The necklace made some of the guests feel as though the presents they had chosen for Haley’s fifth birthday were inadequate. Haley was sure to use her manners while opening her presents before dinner, but, from the moment she picked up the wooden box with the necklace inside, it was obvious that this present was particularly special. She ran her fingers over the edge of the envelope before taking out the card, being careful to keep the envelope intact. She asked her mother to read the beautifully handwritten message on the inside: To my dearest Haley, you are as lovely as a soft summer breeze and as radiant as the sunshine on a cloudy day. I hope this necklace will only add to your power. With love, Grandma. Haley closed her eyes as she felt her body become covered in goosebumps and a lump form in her throat. She opened them when her mother finished putting the necklace on and smiled nervously as everyone commented on how magnificent it made her look.

Two factors were behind Haley feeling courageous enough to ask her parents if she could be excused from her own party. Firstly, she felt ill at the thought of eating the pizza she vaguely remembered mentioning when her parents had asked her what she might like for her birthday dinner. Then there was the fact that the necklace was taking far too long to stop being the topic of conversation. Having braved her way through the third conversation about what the necklace meant to her, all Haley could think about was seeking refuge in the shelter of her bedroom. After a lengthy discussion, her parents agreed. She thanked each of her guests for coming and for their thoughtful presents, and, after collecting her presents and excusing herself to her bedroom, she turned off the lights and snuggled up in the warmth of her freshly washed sheets.

The sound of music and laughter echoed down the hallway as Haley lay in the darkness, fiddling with the necklace, thinking of all of the pleasant times she and her grandmother had shared together. Restless, Haley hopped out of bed, turned on her reading lamp and took out the photo album she kept under her bed. For the next several minutes, Haley lay on her stomach, smiling as she looked through the photo album. Towards the end of the album, Haley came across one of her favourite pictures. It showed her painting a picture using an easel on her first day of kindergarten.

Haley thought she had noticed everything there was to notice about the photo, from every brushstroke to every wrinkle on the back of her grandmother’s delicate hands, but her smile faded when, tonight, she noticed something in the background that she had never seen before. Her anger bubbled higher inside her the more she took note of what was in the photo. She sat up and stared at the light bulb in her lamp, its dark-orange glow mimicking how Haley was feeling on the inside. With every intention of putting the photo album away, Haley slammed it shut and, just as she did, the light bulb shattered and the window next to her bed began to crack.

The forest drew me in but it was The Cave Dweller who kept me here.

The few villagers who walked by on their way to trade spices with the foreigners commented on how foolish I was for wanting to build on the rocky ground next to the cave, but I was not building it to impress them, nor was I building it for protection or safety. The Cave Dweller took care of that for me now. He has developed a great deal of respect for me. The type of respect reserved for the determination of an enemy.

The village could no longer cater to my hopes and desires. The narrow-mindedness and simplemindedness of its people repulsed me more each day. On a dreary July day, I blew out the last of the candles lighting my abode, gathered my supplies in my barrow and made my way into the forest. Peace and comfort washed over me like a soft blanket covering a small child. I battled through my exhaustion, travelling for two days up hills and across rivers before discovering the perfect spot to build my new home. The forest opened up to a clearing in front of a cave, and the ground still felt damp from the recent rains. There was more than enough room for me to build my new home here, though that was true of the half-dozen places I had stopped at up until today. The difference here was the view of the forest.

Looking out over the edge of the rocky clearing was akin to staring into a world gone topsy-turvy. Here, the clouds floated below the treetops as if being pushed down by an enormous layer of invisible glass, the crisp air carrying fewer sounds than it did back in the village. I wiped my brow and set myself to work. This is where I would build and this is where I would live. That was when I heard the Cave Dweller’s terrifying growl for the first time. Just like waking up from a nightmare, I convinced myself that the grumbling was something I didn’t need to concern myself with and set to work, laying out the wood that would form the foundation of the home I never thought I would own.

I spent the next eighteen days building the house; sawing, lifting, tying, concentrating and humming. Every day I was closer to achieving my dream. The wooden cabin was all I would ever need, and I was filled with pride as I stood back admiring my own masterpiece.

My grin turned serious when I heard the grumbling once again, and I tightened the grip on my staff while staring into the cave. The growl continued longer this time, long enough for me to understand that it was not the wind making that sound. I considered for a moment taking shelter in my home, but that felt far too cowardly. So, instead, I moved to the front of the cabin, pushed my staff into the ground and waited for whatever monster lay in that cave to accept my challenge.

Prompted by my defiance, the noise increased in volume until I had to cover my ears. I squinted my eyes and lowered my head. I could see the silhouette of the rocks as they flew past my head, destroying the roof of my house. I remained calm and held my ground. Seeing the enormous black hand of the creature in the cave grip onto its walls was enough for me to tightly close my eyes. I can tell you that I was filled with fear over the course of the next minute. The Cave Dweller wrapped himself around me, growling as loudly as he could. When I thought it was over, I opened my eyes, turned around and started to weep. Pieces of wood and logs I had chopped were strewn across the open forest. The Cave Dweller had destroyed my home, but he was about to learn that he had not destroyed my resolve.

Since then, I have built and rebuilt the house more times than I care to consider. I have braved wind and rain without shelter or rest, just to show the Cave Dweller, and myself, that I am in control. He protects me from death while challenging me to live.

And for that, I respect him immensely.

Early one Tuesday morning, perched on the small wooden bar of her cage in J&J’s Pet Store, a canary named Lila was rocking backwards and forwards while having a spectacular dream. While in the deepest part of her sleep, the fluorescent lights lining the roof of the store came on, waking her up and putting her in a less-than-good mood. The one responsible for both turning on the lights and, consequently, Lila’s mood was long-time pet-shop employee Benjamin Hartley.

For the past five years, Benjamin had dedicated his working life to the pet store, never missing a day of work, greeting every customer with memorable enthusiasm and, every morning, making sure that the animals in the store were fed. For these reasons, Benjamin was confident he was about to be promoted by the owners to a role he had only ever dreamed about: manager. After feeding some biscuits and meat to the three kittens and some crickets to the five hermit crabs, Benjamin collected two small containers and made his way over to Lila’s cage.

Lila tilted her head as Benjamin placed the container labelled FOOD in his mouth. Being a canary, all she could do was stare as Benjamin continued to wage an aggressive attack on the thin metal bars of her cage until they succumbed to his constant and forceful wiggling. She almost took pity on Benjamin as he fumbled around, trying to keep hold of both containers while her cage door was wide open. Despite her feelings, Lila took this opportunity to fly straight out of her cage and into the freedom of J&J’s Pet Store.

Benjamin was forced to arch his back to keep his eyes on Lila as she zoomed past overhead. He dropped the containers, barely noticing the water spilling on his feet in the process. Lila flew directly over to the kittens’ home, landing with a flutter on its roof. Benjamin struggled to remain calm, but, as it was early, the front doors of the store were not yet unlocked, so there was no need to completely panic. Attempting to catch the bird off guard, Benjamin dashed towards the kittens’ cage, accidentally knocking over some of the towers made out of boxes of cat food along the way. Lila deliberately waited for Benjamin to get close before mocking his attempts to catch her and flying away at the last second. She was now perched on the cash register at the front of the store. Benjamin was glaring at the bird from across the aisles when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the owners, Jill and James Mahoney, getting their keys out to unlock the front door.

Benjamin tried to warn the owners by calling out while running towards the doors, but, this time, Lila didn’t wait for Benjamin to be close to her. Sensing the breeze from outside, she pushed herself off the register and, in a flutter of spins and wing flaps, escaped J&J’s Pet Store. Jill and James’s jaws dropped as they looked around their store, thinking about how much work they were all going to have to do to get it ready for the day. They shook their heads as Benjamin skulked towards them. Because he was such a loyal employee, however, Jill and James found it difficult to be mad at Benjamin for any serious length of time and gave him a long, reassuring hug.

“Don’t worry, Mister!” James said as he ruffled Benjamin’s orange coat and placed him back inside of his favourite cage. “We’ll still make you manager one day.”

The box in the window was empty. PM explained that it was a reproduction of an illusion his family had sold many years earlier. I knew exactly where the original had ended up.

I repurposed a hand-carved wooden box that I found in the attic to house the cloak, keeping it amongst my shoes at the bottom of my cupboard. I would sometimes catch glimpses of my friends staring at the box, part of them aching to find out what was inside. My grandfather gave me the cloak for my seventh birthday, claiming to have bought it from a store with his own money when he was just a boy. He had wrapped it up in dark-black wrapping paper and decorated it with a bright-red ribbon. Instead of a birthday card, there were three handwritten cards in an envelope addressed, To My Dearest Grandson, Dan. Each card outlined a law to be obeyed when using the cloak.

Law #1 – The moment you tell another about the cloak, it will cease to work.

Law #2 – The cloak will not tolerate foul play. You will know when it is time to use the cloak because it will tell you.

Law #3 – Wearing the cloak for longer than intended will result in your permanent disappearance.

So far, there had only been two instances where it was necessary to use the cloak. The first was at my big brother Isaac’s ninth birthday party. Four of his school friends attended the party, and an uneasy feeling stuck with me throughout the afternoon right up until the sun went down, when my breathing became so erratic that my mother suggested I should go and lie down in my bedroom. As I lay in the darkness of my bedroom, I could see a glow coming from the bottom of my cupboard where the cloak was hidden. I tiptoed over to my cupboard, turning on the light using the switch inside the door. Kneeling down, I opened the wooden box and picked up the cloak. The feeling of warmth that moved over me as I slid one of my hands through its sleeves told me that everything was working according to plan. Feeling significantly calmer, I wore the cloak downstairs where the dark of night had influenced the behaviour of the party guests, with one of the boys suggesting that they throw toilet paper across the roof of the house. Though I wasn’t able to prevent them from throwing the toilet paper on the roof, I was able to counter the lies Isaac told our mother and father later that night, letting them know, to everyone’s surprise, that I had seen him and his friends do it with my own eyes.

The second instance nearly resulted in my permanent disappearance. We were going to visit my grandfather at his new house. I had overheard that he was ill, so I thought I would take the cloak to show him how well I had taken care of it. The drive took significantly longer than it used to and, as we slowed down to enter the driveway of what looked to be a block of apartments, my breathing started to get shallower and the box on my lap began to glow. I couldn’t hear the cloak calling me this time, nor could I use it anyway, given that my parents and brother weren’t allowed to know about it. By the time we walked up the stairs to my grandfather’s new room, my breathing was so short that my mother insisted I lie down on one of the nearby beds. We were told by a man in a suit that we weren’t able to see my grandfather, and it was then that I heard the cloak calling me.

Calm and invisible, I stood beside my grandfather’s bed. The way his chest rose and fell with each breath was so hypnotic that I lost track of time. I ignored calls from the cloak that my time was over, and it started to feel uncomfortable. I didn’t want to take it off as the men in the suits standing outside would see me and ask me to leave, so I pushed the feelings of discomfort aside and remained in the cloak longer than intended. I felt faint, and the next thing I remembered was being woken up by my mother and father. I could only assume my grandfather had removed the cloak before calling them in. Careful not to mention the cloak, I questioned them about the whereabouts of the box and they told me that my grandfather had woken up and asked to keep it with him for a little while. At least until we saw him again. I’m not sure when that will be, but, for now, I think we could both agree that it’s best he takes control over the power of the cloak of invisibility. I just hope he doesn’t wear it for too long and accidentally end up disappearing forever.

Every Saturday, before we completed the family grocery shopping, my mother and father would take me to the store. I could feel it working its magic well before we entered. The owner chose to build the store between the town’s bank and council office; two older buildings that I’m sure resembled a time when Robert Greenvale had first discovered the city. The darkly painted concrete walls and the tall, glass windows crowded with numerous costumes and illusions made the store appear out of place. The enormous sign attached to the awning of the storefront had a pitch-black background with a red border that housed the words PM’s Emporium of Illusions written in a soothing white shade.

On the day the emporium opened, I stood in the street, watching in awe as PM himself addressed the townspeople from the store’s wooden veranda dressed in a shiny, red and black outfit complete with top hat and large, black boots. He delivered a captivating speech about the power of illusion before officially opening the store by using an oversized pair of scissors to cut a thick, red ribbon tied to each of the posts holding up the storefront’s awning.

Nothing came close to the sense of wonder and excitement I felt looking through PM’s Emporium of Illusions for the first time. Once a week, PM changed the items on display in the window, showcasing any new arrivals with handwritten notes placed beside each item, highlighting the advancements made in the world of illusions. Before entering the store, we would invest some time discussing what had changed and what our first impressions were on any of the new illusions for sale. Although my mother and father were less easily impressed by the illusions than I was, there were always rich discussions about the potential of each of the newer items. Today, however, I was speechless.

Three new illusions had been added since we were here last Saturday. Two of them were unimaginative variations on classic illusions: one involving disappearing cards, the other an almost carbon copy of pulling a rabbit out of a hat, except this time it involved pulling a frog out of a cardboard pond. Carefully positioned between each of those was an illusion I never dreamed could exist. I tugged at my mother’s dress, pointing at the window in disbelief. The illusion was in a black box with green trimmings and, in beautiful cursive writing across the front, were the words, Cloak of Invisibility. Without hesitation, my mother and father nodded at one another and the three of us entered the store.

Flick perched herself on the street lamp, her curious eyes scanning for signs of life from her unique perspective. The grey clouds smothered the sky and occasionally rolled over the peaks of the skyscrapers, their waves reforming into a single mass as they continued their journey from one side of the horizon to the other. Flick ignored the movements inside the buildings, instead narrowing her attention on the maze of streets and walkways below. Her patience was rewarded when she spotted the familiar movements of Perry the Pigeon weaving his way around the buildings, his confidence filling Flick with contempt. She regained a quiet sense of pride after predicting Perry’s flight path as he dodged and dove his way through the alleyways, eventually coming to rest near the pond in Eastern Park. Flick stretched her wings and stared out over the ocean of grey clouds before pushing herself from the street lamp, gliding out over her city to seek revenge.

The day before, Flick took her well-deserved space on the edge of the beige walls of Building Nine, famous for its advantageous views of Rat Alley. The rats lived in such vast numbers that they found pleasure in climbing over each other in front of the narrow holes marking the entrances to their homes, mocking the predators watching and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. If an attack was detected, the power in the rats’ numbers flexed its muscles and they scurried in all directions, baffling the hunter by squeezing their bodies into impossibly small nooks. As one of the wisest city falcons, Flick earned her spot on Building Nine and had sent a well-heard message to those who, even if only for a moment, attempted to adopt her dedicated space as their own. Adhering to this hierarchy promoted peace in the city. One animal who disregarded the hierarchy with a level of obnoxiousness rarely seen in the city was the pigeon. On this day, the unlucky pigeon who robbed Flick of her meal by stealing a baby rat that had strayed from the pack was Perry. The most sinister part of Flick’s plan was letting Perry think for the past twenty-four hours that he had got away with the theft.

The warning spread amongst the flock as Flick landed with enviable precision on the tallest rock in Eastern Park. As proud guardians of their territory, however, the pigeons stood their ground, refusing to fly away. Flick showed no sign of intimidation, locking her eyes directly onto Perry’s. Perry was the first to break eye contact, scanning the faces of his friends and family for clues as to what his next move should be. Deciding to draw on his stronger abilities, Perry pushed up off the ground and leapt up into the air, gaining impressive momentum as he flapped his wings and dashed into the city. Flick followed, manoeuvring her body with pinpoint accuracy to stay close behind Perry, but she was nowhere near as close as she wanted to be. She refused to believe that she had underestimated Perry, utilising every one of her hunting skills to not lose him to the sharp corners and wide buildings. The tension in the clouds gave way, the heavy rain hindering her chances at catching up to the deceitful pigeon. Flick let out a tremendous squawk that echoed between the buildings as she faced the rain and flew above the roofs of the city.

Driven by anger and no longer suffering the suffocation of the city, Flick flew through the sky with as much ease as ever. Through the rain, Flick spotted Perry sitting on top of her lamppost. He flew away before she could get any closer, but Flick saw no reason to follow him, because he had left a gift in his wake. Sitting back at her unique position overlooking the city, she wrapped her wings around the tiny rat. For today, the hierarchy of the city will be maintained.

Bennett the Beaver stood on the riverbank, staring at the colony’s so-called masterpiece. He certainly didn’t feel the same level of enthusiasm the other beavers felt for their project. There was a definite disproportionate feeling of disappointment given the amount of time everyone had spent on this abysmal excuse for a dam. There was no doubt that certain elements of the dam were impressive. The slides and tunnels were enjoyable ways to get from one side of the dam to the other and then there was the homely nature of the lodge they had built together. Perhaps the positive memories associated with building the lodge clouded his judgement and, to an outsider, the lodge was nowhere near as impressive as what Bennett thought it was, but that was beside the point. If they were going to be the best beavers the world had ever seen, then they needed to be critical of the dam as a whole. It was time, Bennett thought, to show them The Invention.

Bennett took advantage of the colony’s scheduled breaks from building the dam, to develop diagrams and plans of his own. Most other beavers were satisfied with sticking to the same schedule and using the same materials used by beavers throughout history and Bennett couldn’t deny those plans worked. This, however, was a question of efficiency. What if the beavers could invent something that would save them time and energy while protecting them from more predators than they could imagine? It would allow them to create something they were proud of, something that could keep their enemies at bay and something that would give them more time to enjoy the fruits of their labour. After sunset, while the rest of the colony were relaxing and recharging, Bennett was developing an invention that would allow the colony to use a new substance to build their dam walls with far more efficiency. The substance, he was told, was concrete. And it was readily available. All he had to do was say the word. “The Word”, however, had to come from their leader, Miss Belinda.

Getting an appointment with Miss Belinda was easy enough, she always made time to hear the other beavers’ thoughts, particularly towards the end of a build, when maintenance was their focus and there was less of a need for rest. Bennett gathered his thoughts and ran through his presentation in his head one last time. Right on sunrise, after their final night of working on the dam, Bennett took the underwater trap-door built into the lodge and nervously greeted his leader. Miss Belinda asked the other beavers to excuse themselves and sat on her log to hear what Bennett the Beaver had to say.

“What brings you here so formally, Bennett?” Miss Belinda looked at Bennett, her soft face showing nothing but care. “This time is dedicated to celebration, yet you seem preoccupied with your thoughts.”

Bennett revealed the piece of bark where his plans were meticulously drawn. “You see, Miss Belinda, that’s the thing. I believe I’ve invented a way for us to be able to celebrate much sooner and for far longer.”

Miss Belinda leaned forward. “Go on, Bennett.”

“I was visited by some human woodcutters in the forest. They offered me some advice, and, at first, I didn’t want to listen but they were so convincing, Miss Belinda.”

“The woodcutters have their ways as we do ours, Bennett.” Miss Belinda hopped off her chair and limped over to Bennett, standing behind him and pointing to his plans with her walking stick. “What’s this, then, Bennett?”

“These are the plans, Miss Belinda. The woodcutters claim to have invented a new substance called concrete. They can get it for us if we want it. They said that it will halve our work and double our time for relaxing.”

Miss Belinda tilted her head. “At what cost?” she asked quietly.

“Very cheap they said.”

“But, what is the real cost?” Miss Belinda asked. Bennett scratched his head and squinted his eyes.

“What do you mean, Miss Belinda?”

“I mean, Bennett, that your plans do not take into account the bond formed by our colony while building the dam. Nor does it take into account the other animals with whom we share the forest. This is not to mention the satisfaction we gain by using the forest materials and watching them grow again for future beavers.”

Bennett didn’t completely understand everything Miss Belinda had said, though he knew she was not happy with his plans.

“You are disappointed, Bennett and that is understandable. Come and celebrate with us and we will show you that being part of a colony is not all about making dams quicker or stronger.”

Bennett followed Miss Belinda as she dove under the water. When they broke the surface on the other side of the ledge, Bennett was struck by the celebrations occurring around him. “Our dam may be large, Bennett, but that does not mean the small things do not matter.”

Bennett followed her towards the dancing beavers, his plans still tucked beneath one arm. The concrete would have to go. The Invention, he decided, would need more inventing.

The potent smell of rotting wood coming from the log in front of me had faded into the background. I kept my head high enough so that I could see The Beast, but low enough so that it could not see me. The Beast’s eyesight wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, but he made up for it with his intimidating hearing. There were enough branches in front of me to camouflage any subtle movements I made, but sound was a different matter. My heart thudding through my chest could be considered too loud given the right circumstance. Today, however, I celebrate my third year of living on the island so I was determined to avoid being caught at all costs.

My only weapon against The Beast is to run. And to run, I need paths. Lots of paths. Taking the same route more than once within three days results in The Beast being able to track me down, making new trails notoriously challenging to create. If I didn’t plan far enough in advance of The Beast waking up from his deep sleep, then I would be forced to forge fresh tracks in a hurry, which meant making sound. And then, once I have used the primitive tools at my disposal to clear or create a track, I have to wait four days to use it, placing me in the unenviable position of having to memorise the paths as I create them.

The deep sleep of The Beast lasts for three seasons, waking from his slumber and exiting his cave in the warmer months to eat the bark of the majestic Cyantic Tree. I clear the tracks closest to The Beast’s cave towards the end of the seventh month, as I reason that the sound would be less likely to disturb him provided he was still in a deep enough sleep. The Cyantic Trees are left alone as I clear. For the past two years, that pattern has served me well. An eruption in the heart of the forest on the mainland this morning, however, disturbed both my pattern and The Beast’s. I gazed out over the water towards the mainland, every muscle in my body coming to a halt. A towering geyser shot into the air followed by a rumbling in the cave next to me, so I dashed and hid behind the nearest log that I could find and waited.

The Beast wandered out of the cave and raised his snout in the air as if taking notes on what had changed since he entered seven months ago. He would have known he was out early, but, if that caused him any discomfort, then he certainly didn’t show it. The Beast used his hooves to make his way down the steep, rocky slope, guiding him from the entrance of his cave towards the tree line of the forests below. Two enormous, winged creatures shot out of the geyser; a timely reminder for why I no longer live on the mainland. The sound of their wings was too far away for me to hear, but it was worse being forced to imagine the sound, rather than to experience it firsthand.

Ceasing his foraging and staring out towards the mainland, The Beast let out an almighty growl upon spotting the winged creatures flying towards him. Being the admirable creature that he was, he stood his ground. I protected my ears from the terrifying noise of the creature’s wings as they landed on the sand in front of The Beast, taking care not to damage their precious cargo. My hand shot up to cover my mouth when I saw what they were carrying. It was a girl. No more than twelve years old. I kept the shallow breaths wanting to surface at bay. The Beast let out a snort of approval and, as fast as they had arrived, the creatures spread their wings and returned to the source of the geyser. The girl lifted her head, attempting to intimidate The Beast with a piercing stare. It was never going to work.

The Beast took a step closer towards the girl, prompting me to throw a stick into the forest behind me. The Beast turned his head and snarled in my direction. He stood up slightly on two of his hooves and sniffed the air, taking note of both my location and intentions. “Run!” I yelled at the girl. “Use the tracks and run!” I was relieved when she did exactly as I asked, running over my tracks in the forest faster than any animal I had ever seen. The Beast avoided her and ran towards me. I was the threat. The cave was his territory, so I was left with no option but to run in the same direction as the girl. As our paths met, I found myself running directly behind her. The tag sticking out from the back of her top had a name on it, and I smiled for the first time in three years.

I had a companion, and her name was Haley.

A sliver of sunlight broke through the gap in Toby Botrill’s curtains and beat down on his face. His mother knocked on his bedroom door and entered his room to make sure he was awake. Satisfied, she closed the door behind her and Toby lay in bed rubbing his eyes, thinking about what could have gone wrong. He had not just double-checked but had triple-checked everything. Pulled by gravity, his arms flopped down to his sides, lightly bouncing on his mattress. His feet wiggled, and he bit down on his bottom lip. Toby sought answers and inspiration by staring at the posters hanging on his bedroom walls. He couldn’t understand all of the words on the one closest to his bedroom door, but the black background made the colourful pictures of our solar system stand out enough to give Toby some idea of the order and size of the planets. On the wall above his bed, a spaceship moved through a tunnel in space with Toby unable to make sense of most of the bold words above it. His mother, however, would read the words to him before going to sleep each night, so he knew that the last two words were ‘time’ and ‘machine’.

Three mornings of failed attempts in a row, Toby had carried his tired body over to his machine to check for any improvements he could make. The first thing he did was to inspect the date above the entrance, making sure the numbers were painted in the correct order. That was a mistake he wanted to only make once, so now his mother double-checked the numbers before he entered the time machine each night. The bottom of the door needed some encouragement to form a complete seal, but Toby solved this problem by inventing a handle and latch system that allowed him to close the door from the inside, keeping it from swinging open by tying a unique, lightweight material to the interior wall. After inspecting each of the smaller parts of the handle, he dragged his step ladder over and climbed up to examine the top of his time machine. There didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary. The green and blue buttons Toby pressed to tell the machine to move forward or backward through time were attached and in sound working order. Toby again congratulated himself at the thought of placing these buttons out of reach so that they could not accidentally get pressed. He climbed down from his step ladder and made his way to the rear of the machine, where he saw exactly what the problem was.

Every time the sun came out, his mother would take him to a building filled with younger children who were experiencing the same loss, some dealing with it better than others. When it was dark, however, and the sun was nowhere to be seen, he was allowed to stay home. He designed this machine to take him back to when they could both stay home, regardless of what the sun wanted. So, each night, Toby would check everything was in working order. He then snuggled into the blankets and pillows on the floor of his time machine, hoping to wake up to the sound of his mother telling him she could stay home with him all day. They could draw pictures and do puzzles. They could dance and make up funny songs, and there was always the possibility of a bike ride or a visit to the park. For the last three mornings, however, Toby woke up to the sun mocking him and his mother, dressed in a blue and white uniform, demanding that he get himself dressed so that she could whisk him away to wherever the sun now wanted him to go.

While the other kids played, Toby spent most of his day using crayons to redesign his spaceship and, by the time he got home, he knew exactly how to fix the scratches left on the back of his time machine by his so-called pet cat. His mum helped him fix the extra-strong gravity-grade space-tape to the rear of the machine before Toby got into his pyjamas, kissed his mother and curled up on the blankets at the bottom of his time machine. Before switching off the light, Toby’s mother read to him from the poster above his bed.

“Our memories are the messages from the past. You need not look any further than your mind for the technology to build your own time-machine.”

Henrietta’s teacher looked down at the floor and shook his head before granting her permission to leave the class and locate her misplaced homework. Rummaging through her well-worn school bag and mumbling phrases only audible to herself, Henrietta felt the girl in the mask’s presence behind her and ceased her search. Keeping one hand in her schoolbag, Henrietta raised her head slightly and kept her eyes focused on an otherwise innocuous pencil mark on the wall in front of her.

Henrietta allowed the girl in the mask to speak first. “I know what you’re doing.” There was an unexpected authority in the girl in the mask’s voice and a moment of panic where Henrietta thought she might be lost for words. The delay was only fleeting, however, as Henrietta drew on her years of experience in finding her feet in uncomfortable situations.

“No… You don’t,” she responded in her own authoritarian tone while fighting the urge to turn around.

Henrietta used the silence that followed to slow her breathing and push her nerves to one side. There was no room for feelings in a game of chess.

“Polly told me about you,” the girl in the mask said, shattering the silence. Henrietta’s heart raced, spreading the anger further around her body with each jarring thud. She kept the energy wanting to escape from her voice at bay. “Don’t flatter yourself. Whatever Polly told you, it was only to protect me.” Henrietta scoured her thoughts in search of the girl in the mask’s motives. “Polly can’t be taken away from me, regardless.”

“I don’t see why not, since Polly mentioned that you wanted to take something away from me.” Henrietta clenched her jaws and closed her eyes, feeling robbed of any power she’d had at the beginning of their interaction. The sound of the girl in the mask’s footsteps moving closer towards her prompted her to open her eyes, and she now struggled to focus on any single point in front of her.

“I’m going to make you a deal,” the girl in the mask said. “I’m going to give you my mask so that you can see what I see.” Henrietta heard the elastic slide over the girl in the mask’s hair. “Twenty-five seconds. That’s all you get. I cannot be without my mask for any longer than that.” Henrietta heard two more footsteps walking towards her before she saw the girl in the mask’s hands lifting the mask over her face.

Henrietta’s thoughts drifted to a world where she felt loved and accepted. A world without angst or worry and, above all else, a world without a trace of fear. Peace ruled here, and there was no question that it had earned its rightful place at the throne. Although Henrietta knew she was lost in this world, she had no memory of urgency or panic to draw on to help her find her way back home. The moment where Henrietta completely accepted this experience as her new reality was the moment the mask was removed.

Henrietta shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She could hear the girl in the mask breathing in short, sharp breaths behind her.

“That’s terrifying,” Henrietta stated. “You want to live in your little make-believe world then be my guest. As for me, I’m going to live here. Where friends aren’t always friendly, where love doesn’t rule unconditionally and where people are afraid of that which they do not understand.”

Henrietta heard the sound of footsteps disappearing behind her and turned around to see the door of the adjacent classroom swing shut. She chuckled to herself before reaching into her bag and finding her homework with ease. She allowed herself to breathe before tapping her homework book on her hand twice and rejoining her class.