Isla and the Squeaking Bun

Isla wanted to find Bun before the last light went out of the sky.

Bun was her toy rabbit, soft and grey, with a squeaker in his tummy. She had dropped him somewhere in the hedge maze, and she could not sleep without him.

"I'll be quick," she told herself, and she ran in with her torch.

The hedges were tall. Left turn, right turn, left again. Then the torch went flick, flick, and out.

Now the maze was dark. Isla stood very still. Her tummy felt like a tight knot.

"Bun?" she whispered. Nothing.

She tried again, with her eyes shut tight, walking fast with her hands out. Bump! A hedge poked her nose. That did not help at all.

So she stopped. She breathed in and out. Without the torch, her ears felt bigger. She heard crickets. She heard a leaf. Then she heard something small.

Squeak.

Isla held her breath.

Squeak. Squeak.

"Bun!" She tiptoed round the corner, toward the sound. Squeak, squeak, where are you? Every squeak showed her where to step.

Under the lowest hedge, something round and prickly was snuffling. It was a hedgehog. It was not after Bun at all. It was hunting for snails, and every time it shuffled, its foot pressed on Bun's tummy.

Squeak.

"Oh!" said Isla. "That's my rabbit."

The hedgehog looked up with a wet black nose. It did not care about rabbits. It shuffled on, and Bun squeaked again.

Isla waited for one more step. Then she slid Bun out by his ear, quick and gentle.

"Thank you for standing on him," she said, and she giggled.

The hedgehog huffed and trundled off after a snail.

Isla hugged Bun. The dark was all around her, soft as a coat. She squeezed him once, just to hear it. Squeak. Then she walked home with one hand on the hedge, and the crickets sang all the way.