Anne

Joanie lived in a village in the middle of nowhere. It was the sort of village where everyone knew everyone and everyone's business. When she was 11 she was given a watch and a chunky secondhand Nokia with a pay-as-you-go sim. This was the beginning of Joanie's independence. Since Joanie was going to secondary school in the next village over, her mum felt it was important to have a way to contact home if there were any school bus problems and Joanie would need a lift. It was also safer, Joanie's mum said if she wanted to meet a friend after school.

This was only partially the reason for the phone and watch. Because, now, Joanie could also ride her bike to the nearby abandoned greyhound racing track without her older brothers accompaniment. Joanie calls it abandoned to this day, although she is 26, only because she only visited the open-air track when it was abandoned seasonally. But suggesting that the area was abandoned made exploring much more exciting.

There was something more exciting about somewhere that was open sometimes (but never while you were there). There appeared to be life pulsing through it. It had a caretaker, presumably, because things would be fixed up and moved between visits and local kids spoke about how he allowed them to use the bathrooms on site sometimes. But Joanie had never met him and he had never kicked anyone out of the building - as long as they weren't damaging anything.

An older boy, who was in Joanie's brothers class, said that the caretaker didn't mind them visiting. At least he could check they were all safe then, which, Joanie thought, was nice of him. Everyone called the caretaker, Joe. Although no one recalled asking his name, never-the-less he had become accustomed to responding to 'Joe'.

Joanie's bike clattered slightly underneath her seat, suspension shot from cycling these farm roads regularly. She stands up on the pedals to cycle faster. As she approached the large grey building she slowed. Her backpack bounced against her lower back, the weight of her water bottle pressing against her spine. Allowing the bag to slide off of one shoulder and propping her bike against the wall, she pulled out a disposable camera: the sort she would be given for a school trip. For Joanie's 12th birthday she asked for a digital camera, but until then, her pocket money would continue to go towards buying these and developing the film.

Despite Joanie's enthusiasm for photography, she could never get a clear photo at the track. Something would always be out of focus - as if she had a choice using these stupid cameras.

Around the back of the track, there was a wasteland of plants and fallen trees. No one could remember how it actually came to be, although it appears that this overgrown patch of land had always been there. Joanie liked taking photos in this area, especially of the bugs and wildlife that lived in it. The track was fun and everything, but when your camera never focuses it seemed silly to keep trying.

Joanie found a small mouse that was very cocky for such a small animal, who appeared to be posing for her.

'I'm gonna call you... Anne.' Joanie told the mouse. It wiggled its nose at her and she took that as an acceptance of its new title. 'It's nice to meet you, Anne, I'm Joanie,' she mumbled, winding up the camera ready for the next photograph.

A tree branch cracked further into the wasteland. Anne the mouse scarpered under a bunch of unhappy leaves, her tail just poking out far enough that Joanie could see she had not completely left.

'I heard that too,' Joanie whispered. She stepped into the wasteland.

Once Joanie had reached a small clearing, she noticed she had been walking for nearly 30 minutes, despite feeling as though she had been walking and snapping photos for only 10. Of course, it did occur to Joanie that this was strange but she thought, time flies when you're having fun and went on with her adventure. She sat herself down on a tree stump, took a short drink of water and checked her phone. No signal.

The cracking started against just in front of her. She jumped, water splashing down the front of her blue jacket painting it darker. She brushed off excess water with her sleeve and replaced the lid. Sliding the bottle back into her backpack, she slowly stood staring directly into the gap in the trees where the sound came from.

She was looking right at me. I froze, waiting for Joanie to see me through the thin veil of leaves. I don't think that she saw me, not at first anyway. I should have been more careful. I should know better than to allow the cracking of branches beneath my feet.

'Hello?' Joanie called, even though she was looking right into my face, 'Is someone there?'

I must admit, I was shocked at her naivety. I did think she would know better than to alert whoever could have been there to her presence. She called out none the less and I stood, like a deer in headlights waiting for her to notice me.

'I'm not scared of you,' Joanie spoke. But her camera shook in her hand and her eyes looked wet and wide.

My body ran cold.

'Oh gosh!' I said, pushing through the trees, 'I didn't mean to scare you.'

'Who are you?' Joanie asked.

'Anne,' I replied, rubbing my hands against the coarse fabric of my dress, wiping away the clammy anxiety on my hands.

'I just named a mouse Anne,' Joanie blurted.

'I know.' Another branch cracked under me as I stepped towards her.

'How do you know? Have you been following me?'

'Sort of.'

'Well...' she paused, 'don't. Okay? It's weird.'

Joanie wields her water bottle as I step out into the clearing, revealing my bare feet and tattered clothes. I knew I looked a state but I didn't care.

'I know. But I need you to turn around and walk back to your bike, get on it and never come back to the clearing,' I told her. I was firm and aware of terrifying the girl.

'What? Why?'

Her hand started to visibly shake.

'No I didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to keep you safe.' I reached out a hand to comfort. She pulled away from it.

'Who are you?'

'Look just go back to your bike and go home. Don't come back.'

'Why?'

'Please just trust me.'

We both heard a deep male voice yelling calling Joanie's name.

'Who is that?' Joanie whispered. She reached out for my hand and was barely shocked when it moved through mine.

'Go home,' I urged her.

Joanie started to run, smooth and fast as if all the branches, stones and leaves threw themselves out of the way for her to pass. Upon reaching the wasteland she only ran faster until reaching her bike, throwing her camera into her jacket pocket and cycled as fast as she could.

Once home, she yelled for her mum, abandoning her bike in the driveway. Her mum appears from the kitchen, tea towel in hand, staring at Joanie's tearstained face.

'There was...' she breathed heavily, the air rushing in and out of her lungs so quickly it was barely worth breathing.

'Slow down, what happened?' her mum asked.

'A girl and then a man called my name.'

'What?'

Joanie started to cry. She spun around and saw me through the open front door, just beyond the bike. I smiled at her.

'There!' Joanie pointed vaguely in my direction. Her mum looked right at me.

'Okay, I'm going to need you to tell me from the beginning. Let me put the kettle on and get you something to drink.'

Joanie sat and told her mum the whole story. But no one believed her. They said she had an active imagination and that she was being dramatic. It was probably just the caretaker she had heard. He was a nice man Joanie's mum said. He probably just came to check on her.

He was a nice man. I thought so too.