Second Star to the Right and Straight on until Morning

Tilly landed against the roof with a dense thud. Luckily, no one was in the kitchen below else they’d have surely heard her. With as much stealth as she could muster, she scrambled to her feet and carefully plotted her way to the edge of the roof. Moss covered most of the roof like a deep green carpet. Tilly reached the end and peered at the cracked tarmac of the small driveway. She was still at least six feet from the ground without anything soft she could land on.

Looking back up at her open window, she could faintly make out the lines of her curtains trembling in the breeze.

‘Come on,’ Tilly urged herself, her words fogging in a light mist. She lowered herself against the roof, facing the house. Reaching for the drain pipe she secured her hands amongst the damp leaves gathered within it. Tilly tensed as she felt something scurry across her fingers but she managed not to scream. She was wedged at the end of the roof like a swimmer poised before a race at the edge of the pool. But she wasn’t about to push off with her legs – instead, she released them so she was hanging by her fingertips. Her booted feet knocked against the glass of the kitchen window. Now all she had to do was let go.

Tilly closed her eyes and imagined that she was dropping onto a cloud. Her fingers released the drain pipe and a second later, her face connected with the rough driveway. Tilly gasped as the fall knocked the air out of her lungs. The ground felt hard and indifferent beneath her. As she shakily climbed to her feet, Tilly felt a deep ache in her leg and the flame of a fresh cut on her cheek. When she examined her face her fingertips came away stained with blood.

More than anything Tilly wanted to run to the glass-fronted door and hammer on it until someone let her in. She could go back to the warmth of her bed, have her wounds bathed and plastered. But what would her father think? If he found her crying on the doorstep like a baby it’d only further fuel his anger. No, Tilly couldn’t go back.

Sucking in her tears, Tilly adjusted her backpack and began to walk down the driveway.

The street her family lived on was eerily still. Houses were shrouded in darkness, their curtains drawn tightly closed. Cars were idle in driveways and only the wind whispered as it blew past Tilly, tangling itself up in her already dishevelled hair.

Lowering her head against the wind, Tilly walked. Forcing one foot in front of the other she moved without daring to look back.

A cat almost as black as night darted out in front of her, pausing briefly to stare, its wide eyes reflecting the yellow from the street light. Tilly knew the cat. He was called Thomas and he lived two doors down with Mrs Bradshaw. Thomas’ yowls regularly interrupted the stillness of the night as he fiercely fought to defend his territory.

‘That damn cat has been in our garden again,’ Tilly’s father would sigh. ‘He always comes round here, leaving mess everywhere.’

‘Leave him be, Clive,’ Tilly’s mother would urge.

‘You’re not the one trying to weed, and digging up what he’s already buried!’ Tilly’s father raged.

‘Mum, can we get a cat?’ Tilly asked. She liked how on hot days Thomas would stretch out on their small lawn, exposing his belly to the rays of the sun. And when Tilly tickled his belly he purred so loudly he sounded like her father’s lawnmower.

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

Both her parents had answered at the same time.

‘No,’ her father was the first to repeat. ‘Cats make too much mess.’

‘I’d like a cat,’ Tilly’s mother said with a smile.

‘How do you think he’d take to them?’ Clive nodded at the garden. ‘This whole street is Thomas’ territory. You think he’d welcome a new cat? You’ve heard the way he fights. The little sod has even hissed at me once or twice.’

Thomas had never hissed at Tilly. She liked to think they shared some sort of secret bond, that Thomas was only nice towards her because he knew she was actually a princess and he was an enchanted cat who would one day return to his human form.

Thomas mewed at Tilly. The sound was plaintive yet affectionate.

‘Hey, Thomas.’ Tilly bent down and reached for his soft fur. She stroked his chin as he enthusiastically leaned against her.

‘You’re such a good boy,’ Tilly told him affectionately. ‘I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing out so late.’

Thomas didn’t seem troubled by her presence. He seemed more interested in the fuss he was receiving.

‘OK, OK, I’ve got to go now.’ Tilly straightened and Thomas gazed up at her before releasing a single pleading mew.

‘I can’t stay,’ Tilly explained with a shake of her head. ‘My dad is too angry at me.’

Tilly continued walking down the street. She was almost at the point where the road forked and she’d be forced to choose which way to go. Thomas stalked her every step, trotting beside her in the shadows. It comforted Tilly to know he was there.

At the end of the road, Tilly paused and glanced in both directions. She had no idea where she was going. Like a lost soul at sea she’d been hoping that the stars would guide her but they remained obscured by the glare of the street lights.

‘Which way?’ Tilly wondered aloud. If she went left she would be pulled deeper into a housing estate filled with countless homes like her own. It was a warren of driveways and dead ends. If she went right she would pass by the park and beyond that, her school.

Tilly began moving before her mind had registered that she’d made a decision. She went right. Thomas loitered at the fork in the road, his head tilted in her direction inquisitively. Pausing, Tilly glanced back at him.

‘Are you coming?’ she asked.

Thomas remained regally sat on his back legs, his tail curled around him.

‘Suit yourself.’ Tilly turned away and continued trudging down the road. She saw the distant glow of headlights like bright eyes in the darkness. For a moment, she panicked. What if the driver pulled up and asked why she was out so late? What excuse could she give?

‘I’m out for an evening stroll,’ she could tell them sarcastically. As if they’d believe that. They’d probably report her to the police, which would result in a shameful homecoming. Her father would well and truly hate her then, and she could only imagine how mortified her mother would be if a patrol car pulled up outside and hauled Tilly out of the back.

But what if the driver wasn’t that concerned about her safety? What if they were the sort of person who lingered too close to playgrounds and harboured dark intentions? It was only a few years ago that Dullerton’s residents had been shaken when a little girl was abducted. She was only five. After ten days she was found in the woods on the outskirts of town.

Tilly only vaguely remembered the story. Her parents had watched the news with pale faces each night and demanded that none of the girls linger on their way home from school. Olivia White was the little girl’s name. People lit candles in their windows and at school in assembly the students were encouraged to pray for her. But when they found her it was too late.

The wind grew sharper and Tilly shivered, tightening her coat around her.

‘They never found them, you know,’ Monica had told Tilly last Halloween.

‘Found who?’ Tilly asked, her frown barely visible underneath a layer of face paint. Tilly was going out dressed as a ghost, which meant that her face was painted white and she would be hidden beneath an old sheet with two eye holes cut out.

Monica smiled, and dropped a hand to her waist. She suited the cat outfit she was wearing. A dark mask covered her eyes and whiskers drawn on with eyeliner were strewn across her cheeks. A long fabric tail jutted out from a pair of leather hot pants. Even though she was meant to be scary she still managed to look sexy.

‘The man who killed that little girl.’ Behind her mask, Monica’s eyes became bright with mischief.

‘You’re lying,’ Tilly pouted.

‘I’m not.’ Monica purred and playfully spun her tail in her hand. ‘Why do you think Mum and Dad are so twitchy about you going out trick or treating with Josephine?’

It was true that her parents were nervous, but they always had been. They didn’t live in the securest of neighbourhoods.

‘Monica, stop fibbing, you’re just trying to scare me.’ Tilly defiantly folded her arms across her chest.

‘Fine, suit yourself.’ Her sister shrugged as she began slinking her way out of the kitchen. She paused at the door, her purple lips drawn into a wicked smile.

‘Apparently you can still hear her screams coming out of the woods.’

‘Stop it!’

Monica was laughing as she left. Tilly was trembling. She didn’t go out trick or treating that night – she talked Josephine into staying in and watching Hocus Pocus instead.

Tilly’s heart was almost in her throat when the headlights ahead swiftly changed direction and the car pulled down a street. She felt her muscles become slack with relief.

‘That was close,’ she muttered to herself. She cast a fearful look down the road, hoping Thomas was still there. But he was gone, the path behind her completely bare.

Tilly knew she had to get away from the roads. That car hadn’t gone past but she might not be so lucky with the next one. If she kept walking she’d soon reach the park. The darkness in there would be almost impenetrable away from street lights but Tilly would be safe from prying eyes.

She thought of the little girl who had gone missing and fear sliced up her spine like an ice pick.

‘You can do this,’ Tilly told herself sternly. ‘Just grow up.’

Because that was what growing up was about, wasn’t it? Facing your fears? Tilly moved as if on auto-pilot. Her limbs knew the way towards the park, towards the broken down carousel which lay at its centre. It was a route Tilly had walked countless times.

She remembered it most fondly when she skipped along in the sunshine, a hand securely held in her mother’s grip. As soon as they reached the edge of the park she could hear the distant chimes of the carousel, and butterflies would dart around in her belly.

‘Mummy, Mummy, can I ride? Please!’ Tilly would jump up and down with excitement.

‘Of course, sweetheart,’ Ivy would reply, her words bathed in warmth. She’d reach in her purse and slip a shiny twenty pence piece into Tilly’s tiny outstretched palm. That was all it cost to ride the carousel then, a mere twenty pence. But at six years old, twenty pence felt like a million pounds. Clutching the coin like a rare jewel, Tilly left her mother’s side and eagerly ran deep into the park.

A line of children snaked away from a nearby ice cream van. People giggled as they kicked their legs on the swings or bounced on the see-saw. But Tilly only had eyes for the carousel. The sun gleamed off its golden surface as the ornate horses and carriages slowly spun around, accompanied by magical music.

‘Will you ride?’ a man with leathery skin in a red pinstripe shirt asked. Tilly nodded as she handed him her coin.

‘Yes, please, Burt.’

‘Right this way.’ Burt unlocked a small golden gate and allowed Tilly to join the eager queue of children waiting for their turn.

‘Afternoon Mrs Johnson,’ Tilly heard Burt greet her mother, who arrived a few moments later.

‘Afternoon, Burt. Has it been busy?’

‘So-so.’

Tilly’s mother continued chatting to Burt. Apparently he used to work with her father. But for Tilly, their conversation was drowned out by the mesmerising dance of the carousel horses. They were frozen in a gallop, their rainbow-coloured manes pushed back against an invisible wind.

Tilly always favoured the pink horses although, as they were one of the most popular, the brilliant shade of their reigns had been worn away in places.

The music stopped and the carousel stilled. Tilly began to lift her weight from foot to foot in an attempt to manage her growing impatience.

‘Oh, excuse me.’ Behind her, Burt excused himself from her mother so he could let on the new riders. Tilly hurried on after the others, her movements as direct as a missile. She was aiming for the pink horse at the back, the one reared up that looked like it was smiling.

Her hands hungrily grabbed it, claiming it as hers for the next three minutes. Then came the difficult task of climbing up. Tilly was shorter than other children her age. She could easily have been mistaken for four. Luckily, Burt was swiftly on hand to help.

‘Up you get.’ His hands reached underneath her armpits as she floor disappeared beneath her feet. Then she was atop her beloved horse, stretching her legs to full extent so she was able to place her feet in the stirrups.

‘There you go.’ Burt gave her a friendly wink as he moved on to aid someone else.

‘I’m back,’ Tilly whispered to her horse as she stroked its ceramic mane. Leaning forward, she held onto the golden spine which bound the animal to the carousel. And then the music started and the park began to spin. Tilly was now out on the open plains of her beloved Kingdom, riding her favourite horse. Together, they powered across the lands, not caring as the wind pushed their hair and pinked Tilly’s cheeks. They were free and the world was their own.

Yet all too soon the spell was broken. The carousel slowed and Tilly gave a reluctant wave to her mother, praying she had another twenty pence piece in her purse.

After wandering in the darkness for ten minutes, Tilly arrived at the carousel. Time had performed a devastating dance with the ride. The mirrors at the centre were cracked, casting hideous reflections of the broken horses gathered around it. Only one or two horses remained erect on their spires. The others had come crashing down and were missing legs or had enormous holes which revealed their dark, hollow interior. Weeds had sprouted all over the carousel floor and hungrily weaved their way around the horses and into the three carriages. The ornate roof was broken in several places, letting moonlight filter on the sad scene.

Tilly blinked as she looked at the carousel, wishing there was some way she could wave a magic wand and restore it to its former glory. Now more than ever she needed to hear its soothing music and allow it to transport her to another world.

‘No one goes on it anymore,’ Maria had once scoffed when Tilly asked why the carousel was abandoned.

‘Why?’

‘Because the creepy old man who ran it disappeared.’

‘Burt isn’t creepy.’ Tilly declared angrily. Burt was kind and a friend of their late grandfather.

‘He still disappeared,’ Maria shrugged.

‘Where did he go?’

‘Jeez, squirt.’ Maria rolled her eyes. ‘If people knew that they wouldn’t say he disappeared!’

Unlike Olivia White, no one really cared when Burt disappeared. They ignored the carousel so it became dilapidated and a shadow of its former self.

‘One day you’ll sparkle again,’ Tilly promised the ride. In the darkness it didn’t look inviting. It looked downright foreboding. Dense shadows dwelled where there once had been golden spires and colourful horses.

Tilly inhaled sharply and stepped onto the carousel. The floor creaked angrily in protest as somewhere deep inside the ride she heard metal screech. It was obviously unsafe but she’d seen students draped inside it smoking so she was confident it would hold her weight.

It was hard to pick her footsteps without a light. There was debris all over the base of the carousel. Twigs, splintered glass, and cigarette ends all crunched beneath Tilly’s boots as she carefully navigated her way to the far side. She knew where she was headed: to the carriage beside her favourite horse. The carriage she used to dream she’d one day ride in when she got married.

Tilly used to fantasise about the day she found her prince. Together they would ride the carousel and it would be adorned with wild flowers as the tinny music, that always played when it spun, twanged out the wedding march. But as Tilly shoved aside a fallen part of a broken horse she realised her dream would never come true. The carousel from her memory was gone and in its place stood a carcass which nature was hungrily feeding upon.

Her hand reached out and found the carriage. It had once been white with gold trimmings. Delicate pink flowers curled up the sides and inside there was one long seat carved to look like it was made of something soft. Taking off her backpack, Tilly tossed it into the carriage. The structure shook precariously as it landed but made no other sound. Tilly half expected to find a family of rats residing inside but it appeared to be empty. Gripping the sides of the carriage Tilly clamoured inside. In the darkness it was difficult to tell how it had fared over the years compared to the rest of the carousel. But Tilly was there and that was all that mattered. It was where she belonged.

Squashing up her backpack to the far side, she leaned against it and gazed at the stars were exposed through a break in the roof. The moonlight that filtered in showed Tilly some of the images that had managed to survive around her. She could make out some of the cherubs painted on the underside of the roof, the decorated panel beside a cracked mirror which showed a beautiful castle atop a hill of green.

She shivered as the cool of the night began to seep through her clothes. Even though she was dressed warmly her skin was starting to prickle. At least it wasn’t raining. Tilly doubted the carousel would provide ample shelter in a storm. She pressed herself against her backpack, using it as a makeshift pillow. She had no idea what the following day would bring, where she would go. She just knew she had been drawn to her beloved carousel. Perhaps she had hoped, that by some miracle, it would work again and spirit her away to a distant, magical world. But as the metal around her contracted and creaked it was a painful reminder that there would be no miracle. No happy ending. Tilly’s carousel was very much broken and that was how it would remain.

Tilly awoke with a start, her heart pounding like a jack hammer. For a few precious seconds she thought she was back home, safe and warm in her bed. But as the cold pressed against her she remembered where she was. Glancing around at her bleak surroundings, Tilly tried to figure out what had woken her so suddenly. As her eyes scanned the shadows she became certain that she was very much alone.

A scream. Tilly winced as the sound echoed in her mind. She’d heard someone screaming. But had Tilly heard it or dreamt it?

‘On a clear night you can still hear her screams coming out of the woods.’

Monica’s declaration bubbled up from Tilly’s memories.

‘No.’ Tilly shook her head and clamped her hands over her ears. ‘I dreamt it. It’s not real.’

Tilly drew her legs up to her chest, making herself into a tight, impenetrable ball. She’d thought she’d feel safe in her carriage but she was afraid. Fear held her heart in an icy vice, making each breath pained.

‘Why did I come here?’ Tilly asked herself, squeezing her eyes shut. She could be sleeping soundly in bed instead of scared and alone in a broken down carousel. Hot tears wormed their way down her frozen cheeks.

‘I don’t want to grow up,’ Tilly admitted as her shoulders began to shake, both from sorrow and the cold. Growing up meant she had to accept that magic couldn’t endure. In her memories, the carousel glittered as though Midas himself had touched it. But now it was a death trap, something the people of Dullerton would rather tear down than restore. Why would Burt ever leave it? It was his pride and joy.

The shrill cry of a fox echoed through the park and Tilly held her breath. It sounded like a baby crying. It was brutal and terrifying and made her not dare to open her eyes. She knew it was a fox, she’d heard them before. But what if it was actually the ghost of Olivia White? What if she really could be heard on clear nights?

Tilly buried her head in her heads and tucked herself against her backpack. She was a veritable lost child with nowhere to go and no star to guide her home. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen – in the pages of fairy tales she’d be rescued by a boy who wouldn’t grow up or fairies who would take her in and make her one of their own. No one came.

Tilly eventually fell asleep and the shadows gathered in the carousel receded as dawn crept over the horizon, bleeding out across the sky.