Pan(revised)

“But it’s Jake’s party tonight! You can’t make me babysit.”
Wendy chased behind her mother, who was swiftly checking the locks on every window of the ground floor of their Victorian town house.
Her mother tutted in mild annoyance. “I’m sorry, Wendy, but this is mine and your dad’s one night out a month. If you had somewhere to go, you should have said earlier so we could get another babysitter.”
“But it’s not fair,” Wendy pouted, “I have to be there, it’s Jake’s 16th and everyone else is going!”
“You’ve never even mentioned this boy before tonight,” her mother replied, “He can’t be a very close friend.”
“That’s not the point. I want to go.”

Her mother stopped at the foot of the staircase and turned her full attention to her teenage daughter. She looked so grown up, fifteen years old and already tall and curvaceous. Right now her dark curls and green eyes seemed charged with electricity, she was so desperate to be allowed out. For a moment, her mother almost relented. She remembered how important it had been to be popular at that age. But then her husband called from upstairs, “Are you nearly ready, Kate? The taxi’s booked for half past,” and she sighed.
“I want doesn’t always get,” she said, “Now, come on, I’ve got about five minutes to make sure you’re all settled in the nursery.”

The two women climbed the stairs in silence; Wendy sulking, Kate mentally running through all she had to do before leaving.
On the first floor was the master bedroom and the bathroom, where her husband was knocking over bottles of aftershave with one hand and trying to tie his tie with the other.
“What are you doing?” Kate asked as they passed.
“Lost my bloody cufflinks…” her husband muttered, “Have you seen them?”
“Try the bedside table,” Kate called over her shoulder as she mounted the next flight of stairs, Wendy still on her heels.

The third floor housed three bedrooms. The smallest of these belonged to Wendy, it’s sugar-pink walls obscured by tatty posters of popstars and blu-tacked photos of herself and her friends pulling faces.
The door was ajar, and Kate despaired as she saw the contents of Wendy’s wardrobe littering the floor, but she said nothing.

The next room was the boys’. Bunk beds covered one side of the room, and a chest of drawers took up most of the other. A few comics and crayons lay on the floor, and the Action Man wallpaper had been peeled away behind the bottom bunk to make space for some crudely scrawled messages: “John Woz Ere 2000,” “Man U Rule!” and “Get Rich or Die Trying.”

At the end of the corridor was what had once been the nursery.
When the children were very small, they had played for hours in the spacious room, fascinated by the view of London from its huge bay window. The room had been a hospital, a space shuttle and a desert island; now it was a mostly forgotten space, somewhere for the kids to dump their old toys and store the Playstation.
Michael, the youngest of the children at just three, still went in sometimes, but for the most part it was unused.

“John! Michael!” Kate called, “Come to the nursery, please!”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “Why do we have to all sleep in here when you go out? It’s pathetic. I only sleep across the hall from them.”
“I feel better with you altogether at the front of the house, just in case someone breaks in.”
“Mum, we have a massive dog in the front garden, no one’s going to break in!”
Kate had to admit, Wendy had a point. The family kept a Saint Bernard, who, while hardly ferocious, certainly looked the part and had a fear-instilling bark.
But just in case…
She looked her daughter in the eye. “Just humour me, Wendy, ok?”

The boys trooped in, John still in his baggy jeans and black t-shirt, little Michael in his blue pyjamas, dragging his teddy behind him.
“Ok, boys, you know the drill,” Kate said when they were inside.
“Do as your big sister tells you. No fighting, no arguing. Bedtime is nine o’clock for all three of you…and before you open your mouth, Wendy, I know it’s not fair, but that’s how it is. No running up and down stairs for drinks and snacks- I’ll be locking the door at the bottom of the main stairs. No TV, John, it’ll keep Mikey awake. Emergency numbers are by the phone in my room…”
“Kate!”
She glanced at her watch. “Half past. Ok, be good, love you.”
Then she was gone, leaving a cloud of heavily perfumed air behind her.

Wendy waited to hear the footsteps descending the creaky staircases, and the closing of the front door.
“Great,” she said. “Stuck inside with you two. God, this is going to be boring.”
John glared at her. “We don’t want to stay in with you, either,” he retorted.
Wendy ignored him and flounced off to her room to read magazines.

Little Michael stood in the middle of the nursery, at a loss.
John shrugged. Girls. Honestly. “Come on, Mikey,” he said, “We’ll play soldiers ‘til bedtime, ok?”
Michael nodded and sucked his thumb.

At nine o’clock, a reluctant Wendy came back into the nursery, carrying three sleeping bags and three pillows.
She was still angry about missing the party, but her scowl softened when she saw Michael curled up on the floor next to his brother, who was absorbed in a noisy computer game.

“Bedtime,” she announced, laying out the sleeping bags. Two on one side of the room, and her own on the other. John muttered and threw down his joystick in protest before getting into his pyjamas and stomping over to his sleeping bag.
Wendy picked Michael up and put him in bed. She smoothed his tousled hair and at his sleepy request, checked behind the long curtains and in the cupboards for monsters.
“There,” she said, “Nothing but air. And Mum and Dad’ll be back in a bit, so there’s no need to worry.”
Michael nodded, his expression serious. He buried his chubby face in the pillow and pulled the covers up under his chin.
Finally, with the boys settled, Wendy lit the old-fashioned nightlight and lay down to sleep.

John chose that moment to leap out of bed and put on his glasses. “I’m not going to bed!” he cried, running over to the bookshelf and selecting one of his favourite volumes.
The spine of the book was beginning to tear, and the pages were well-thumbed.

Wendy groaned. “John, stop thundering about! Some of us want to sleep.”
“Yes, some of us want to sleep!” echoed Michael.
John scowled. “Quiet, baby,” he scoffed, “If you tell me what to do, I’ll tell the monsters where to find you and they’ll eat you all up in your sleep!”
Michael howled. “Wen-dy!!!!”

Reluctantly, the eldest of the children threw back her bedcovers and marched over to her little brother. In the dim of the room, she twice stood on some of John’s miniature soldiers, and swore under her breath.
It was growing cold, and by the time she had crossed the room, she had goosebumps on her arms.
She gathered Michael into her arms and cooed gently to him as her cried.
“You’re such an idiot,” she scolded John over the baby’s head. “He’s only little, you shouldn’t scare him before bed.”
John shrugged. “Sor-ry,” he muttered.
Wendy continued to glare at him. He slumped his shoulders in defeat.
“There aren’t really any monsters, Mikey, I was just being mean.”
He shot a look at Wendy as he clambered back into bed with his book. “Happy now?”
“Don’t start reading that now, John, it’s too dark to see.”
“But I’m bored!” he protested. “It’s too early to sleep, what else am I supposed to do if I can’t watch tv?”
Wendy sighed dramatically. “I’ll tell you a story,” she said. “One that Mum told me only the other day. A true one.”
Michael perked up. “Oooh, yes,Wendy!! Story peas!”
“It’s please,” she corrected, smiling in spite of herself. “Ok. It happened a few nights ago, when she was locking up for the night. She was about to close the curtains when she saw a light and heard a sound which she says was like loads of tiny bells. Next thing she knew, she saw this lad outside the window, alongside the light…just standing there in the air!”
“Wow!!” breathed Michael. “He fly?”
“Guess so,” said Wendy, “how else would he have got there without falling? Anyway, Mum freaked out and closed the curtains dead quick, but first she noticed that this boy wasn’t like other boys. He was different.”
“Different how?” grumbled John, who was trying not to listen.
“Well,” said Wendy, “he was wearing a suit made only of leaves and, like, twigs and stuff, and Mum says he had well messy hair and when he opened his mouth, even though she reckons he looked about my age, he still had all his baby teeth!”
“Who was boy, Wendy?” Michael asked sleepily, snuggling back down under the covers.
“Dunno,” she replied, tucking him in. “Mum lost it, though, thought he was a burgular. I think she might’ve had too many drinks, but who knows? Maybe there really is a flying boy.”
John rubbed his nose and slid off his glasses. “That’s cr- I mean, that’s rubbish. If there was some lad outside our house, the dog’d get him,” he said.
“Yes,” said Wendy, agitated at his spoiling of her tale, “But on nights like tonight when she’s chained outside, what could she do about it? Not like she can fly, is it?”
“I suppose not,” he acquiesced.
“Now,” Wendy sighed, rising and picking her way; more carefully this time, through the assorted jumble on the floor, “Time for bed.”

A few hours later, one of the stars in the heavens cried out, “Now, Peter!” and the nightlight in the nursery flickered and went out.

Loud snuffling woke Wendy from a wonderful dream she had been having about Jake’s party. Her jeans and top were better than any of her mate’s, and Jake was just about to ask her to dance…
“Michael?” she called groggily, “Are you having a bad dream?”

The snuffling grew louder. Wendy tried in vain to see who was crying, but without the nightlight, all she could see was a shadowy shape in the middle of the floor.
Bravely, she climbed out of her bed into the cold air, and approached the figure.
A bright light darted around its head, and there was a jangling of bells. Immediately as she saw the light and heard the bells, Wendy realised that it was the boy her mum had seen. But I thought she was going mental! She blinked a few times. No, he was definitely there.
“Boy,” she ventured, “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” he lied, “I’m just angry. Lost one of my trainers, didn’t I? Can’t find it anywhere.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ve got it,” Wendy said. “Anyway, how did you get in?”
“Window was open a bit.”
Wendy winced as she felt her hair being given a tug. She swatted at the light that was now hovering around her head. “What the…”
“Oh, ignore her, she’s got ADHD or something,” the boy said dismissively. The light jangled crossly.
“What is she?” Wendy asked.
“Duh!” said the boy, “She’s a fairy.”
Wendy laughed. “Don’t be stupid, they don’t exist.”
The boy just looked at her.
Wendy blushed. “Well they don’t.”
“Whatever.”

John and Michael stirred, their sleep interrupted by the noise.
“What’s going on?” John wanted to know. He put on his glasses and squinted at the boy. Then he looked at Wendy, his mouth wide. “You snuck a boy in!” His face broke into a grin. “Mum is sooo gonna kill you when I tell her.”
“I didn’t!” Wendy said, “He was just…here. It’s the lad from mum’s story.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said John, “Nice try, Wendy.”
“No, really,” she insisted. “Come and have a proper look.”

Soon, the three were standing around the newcomer and staring as if he were a zoo exhibit.
Questions flew thick and fast.
“What’s your name?”
“Which school are you at?”
“How old are you?”
“Why are you dressed so funny?”
And from a scarlet Wendy, “Have you got a girlfriend?”

With an amused smirk on his face, he answered that his name was Pete, he didn’t go to school “Who wants to go to maths when you can skive off and go to McDonalds?” he didn’t know how old he was, his clothes weren’t ‘funny’- “Have you seen what you’re wearing, mate?” and, no, he didn’t have a girlfriend.

They found out that he’d been kicked out by his parents and lived in foster care most of the time in a place called Neverland, couldn’t read or write and liked rap.
But what interested them most was the flying.

“Can you really do it?”
“Course I can,” Pete replied proudly.
“Show us, then,” John urged.
Pete made a big show of being bored of the whole thing before finally letting himself be persuaded. The children stood with open mouths as he zoomed round the four corners of the room. They gasped as he plummeted towards the ground at break neck speed, and applauded as he stopped an inch above the floor.
He bowed and crowed like cockerel, revelling in their admiration. Beside him, the jangling light did somersaults and zigzags, leaving trails like the ones from sparklers on Bonfire Night.
“That is well weird,” breathed John, “No one will ever believe it.”

Pete smiled. “Would do if you could show them,” he said.
“Show them? You mean, like, take you to school?”
“No, I mean, show them. Do it yourself. It’s dead easy.”
Michael clapped his chubby hands, eyes sparkling. “Fly, fly!” he said.
“You can teach us?” Wendy asked.
“Not much to teach,” he replied. “All you need is some fairy dust and a happy thought.”
Wendy narrowed her eyes. She’d smoked before, of course, and even had cider at the park with her mates, but drugs…
“Mum’d go psycho if we got high,” she said.
Pete laughed uproariously. “Not that kind of fairy dust,” he said, “The real deal.” He plucked the light from the air next to him and it jingled loudly as he waved it in front of them. “Off her.”

John was the first to step forward. “Go on, then,” he said, “Bet it won’t work.”
Pete shook the ‘fairy’ above his head, and John was covered in golden glitter. He looked down at himself in dismay. “Bit girly,” he complained.
“It’ll fade in a minute,” Pete assured him.
Wendy was next, and she span in circles, admiring the shimmers on her arms and legs until they disappeared.
Michael sneezed when the dust was sprinkled onto him; sending the little light whizzing into a corner with an audible clang as it hit the wall and slid down it.
“Will she be ok?” Wendy asked, concerned.
Pete just laughed. “She’ll get over it,” he said.
“Right,” he said, “The first time you do this you can go pretty high, so there won’t be enough space in here. We should go outside.”
“Can’t,” Wendy said, “Mum’s locked the bottom door, so we can’t get in the garden.”
“Don’t need the door,” Pete said, looking over at the nursery window.

Michael looked scared. “Fly out window?”
Wendy hugged him. “Not if you don’t want to,” she said.
Pete shrugged. “It’s up to you, but it really is the best way. And if you come out, I can take you to Neverland. There’s a party there tonight.”
Wendy brightened. “A party? Really?”
He nodded. “We have one every night.”
She bit her lip, thinking. She did really want to go to a party, and it’d be so cool to be able to tell her friends on Monday morning that not only had she gone to one they hadn’t been invited to, but she flew there, and with a fit lad!

She exchanged a look with John. He nodded.
Pete laughed. “Up for it, then?”
He leapt onto the sill and threw his arms high above his head, exalted. “To Neverland!” he cried, “Second Star to the right and straight on til morning!!”

In the garden below, their was silence. The family’s Saint Bernard made no sound.

The boy and his ‘fairy’ began their ascent.
“Wait!” Wendy cried, “We don’t know how to fly yet!!!”
Pete laughed. “Oh, yeah!! Silly me!”
The children breathed a sigh of relief. They did not want to be left behind and miss out on the joys of a parent-free and wild party.
“Think wonderful thoughts!” Pete breathed. “Think just one really happy thought, and, easy as anything, you’ll fly like a bird!”
He beamed at Wendy, and she felt a stirring in the pit of her stomach. She wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss this strange boy.
John went first. “My Playstation!” he cried, and stepped out into the sky.

For a second, the world around Wendy slowed down and became brighter and more clear. Pete’s smile shone white in the darkness, perfectly matching the stars above. The sound of cars on the street below drifted up to the window, and the night air on her face, instead of being cold, was a warm caress.

John’s glasses stayed in the air for a second longer than their wearer.

He plummeted like a lead weight, and there was a sickening crack as his body hit the paving slabs below. Blood pooled out from beneath his head. His glasses lay shattered a few feet away.

Michael screamed. Wendy’s stomach wrenched and she had to take several large gulps of air to keep from being sick.
Pete smiled, his pearly teeth sharper than Wendy had remembered.
“John,” she moaned.
“Don’t worry, Wendy,” Pete said, “He’s fine. Just didn’t come up with a happy enough thought is all.”
Wendy couldn’t control herself. She slapped him. “Fine?” she screamed, “He’s dead! You killed him!”
“No, I didn’t. He’s the one that jumped out of a third floor window.”

She stared down at the mess below, horrified.
“I need to call an ambulance,” she said.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” said Pete.
“You can’t stop me,” she retorted weakly.
“Can’t I?”
“Even if I don’t call for help, the neighbours’ll hear the dog barking and….”
Realisation dawned, heavy and icy across her chest and shoulders. She had to force herself to keep breathing. “The dog…Why isn’t she barking?”
Cautiously she leaned out of the window, trying to avoid the bloody splash that was her brother. Her eyes scanned the garden for the kennel.
There!
As she took in the sight, her eyes filled with tears.
The kennel was empty, but the tree next to it wasn’t.
Nailed up by her paws and tail, large tongue lolling from her mouth, was the family dog. Around her thick furry neck, her choke lead had been pulled tight enough to cause her head to flop uselessly to one side.

Wendy backed away from Pete as he began to laugh. The ‘fairy’ laughed, too, jangling loudly somewhere behind Michael.
“Wendy…” her little brother whispered.
“It’s ok, Mikey, it’s ok, we’re going to be fine,” she stammered, slowly edging towards him.
“I wouldn’t put much faith in that theory,” retorted Peter as the light darted over obscured the child’s face. His cries spilt the air as the tiny creature viciously clawed his eyes from his skull. Wendy didn’t scream, couldn’t move to help him.
The shock was too great.

She stood, statue still as the light moved away and the little boy’s body dropped to the floor and began to fit. Foam pouring from his mouth, his skin turning blue, Michael thrashed among the discarded toy soldiers, his tiny body wracked with convulsions. Eventually, he stopped moving.

Wendy ran for the door and raced down two flights of stairs, heart pounding, tears streaming from her eyes and blurring her vision. She stubbed her toe on a door frame but continued, limping. Terrified, she hammered desperately at the locked door at the foot of the stairs. “Mum!” she shrieked, “Mummy, help me, please!! Come home! Muuuummm!”
She tugged at the door handle, which stubbornly refused to budge in her clammy grip. She kicked at the solid door and succeeded only in hitting her already injured toe. Sobbing, she sank down against the door frame and listened to the soft, deliberate footsteps of Pete coming to find her.

The light came first, and Wendy hugged her knees and waited for the attack. But none came. Instead the light jangled as Pete appeared on the last stair.
The chiming of tiny bells rang out an invitation to him- “This one’s for you, my darling.”

Grinning a crocodile’s grin, Pete took another step towards his victim.
He paused for a moment, relishing the adrenalin rush and the fear on her tearstained face.
Then he reached into his trousers and rubbed his growing erection.
“Think…wonderful…thoughts….” he said.