Pan

Prologue



The dream was like all the others. She was flying over London, like all children dream. She swooped over grand mansions, small houses like hers, and slums. London at night was a place of thieves, thugs, and assorted bruisers. Her governess, Nana, had never let her see the places like Whitechapel, where crime was common and criminals were the norm. But now, seeing all of London spread out beneath her, the girl could see muggings and murders, but also stolen kisses and families laughing.

Suddenly, as the girl swooped down to get a closer look at the Tower of London, the city changed beneath her. For a minute, she flew over the open ocean, watching her shadow on the water follow her. Then, the ocean turned into a tropical jungle.

Laughing gaily, the girl tumbled and turned, looking down on the thick, green foliage beneath her. The green was so…oddly vivid that it hurt her eyes in the way that looking at new fallen snow hurts. Some trees grew oddly shaped fruits, while others boasted brightly colored flowers that were as big as the girl’s head. All colors nearly burned her eyes with their brightness. The heady scent of flowers and fruit filled her nose, giving her a headache such as one gets from breathing in too much perfume.

Through holes in the jungle that were clearings, she saw beasts of every kind- tigers, gorillas, panthers, and gigantic howler monkeys with fangs. They snarled viciously, their drooling maws searching for fresh blood. A herd of antelope ran by, drawing the attention of the beasts. They ran after the antelope, howling in the chase.

In another clearing, she saw the smoke and wooden longhouses of a tribe of savages. They wore the skins of the gentle creatures of the jungle, dyed with burnt reds and bright blues. Children laughed and chased each other in a game as old as time, just like the children back in London. Women cooked, repaired the longhouses, and beat the skins of the wild beasts into soft submission while men skinned their game, built up a fire, and carved grand jewelry out of the claws and antlers of the jungle animals. They spoke to each other in an odd combination of grunts and whistles.

In yet another clearing, there was a small group of boys dressed in the skins of the beasts who played on a tree that had a hangman’s noose hanging from nearly every branch. They were light skinned, although tanned and freckled from being in the jungle for so long. She could tell that they were speaking excitedly in English, although she couldn’t make out the words.

Flying higher in the sky that was a blue so vivid that she almost didn’t believe that it was the sky, the girl tried to get her bearings. She was up near the puffy clouds that glowed with golden sunlight on the edges, and able to see the entire jungle beneath her. Only it wasn’t a jungle. It was an island. There, in the high land was the smoke of the savage camp. The opposite side of the island ended in enormous ravines. All the colors of the island were so bright, so vivid. So…real.

There were two coves with beaches that had sand that almost seemed pink. A sailing ship flying a red flag floated in the bigger cove. A sinister aura colored the ship.

The other cove had a waterfall that spilled onto an outcropping of black rocks, where the girl could swear she saw human figures lounging. Except that there was something…unnatural about the figures. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.

The ocean stretched out so far around her, endless turquois, that it was impossible to believe that there was any other land in this place. No, this place was far, far from Earth. It was unnatural; otherworldly.

Grinning with the thrill of adventure, the girl swooped down to explore the ravines that lined the opposite side of the island. She landed on a thick tree branch that hung out over the water. Grabbing onto a vine, she leaned out over the ravine, smiling at the ocean beneath her.

She didn’t flinch as somebody laid a hand on her shoulder and spoke her name. “Wendy.” She turned, oddly not surprised by the boy who stood there, smirking at her mischievously.

His shaggy, wavy hair was a bright red-orange that attacked her eyes as all colors of the island did. He was deeply tanned and covered in freckles, with an upturned nose and slanted eyebrows. His ears were slightly pointed and his smile was impishly boyish. He was no older than her, young and full of life. But his eyes, a soft mossy green, were as old as time and pulled her through something ancient.

He was dressed in holey, dirty rags of a shirt and short pants that were held together by vines, with no shoes. In his vine belt, a dagger glinted wickedly. His clothes and hair were covered with a golden dust. He stood with his feet spread widely and his fists on his hips, arms akimbo as if he had the entire island at his beck and call. His grin widened even more, crinkling his nose and making him seem even more like an elf of some sort.

In the dream, Wendy knew him. But the dreaming girl didn’t, although he seemed like a familiar stranger. This was normally the end of the dream.

But tonight, she opened her mouth and asked, “Who are you?

The boy’s grin faded slightly, as if hurt by her question. “I am Peter Pan.” Grabbing her hand, he flew with her up above the island, in the golden clouds.

“Peter, what is this place?”

He looked at her and his grin was full of pranks and fun. “This is Neverland.”





Chapter 1



I bolted straight up in bed, unsure of my surroundings at first. I blinked my eyes that still hurt from the colors, trying to adjust to the soft nightlights. There was Michael and John, both sleeping soundly in their beds, the toy chest, and Nana’s kennel. I was in the nursery. It had just been that dream again. Just that…mesmerizing dream.

I moved slowly so as not to make any noise, shifting out of bed and into my slippers, freezing anytime the boys or the dog sighed in their sleep. Running lightly on my toes so Mother and Father didn’t wake, I went to the window seat across the way from my bed. I winced at every creak that the window sash made as I eased it open. As often as that dream was waking me at night, I would need to oil it soon.

Once the window was open as far as it could go, I leaned my head on my folded arms and sighed, looking out over the clear London sky.

The dream had plagued me for a month now, always ending before I could talk to the boy. Now, the boy and the island had names. Peter Pan. Neverland. I rubbed at my stinging eyes, trying to see the gray and silver London night as beautiful and grand as I once had. But it was nowhere near as breathtaking as Neverland. And no person at my school had come close to being as intriguing and wonderful and Peter was. Nothing was as beautiful as it once was; everything paled in comparison to the dream.

Sighing, I glanced down at my right hand- the hand that Peter had held in the dream. A faint sparkle caught my eye and I quickly brought my hand into the moonlight before it could fade.

There was the same golden dust that was dusted over his clothes and hair, shimmering. It glowed faintly, burning warm for a minute before it was gone.

Gasping in wonder, I only had one thought. The dream is real. The dust was real, that I was sure of. If it had rubbed off on me, there had to be truth in the dream. The colors of this dream had always burned my eyes in a way that had never happened in my other dreams. Everything had always seemed so real to me. The aroma of the fruit and flowers, the colors, and the feel of the ocean air across my face had all been so vivid and real.

I knew that it was true. Peter Pan lived on Neverland. There was no truth more important to me than that. Leaning far out of the window, I spoke with urgency. “Peter, I know you’re real. I can feel it. I believe it you, Peter Pan!”

His voice came to me, and I could swear that it was his real voice that I could hear, not just a figment of my imagining. It’s about time, Wendy. I will see you every night in your dreams. The voice faded to a whisper, as if he were going away.

Satisfied, I closed the window, being sure to leave it open just a crack for Peter. He was real, and I had a feeling that he would want to visit in person, not just in my dreams. He would need a way in, when that day came.

Climbing back into bed, I snuggled down, overcome with an immense, sudden sleepiness. A thought nagged at me, but I started to fall asleep regardless. How could I get Peter to come to me?

In that place between dreams and reality, I heard his voice again, beckoning me back to Neverland. Tell stories, Wendy. I will listen.



“But Wendy, won’t you tell us the ending?” John begged, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

“Yeah,” Michael chimed in. “What happens to the Sleeping Beauty? Will she ever wake up?”

I laughed, leaning against the window from the seat that I was perched on. A faint puff of wind played against my cheek, telling me that Peter wanted to know the ending too. “Sorry, boys. I guess that you will find out tomorrow. Michael, it’s time for your bath. See how Nana’s squirming?”

The dog-governess looked at Michael, my youngest brother who could just barely walk and speak complete sentences, with pleading dark eyes. He shook his head violently, protesting, “No, I won’t Nana, I won’t! I don’t need a bath! I took one last week.”

Leaning down, I picked him up and put him on Nana’s back, smiling at how she carried him off despite his loud wails. John grumbled in discontent at the unfinished story, sitting down at the foot of his bed with a book about Blackbeard.

A knocked sounded on the door of the nursery, and a beautiful woman in a party gown walked in.

“Oh, Mother! I thought that you and Father were going to a party tonight!” I rushed towards her, grabbing onto her hand in excitement.

She smiled down at me. “We are. I need to borrow your combs for my hair tonight, Wendy.”

I happily complied. As she fixed the silver and sapphire combs into her honey-brown colored hair that was like mine, I prattled on about what she was wearing. “Oh, Mother, is that your organdy? It looks absolutely wonderful on you!”

Mother put her hands on my shoulders, putting her face close to mine as we looked into my mirror. I looked like a miniature version of her with my hair, light brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. It had always been said at family dinners that I would grow up to look just like her. But I saw one difference in our mouths. The corners of her lips turned up naturally, while the right side of my mouth turned down slightly. It disgruntled me, but I still smiled at the reflection.

“Wendy, you will have a dress twice as beautiful as this one in a few weeks. Isn’t someone turning thirteen in a month?” The corners of her mouth turned up even more.

I nodded excitedly. “Oh, yes! But I want an organdy dress just like yours. Except might it be in light blue like this nightgown?”

Mother nodded distractedly, looking towards the open window. “Wendy, why do you always keep this window open? You will catch your death of cold!”

I stopped her as she closed it, still looking at myself in the mirror. “Oh, don’t lock it Mother.”

“Why not?”

I lazily brushed the pin curls out of my hair, with my mind still on my upcoming birthday. “I keep it open for someone.”

“For whom, love,” She asked in interest, picking up the toys and putting them away for Nana as the odd governess brought a grumbling Michael into the nursery,

“Peter Pan.”

She froze with her hand on a doll. After a second, she moved as if nothing had had happened. “Oh, I remember that name. I had known about him as a girl as well. They are just dreams.”

I put down the brush. “I believe that he’s real, Mother. Even if it’s just to humor me, leave the window unlocked.”

Shaking her head with a smile that dismissed my belief as childish fantasies, she took the book away from John and tucked him and Michael into their beds.

From downstairs, Father yelled, “Mary Darling, finish tucking in the children. We have to go! If we don’t get to this party in time, I will lose my job at the office, and then...” He trailed off, as we all knew his speech about losing the house, being out on the streets, and starving to death.

I got into bed giggling as mother yelled back, “It is called being fashionably late, George, dear. Just wait a moment!”

Still giggling, I settled down against the pillows as Mother tucked my duvet around me. The heavy breaths of my brothers filled the room as they were already slipping into their dreams. I felt a bit sorry for them that they didn’t visit Neverland and Peter in their dreams.

Mother kissed my forehead softly, turning the lights down until they were soft nightlights. “Goodnight, Wendy. Please remember than any dreams you have are just that. Dreams.”

“Of course, Mother.” I said in compliance. I had no intention of doing as she said. I closed my eyes, pretending to be falling asleep along with my brothers. The Darling’s had always had the talent of falling asleep upon command, so she patted my cheek and left quietly, her skirts swooshing on the rug.

Once she had left, I actually fell asleep, hearing Peter’s beckoning call. Join me, Wendy. There are adventures worthy of your stories here.



We sat on the clouds, looking down at all the adventures that were spread out before us. That day, he had showed me Skull Rock, a large, cavernous rock just outside of the waterfall cove that looked remarkably like a skull. The girl back in bed at the nursery was itching to ask him important questions. Why have I not met any of the other people on Neverland? Will I ever see you outside of the dreams? Do you really listen to my stories? But the girl in Neverland opened her mouth to say, “Peter, would you tell me about that ship in the large cove? Why do I feel an icy chill whenever I approach it? And why will you not let me get close to it?

Peter looked up from the pipes he was playing, his expression so serious that it startled me. “I guess that you should know. That’s the Jolly Roger; a pirate ship.”

“Pirates!” I flew to a lower cloud, trying to get a better look. I thought that I could hear music coming from the ship.

“Wendy!” Peter flew down next to me, pulling me behind the clouds. “We don’t want them to spot us. They’ve got Long Tom.”

“A cannon? Why would they want to shoot at us? We’ve done nothing to provoke them.” I whispered, as if they could hear us.

He grinned. “Speak for yourself. The captain of the ship has a grudge against me.”

I raised my brow, smiling back at Peter involuntarily. “What did you do to him?”

“Well, I was just poking some fun at him and got into a sword fight. He was going to kill me, so I cut off his hand and threw it to a crocodile.” He chuckled merrily. “He wants to kill me. It’s great fun.”

“Well, if it’s such great fun, I don’t see why I can’t go have a closer look.” I started to leave again, but his hand on my arm stopped me.

“Wendy, the pirates are cutthroats. I don’t let anyone near them unless they know what they’re doing.” His tone implied that I, obviously, didn’t.

“Oh, won’t you teach me, Peter? It’d be such a great adventure!” I wanted to fight the pirates alongside of him, to hold my own.

He shrugged. “Perhaps I will when you come here for real. Not just in your dreams.”

The dreaming girl in the nursery broke though. “Oh, will I come? When, Peter? When will I see you for real?”

He didn’t answer, and acted as if he had never heard me. “Wendy, tomorrow night, I want you to tell your brothers stories about me.”

“Which one?” He had so many adventures to tell about.

“The one I just told you about. Me and Captain Hook.” He motioned towards the Jolly Roger, sitting down to relay a story of his own daring and of the evil of the pirates.



I relayed the story to my brothers each night for the next few week, in the same words that Peter used to describe the pirates. “The First-Mate, Starkey; a public school usher still dainty in his way of killing. Noodler, with his hands on backwards! Alf Mason, a man so ugly that his own mother sold him for a bottle of muscat. Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed. Cecco, an Italian who cut his name in bloody letters into the governor of the prison of Gao.” I grinned as the boys shivered and I felt a puff of Peter’s wind, which I fancied to be his breath, on my cheek.

“The worst of them was Hook!”

“Hook!”

“Captain Hook, who has a hook in place of his left hand. His eyes are blue as forget-me-nots, save for when they turn red as he guts you! He and Peter Pan and mortal enemies.”

“Who is Peter Pan?”

“Why, he’s the boy that cut off Hook’s hand, you know. He threw it to a crocodile, who to this day thirsts for Hook’s blood. But he shan’t ever catch Peter. He is much too clever for to be caught.”

John roared, wielding a fake hook that I had made for him. “Avast, Pan! I will feed you to the crocodile, just as you fed it me hand!” Michael jumped up parrying John’s slash with his toy sword.

“John, it was the left hand, not the right.” I corrected him, shivering at the chill of the biting wind, yet I refused to close the window. Peter was happy with the story tonight, I just knew it.

“Thank you, Wendy.” He switched hands, going back to the fight with Michael as if nothing had happened.

Mother and Father were away at another party, so I tucked in the boys myself and fell asleep, my thoughts on Neverland and my birthday, which was in two days. Just as I slipped into an oddly dreamless sleep, I thought I heard the window slamming open, but I was too far gone to care.