Sleepless

A children's story.

Poppy couldn't sleep. She could hear the soothing sound of her sister's breathing coming from the shadowy mound of pillows and duvets on the bed next to her own. Through the gap in the curtains was a slither of orange glow from the street lamp. She could just make out the blurred shape of the silent moon through the thin material. She tried counting her sister's soft breaths but, rather than soothing her to sleep, the noise began to irritate her. She looked sourly at her sister, sleeping so peacefully. Why did she get to sleep? Why was Poppy the one lying awake, all alone? It just wasn't fair.

 

That was the thing about Poppy. She was one of those people. One of those people you and me would find quite unpleasant. If someone had something, Poppy wanted it. If Poppy had it, she didn't want it. If something went wrong, it wasn't ever her fault. It was always someone or something else's fault. The dog ate her homework every week, she was late for school because her Mum walked too slowly and the reason she was unkind to people was simply because they were, in her opinion, extremely irritating. The world was an inconvenience to Poppy. But what Poppy didn't know was that her little world wasn't as bad as she believed. Not half as bad. Not even one quarter, one fifth or even one millionth as bad as she thought it was. For the crosser you become with the world, the crosser the world becomes, and these things have consequences, as Poppy was about to find out. But, all things in good time. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

 

Poppy glared at her sister, trying with all her might to stare her awake. "Rose," she hissed. Rose slept on. That was it! Poppy kicked off her duvet and sat up quickly, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "Urgh!" She stomped her feet out of bed and stood up grumpily. When she reached the window she twitched the curtain aside a little and pressed her nose against the cold window, steaming up the glass with her hot breath. The whole street was still. It was as if nothing was breathing. The houses, with their sleepy windows, snuggled into each other and the neat little front gardens lay like rows of grassy quilts, each fitting perfectly against the next. The moonlight covered everything in a soft glow. God. Even the street was sleeping. Poppy looked crossly along the perfectly tidy lawns. Everything here was like that; perfect. Perfect and boring.

 

Except for that one garden. The one that looked different. The one with the knotted, gnarled up fence separating it from the others and the messy muddle of mistletoe and mulberry buses. The one where the garden surrounded, enveloped, swallowed the towering house behind it. Poppy heard strange noises when she walked past that house. Sometimes the bushes would rustle mysteriously, or the drooping trees would seem to snatch at her as she hurried by. Once she thought she even heard the garden whispering to her. Poppyyyyy. Popppyyyyy. Poppy shivered at the memory. She looked at the garden now and tried not to imagine the things that could be lurking in there.

 

She looked at the tall, dark house and wondered if she was in there. The children at school said she was a witch. Poppy had seen her once and she certainly did look quite witchy. Her back bent as her crooked fingers grasped the knobbled stick that she used for walking. She was wearing a heavy woollen cloak over her hunched shoulders and she looked tiny swaddled in the thick fabric. Poppy held her breath as the witch shuffled past. She looked at Poppy from beneath her bedraggled, raggy hair. She really looked. Her dark, pin prick eyes pierced sharply into Poppy’s, making her gasp in shock.

Reviews

[B.D.]

Elizabeth, I like this story so far. I feel like Poppy is a believable, likeable character. I like her because I feel like her on a grumpy, bad day. How old will Poppy be? What age group are you writing for?
Your use of description and setting feels right (not to much for young audience to be bored!) I feel like it moves the story along nicely. What will be different in this story from others about a creepy house and creepy old person down the street? Some new twist on an old theme is always fun to read!
Love what you've come up with so far. The quality of writing shows.

[ElizabethEaston]

Thank you for your lovely review! Poppy is 10/11 and I'm writing for about 8+. This story isn't really about the creepy house and old person, they will tie into the main plot that I don't want to give away just yet!