Todmorden C of E J & I School

he night the angel in the churchyard came to life there had been a strange meteor shower.Charlotte was gazing out of her window at the shooting lights. The weatherman had predicted this, and most people still awake had their heads craned up towards the moors and the skies.

But Charlotte was looking down at the churchyard. It was such a small movement that most people would have missed it, but Charlotte had known that statue since the day she was born. It had moved, she was sure of it.

Without thinking, she put on her coat and shoes and ran down the stairs. Quietly she let herself out of the house, crossed the road and dashed into the churchyard. She’d never been afraid of the place; to her it had always seemed peaceful, somewhere to come, to think and contemplate. Then she heard the crying. The statue was crying, teardrops coursing down its dark granite face! One stone hand moved slowly across its eyes.
“The lights,” the statue said softly. “The flashing lights, they’re so bright.”
It took a while before Charlotte understood that the angel meant the headlights of the cars in the road.
“How long have you been here?”
Charlotte asked in astonishment. She couldn’t believe it – she was talking to a statue!
“Too long,” the angel replied wearily. “Much too long.”
“Why are you here?” Charlotte wondered anxiously.
“It was a curse.”
“Well, who were you before you were a statue?”
“I was a child, just like you,” the angel said blankly.
“So how did this happen?” Charlotte looked up at the statue.

“When I was little,” the angel began, “my mother and I both got smallpox. We lived in one of those weaver’s cottages down by the river. When I died my father brought here. My soul was about to ascend to heaven. Then one of the Pendle witches swooped down from the heights. She wanted my soul, and my father, he’d have done anything to help my mother survive, so they struck a bargain. But my father thought he was clever. He put in a clause saying she could only have my soul for a long as the candle in the churchyard burnt. After all, it should have only been for a few hours. But the witch took a silver knife from her belt and stole the flame with its blade – and my soul’s been trapped inside this statue ever since. Please,” the angel begged, “can you find the candle and set me free?”

Charlotte stared into the stone face, as familiar to her as her own, and knew she couldn’t refuse.
“But where would I find it?” she asked.
“Where the wind blows cold as ice,” the statue intoned.
Charlotte couldn’t think. Where would that be?
“Where the devil never blows his horn,” the angel continued.
Then she realised. She knew this riddle. The candle was in the church. Slowly she opened the big door, hearing it creak eerily. She began to hunt up and down, losing track of time as she searched. Finally, behind one of the pews, she trod on a stone and it rattled loose. Charlotte pulled it up, and hidden underneath was the tiny stub of a candle.

Breathlessly she ran home for some matches.
“What are you doing?” asked her father.
“Nothing,” she answered.
But he followed her, and as she unlatched the door, he said,
“You’re not going out again. Why do you need to go out, anyway?”
“I have to,” she pleaded. “Please, Dad, trust me. If you never do anything else again, please trust me.”
So, because he loved Charlotte and because she’d never lied to him, he trusted her. The story burst out of her, how the child’s spirit had been trapped in the statue and somehow the meteorshower had given it a tiny spark of hope.
Together they put the candle at the base of the statue. Charlotte cupped her hands around it as
her father lit the tiny wick. The flame barely flickered then slowly grew stronger, and for a moment Charlotte swore she heard a cackle on the breeze. A great gust of wind came suddenly, and almost extinguished the candle. But Charlotte shielded it and the flame burned, brighter, brighter…and then out. She looked at the stone angel.
“Do you think it was enough?” she asked her father hopefully.
The statue was silent and still, but a strange,lone shooting star crossed low in the sky.
“Yes,” her father told her with a gentle smile, “I think it was.”