The Secret of Gidon

By Elizabeth Revill

Two extraordinary children with very special qualities are chosen to save the secret world of Gidon and prevent the destruction of mankind by Sclarvete the Nightwitch.

After discovering that Sclarvete has regained her powers, the children find themselves in a perilous adventure fraught with danger as they journey to find the Hall of Whispers in order to renew the enchantment on the Fountain of Ice. Encountering things no human has ever seen, they battle their way through every obstacle, helped on their journey by a fairy goblin, a blue panther and the amazing Giggletwinklesteps.

Can good win the day against evil? And what does a fifty pence piece have to do with everything?

This beautifully illustrated book from Elizabeth Revill will appeal to all children aged between five and nine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oak Tree Books
• Release date: Feb 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781789829587

Book preview

The Secret of Gidon

1: Lazy Summer Days

It was one of those days when nothing much was happening on the streets. School had broken up for the summer and those children lucky enough to go away all seem to have chosen the same week for their holiday.

Trevor scraped his already scuffed and dusty shoe along the side of the crumbling brick walls belonging to a row of condemned terraced houses on the opposite side of the road to where he lived. He screwed up his face as his heel caught on a chip of stone, which screeched over the pavement. The sound made him shiver, in just the same way as if a fingernail had been scratched down a blackboard.

Trevor stopped at an old worn stone front door step. He was bored. Jacko, Beany and Muffin, his three friends from Factory Street had gone to the reservoir to look for frogs but Trevor’s mother had kept him at home to run errands and help her in the house. He’d cleared the back yard, swept the entry and been to the paper shop for her. Now she’d gone to work. He stared at the three single pound coins and two fifty pence pieces in his grimy hand. He put the two fifty p’s together and counted the sides of one coin. There were only seven. He thought there would be more. Then he noticed his chewed and broken fingernails and shamefacedly slipped the money into his back pocket with a sigh.

The four pounds were for fish cake and chips for his lunch, his mother had said, but he wasn’t feeling very hungry. Several thoughts passed through his head. He could buy some fags. Mr. Clinton at the corner shop sold them separately from under the counter and away from view. His mother said it was to help those people who were short of cash. Trevor secretly thought if they couldn’t afford it they shouldn’t smoke. But, then what did he know?

He’d always wanted to try and smoke a cigarette just once. He was curious to see what it was like but then again that wouldn’t be any fun without his friends and he’d need an older boy to buy them for him. That could bring its own problems. Nah! Smoking was a mugs’ game. It was a bad idea.

He pulled on his front door key, which was on a chain around his neck, swinging it from side to side, feeling each link move against his skin.

There wasn’t even anything worth watching on the television. He paused and kicked idly at the already splintered door, in front of him, daubed with chalk and paint. It creaked open and the damp, musty smell of the old house crept up his nose.

Trevor! Trevor! called a voice from the end of the street.

Trevor looked back. It was Suki. What did she want? She wasn’t bad, as girls went, but she was still a girl.

What? Trevor yelled back at her.

Do you fancy a game or something?

Nah!

It would be just his luck to start playing with her and for Jacko or Muffin to turn up and see him with her.

Suki came running up.

Oh, go on. I’m really fed up. My mum’s gone shopping and said I had to stay here.

Trevor sat on the step and picked at the warm tar bubbles oozing in the gutter with a piece of stone.

There’s nothing to do – besides I wouldn’t ask you to play if anyone else was here.

Oh no?

No! You don’t play fair at... She stopped and squealed loudly.

What’s the matter?

A rat, there’s a rat in there. Shut the door!

Trevor smiled wickedly, Tell you what, you go in and stay there for a count of ten and I’ll play with you.

No chance.

Ah well, that’s that! said Trevor with a wry smile.

It’s not the rat although they scare me but it’s number nineteen

Trevor turned. In his boredom he hadn’t taken any notice of the number of the house he’d sat outside. A Mrs. Bosworth had lived there. She was a strange old lady whom the children had labelled a witch. No one had ever been inside her home even after she’d left and moved to a new flat for old people. There were many rumours and stories about this property, so much so, that even before this side of the street had been condemned, no one had lived on either side of number nineteen for many years.

That’s funny, I thought the door was locked. Me and Jacko tried it once when, when she first left but we couldn’t find a way in what with all the windows boarded up and that; we could only look through the letter box and then we never saw anything. Trevor paused for a moment, Tell you what, you come in here with me and have a look around and I’ll play with you.

Suki shook her head, I don’t know. I don’t fancy the idea at all.

Aw, come on, urged Trevor. He was feeling a little excited at the thought of entering this spooky domain as well as a little frightened.

Well, just for a minute then. Only let’s go and get some matches or something first so we can see.

Nah! There’s enough light from the door to see what we want. Come on! Trevor stood up and brushed the gravel and dust from his jeans. Come on! he insisted.

Oh, I don’t know Trev, murmured Suki uncertainly.

I said, come on, hissed Trevor. He grabbed Suki by the hand and dragged her into number nineteen.

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Once inside it was like a different world. The musty smell of damp was all around them and the house was so quiet that Factory Street seemed a million miles away. The rays of sunlight gave the place a twilight look, hardly piercing the gloom of the old living room. The wallpaper was torn and peeling. In one corner was an over turned splintered wooden chair, which was long past repair. As Trevor moved forward, a rat with half a tail scuttled past, out towards the kitchen and the back yard.

On a wall near the stairs stood a large grandfather clock,