Akwa's Magical Easter

Needs a lot of revision...basis for a new book "The Imaginers"

(This piece is dedicated to my original readers from my old e-mag "Galdorword". The best of them all being Tink, Agnes Zeng, Carroll, Chan Man Ming, Justyna Diks and Viki Gianetti. You've been asking for a new story and here's the first one from Galdorword in 3 years.)

Akwa's Magical Easter

        When I was a child my mother would tell me bedtime stories. Sometimes she would sit on the bed or pull up a chair and read from a book. I still have those books and I hope one day that I can read them to my children; if I am so blessed. One time, when I was five she sat down next to me on the bed. This time there was no book. “Why don’t you have a book to read from?”

        I asked innocently but inside I was feeling confused, a little angry. She put her arm around me and began with that Bristol twang of hers. “Storybooks are from people’s dreams. They write their dreams down and draw big pictures. Some stories, like a guy called Homer, were so good that nobody wrote them down. Instead they told each other at night by the fire. And last, some stories are true. This story is true.”

        “Really? Is there magic? Evil monsters?”
        “You’ll have to listen and find out.” She smiled.
        I nodded my acceptance then snuggled into her side. “Go on. Start.”

        "I was not born in Cirencester. In fact I didn’t come here until I was twenty-six. I was born in Southmead in Bristol. It is not a nice place. Lots of evil men in the shadows. Anyway, when I was nine my parents moved to Bedminster. It’s a lot better. As I grew up I befriended our next door neighbour’s son, Akwa. He had two sisters Maria and Anna. We used to play together.”

        “He played with girls?”

        I must have looked disgusted because she had that look on her face. It was like a recipe, part ice cream smile, part cone of disapproval and a whole lot hundreds and thousands of love sprinkled over the top. She continued. “Its ok to play with girls.”

        “No, its not!”

        Dutifully she ignored me despite my upturned lips and reddened cheeks. “Usually we made games with our dreams. Just our brains. Sometimes we would use paper or stuff in the garden. We had our band. Me on badminton racket, Akwa on lead tennis racket, Maria on box and Anna was the singer.

        “Then one day Akwa didn’t come round. It was the Easter Hols and he came round everyday. Just like Josh will do with you when he gets older, I bet.”
        “I hope not.” I mumbled under my breath.

        “We were both first years at the same Junior school. We walked to school together with your aunt Catherine. During the hols we would play all day if the weather was nice. That day he didn’t come had really nice weather. It was hot and sunny. Later I saw his sisters. They told me that he had been grounded because of an Easter egg binge the night before. They said that his mum had taken all of his chocolate eggs away. Maria and Anna giggled and told me that they would get the eggs. I hated them for it. Anyway, before they went indoors they told me that he’d been grounded for a whole week.

        “When he was allowed out he came straight round to my house. It was the Sunday. The next day we had to go back to school. We were both sad. At first I was angry because had made my hols so boring. But, it was another good day and he said sorry. So we went to the park across the road and played badminton with our cheap rackets. Catherine sat on the grass nearby doing her school homework. She was always late. The park goes all the way down to the Avon river. Above us we can see the cliffs and big houses of Clifton. I always wanted a house there.

        “We were bad at badminton. We said it was because the rackets were too big. But actually it was because we were too small. Afterwards daddy bought us 99 flakes from the Ice Cream Man and we sat on the curb as he washed his car. We were both so tired from the badminton so we talked. At first Akwa said that he’d had a dream.”

        “A dream? Of monsters?”
        “No. A dream about chocolate. He said he dreamed about chocolate and wanted to eat some.”
        “He’s weird.”
        “Nah, he is just a bad liar. Like you. His cheeks don’t go red but his eyes do go watery.”
        “Watery? He cries?”

        “Never mind. I told him that he was lying. I kept telling him and telling him. As I told him I pushed the flake down into the bottom of the cone. The ice cream oozed up over the sides and I had to lick it all up. As I did he told me the truth.

        “He had just gone to sleep after reading a book about pirates when he heard his parents go to sleep too. Soon their light went off. It was all dark and he was feeling sleepy so he snuggled down under the covers. His teddies surrounded him like Royal Guards. He was trying to think of playing football for Bristol City, if he drank his milk, when he heard something.

        “There was a noise just after he scored the winning goal against the gasheads. It came from across the room. As he strained his ears he could hear a tiny tapping sound. It was muffled. Soft on soft. His eyes rolled open and beat back the gloom. Not knowing what to do Akwa got up and reached for the light switch then thought better of it. His parents would be very angry if he did that again. So, instead, he closed the door to then found his little LED torch. He could still hear a fain noise coming from somewhere.

        “First he checked the Chester drawers. Nothing moved. How could it? His t-shirts and jammies were tightly packed. Gingerly he placed his ear up against the plywood panelling of his wardrobe. It lay next to the drawers. Now everything had become so quiet save the ticking of his bedside clock. So, he pressed his ears up really close to the wood. Inside he could hear a faint rocking noise like a porcelain figure rocking side to side after being hit by a reckless kid.

        “The sound was getting quieter. There were longer gaps between bumps. Almost as if the thing was getting tired or winding down. He imagined a metal key in the back of some unknown toy slowing up.

        “More curious than scared Akwa opened the wardrobe door. Inside it was very dark. So, he flashed the torch around illuminating the bumps and shadows within. Its bluish light shone on the coats up above, then the small shelves holding his shoes and books. Yet, he saw nothing. So, he lowered the torch down to the boxes at the bottom. Here were his toys and more importantly, his Easter eggs.