Ellie slammed her bedroom
door. Dad was a pig. Why couldn’t she have a pet? All
her classmates had one. Claire had a kitten, Meg had a rabbit
and even weedy Neil had a goldfish. They were perfect matches
for cheeky Claire, gentle Meg and – well, weedy –
Neil.
Bored, brainy Ellie craved company. Her family had just moved
into an ancient cottage, miles (well, two) from anywhere (a
one-shop village). With no brothers or sisters, her nearest
playmates were fussy chickens from the farm opposite. And
they would never do as pets. Since when did anyone take chickens
for a walk?
But Dad was refusing to budge. ‘Forget it.’
‘But whhhyyy?’
‘Hmm, now where shall I start? Dad stroked his chin
and widened his eyes, pretending to be puzzled. Ellie hated
that; he knew exactly where to start. And finish. ‘Well.
First, we’ve just moved in and the last thing we need
is a cage to clean. Second, the cost. Animals don’t
eat air, you know. Then getting someone to look after it if
we’re away. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re
not exactly swamped by neighbours. And last,’ he glared,
‘the poo.’
‘Dennis,’ said Mum quietly. That was the closest
she ever came to criticising him.
‘It’s true, Janice. Who’s going to clean
up the mess? I’m not having stinky piles around the
house.’
‘But…’ began Ellie.
‘Look, let’s see how you feel in a month. Maybe
we’ll think about a tortoise. At least they do it outside.’
‘Boring!’ With a murderous ‘Rrmmfff,’
Ellie stormed to her room.
Where now she raged. ‘Grrrah,’ she growled. ‘Pig.’
‘Nnrrr,’ she snarled. ‘Poo.’
‘Hhnnff,’ she sniffed. ‘Pig poo.’
What sort of pet would really give Dad a hard time? A wolf?
A crocodile? ‘Ha!’ she grunted. ‘A dinosaur.
That’s what I need. Teach him a lesson… show him
who’s boss… whassat?’ She glanced up. A
noise was coming from above the ceiling, half-gasp, half-croak,
as if someone or something were clearing its throat.
Ellie hadn’t been up to the attic yet. Her parents had
glanced in before buying the house and said it was just a
big empty space. Without pausing to worry if it was really
wise, she crept out of her room, tiptoed up the stairs and
pushed the door open.
Resting on its narrow belly lay a winged dinosaur. A model,
of course. Except that now it was sort of crawling, sort of
floating towards her and a nervous smile was creasing the
edge of its mouth. The creature was like a pelican gone wrong:
stretched greenish skin for wings; grey fur instead of feathers;
a long beak, and a bony crest above the head. Behind its wings
tapered two clawed feet. From beak to claw tips it measured
about a metre and its wingspan was at least two. Halfway along
each wing curled three more little claws.
Ellie gasped. ’Pte… Pteranodon?!?’ Dinosaurs
were her favourite subject at school.
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Pterence with a P.’
The monster’s voice was dry and raw, as if it hadn’t
drunk anything for millions of years. It wiggled its wing
claws in greeting. Gaping like a fish, she managed: ‘Ellie.
How… wha… where do you come from?’
‘The Cretaceous,’ he rasped. ‘That’s
where I hatched, and that’s where I died soon after.’
‘So you’re a… ‘
‘Yes, but pleased don’t be scared. I wouldn’t
hurt a fly. Or even a fish nowadays,’ he added wistfully.
Ellie, whose second favourite subject was ghosts, remembered
that ghosts don’t eat.
‘H… how did you get here?’
‘It’s a long story – 65 million years long
actually – but I won’t bore you. In a nutshell:
I lost my family and died of a broken heart. Since then it’s
been miserable. Whenever I’ve appeared down the ages
there’s been trouble. You’d think animals would’ve
evolved some manners in all this time, wouldn’t you?
No such luck. From mammoths to man it’s been nothing
but shrieking and running away.’ Pterence sniffed. ‘So
now I only appear where I know I’m welcome. And you
just said you need a dinosaur, didn’t you?’
There was a lot to take in but three things struck Ellie immediately.
First, like her, he was lonely. Second, if she yelped he’d
vanish forever. And third, what a perfect pet: interesting
to say the least; easy to hide from her parents (who would
definitely not make him welcome); no appetite, and –
above all – no mess.
‘Pterence,’ she said, very calmly for a girl addressing
a prehistoric ghost. ‘Do you know what a school is?’
His black eyes misted at the memory. ‘A slap-up lunch
for me and mum?’
‘I don’t mean fish,’ grinned Ellie. ‘It’s
where I go to learn about… dinosaurs and things. Would
you come with me tomorrow? There’s a whole class of
children who’d really welcome you.’
That night neither Ellie nor Pterence slept, Ellie out of
excitement and Pterence out of being a ghost. The next morning
he floated through the attic floor into her bedroom, then
vanished to slip through her parents’ room and the front
door. He flew invisibly to school, revealing nothing but a
claw tip at the bus window to reassure Ellie he was there.
During Assembly, Pterence perched invisibly on a beam, fanning
Ellie with his wings.
‘Draughty today,’ murmured Meg next to her.
Science was the first lesson.
‘Now where was I?’ bumbled Mr. Marl, Ellie’s
soft-hearted teacher. ‘Oh yes, dinosaurs. Who knows
why they died out?’
Neil shot up a weedy hand. ‘Meteorite?’
‘Yup, that’s my favourite theory.’ Mr Marl
turned to write it on the board.
‘Actually,’ croaked someone, ‘it’s
nonsense.’
‘Whoever said that, please put your hand up.’
‘Please Sir, I’ve only got claws.’ A grey
shape slowly appeared. Pterence was hovering above the blackboard.
The children gasped and jumped from their chairs. Mr. Marl
fell over backwards.
‘S… sorry to frighten you,’ mumbled Pterence,
looking nervously at Ellie.
‘It’s OK,’ she announced. ‘He’s
my pet. Pterence, the Pteranodon chick, meet Class 3a. Please
be kind to him, everyone, or he’ll disappear. He’s
a ghost, you see.’
As the class gawped and Mr Marl grinned stupidly, Pterence
took over the lesson.
‘There was no meteorite. It was those pesky mammals.
I saw it with my own eyes. I was playing in the sand one day
while my mum sat on her new clutch of eggs. Mum flew off to
catch some fish. I waited and waited but she never came back.
Then, before you could say “Dimetrodon,” a family
of shrews ran up, grabbed all eight eggs and scuttled off
to breakfast. I screeched for mum but she still didn’t
come. So there I was, all alone. And, well, I’m afraid
I died of heartbreak. Forget climate change. It was the egg
stealers who killed us.’
There was silence. Then Ellie started to clap. The class joined
in. Someone whooped. Mr. Marl, forgetting Pterence was a ghost,
came up to shake his wing claws and grabbed air.
‘Thank you,’ beamed the teacher. ‘The mammal
theory was always my favourite.’
The children clamoured for Pterence’s signature until
someone remembered that autographs were post-Cretaceous. They
settled for Ellie’s instead. By the end of the lesson
Pterence had never felt more loved and Ellie was coolest girl
in class. After the lesson she advised Pterence to disappear.
Miss Kneader wouldn’t appreciate his disruptive presence
in domestic science, she warned, and he’d be bored silly
by Mr Alge’s mathematical wanderings. But her classmates
giggled and nudged her all day, snatching a few whispered
jokes with Pterence when the teachers weren’t listening.
Mr Marl, blissfully happy to know the truth about dinosaur
extinctions, promised he wouldn’t let on to anyone.
Leading her invisible pet to the bus stop after school, Ellie
had a brilliant idea.
‘Hey Pterence, come and have a look in here.’
She pointed to the museum. Beyond the costumes and stuffed
animals they came to the Prehistoric Life room. And there,
at the far end, was a huge glass case containing a single
fossil. Pterence, who felt he could safely appear in the empty
room, peered inside. He gasped.
‘MUM! Is that you? That’s my mum, Ptheresa!’
How did she get in there?’ Before Ellie could marvel
at the coincidence – let alone explain about fossils
– Pterence was flapping his wings. He lowered his beak,
grinned at Ellie and flew at the glass.
Ellie stared. There on the shale lay two fossil Pteranodons,
mother and baby, cuddling close at last.
She stroked the glass. ‘Bye Pterence. Rest in peace.’
He’d been a great pet, if only for a day. But now he’d
come home. Plus she was the most popular girl in class. Plus
it would have been a bit stressful keeping him secret. Ellie
waved to the fossils and turned to go. She smiled.
Maybe it was time to consider a tortoise after all.
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| Shortlisted
Entries shortlisted to final judging stage in the Writing
for Children competition were from: David Allen, Poulton-le-Fylde,
Lancashire; Laura Armitage, Crosby, Merseyside; Alison Bater,
Barnstaple, Devon; Gillian Brazier, Gossops Green, Crawley,
West Sussex; Anna Carpenter, Woodford Green, Essex; Moira
Macdonald, Edinburgh; Eva Marshall, Grimsby; Norma Marx, Jerusalem,
Israel; Liz McPherson, Calverley, Yorkshire.
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