My eyes locked on the slowly turning door handle.
"I never heard anything, did you?"
A boy's voice.
"No," a second girl replied, "but let's go in and see for ourselves."
Still sitting by the window, I watched as a girl's head hesitantly peered around the door, and once satisfied with what she saw, she pushed it wide open and entered.
Two boys and a smaller girl followed behind her.
"Empty," said the eldest, a boy of about fourteen. "You and your imagination, Ann!"
"I tell you, Julian, I heard a voice," said the smallest girl, her voice fading as she saw me. She began to speak, but the younger boy rudely cut her off.
"Let's get on with exploring. Come on, you two."
"Less of the orders, please, Dick, "said Julian angrily, but the boy had already left.
"Come on, Ann," Julian said as he went out the door.
His sister ignored him and stared at the window.
I spoke softly.
"Can you see me?"
"Not properly."
"What do you see?"
"I can see a boy dressed in funny clothes and sitting inside a bubble of green light that is wobbling like jelly.
"A lime jelly—my favourite!"
Her composure took me by surprise.
"Aren't you afraid?"
"No. You don't frighten me; you have a nice face. What's your name?"
"Peregrine."
"Peregrine," she repeated the word thoughtfully, savouring the new sound.
"My name is Ann."
There was a long silence, and I didn't want to be the first to break it.
"Peregrine?"
"Yes?"
"Is this a dream?"
"I don't know."
"Are you a ghost?"
"I don't know. I could be a ghost in this world, I suppose."
"Where do you come from?"
The same place as you. Earth, but a different Earth, yet we share the same space. It's quite tricky to explain.
"That sounds funny. If we shared the same space, wouldn't it be very crowded? We would all keep bumping into each other."
"Yes, I suppose we would."
She laughed, and I laughed too.
"Why have I never seen you before if you share my space?"
"We are hidden from each other."
"Do I have a special hiding place?"
"Yes, in my world, you hide in a book."
"In a book! How odd. Am I famous in your world?"
"Yes, you are famous. People who read books, especially children, know all about you."
"Really? I'm famous? That's so exciting! Am I an actress or something? Better still, be an author? I love making up stories."
"You are in stories, yes, but you didn't write them yourself, and you are not an actor."
She frowned.
"What do you mean I'm in stories? Like the story of my life or something?"
"Yes, it's the story of your life and all the adventures you have."
I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to distress her, but I had to go on with this.
"In my world, you live in those stories; the books are your home."
She giggled, putting her hand over her mouth.
"Sorry, Peregrine, but you are funny. How can I live in a book? I'm a real person!"
In my world, you exist only within the story and nowhere else. People enjoy reading about your adventures, but to them, your life is merely fiction.
"But I'm a girl; look at me! I don't live in a book."
She felt a pinprick of fear.
"Please, Peregrine. I don't live in a book."
The unwelcome idea surged like a flood tide and overwhelmed the bulwark she had desperately tried to maintain.
I opened up a little, wanting to win her confidence.
"You may not realise it yet, but in talking to me, you are speaking for yourself for the very first time in your life. This conversation is entirely unscripted, and you can say anything you like. Think of it as a new beginning, but you must first accept the truth of your origins and the limitations of your current existence. Once you have done that, you can access a world where you will have an independent life. Your character will live on in the story, but the real Ann will be free."
She was not listening and shook uncontrollably, stubbornly resisting what she feared to be the truth.
"Go away at once, or I will tell Julian. How dare you say I am not real, Peregrine, or whatever you call yourself? I have a mother and a father who live. . . "
She hesitated, clearly not knowing the answer, but she hastily recovered herself.
"Anyway, I am here with my two brothers and my cousin on holiday, but now I wish that we had never come."
I despised all of this. I hated causing her pain. She was trembling with emotion but refused to surrender. Her youth and gentle nature made her courage and nobility of spirit even more admirable.
She suddenly had an inspiration.
"Look, I can prove it."
She took out a rectangular piece of blue cardboard from her cardigan pocket and waved it in the air.
"Know what this is, Peregrine?"
"It's my official junior library card. As far as I know," she said with heavy sarcasm, "they are issued to people who want to read books, not who live in them."
I made no response.
"You don't believe me, do you, jelly boy? You can just clear off back to where you came from."
She kept her eyes firmly closed. She couldn't manage the truth.
"I can't face this. I was happy not knowing."
I tried to reassure her.
"That emotion you felt in your previous life was not real happiness, not something that belongs to you personally, just a semblance of happiness created for you by the author."
She looked at me coldly, and her eyes hardened.
"It's real for me. That's all that counts."
Tears streamed down her face. Her head sank; all resistance had now vanished, and she had become a scared young girl once more, begging me for help.
"Please, Peregrine, tell me that all this is just a horrible dream. Tell me that I am a real girl with a mother and a father. My brothers and my cousin George are real. We are as real as other people. You can ask anybody who knows us."
"I am sorry, Ann, but all the people you know also live as characters in a book."
I leaned forward, wanting to comfort her, but the emotional distance between us was too great.
"My family exists. It's you that's not real—not us! Anyway, this is just a dream, and I'm going to wake up in a minute."
"I am so sorry."
"Go away, you horrible boy. Don't you dare say that my mother and father are not real and that someone has made us up in a stupid book. Just try telling my father to his face if you have the guts. He would send you packing with a flea in your ear. You, you, bluebottle!"
She pinched herself.
"Watch. I am going to wake up now, and you will disappear."
Her chest was heaving, and tears were running down her face.
"Oh, this is just too horrid for words. You're a character, Peregrine, not me! Do you know that? It's you, not me!
"You!"
She ran out, slamming the door behind her, and I walked straight through the closed door into the closed sub-dimension. I watched as Ann bumped straight into Julian.
She could no longer see me. Neither of them could.
"Steady on, Ann, why are you crying?" Julian said in concern. "Did you think we were going to leave you behind?"
"Sorry, Julian, it's nothing," Ann replied, rapidly recovering herself. "Did you wonder where I was?"
Julian laughed.
"No, silly. I only left you twenty seconds ago. You were daydreaming, as usual, and looking out of the window."
"But I have been gone for ages!"
"Come on, Ann, no more games," said Julian good-naturedly. Let's see what Dick has found in the next room. It can't be any more boring than this one."
"But…" Ann stopped herself and then continued in a rush of words.
Listen, Julian, I'm not angry, and I'm not making this up, but something strange is happening here. Time is acting differently, and that's just the beginning. I wasn't alone in the room when you all left. There was a boy. None of you could see him, but I could. He was at the bottom of a green pool by the window.
"Ann!"
It's true, I tell you! Just listen, Julian; this is important. The boy in the pool seemed to know everything about us. He said that we are not real people in the normal sense, but that we only live as characters in a book. I know it all sounds completely fantastic, and I didn't believe him at first either, but now I think he might be telling the truth.
Julian turned away, unable to look her in the eye.
Unknown to the children, their stolen time outside the book was running out, and they leaned back against the wall and slid gently down to the floor.
Ann had forgotten me already.
"Something very strange is happening here, Julian. We are like Hansel and Gretel, abandoned to die in the forest by those who should love us. It is getting dark, and we must find George and Dick before it is too late."
"Don't worry, Ann; they must have found somewhere interesting to explore. They can't be far away."
"No, I suppose not," said Ann, now too sleepy to argue.
"Julian?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Where exactly are we?"
"To be honest, Ann, I'm not entirely sure; this is a very strange situation. We suddenly appeared in this old house out of nowhere. You three seemed to take it calmly, so I didn't mention it. Then we all went exploring, as we always do when we visit a mysterious old house on our adventures. But this time, it feels as if we've stumbled into a new world.
I have to tell you something," he said abruptly.
"What?" Ann said, waking up a little.
"Well, what you said about us living in books might be true. Do you remember our first adventure on 'Treasure Island '?
"Of course, but that was years ago when I was small."
"But you don't look any different, Ann; none of us do. I remember so many adventures and numerous summer holidays, but we have hardly aged at all. We seemed to grow up a bit in the middle and then revert to being children again. And where do we go when we're not having adventures? That part of our lives is all fuzzy. Our adventures have what people who read books call a 'floating timeline,' and we live in a continuous present."
Julian now sounded a lot more confident.
We do live in books. Your friend was right. I am the eldest, so the realisation came to me first. I would be a man by now if we lived like everyone else, and I want to claim my independence and the right to live as an adult. Where we are now is somehow outside the book. I know that because I am making a huge effort to speak words that are my own and not hers. I call her 'the woman.' I used to think she was like a mother to us, but she would not let us grow up. She thinks only of herself and wants us to stay children forever. A mother shouldn't do that, Anne. She should let us go. What she is doing is beastly.
They both went silent for a while, and then Julian stirred.
"What have we just been talking about, Ann? I can't remember."
"It can't be that important then," said Ann, and she squeezed her brother's arm affectionately.
"Come on, you two!" shouted George from the end of the corridor.
You must see this. Dick has got himself inside an old suit of armour, and he looks quite fierce. The strange thing is that it fits him so well that it could be his own. He can walk in it quite easily and is striding around, brandishing his sword like a knight in a story. It's all a bit scary. Will you come with me to see him?
"Silly ass," said Julian. The armour might be valuable. We must get him out of it before anybody finds out."
The two children ran down the corridor but gradually slowed like turntables still spinning after the power is cut. This brief episode of living independently from the constraints of a plot and away from the author whose words powered their lives was ending. It had been only a reprieve from a scripted existence, and now they must return to their assigned characters and inauthentic lives without a voice, and without the opportunity to choose their destiny.
Among all the children, it was Ann who rose to the challenge; she could not halt the process of dissolution, but she could choose her attitude towards death, and she chose to face it bravely and with love.
The children were scarcely holding on to life, and every movement was now a great effort. Ann would not surrender, but it took all her strength to grasp Julian's hand and pull him to the top of the corridor.
George was quietly weeping.
Julian, too, fought to control his tears. There was little time left, and Ann tenderly kissed each of them goodbye.
She had become the mother she had always aspired to be.
But the world could not tolerate their existence and systematically erased them. Ann was the last to go, and her final thoughts were with her missing brother Dick.
She died in the hope that his end was as mercifully swift as her own.
Always regarded as the weakest and most dependent character in the story, her compassion for others and her courage in adversity reveal that Ann was the strongest and most admirable of them all.
They had stolen a little time outside the book and, for a brief moment, experienced what we might call real lives, whatever that means. Now they were gone, and it was also time for me to leave. The only route back was the way I came in, and I returned to the bedroom door, intending to escape through the wardrobe portal, but it was not to be.
I opened the door to find that the bedroom had vanished, and I was standing on the brink of a void, perfectly poised between my past and a limitless array of possible futures. The threshold of the door felt like the edge of a high diving board, and I propelled myself into a tangle of interdimensional currents.