The Gateway in the Garden
A tale about the power of stories against darkness, and the gateway to adventure
Behold, the gateway of the garden, the entrance to great treasure and wonder galore!
Gee whiz, I could not believe my luck, the rumours I had heard in the playground were true. And I thought then that, I, Freddie Buckley, age 8 and a half, would claim all the treasure!
I pushed the rickety gates open and went in. I hoped I would see such delights.
But what I saw made me groan. It was not what I expected. Because who would expect just a plain old boring garden beyond the gates of the garden?
This is not what the famous five would find! Or Biggles! Not even Noddy, Mole and Ratty, not even that Just Willam.
Flowers and veg looked pretty and tasty though.
Hold up, I thought, what’s this old fellow doing here, in my secret garden? If he’s here, it can’t be so secret!
“Oh hello, young lad,” said the old man. He was tall and skinny, real skinny, with a grey stubbly beard. Not to mention a smile that carried on into his wrinkles. “What are you doing here?”
“Treasure hunting,” I told him. “Got any for me?”
“Well,” the old man smiled, leaning on his rake, “Just look around you at the lord’s great harvest.”
“That’s not really treasure.”
“Well, I tell you what. If you help me with it, I will eventually tell you where the real treasure is.”
I grinned. The hunt was on!
So I’d return once a week on a Saturday. The old man would let me in and I’d garden with him.
And you know what was most surprising? I even found it kind of fun.
“You seem to be enjoying it,” the old man said on one of these days, smile beaming almost as much as the sun.
“Yes, it’s a spiffing good time.”
The old man frowned, then gave his usual warm smile, “You don’t talk like other kids your age, do you?”
“I talk like the kids in the books my dad gave me. But not all the time. I don’t say much to much people.” I didn’t add it was one of the many reasons the other kids at school thought I was weird. But what do they know? They were just jealous of my many adventures.
“What books would they be?” The old man smiled.
“Oh, just ones my dad gave me. And I think his dad gave him.” I said quietly.
The old man nodded, “It’s good to keep your family close to your heart. Even if it’s not as strong as it used to be,” he reached into his shirt and brought out a heart-shaped locket. He opened it and I saw a picture of what I thought was him as a young man, with a woman and a baby.
“They all look happy,” I said.
He smiled. A smile like the ones I was used to seeing my mother make. A smile that’s actually a wince.
“Once upon a time, maybe. Once upon a time.” He placed his locket back under his shirt.
We continued gardening, cutting off leaves, and potting plants. “A gardener is like a shepherd to sheep, the sheep being his harvest. And you, my friend, are a good one.”
I nodded and grinned.
“You seem to like gardening,” he said.
I looked away. “Yeah. I like to garden for my dad.”
“Well, I tell you what. Here. Take this plant. Maybe your dad will like it.”
“Yeah.” I smiled, and softly echoed, “Maybe my dad will like it.”
I placed the potplant down on the dirt and watered it. “Hope you like it, Dad.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I think he will.”
I stood up and hugged my mum by the grave.
“Do you think he’s looking down at us from heaven?”
My mum sighed for some reason, then she held my hand and squeezed it hard. It even kind of hurt. “Maybe,” she said.
We walked through the graveyard, “Where did you say you got that plant again?”
“My friend gave it to me.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re making friends again at school.”
As soon as I noticed the gate was wide open, I knew something was wrong.
“Where is it?” This woman said who was pacing around the garden, “There must be something!”
“Who are you?”
The woman looked at me. I recognised her, but I didn’t know how.
“I’m the new owner of this garden. Now get out.”
“I don’t understand. What happened to the man?”
“The man that owned it, little boy, has died.”
I felt my story stop.
“What? How do you know?”
“I know because I happen to be his daughter. The daughter of the terrible father that man happened to be. Now leave, you little brat, before I call the police!’
I stood in my bedroom. I looked at all my favourite books.
Full of jolly old adventure, and something called ‘larks’ and ‘lashings of ginger beer.’
Lies. That’s all they were filled with. There was no adventure. Just life, then death and the meaningless in-between. I picked one up. I flicked through the pages. I intended to tear them apart. I stopped myself. I then slammed the book against the wall. Then another and another.
“What on earth is going on here?”
My mum was standing at the door.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to my mother, face red and eyes wet.
“There’s no adventure! No fun! It all just ends!”
‘Oh love,’ she said, and she held me as I wept.
I sat on the sofa in the living room, wrapped in a blanket.
My mum had put out a slice of cake, but I didn’t eat it. My stomach wasn’t the emptiest thing about me that day.
I told my mum that I’d been finding school less of an adventure. That my adventures were behind me. Especially now a friend had gone.
“Someone from school?”
I told her about the Gardner.
She sat, listening for a while. She then said, “You know, if I knew you were that interested in gardening, I would have given you a wheelbarrow and sacked my Gardner.”
I stared at her blankly. She rubbed my arm, “I’m sorry your friend has died.”
“Thank you, mum.”
My mum nodded, her eyes heavy, she then said, “I think that woman you said was his daughter was probably just grieving.”
“She hated him.” I snapped.
‘People can grieve in funny ways sometimes.”
I said nothing.
“Also, look… I don’t think you should let your adventures die. From what you told me of him, it sounds like it’s not what he would have wanted. And your father wanted you filled with stories for a reason. Freddie, sweetheart, I don’t think your adventures have ended.”
I returned to the garden.
But this time was different. I was different. I had learnt something. There was a real secret.
I then remembered something that I hadn’t told you before, my awesome reader. You see, at that point, I knew what my friend’s daughter was looking for. And what to use the key which I got delivered through the post just a few days before. One which just had with it a note that read, ‘As promised.’
I followed the clues. And I found the keyhole, hidden behind some creeping ivy on a wall.
That was it, the real thing I had heard about. The gateway in the garden. And behind it, the greatest treasures in the world.
But maybe I just made all that bit up. If I did, does it matter? You’ve believed everything so far, right?
Just let this story be a gateway to adventure, as great as what I may have found in the gateway to the garden.
After all, just about every story is a gateway to treasure.
Thanks to Christine Graves, this story is based on one of her prompts.
You can access her prompts in the above link.
