was still noted as an individual who understood these strange occurrences. ‘Alfgar, my friend, I’m at a loss, I don’t know what’s going on.’
“‘I’ve seen this before,’ said Alfgar. ‘So have you, Henry.’
“‘I have?’ questioned Henry.
“‘Yes, Henry, remember a few years ago when my father, Hedley, had problems with the shoes he was making? The stitching would come undone as people walked away. Sometimes as they put on their new shoes, they would go to leave the store and find their shoes had been tied together by the lacing. It was awful.’
“‘Yes, yes, I remember. What happened, had your father angered some spirits?’
“‘Spirits? Not exactly. Brownies. Father went to sleep one night working on a particularly difficult pair of boots for the mayor and they were to be finished by morning. Well, a couple of brownies undertook it to help my father. In the morning, he assumed that he or I, without remembering, finished the boots and thought no more about it. This made the brownies angry, so they plagued the devil out of my father until he realized what happened.’
“‘What did he do? How did he get them to stop?’
“‘Simple, he walked up to the mayor and told him that brownies had finished the boots. The mayor was confused, but my father was adamant and that was enough for the brownies. In your case, however, more drastic measures may be needed.’
“‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make the little devils stop.’
“‘I wouldn’t recommend you start by calling them names, they’re no more related to demons or angels than you or I. Anyway, here’s what we must do. You say that they have been breaking the spokes of your customers’ and passers’ by carts and wagons?’
“‘Aye, that they have. It’s gotten so bad some people are beginning to call my tavern home of the broken spokes.’
“‘That’s it. That’s perfect.’
“‘What is? Tell me, please, Alfgar.’
“‘We’ll rename the tavern. Tonight, you and I shall make a new sign for the new name of your tavern.’
“The following day, when people heard the old tarnished bell being wrung to announce the opening of the tavern, they were astounded at what they saw. Below the sign of the Tarnished Bell hung a new sign, that of a cartwheel with a broken spoke. The people were confused and when they asked Henry he simply said, ‘Credit where credit is due.’
“It’s said that Henry later met with the Painter brownies and that they made him a new sign in place of both the one they made and the one Alfgar and Henry put together, and that that is the sign we see today protected by the brownies’ magic from wear and tear.
“It’s also said that Henry made a deal with the Brownies never to change the name of the tavern out of respect for them.
“And there you have it lad, the story of The Broken Spoke Brownies.”
Alfred was delighted with the story and he clapped loudly. His parents smiled, loving that the inn they had purchased not long after arriving in Carlisle was so storied. Life went on in much this way for some time, Alfred telling stories of seeing all manner of fantastical creatures in the forest, and Mr. Cyning telling them fairy-stories about the village of Carlisle. It was not, however, to last.
Chapter 2
Alfred was often teased when he spent time with other boys and girls his own age, especially as he grew older. The age of twelve was particularly difficult for Alfred. Nearly a teenager and having some of his friends and schoolmates already in their teens, it was deemed inappropriate by them when Alfred continued to profess belief in Father Christmas. Already in secondary school things progressively got worse as the cruelty of some of his schoolfellows increased with age.
He often found himself with his things spilled all over the ground, having them knocked out of his hands when he mentioned elves or fairies. Alfred had one friend through all of this: a young girl in his year, Winifrid Wendelyn. She would listen with rapt attention to the stories of Mr. Cyning, whether told by the old man himself or by Alfred. But even one friend can sometimes not be enough to deal with bullying.
Alfred’s parents were worried. They decided it was perhaps best if Alfred spent a little less time with his godfather. Mr. Cyning continued to tell stories in the pub, but they usually kept Alfred busy during those times.
The forest remained one of Alfred’s only escapes, but even it had become less of the safe haven he once remembered. He often took Wini with him, but she did not like it much. Alfred couldn’t blame her. The forest had changed. It began to feel colder to him: not colder in temperature, but less friendly. If Alfred continued to see things in the forest he kept it to himself now. Whether Wini ever saw anything during their trips, she did not say. There were times, however, when his parents were uncertain whether it was a fear of bullies or a fear of the forest that kept him quiet. Things came to a head one day when Alfred came home babbling like a madman.
As Alfred and Wini walked home from the forest one day in the Autumn, he looked around at his surroundings, taking in the beautiful outdoors. Carlisle is a wonderful town to see in the early stages of autumn. The leaves had already turned their different colors and were beginning to fall. The sidewalk upon which they were strolling was particularly leaf strewn. Had it not been, he might not have heard the sound of someone walking behind him. Alfred quickened his pace. Alfred had been told that certain creatures only come out at night, but the sun was slowly setting. “If we can only make it to the corner, we’ll be home free,” Alfred thought. He grabbed Wini’s wrist and began to run. Just around the corner was his house where he could shout for his mother and father to come out and greet him as he came home. Then something quite unusual happened.
Just before they reached the corner, with the footsteps behind them quickening in the leaves, Alfred found a sudden boost of bravery. He let go of Wini’s hand, ran, slid in the leaves as he stopped, about-faced and started to run in the other direction, toward whoever, or whatever, was following him. Alfred closed his eyes, involuntarily, as he made for the one following him. Thus, he did not see that nothing was behind him. As he continued to run, however, he opened his eyes just in time to trip ripping his pants and scraping his knee on the sidewalk. “Who tripped me?” Alfred exclaimed, as he sat on the concrete, nursing his wound. When no reply was returned, Alfred stood up and limped back home, not noticing a slight rustling in the bushes, nor the large ring of mushrooms next to him that bordered the side of the inn. Wini was crying, her wrist was hurt. They gave her some ice, and some ice cream, and called her parents. The Wendelyns collected their daughter and Alfred saw very little of her after this.
His parents did not know what to do with him once he got home. “I was chased by a something, I think it was a goblin,” he shouted as his parents tried to calm him down. “How can I calm down? I’m telling you, something was after me. I need to see Mr. Cyning.” His parents looked concerned.
“I’ll go get him,” his father said at last. It would not be quite right to say that in this moment George believed his son. Neither, however, would it be quite right to say that he did not. George was confused.
Jessica was no better off. Torn between her own early belief in Mr. Cyning’s stories and the pragmatism that began to set in as she settled down into
