'Tickets from Peterborough,' demanded the plump conductor.
The 11:16 train chugged through fog. Chunky rocks glistened, beeches glowed like flame-torches. Tom wiped a peephole on the window. No house, road or human in sight. He felt a shudder as the engine braked with a final whoosh. Fingers of mist curled across the figure standing on Alnmouth platform. Was that a shield he held?
'Tom... your armour, hurry!'
Across the purple moor soared a blood-red, long-horned dragon. Snickersnack went Tom's sword, as scorching breath forced his eyes shut. When Tom opened them, the conductor held a ticket, 20:14 Return it read.
by Jack Gathorne-Hardy (8)
The Abbey School, Suffolk
Competition - Once Upon a Time
Copyright remains with the author.