Inside the Badger's Sett

In the darkness of an old badger’s sett, surrounded by ancient oak trees who had watched him for centuries, lived a small creature. His skinny body and long limbs looked human but if he were to stand next to one he would have only reached their knees. His face was wrinkled and the hair on his head was thin but long, brushing against his bony shoulders as he moved stiffly amongst the roots and mud. His eyes gleamed like someone who understood the stars and were the only ageless part of his old body.

The badger’s sett was dark and musty. Tree roots hung in clusters from the ceiling. Lining every available surface of the sett were shelves, hundreds of narrow wooden planks and branches dragged in and attached to every side. All of the shelves were filled with small glass bottles and each contained a different coloured liquid or material. Amber coloured tree sap, milky slime from slugs and snails, frothy goose spit, thick black mud and the juice of a hundred berries; holly, juniper, rowan and sloe, dribbled down the edge of the bottles. Pine needles, grass seeds, acorns and hazelnuts filled some of the larger bottles. Jars of cobwebs, still glistening with dewdrops, reflected the dusty yellow light that filtered through a small hole in the wall. Sea water, rain water, pond water and spring water rippled black in the darkness of the sett.

The creature sat hunched in the corner, bright eyes gleaming from behind his dark hair. His long fingers dipping into the bottles that lay scattered over the floor and working the materials together. He moulded and shaped them until they were no longer a thousand individual ingredients, but one perfect ball of nature, glowing green-gold. He wrapped the ball in brown, papery onion skins, tucked it under his arm and crept out of the badger’s sett.

Outside, the night air was cold. The clear sky scattered with millions of stars and a thin glimmer of a new moon provided the creature with enough light to make his way out of the woods and through the fields. The grass was soft and wet under his bare feet, toes curling into the damp earth. Finally he reached a small cottage tucked into the side of a valley. The chickens clucked gently to each other as the creature passed quietly by their coop. He reached the vegetable patch where rows of cabbages, carrots, potatoes and onions sprouted from the newly turned soil. The air was fragranced with sweet peas that scrambled over a wooden frame. Carefully the creature tucked the ball into the base of a runner bean plant, hiding it amongst the green leaves.

The next morning dawned clear and crisp. Pink candyfloss clouds floated on a deep blue sky. Dewdrops made the lawn look frosty and rolled from the wet leaves to soak into the dark earth. Under the brightness of spring sunshine, the golden glow of the ball was invisible from its hiding place amongst the soft leaves. The slam of a door caused a pair of blackbirds to fly up from where they had been pecking at worms. A child ran over the wet grass; an oversized wax jacket zipped up over pyjamas and tangled strawberry blonde hair falling in his eyes. On hearing his footsteps, the chickens began clucking until he slid the lock across and they fluttered out into the garden.

The child laughed at the way the chickens squawked and flapped their wings, a single white feather floating to land near the runner beans. The child ran after it, diving to catch it before it reached the ground. Clutching the feather in his hand he licked at the drops of water that trickled from the leaves down his face. Suddenly, he caught sight of a faint glow amongst the leaves. His imagination instantly taking him into a world of elves and fairies, he pushed aside the leaves and saw the ball, shimmering with an iridescent light. He was afraid to touch it at first, scared that it would burn him or goblins would spirit him away. After a few moments, he stretched out a finger to stroke the curling edges of the onion skins.

From under a hawthorn hedge, brambles scratching at his wrinkly skin, the creature watched. A wide smile spread across his face as the child carefully slipped the ball into his pocket and ran back to the house.

The sound of bacon sizzling in a pan and the smell of toast enveloped the child as he rushed back into the familiar warmth of the house. He stumbled out of the boots and clutched at the soft towelling of his mothers dressing gown. She crouched down, her strands of red hair touching his face, as she watched him pull the glowing ball out of his pocket. Her gaze met his as their fingers peeled away a corner of the onion skins. His youthful wonder reflected perfectly in her eyes.

They spent the morning re-arranging the antique cupboard. All of the china ornaments and teacups decorated with strings of daisies were wrapped in newspaper and stored under the sink. The dried flowers they had pressed during lazy summer evenings were laid flat inside a heavy encyclopaedia. After they had polished every inch of wood and brass fittings, the glowing ball was placed behind the glass panels. They watched as the light sparkled on the crystal edges as though looking for a crack to escape through.

By tea-time, the farmer, shopkeeper, butcher and policewoman from the village had all been to see the strange object. Each, in turn, stood transfixed by the beauty of the small, white ball. All were amazed at the power it had over them. It made them feel happy, they said. It made them see the world in a different way. They felt as though they could speak to the animals, float in the air and see every colour in a flower’s petal. It was a miracle, a piece of paradise, a sliver of heaven.

"I had a bad back this morning," said the farmer, "but now I could jump the moon."

"I felt so sad after a bad day at work," said the policewoman, "but now I feel happy to be facing it again tomorrow."

The next morning, the boy and his mother awoke to gentle chatter outside their windows. Drawing back the curtains they looked out to see a line of people queuing down the lane. The people had come from all the surrounding towns and villages to see the miraculous object. The boy hung back, clinging to his mother’s skirt, as she pulled open the door and let the visitors inside. Every single one of them hugged and kissed the mother and ruffled the boy’s hair as they left the house. They felt confident, happy and as though they had finally found something they had been searching for forever.

That evening, as the sun was setting and the sky darkened to mauves and indigo, mother and son sat in their sitting room. He curled into her lap as she read to him by lamplight. In the corner of the room, behind its protective glass casing, the ball glowed softly too.

A loud knock on the door seemed to make everything jump. A short, fat man stood outside the front door. His expensive clothing looked ridiculous pulled tightly around his large body.

"I’m here to see this miracle ball of yours," he said abruptly, "I might be able to make you an offer."

"It’s neither ours nor for sale," the mother protested. But the man would not give in. He peered around the door frame, his beady eyes focusing on the glowing ball in the cabinet. Whereas others’ eyes had at been filled with calm, peace and happiness, this man’s just glittered with cold, hard gold.

"How much do you want? Name a price, anything," he said.

"It’s not for sale," she replied, almost pushing him back out of the door.

That night the boy awoke to the sound of scraping and shovelling. Metal spades clanged against rock. He awoke his mother and they sat together shivering whilst she called the police. Yellow torchlight streaked across the white bedroom walls and the sound of whispering fluttered the curtains. The chickens must have woken up and began clucking with alarm. With the sound of tyres on gravel, the shovelling noise stopped and heavy footsteps could be heard running across the grass.

The police shone powerful torches over the mounds of earth and bruised leaves that had once been a vegetable patch.

"We’ll find them," they reassured.

However, the very next morning the sound of chainsaws and tractors could be heard in the oak woodland up the lane. Hundreds of birds swirled like leaves in the air as trees crashed to the ground. Protesters with their banners, chants and chains were already climbing the walls and hacking at the gates to get inside. Mother and boy kept a good distance away as the fat man from the day before sat wobbling on top of a van, shouting at the protesters through a megaphone.

"I am the owner of these woods and I can do whatever I like with them."

That night, the creature pulled himself out of the pile of fallen earth that had once been a badger’s sett. Inside, all of his glass bottles and jars were smashed into sharp fragments. The contents of the bottles soaked back into the earth.

The creature sat on a fallen tree and looked around through strands of his dark hair. His body was covered in black earth, but his fingertips still glowed with the remains of his precious work. He had spent so long mixing and shaping nature that it still stained his hands. The pearly glow in the swirls of his fingerprints was all he had left of everything he had ever loved.

He stumbled over mounds of earth, rock and broken trees until he had reached the edge of the woods. With a final glance at his old home, he scrambled through a gap in the prickly hawthorn bushes and into the field beyond. He walked with a slight limp across the fields until he saw yellow light pouring out of a window in the distance. He passed by the destroyed vegetable patch, past the chicken coop and hid amongst a large leafy plant near the cottage.

Through the window he could see a woman moving around inside. A boy sat at a dining table. The woman knelt down, encouraging him to eat whatever was in the bowl in front of him. But the boy neither moved nor spoke. His mother gave up and moved the bowl away to the sink. She picked up the child and carried him out of the room, switching off the electric light switch as she passed.

The creature sank back against a stone wall, his tired eyes fluttering closed. Behind him, purple wisteria and honeysuckle were tangled around a stone archway. The scent seemed stronger in the night air and a white moth landed on the new green leaves. Surrounded by the heady scent of earth and plants, under a starlit sky, the creature felt his muscles relax and finally fell asleep.

He dreamt of his old home; the trees, earth, his bottles and jars. Everything seemed so vivid, every colour was bright and alive. Slowly, the colours seemed to fade. The sky fell in dark blue drops to soak into the soil. The stars became tangled in the tree branches before disappearing altogether. The bright reds, purples, pinks, greens and browns in the jars and bottles dripped down the glass sides, off the wooden shelves and into the black earth. It was as though he were living inside a black and white photograph.

As he stood in his colourless dream world, he could feel something poking at his sunken cheek. He thought it was a branch at first and tried to push it away but the poking continued. He looked around; he was nowhere near any trees or anything that could be poking him. Something began tugging his long hair, gently poking his eyelids, forehead and chin, shaking him by the shoulder. As he flung his arm around a small squeal woke him up.

The first thing he saw was a large pair of blue eyes. He tried to run away from the small boy standing in front of him but he was trapped against the wall and several large bushes. The boy smiled, his eyes showed no fear of the strange creature, only curiosity and wonder. He was happy: there was still magic in the world, even when everything seemed frightening and sad.

The boy reached into a deep pocket in the wax jacket and pulled out the glowing ball. The onion skins had once more been tightly wrapped around the ball but the light leaked through the veins and holes. The boy held the ball out in his soft pink hands. The creature looked straight at him, eyebrows drawn and eyes shining. Neither spoke but the boy pushed the ball into the creatures quivering hands. He held it gently, as though it were fragile glass that would shatter into millions of pieces. His shaking fingers softly stroked the curling onion skins.

The creature smiled, awkwardly at first but quickly turning into a wide grin that made his eyes glitter and his face look youthful again. He reached under one of the bushes and picked up a twig with a cluster of black berries still attached. The golden glow from his stained fingers rubbed off onto the berries and they glittered when the creature placed them into the boy’s hand. With a final nod of his head, the creature tucked the ball under his arm and disappeared into the bushes.

The boy stood still for a moment, the berries still glittering in his palm, and listened as the rustling of leaves faded. The moon shone with buttery yellow light surrounded by clouds of hazy stars. The sweet smell of wisteria and honeysuckle hung in the air and a pair of tawny owls called to each other in the distance. There was no need to be afraid of the dark, it was the most magical time of all.

.............

Thanks if you got this far! This is a very rough draft that I haven't really been through properly yet. There is too much description but I don't know which bits (if any) are good and which bits should be scrapped, so any help there would be much appreciated. Also, I'm rubbish with grammar so please let me know if you spot any obvious mistakes. Finally, I can't think of a decent title so if you have any ideas I'd be really grateful. I'd love to hear what you think about this story, I really welcome any comments at all - good or bad. I will return the favour with your work. Thanks very much!!