

  ‘Right, all sorted,’ the woodcutter said as he joined them. Rose had made him a cup of tea too, and he drank it in a single gulp, not bothering to sit down. ‘You shouldn’t have any more trouble with the Zygons, and I’ve dismantled the body-print equipment. Thanks for the tea. I’d better be going now. Bye.’

  He didn’t wait for Rose and her grandmother to thank him, but strode from the room and out of the cottage. Rose watched from the window as the woodcutter headed towards a small blue hut close to the path. She remembered that he’d told her he had a shed; and, as the woodcutter went inside, she thought how funny it was that she had never noticed it here, so close to her grandmother’s cottage, before. As she turned to ask her grandmother how long it had been there, her words were drowned out by a sudden scraping, wheezing sound. Dry leaves blew against the window in a flurry. And, when they were gone, so was the woodcutter’s shed.

  Once, long ago and far away, there were two children called Malkus and Everlyne. They were brother and sister and, although they argued often and teased each other, they also loved one another very much. Malkus would do anything for his sister, and Everlyne would have died for her brother – although she never thought it would come to that.

  The children often played in the forest that lay between the dwellings where they lived and a great lake. They always kept to the paths they knew and the areas they recognised. Their parents had warned them of the dangers that lurked in the shadows between the trees, and the children were careful to never step beyond familiar trails.

  Whenever he couldn’t sleep, Malkus loved to sit at his window and stare out at the night sky. He knew many of the stars and constellations by name, and their twinkling beauty entranced him. He would often wonder if there were other worlds like his own out there, circling those stars, and if there were people like him and Everlyne living on those worlds.

  But one night when Malkus gazed out his window there was an extra star – a bright star he had never seen before. It appeared at the edge of the constellation called the Lion’s Paw and, as Malkus watched, grew steadily brighter and larger. It was moving, he realised. He followed its progress across the sky with fascination. The star continued to grow brighter, and as it fell towards the world it became a burning ball of fire, then streaked down until it disappeared somewhere in the depths of the forest.

  The next day at breakfast, Malkus told his family about the falling star, but it seemed that he was the only one who had seen it. When he described it, his mother smiled in the way she did when she thought he was making up stories – it was clear she had not seen the star and that she did not believe Malkus had either. Perhaps she thought he had dreamed about it.

  Everlyne, however, was captivated by Malkus’s story of the sta
r that had fallen from the sky. When their mother was clearing their breakfast away and had her back turned to the children, Malkus whispered to Everlyne that the two of them should try to find where the star had landed. Everlyne, delighted at the idea, immediately agreed.

  And so they set off into the forest, heading in the direction that Malkus was sure the star must be. It proved to be a long walk. They passed by all the places where they and the other children from their town usually played – the old stumpy tree, the clearing full of fairy rings and the standing stone with the iron ring in it. After what seemed an age, they found themselves in the deepest and darkest part of the forest. The day was growing old, and they had walked further into the forest than they ever had before.

  ‘Maybe we should go back,’ Everlyne said, and she looked around nervously. She was not happy to be so far from home, and she was tired and hungry. Malkus was relieved; he too was desperate for something to eat, but hadn’t wanted to be the one to suggest they turn back. In truth, he was beginning to wonder if perhaps the falling star had been a dream after all. How could a star fall from the heavens?

  They turned and walked back the way they had come – or so they hoped. They had left the path behind long ago and in the depths of the forest one tree looks very like another. It did not take them long to realise that they were lost. Everlyne sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree that neither of them recalled having seen before, and buried her face in her hands. She did not cry – she rarely cried – but Malkus could see that she was just as upset and worried as he was. He sat down beside his sister, put his arm round her shoulder and held her tight.

  ‘It can’t be long before we find a path we know,’ he said gently. ‘If we walk in a straight line, we must eventually get out of the forest. And if we are going the wrong way then we shall arrive at the great lake and we can walk home along the road.’

  They walked for another hour. Sometimes they were sure they recognised trees and bushes, branches and undergrowth; other times they were certain they had never been this way before. At last they reached a clearing. The sun was very low in the sky by now, and it shone through the gaps in the forest. The clearing did not look natural to the children, though; it seemed as if something had uprooted the trees, thrusting them aside as it burned its way through them, and leaving the ground where they had been a charred and blackened mess.

  ‘What could have done this?’ Malkus said.

  ‘A star, perhaps?’ his sister wondered.

  Ahead of them, standing at the end of the burned path, they could see what looked like a little house. As they approached, they saw that it was a cottage – a cottage that appeared to be made of things that were good to eat. The walls were made of gingerbread, and the window frames were icing. The handle on the front door was a sugared jelly, and the whole house was studded with sweets and chocolate. The hungry children ran towards the house, desperate to break bits off and stuff them into their mouths.

  ‘We should ask,’ Everlyne said as they got closer.

  Malkus agreed. But, when they knocked at the gingerbread door, there was no answer.

  ‘Perhaps no one lives here,’ Malkus said. ‘And, if they do, I’m sure they won’t mind if we break off just a little bit to eat.’

  As he spoke, the door swung slowly open. Inside, the children could see a large dining table piled high with more food and sweets, puddings and cakes and biscuits. Without another word, they hurried inside … and the house vanished.

  One moment they were running towards the table piled high with food, and the next they found themselves in a plain metal box. They stopped and looked at each other in disbelief. Metal bars slammed down behind them, closing the box. Malkus and Everlyne were trapped inside.

  They turned and ran to the bars, but could not move them. They hammered on the metal walls and shouted for help, but no one came. They sat on the cold, hard floor and stared out at the darkening forest. After what seemed an age, they saw a figure making its way slowly towards them. An old woman, hunched and wizened, walked slowly up to the metal box and peered through the bars. Her skin was wrinkled and grey, and her eyes were small and dark. Her nose was a crooked beak with a wart on one side, and her teeth when she smiled were yellowed and cracked.

  ‘Can you help us get out of here?’ Everlyne asked.

  The old woman responded with a cackling laugh as brittle as old, dry leaves. ‘Let you out?’ she said. ‘Why would I let you out when I’ve gone to so much trouble to get you in?’ She stared at the children through her pinprick eyes. ‘You look as if you need feeding up,’ she said. ‘If I bring you dinner, do you promise to eat it all with no fuss?’

  Malkus and Everlyne, though scared, were both starving by now. They agreed to eat whatever the old woman brought them.

  ‘So long as it’s proper food,’ Malkus said. The old woman looked so much like a witch that it would not have surprised him if she had brought them a plate of dead spiders and worms. Or worse.

  But the children were pleasantly surprised when she returned a while later with two large bowls of hot fried potato slices. She told them to move to the back of the cage, then she pressed a switch that was on the outside wall and the bars slid away. The children could not see the switch from inside the cage, but they heard the click as it was pressed. The old woman left the bowls of fried potatoes on the floor of the cage, then pressed the switch again and the bars moved back into place.

  Night fell, and the old woman passed two thin blankets between the bars. The children curled up under them, cold and afraid. The moon was a large, pale disc high above them, visible through the bars of their cage. As Malkus dozed, Everlyne stared up at the moon, and thought about the falling star that had brought them here and how she should never have agreed to go and look for it. But it was too late now; what was done was done.

  As she stared up at the moon, a shadow passed across it. At first she thought it was a bird. Wings flapped against the moonlight and the creature twisted and turned, and Everlyne saw that it was a bat – but it was unlike any bat she had seen before. Its shape was harder and more angular, and it was huge. She heard the beat of the creature’s wings, and saw its shadow drop back towards the ground on the other side of the cage. She listened, holding her breath, and fancied she could hear it moving about beyond the metal wall. Then, after a while, all was silent and she breathed again.

  When the sun rose above the trees the next morning, both children had barely slept. Everlyne told Malkus about the enormous bat. Had she dreamed it, she wondered? Had she dozed off for a few minutes and imagined it all?

  The old woman brought them fried potatoes for each meal throughout the day. The potatoes were good – the best the children had ever tasted, although they were hardly in any position to appreciate them.

  On the third day, the old woman told the children she needed their help. If they agreed to help her then perhaps – perhaps – she might let them go free.

  Malkus hoped this might offer them the chance to escape, to run off when the old woman was distracted. But it soon became clear that she would only let one of the children out of the cage at a time to help her – and neither Malkus nor Everlyne would leave the other behind alone. If one of them ran off, who knew what the old woman would do to whoever was left behind?

  Malkus was the first to be allowed out. Everlyne watched, her face pressed to the bars, as the old woman led Malkus to where, not far from the cage and half buried in the ground, a long metal object lay. It was as big as a small house, and its sides were blackened and pitted. Malkus realised that this must be the object he had seen falling from the sky.

  It occurred to Malkus just how easy it would be for him to overpower the old woman; he was young and healthy and strong, while she was old and weak and frail. He could then use the switch to open the cage and set Everlyne free, and they could both escape. But, as if she knew what he was thinking, the old woman put her hand on his shoulder. He was surprised at how strong and firm her grip was – and, when she
squeezed, the sudden pain that shot through him made it obvious that the woman wasn’t one bit as old or weak or frail as she appeared. She would not be the one who was overpowered in any fight.

  The old woman opened a hatch in the side of the metal star, and shoved Malkus through it. Inside, the metal star was filled with screens and computers and the sort of advanced equipment that Malkus had only heard about. The old woman sat him in front of one of the screens and told him to start work.

  ‘But I have no idea how to work this,’ he told her, afraid that once she learned he was no use to her she might kill them both.

  ‘You’ll surprise yourself,’ she said.

  And he did.

  Malkus had no idea how it was possible, but the images and words that appeared on the screen in front of him somehow made perfect sense, and he knew exactly what to do in response to them. He looked at the woman in surprise, and for the briefest moment it seemed as if she was not an old woman at all but a huge bat with leathery wings spread out behind her.

  Then she was a hunched, witch-like woman again. ‘It’s amazing what a good diet can achieve,’ she said.

  She left Malkus to work, and walked stiffly away to the other side of the metal star. When Malkus glanced over, he saw that she was standing beside a small metal cabinet and he watched as she lowered a wire basket of sliced potatoes into it. At once the whole place was filled with sizzling and the smell of cooking. The woman seemed wary, standing well back from the fryer (for that was clearly what it was). Malkus assumed she was afraid of being burned by splashes of the hot oil. He could see large metal barrels stacked to one side of the fryer, and guessed they were filled with the cooking oil.

  The old woman left a bowl of fried potatoes for Malkus to pick at as he worked, and took another bowl to Everlyne in the cage.

  Malkus worked at the screen until his eyes were heavy with tiredness; then the old woman led him back to the cage, and brought Everlyne out to take her brother’s place. Everlyne was also surprised by how she was able to work at the screen. Everlyne continued working where her brother had left off, and as she progressed she began to see the purpose of what they were doing – the metal star was broken, and she and Malkus were repairing it with their work at the screen. Once the work was done, the old woman would return to the stars and the children would be free.