Hannah Hamilton

“I think there’s something under it,” Josie said, poking it with a stick.

“What if it’s a badger? Mum said they bite, stop poking it!” the boy exclaimed, stepping backwards.

“There’s nothing under it, don’t be silly,” said the third child. She was two years older and knew badgers only come out at night. She moved over to the shiny, shimmery pile and bent down. “Whoas, there’s loads of it!”

“I think it’s a cloak,” she said, swirling the material around and draping it over her shoulders.

“Whoa!” the two boys exclaimed at the same time, “It’s turned you invisible!”