Theo and the Creaky Gate

Theo wanted to sleep at Gran's house all by himself, and he wanted it very much. Tonight was the night.

He had packed his blue pyjamas, his toothbrush and Mr Bun, his floppy rabbit. Gran's garden gate sang a little tune when he pushed it. Nobody thought that was strange. It always did.

Supper was soup and a biscuit. Then came teeth, and then came bed. Gran's spare bed was high and had a patchwork quilt. Gran kissed his forehead and clicked off the lamp.

"Goodnight, Theo," she said. "I'm just down the hall."

The room went dark. The window made strange shapes on the wall. The bed felt very big, and Theo felt very small.

"Gran?" he called. "I can't sleep."

"Try counting," Gran called back.

Theo counted sheep. He got to nine and lost his place. He counted again. Still wide awake.

Then he heard it. Creeeak-ta-ding, creeeak-ta-ding. It was the garden gate, singing in the wind.

Theo knew that tune. He had heard it every time he came to visit. It was the very same tune as always.

He sat up. Mr Bun sat up too.

"That's Gran's gate," Theo whispered. "It's saying hello."

He tried humming along. Creeeak-ta-ding. His hum came out wobbly, and it made him giggle. He hummed it again, a bit louder.

Down the hall, a voice said, "Is that you, Theo?"

"It's me and the gate," said Theo.

"Well, don't stop on my account," said Gran.

So Theo hummed, and the gate sang, and the wind pushed it back and forth. Each time, the tune got slower. The wobbly shapes on the wall were only branches, swaying like the gate.

Theo hugged Mr Bun close. The quilt was warm, and the bed did not feel so big now.

Creeeak-ta-ding, went the gate, far away and soft.

Creeeak-ta... said Theo, with his eyes closed.

The gate sang on, all by itself.