Next morning, with the anniversary of Lucy’s disappearance almost here, Lawrence felt very happy to be called into the councillor’s office. Mr Davis pumped his hand vigorously. With a big smile he announced he’d finally found where the mysterious fungus grew. In fact it was the only place known of in the entire county. Luckily it only was six miles away through the forest. Armed with a local map, that very afternoon Lawrence raced down there on his bike. Just in time he sensibly phoned mum to tell her where he was headed.
Finding the secretive place took far longer than he imagined. He had to abandon his bike half way as trees bunched together so thickly and grass grew so high there, it was almost as if the place didn’t want to be found.
Lawrence’s face flushed bright red as he pushed through an army of very sticky brambles, unexpectedly tumbling into a clearing. Picking himself up he was amazed at the wondrous sight lying before him. A beautiful miniature cottage sat bathed in late orange sunlight. Wispy clouds of smoke swum amongst the thatched roof. Dotted between lush grass tiny, colourful plants grew in friendly little groups, surrounded by a small, gleaming white fence barely reaching his knees.
Lawrence was so surprised he simply stood and stared. Only the sharp heavy thud of wood splitting round the back broke the enchanting spell. Over the past year his reflexes had been honed to a fine point, so within seconds he’d scrambled high up the nearest tree to safety. While his chest heaved up and down, Lawrence peered cautiously through the dense branches.
He kept a firm grip as a young cat trotted down the cobbled garden path. Her sleek coat was speckled with black and white and the little strip of light fur running down her chest had grown with her, but it was her alright! Lawrence held the tree firmer still when the cat sat at the gate, looked right at him and meowed loudly. Yes, her voice had grown as well. Now it sounded lighter, like a real lady.
“Here Lucy, dinner!” he cried, knowing she loved hearing those words. But Lucy just sat there gazing up at him with pleading eyes.
Puzzled, Lawrence threw a little stick in her direction. Instantly a bright dome of energy sprang up round the fence, stopping the stick dead in mid air. It fell to the sound of crackling and burnt to cinders, covering the ground in a shower of fine black powder. At this disturbing discovery he threw a tiny metal ball from his key ring far to her right. This rebounded and shot past his face at a terrific speed, tearing a branch off awfully near his head.
Now things were getting even stranger Lawrence noticed ground beyond the cottage fence lay black and dying. Not a single sound of animal life could be heard for miles around. And the plants inside the fence were suddenly not half as colourful as he first imagined. Indeed, many were brown and wilting. Glowing yellow fungus sat growing fiercely between them. And those swirling wisps weren’t smoke, they were dark, twisted shadows whose evil red eyes glowed hatefully in his direction. Although they couldn’t see him camouflaged in the tree, Lawrence felt they sensed him and didn’t like his presence one bit.
One moment later a loud, vibrating din sprung from inside the cottage – the pitiful sound of unhappy cats wailing. Lawrence recognised many of their sad voices from his night work. Just then a beautiful young woman strolled out the front door. Her bright, golden hair lit the doorway up in a showering arc of healing light and her glowing smile caused tiny flowers to spring from the rich soil.
Quite by accident Lawrence gasped out loud. In an instant her keen eyes had spotted him. Now the doorway grew black and the flowers turned to ash. In the blink of an eye the lady morphed into a hideous old crone, muttering strange words under her breath. Clicking her fingers made his feet slip off the branch, and he hit the ground with an awful thud.
Lawrence lay there winded, unable to move or catch his breath while the wicked lady cackled insanely. As her laughter died down she mumbled, quickly drawing weird symbols in the cooling air that flashed and shone an eerie green. Unpleasant burning smells fizzed through the clearing as Lawrence struggled to his feet and staggered off through the woods.
Cruel winds tore at his clothing, pushing him into trees whose branches slapped him viciously again and again. Lawrence ran faster and faster to outrun the insane laughter, falling over crashing logs and splashing through hidden ditches.
As soon as he cleared the woods the furious wind died down, but the hag’s screeching voice continued echoing through the treetops. It was only as he reached the first welcoming street signs he felt out of danger. As Lawrence crossed the busy main road many drivers looked closely at his scruffy appearance while he threaded between them.
Back at home Lawrence thought it time to tell mum and the police. Lucy had been stolen, so surely that was a crime worth investigating? Mum listened carefully, but didn’t contact the police. Instead she phoned a retired detective who promised to check the place out.
Two hours later he called at their house, sporting an enormous smile. Just as he’d first thought - there was no cottage, no witch and no sign of a cat. He did find a very old set of moulding stones which may once have been a building, set amongst incredibly thick brambles and rotting undergrowth. He also discovered where Lawrence had fallen out of a high tree. No wonder the boy had come back telling such an odd tale.
The jolly man did remember his grandfather saying something about an old cottage hidden up there, except that was a long time ago. Far longer than he’d care to remember. He doubted the place could have become so rundown in so short a time. Yes, the adventurous young lad had taken quite a fall, so it would be best if he stayed off school for a day or two.
Hearing the man’s story it was understandable mum thought Lawrence had fainted and dreamt it all up. So she ordered him straight to bed, fussing over him for three days, till certain there was no lasting damage.
Normally such unexpected spare time would give a clever young mind plenty of opportunity to plan their next move. However, much of Lawrence’s waking moments were taken up by well meaning relatives teasing him about the magical invisible cottage, saying he’d read far too many fairy stories. And as he slept, nicer dreams were swept away by shadowy visions of the strange cottage, the even stranger evil old crone, her misty black servants and her terrible temper. But most of all Lawrence saw poor Lucy sitting there in the midst of it all, gazing out on the real world longingly.
The moment Saturday morning arrived mum let him leave his room and the brave boy ran back to the secret cottage. Sure enough, there it was glowing in the midday sun and as beautiful as ever. And at the gate there his friend Lucy sat waiting patiently for him. Lawrence didn’t dare get close for more than a minute or two, spending the rest of the afternoon scouting the place out from afar, seeking a weak point. Yet the nasty, thieving crone never left the building, and apart from Lucy’s endearing meows the place lay quiet. Poor Lawrence couldn’t do much but slip home for now.