Round the little pot stove

The little pot stove-

They sat there, the four, all huddled around the little pot stove in
the little dark boiler room. Whatever there was to burn, they burned.
The four of them: Tom was the eldest, Bessie next, then Charlotte and
last of all was Dick. Tom and Bessie were the sensible ones. They
huddled and snuggled for warmth around the stove with the foggy vapours
of their short, shallow breaths misting, swirling then evaporating
while they rubbed their hands together intermittently and warmed them
by the stove. They were down in the boiler room (where they always
came) at the back of the farm; this was their special place. Mother and
father had always said not to go in there because they might get locked
in. They didn't mean to be naughty; it was just that this was their
secret den where they could go out to play. They would take a basket
filled to the brim with all their very favourite things like scones and
cakes and grandma's delicious homemade lemonade, and each day in the
school holidays they would gather around the little pot stove and tell
eachother stories.
Today they were locked in. Father and mother had gone to the market
and they had left Aunty Emily in charge. Not realising that the
children were inside, Aunty Emily had closed the boiler room door and
locked it. At first, it had all been a bit of a giggle. Bessie had said
that maybe, when Aunty Emily returned, they could all leap out and
surprise her. The children had all laughed and stayed perfectly quiet
behind the door, scarcely daring to breathe. But Aunty Emily had not
come back.
'I wish Daddy would come and open the door. It seems as if he has been
away forever!' Grumbled Charlotte.
'Yes, me too' agreed Bessie 'Do you think that perhaps they have
forgotten all about us? Oh that would be just awful!'
Tom squinted at his sister across the stove in the dark gloom of the
boiler room.
'Don't be so silly' he said crossly 'They will surely be home soon-
when the market is over for the day- and what's more, I'll wager they
will bring us back a thruppence worth of sticky toffee each and they
shan't even be cross that we went into the boiler room .'
'Maybe the door isn't really locked' said Bessie quietly 'Perhaps if
you try it again it will open this time; it may just be a little bit
stiff.'
'It's not use' Dick replied sadly 'I've tried it a million trillion
times already and it won't budge.'
With that, Dick stood up, walked over to the door and tried the handle.
He pushed the door, first with his hand, then with his foot and lastly
with his shoulder. The heavy wooden door held firm. Dick returned to
the stove.
'Would anybody like to hear a story?' He asked.
'Ooh yes, I'd love to hear a story!' cried Bessie.
'No Dick, I don't like your stories, they're always horrid and they
scare me' said Charlotte.
Dick cackled mischievously. He began to dance and sing, pawing at
Charlotte as he did so, taunting her with his chant:
'I'll tell you a story, a horrible story to send you away to your
bed,
Of goblins and ghosties and devils and demons with choppers to chop
off your head,
You'll shiver and shake as you lay there awake and you fitfully slip
into sleep,
And when you awake, the devil will take you a-stowing your soul to the
deep.'
As he sang and teased her, Charlotte started to cry. the tiny teardrops
cooled her hot, flushed cheeks.
'Stop it! Stop it!' She shouted 'You're hurting me with your
fingernails, they're too long.'
'Stop it!' Shouted Tom angrily and he pushed Dick away roughly.
Dick was very cross, but he sat back down again all the same.
'Now, I want you to say sorry to Charlotte and we can all be friends
again.' Said Tom authoritatively.
'Sorry Charlotte' muttered Dick moodily folding his arms across his
chest.
'Alright, I'll forgive you.' Said Charlotte 'And you can tell us that
story if you like- as long as it's a nice story.'
'Oh it is a nice story' said Dick brightening and he proceeded to tell
them all a tale:
'Once there were four children trapped together in a little dark room
on a cold, dark night. Outside, the wind was howling and mercilessly
cold as thunderstorms crashed and blistered across the night sky. The
children were very frightened as they huddled around the fire for
warmth. They tried the door but it was locked ever so tightly that it
wouldn't budge an inch. Whatever could they do, they wondered. They
banged on the door and shouted for help but nobody came. Nobody came
because nobody knew that they were there. They sat around the fire and
waited. They waited...and waited... and waited. Nobody came to open the
door. Hours went by and the children started to believe that they would
be trapped in there forever. Then they heard it, quietly at first but
steadily getting louder and louder: tap... tap... tap.'
'What was it?' Asked Bessie, her eyes as large and round as
saucers.
Dick continued with his tale:
'That's what the four children wanted to know. What was the strange
tapping sound and where was it coming from?
"Could it be footsteps?" Asked Stanley, the youngest of the four.
Stanley was seven.
"No" said Molly, the youngest and prettiest of the two girls,
"footsteps don't sound like that."
Peg, her older sister, then said "I know, why don't we all shout for
help again? Surely there must be somebody outside making all that
noise."
Still the slow tap... tap... tap continued. The children agreed that
Emily had come up with a super idea. They all stood up at once and ran
to the door.
"Help us! Help us, we're trapped!" They shouted and they all banged on
the door and shouted and whistled until eventually they stopped and
listened. The tapping continued- a dull, distant 'tap... tap...' Dick
paused for a moment and drew in a deep breath. He continued:
'... And then the tapping stopped. For a minute, there was not a
single, solitary sound to be heard save for the pounding of the four
children's hearts. Next came the soft, squelching pad of footsteps
coming nearer... and nearer... and nearer to the door where the four
children huddled together, wondering who it could be on such a cold,
dark night. A key turned in the lock with a high-pitched, metallic
sound and a "Clop" as the latch snapped back across. Suddenly and
forcefully, the door swung open outwards and there in the lantern light
were the children's mother and father standing in the doorway with open
arms. They smiled at the children when they saw them because they had
been worried that they might have been lost in the forest.'
'That was a lovely story, Dick' said Charlotte with a note of surprise
in her voice.
'I haven't finished yet!' Snapped Dick and he continued with his
story:
'Then, without a word, they keeled over forwards in front of the
children until they were lying face down on the floor. In their backs,
the children saw two wooden fencing stakes that had been driven into
them a hammer. They were quite, quite dead. The end.'
Charlotte screeched and floods of tears began to roll down from the
corners of her eyes. Meanwhile, Dick screeched, hooted and roared with
laughter as he capered around clawing at Charlotte and taunting her
about the bogeyman coming to get her. Tom stood up; he was very very
cross. He shouted at Dick and smacked him about the head twice. Dick
continued to shout and laugh hysterically and Tom smacked him again.
Eventually, Dick calmed and settled back down by the little pot stove.
Bessie comforted her sister.
'Dick is such a silly-Billy' she said soothingly 'But you must learn to
ignore him hen he tells such horrid stories.'
Tom sat back down.
'It's getting awfully dark outside' he observed 'It will son be
nightfall, I shouldn't wonder. I hope the rats don't come.'
At this, Charlotte became anxious again.
'Oh please don't talk of rats; they're beastly. They frighten me and
they bite people when they are asleep' she said.
'There there, Charlotte' soothed Dick 'You really oughtn't to worry
about the rats. If they come, I shan't let them get you- I'll trap them
and kill them. That way if Mama and Papa don't come home soon we can
cook them on the stove and eat them for our tea.'
Bessie was cross.
'Don't say things like that to Charlotte' she scolded 'She doesn't like
it. It's not nice to talk of eating rats.'
Dick laughed mischievously.
'Don't be silly' he said 'I've been eating rats all my life: fried
rats, baked rats, yummy scrummy rats. And worms too: wiggly squiggly
wriggly worms, washed down with rainwater from the flue, delicious! Or
a nice beaker of slug squash, if you prefer.'
'Stop it! Stop it, you beastly, horrid boy!' Shouted Charlotte.
'Snails and woodlice, mmm... yummy!' Continued Dick.
Charlotte covered her ears with her two hands and screamed a piercing
scream at the top of her voice. She screamed and screamed for so long
and so loudly that the others all had to cover their ears and shout
loudly to drown her out. As they did so, a chink of light burst into
the little, dark boiler room forming a long, thin wedge on the floor.
They all fell silent- the door had been opened. Each turned their face
to meet the barely ajar wooden door. The light through the small
opening batted about like that from a lantern held in a shaky hand.
Next there came a soft, timid voice- a lady's voice.
'Hello' said the voice, and with a tentative pause, it went on 'Who is
it in there?'
Tom, Bessie, Charlotte and Dick all stood up at once and scampered
eagerly towards the door.
'It's only us mother' called Tom.
When they opened the door, the squinted through the cruel beam of the
battery-operated, hand-held torch. The young woman froze with a
panic-stricken expression of terror and utter disgust on her face. A
moment of absolute incomprehension was shared between them there, by
the boiler room door, before the lady let out a high-pitched scream and
turned and fled. The four, who had cuddled-in together on seeing the
lady's reaction, now disengaged and looked about them. Where was the
farm? What were all of these red brick terraced houses doing here? And
the streetlights? Tom looked at his three siblings; they did look
awfully peculiar with their matted, grey hair, their long, knarled,
spiralling fingernails, the scars of decades of childish fights and rat
bites and their maniacal, staring, sunken-in eyes and hunched backs.
Tom looked around him at this new world. What exciting and wonderful
new adventures would living as grown-ups have to offer them he
wondered.