4. The Tree House

Fourth chapter of Book 1. Not a traditional fantasy story. Any suggestions for a title?

Brian
*
The Tree House
*
Luciel

Brian is old, even by modern standards. He is pushing 60, but can still manage quite an impressive sprint across the grass in the rain. He slows down once he gets under the cover of the trees, and makes his way over to the one with the tree house in.

“Sylvia,” comes Brian’s booming voice, “if you don’t get down now, you’re being locked out of the house overnight. Miss Lindel wants to lock up early as she doesn’t want anyone out in this weather.” There is no reply. Going up into the tree house isn’t an option; Brian slipped the other week and did something to his wrist, so he isn’t supposed to overexert it. Besides, Sylvia has rolled up the ladder. “Sylvia, I haven’t got all night.” He says, raising his voice a little louder. Still no answer. “Sylvia, I’m counting to three!” he yells in his loudest voice.

“Shhh!” comes a sharp irritated noise from above. Brian looks up, still no sign of her, or the ladder. He carries on.

“One, two….” He continues. Sylvia’s head appears, peering over the platform.

“Brian, will you please shut up, he’ll find me!” She hisses

“Who’ll find you?” He asks

“Zack,” mutters Sylvia, “we’re playing hide and seek.”

“Zack is indoors at the moment like every other member of Samjays,” says Brian impatiently, “except you.”

“Exactly,” Says Sylvia, “so if I go indoors he’s going to find me as soon as I walk into the door.”

“Sylvia, Zack was playing the piano, him, and Elliot were both in the room last time I saw them. I think they’ve stopped playing hide and seek now.”

“They’re only doing that to trick me, so Zack can win.” Says Sylvia. Brian groans. Not another conspiracy theory.

“Sylvia,” he says, “They would not sit in the music room for two hours just to trick you into revealing yourself to win the game.”

“No, you’re right, they wouldn’t do that…” Sylvia paused. Brian felt he was finally getting somewhere. “…but Zack’d get you to say that they were to try and get the same effect.” Obviously not.

“Sylvia, I am not in league with Zack and Elliot to try and make you forfeit the game,” said Brian impatiently, “I’m merely telling you that you have to come in because it’s raining, otherwise you’ll be locked outside.”

“Unless of course you’re making up the fact that that house is going to be locked so that I’ll come down…” Sylvia mutters
“Sylvia,” Brian says, losing his temper, “you know perfectly well that the house always gets locked early in this weather as Lindel doesn’t like you children going out in this weather.”

“Then you made it rain so that it’d have to be locked.” Sylvia states simply

Brian stands there exasperated.

“Sylvia,” He says incredulously, “I did not MAKE it rain so that you would have to come in and lose the game.” Sylvia looks at him with piercing eyes and a deadly serious face. Brian knows what’s coming.

“Prove it.” She says. Brian stands there for a few moments, moving his mouth, but not making any coherent sounds. He looks like a goldfish trying to breathe in air. Eventually he stops, closes his mouth, and sighs.

“You’ve got blankets and everything up there right” he asks. Sylvia nods. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He concedes, “Miss Lindel will not be in the best of moods though.” Sylvia turns round and walked back towards the tree house until Brian can’t see her any more. Brian sighs, turns back towards the house and begins to run back. One of these days, he will come up with a satisfactory answer to that question.

*

Sylvia watches Brian running all the way back to the main building. She would like to hear the following fit Lindel would have upon hearing Sylvia had usurped her authority yet again, but you can’t have everything in life. She turns towards the tree house. Thankfully they installed shutters last spring after a particularly wet night threatened to soak the wood to the extent that it would rot over the coming summer. It had rained a lot this year. Sylvia closes the shutters and makes her way over to the trapdoor in the centre of the room. Grasping the handle she heaves it open. Inside is a little carved out hollow in the tree. There are blankets stored here, as well as dry foods which won’t rot. Sylvia takes out one blanket and a packet of biscuits, and settled down in the corner of the tree house.

She wishes she had the foresight to bring up something warm with her, like soup or a thermos flask, but heating anything up in the tree house is out of the question. She takes out the first biscuit and begins to nibble the corner. Ginger. She puts the packet down and walks back over to the hatch, still wrapped in the blanket, and hunts around the packets for something else. Finally, she pulls out a packet of chocolate chip cookies, and walks back towards her corner. She eyes the recently opened packet of ginger biscuits and she begins to pull the corners of the packet to open the chocolate ones, and lowers her hands. Grudgingly, she places the chocolate ones to one side and finishes off the first ginger one. There’s no point in leaving a whole packet out, it’ll just go to waste.

There is another flash of lightning, which illuminates the building. Disappointingly, she notices that her streak of blue tiles has almost entirely disappeared, washed away by the rain. She sighs; she’ll have to paint it again sometime. Sylvia inspects the tree house. She wonders how many of the children from last year, who’ve left now, used to sit up here and gaze at the building. She thinks of the oldest children from last year, all of whom have left now, and wonders why they built this place just months before they left forever. Was it to leave a mark of their own? Who would want to leave a mark here? Zack’s always doing it, Sylvia can never understand why. This place is so insignificant, it’s hardly worth marking.

Maybe it was so that, amongst all the children here, who all have one thing in common - being nobody to the outside world, they could be somebody to the people inside here; they could be the people who built the tree house. Sylvia sighs and reaches out for another biscuit. She sits there for a moment, finishing the ginger biscuits, and then reaches for the chocolate ones. Depressing musings like this are too much like hard work. They’re best left to people with nothing better to do.

*

“You were absolutely useless last night.” She says, opening the biscuits.

“In what way?” Comes a voice beside her.

“I can’t quite remember.” Sylvia says “It was something to do with fashionable camouflage or something along those lines… I mean what were you thinking?! It entirely defeats the object.”

“Well I can’t help it if I want to express my individuality,” Says the voice light-heartedly.

“Your individuality doesn’t count for much when you’re dead in a heap.” Says Sylvia derisively, “Where were you for the other fifteen minutes by the way? You never took that long to come back before”

“I was looking for YOU,” The voice says critically, “you kept running off with the random blond guy.”

“Blond guy?” Says Sylvia, trying to remember the events of the dream.

“You don’t remember him do you?” Says the voice disbelievingly.

“Nope.” Says Sylvia plainly.

“Well,” the voice says, trying get back at her “who’s the useless one NOW then?”

“Hey,” says Sylvia irritated, “I managed to evade capture for a whole fifteen minutes on my own, unlike a certain someone I know who managed to get themselves killed by wearing god-knows-what as camouflage.”

“Except you weren’t on your own, you were with Blondie.” Says the voice “And it’s Marianne Jules couture.” It adds.

“Hey, I was quite impressed with my survival skills out there.” Remarks Sylvia

“Sylvia, he gave you a hat that transformed into a boat,” says the voice sarcastically, “name me one situation in the real world where that is going to be of any use whatsoever.” Sylvia puts the other half of the biscuit in her mouth and folds her arms.

“OK, OK,” the voice concedes, “maybe they’ll invent ‘just add water’ boats in the near future or something, or-”

“I don’t suppose you want any of these do you?” Says Sylvia, changing the subject, and stretches out her arm to offer the biscuits to a long-haired boy in the corner.

“Nah, I’m alright thanks, you know me.” Sylvia shrugs, wraps the blanket round her shoulders and settles into the corner. “You’re not cold are you?” he says.

“What does it look like?” She says spitefully.

“Well you didn’t have to stay up here, you knew it would be cold, you could have just gone inside.” The boy says, “I’m sure you could have stood up to the wrath of Lindel.” Sylvia smiles. The roof still has the odd blue streak on it, although the rain washed most of it off.

“Shame I didn’t get round to doing the whole roof.” She says.

“Yeah, and blue, what were you thinking?” says the boy in mock-incredulity, “Pink is the new black this season.” Sylvia considers the possibility.

“I think pink would clash with Zack’s fluorescent orange curtain rail though.” She says

“Fair point.” Says the boy, “What’s the plan for tonight then?”

“I think I’m just going to sleep actually, I’m tired.” Sylvia admits.

“Boring.” Says the boy.

“Yeah, deal with it.” Sylvia says, and wraps herself tighter in the blanket. “And you’d better not screw up this time.” She adds. “Night Luciel.”

“Night Sylvia.” The boy says.