Pied Piper - The Remix

Glynis Charlton

She was eight years old when they did the Pied Piper at school. As soon as they opened their books and turned to the page, everything around her disappeared. She forgot that the other children hadn't saved her a place at dinner-time. She didn't hear them whispering about her on the row behind or feel the balls of paper hit her neck. There was no blackboard, no teacher, no noise. She was there, in the funny, narrow, street, watching, unseen.

She was standing in the doorway of a little, old shop. It had tiny square windows, full of blue glass bottles with labels she couldn't read. The air smelled of pear drops and she could hear a strange tune. She hadn't looked in the other shops but she knew that they sold different-shaped bread and ribbons and dark buttons and mended shoes. She hadn't stepped on the street, but she knew it felt knobbly and that at the far end there was a big building with lots of gold. She knew that there were mountains all around, reaching up in to the sky. She didn't know how she knew any of this.

When she looked out along the street, she could see lots of children the same size as her, laughing and chattering. They were all following a man who didn't look like anybody she'd ever seen before. He was tall and very thin, with a long stripy red and yellow jacket that had points all round the bottom. Instead of trousers, he was wearing dark green tights that made his knees look very knobbly. His muddy boots were the same colour as her school satchel and were long and thin like the rest of him. His hat was red and yellow, the same as his jacket, with a flat, floppy point and a bell on the end. As he passed, he turned his head towards the doorway where she stood and smiled a funny little smile at her. He didn't beckon. She stood very still, like he was taking her photograph. He had a pointed nose with a small bump in the middle and long white fingers that she knew were cold. He was making the strange tune from something that looked like a school recorder. His mouth was thin and hard. She couldn't make herself smile back.

Behind him, the children came laughing and dancing to his tune. It was like a whole school had come out for playtime, but there were no teachers. They seemed to use the same funny words as the labels on the glass bottles, but she could tell from the way they laughed that they were talking about happy things. The boys and girls were just like her but different all at the same time. None of them wore very exciting clothes. Everything was brown and grey and looked very itchy. The girls wore long dresses with big pockets and held them in tight bunches so that they wouldn't trail in the mud. Their small brown boots had lots of laces and looked heavy and stiff, like they would give you blisters. The boys wore the same kind of boots, with trousers that stopped just past their knees, and tight little jackets with no collars. Some of them wore soft brown caps. Others held them in their hands. The girls all had plaits that looked like they were made of straw and flicked about. All the noise made her want to cover her ears with her hands, even though that might seem rude. But they didn't seem to notice her. When one of the boys looked into the doorway, he just looked away again. She put her fingers on her cheek. It felt like she was still there, but she'd never been invisible before so she didn't know if it made you feel different.

There were still some children giggling past her, following the bony man's tune, even though they couldn't see him. Her toes wriggled inside her school shoes and made her want to join in and make friends. When she tried, her feet wouldn't work. The children in the lead were already gone, round the corner, past the part of the village where the shops ran out and then everything stopped, even the cottages. She knew that past this there was a little river that always sparkled in the sunshine and had lots of trees bending into the water. The road ran over it in a bump and if you threw a stone into the river it landed with a tiny splash and made rings that shook.

When there were no more children and the noise had almost gone, she stepped out of the doorway. The sun was shining, but she couldn't feel it. She could see the road going up the side of the biggest mountain. There were no trees or sheep, no grass. Just the road. And halfway up, a small door. Even though it looked tiny from where she was standing, she knew it was made of rough wood and was opened by turning a big metal ring. Her toes stopped wriggling. Everything went still and quiet. All she could hear, very far away, was the sound of the bony man's whistle. She knew the mayor and his friends had been very mean to trick him. But she knew it wasn't right for him to be tricking all the boys and girls. It wasn't right to take them through that wooden door. She should have told him when he smiled at her. Now it was too late. She felt like she'd been running very fast, but she hadn't left the doorway. If she listened very hard, she could still just hear the children, far off. She watched them all going up the mountain-side like a long brown snake and disappearing through the door.

The street felt empty now and the sweet smell had gone. She was shivering and felt like she'd eaten too much. Then she saw one last boy coming towards her. He was all alone and leaning on two wooden sticks to help him walk. They were wobbling on the bumpy ground. As he slowly got closer she could hear him crying. She looked back up at the mountain. Nearly all the children had gone through the door now and it was very cold and quiet. She called out to the boy but he just stumbled past her. Tears were making his cheeks wet and his nose was running. She didn't understand why he couldn't hear her. She touched her face again, her arms, her legs. She stamped her feet up and down. She was there but he didn't know. He didn't know that he was the only lucky one. He mustn't be sad that all his friends had gone away. He shouldn't cry because he was left out. He didn't know what was going to happen to the children in the mountain. She did. She always had.

The rest of the class were closing their books. She was trembling with cold but the teacher had rolled up his sleeves. She watched him wiping the blackboard as the noise of the children grew louder. They zipped pencil cases, banged desk lids, scraped chairs across the floor as they hurried off. Some of them were even laughing. Nobody was waiting for her. She looked at the classroom door. Didn't they know?