Tales of Terror From the Tunnel's Mouth by Chris Priestley

Author:Chris Priestley [Priestley, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Horror & Ghost Stories, General
ISBN: 9781408800140
Google: q0y-Wod6_eAC
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 6400662
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2009-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

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Gerald

Emma Reynolds clumped up the steep cobbled street, a few yards behind her mother. The stones were slippery from the morning’s rain and the wet street had a snakeskin sheen to it.

‘Do come along, Emma darling,’ said her mother, pausing for a moment to give her daughter a look of undisguised disappointment and pity. ‘And please do not stare at the ground when you walk. You know how much it vexes me. Upright back, upright soul. That’s what Mr Cartwright says. Come along.’

Emma didn’t reply. Mr Cartwright was the minister and Emma’s mother was fond of quoting him. Emma had a sneaking suspicion that her mother was a tiny bit in love with Mr Cartwright, and she smiled guiltily at the thought.

They reached the summit of the hill and a rather red-faced Emma let out a long gasp, which produced yet another disparaging look from her mother.

‘You really must begin to think of yourself as a young lady, Emma,’ she said. ‘And start to behave like one.’

‘Yes, Mother,’ said Emma in weary response.

They made their way through the town, Mrs Reynolds saying good morning to everyone they met, much to Emma’s embarrassment, and eventually ended up at the marketplace. The stalls glowed with colour between ranks of people dressed as dourly as the grey buildings that enclosed the square and the drab sky that hung above them.

Emma noticed that there was a cluster of children at one corner of the market, outside the Corn Exchange. There were so many children, and so many adults with them, that it was impossible to see what it was that they were looking at, save for a glimpse of red and yellow awning.

Emma’s mother fell into conversation with Mr Gilbertson from the library, concerning the scandalous behaviour of someone Emma did not know. She found her mother’s gossiping tedious in the extreme and pleaded to be allowed to join the other children.

Permission gained, within moments Emma had squeezed her way among the crowd standing at the edge of the marketplace beside the low, spiked iron railings of the Corn Exchange. She watched, spellbound.

Everything around her – the incessant chatter and prattle of the town square – seemed to recede, to fall away, to drift from her consciousness. It was a puppet show and oh, how Emma loved a puppet show.

She pushed herself forward through the crowd, ignoring the grumbles of other children and admonishing tuts from their parents. Emma only had eyes and ears for the puppet show dazzling and shining before her like some kind of jewel in that dull, grey northern town.

A cold gust of wind blew in occasionally from the moors, but Emma did not feel it. She warmed herself in front of the brightly coloured little theatre stall as surely as if it had been a brazier full of burning coals.

The show exceeded her expectations, the puppets moving with a grace that Emma admired all the more for knowing that she would never share it.

The costumes were exquisite, making the dainty puppets look like the most delicate of tropical birds or brilliantly coloured insects.

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