The Magic Photo

Clearing out the attic was always fun for the children, Sarah and Charles Heston, aged nine and ten; for they would always find something to play with. Last year they found an old go – kart, which they took out and raced around in and the year before that, they found a mouthorgan, which was used to play some old and lively melodies.

“Maybe we will find that old go – kart,” said the blonde and short haired, Sarah, with brown eyes, as she smiled. As she did this, dimples appeared on both of her cheeks.

“It was thrown away, stupid,” said the brown haired Charles, also called fondly, “Charlie” by the elders in the family.

The Attic door was open and the two children walked in and switched on the light and walked up the small, wooden, staircase. Made of wood, the pillars were all brown in colour and smelled of stale air as there was no window and no one had opened the place for a few months. As the two children walked and looked around, the floor boards creaked.

“Becareful up there,” ordered their young mother, “Make sure that you put back everything where it belongs when you have finished.”

“Yes Mum,” the children replied in unison, as they looked around.

Suddenly a large brown and grey coloured, rectangular object caught their attention.

“Let’s see what’s in this,” said Charles, as he grabbed his sister’s hand and slowly walked towards the object.

He then bent to lift it but it was too heavy. Sitting down on the floor, he looked at it and began to try and open it. As he did this, the grey dust flew all over and soon the lid opened and a bright light shone from inside as the faces of the children lit up brightly, making them cover up their eyes with hands. Slowly, they removed their hands from their eyes as the light dimmed. There, right in front of them was photograph of some white, electric poles, which seemed to be going on forever, as well as sandy path going in between them, with trees on both sides as well.

“Never seen this photo before,” said Charles rather inquisitively, as he showed it to his sister, “Have you?”

She nodded that she hadn’t and handed back. Suddenly something caught their attention. There was a bright shining light in the centre of the photo. It was not there a few seconds ago and it was now getting a bigger and bigger. A sound of thunder, followed by flashes of lightening and shook the house as a gush of air came from the photo and began to swirl around the attic, causing dust to go up in the air. Frightened as to what was happening around them, Sarah and Charles got up and accidentally stepped onto the photograph.

“Where are we?” asked Sarah, as she clung onto her brother and looked around.



“We are in the Photograph,” whispered Charles, as he looked around and recognised the landscape.

The electric poles, the trees and the sandy path, were exactly as shown in the photo.

“Who are you?” asked a voice from behind, as the sound of horses’ grew louder and louder and then stopped.

Scared stiff and not knowing where they were, the boy pushed his sister behind him and quickly turned around. There in front of him sat a tall and big, brown, skinned man with black hair and several feathers sticking out of his head.

“How,” said the Red Indian, as pushed out his left palm as a sign of greetings. “I am Crazy Horse and these are my men.”

He then turned around in his saddle and pointed to the hundreds of other Red Indians behind him.

“These are my men,” he said.

“I am Charles Heston,” said the boy, as he felt scared and started to stammer, “and this is my sister Sarah.”

One of the Indians, with paint on his face, a sign that he was a warrior, rode upto them and picked them.

“Put us down,” the children yelled, as they struggled to break free.

All Indians, except Crazy Horse, laughed at them in an evil manner.

“Mad dog,” yelled Crazy Horse, angrily as he rode up, “Put children down now.”

With that, he took out a rifle from the saddle, loaded it and aimed at his fellow tribesman. The children stopped struggling and the Indian, slowly put them down.

“Crazy Horse no like kidnapping children,” said the Chief, as he turned around in his saddle and looked into the distance, as a sound of bugle could be heard. It was the US cavalry coming after them.

Some of the Indians prepared to fight but not Crazy Horse.

“Not now,” he ordered his men, “No fight now. We meet them at Little Big Horn.”

With that, the Indian ordered his men to move on, leaving the children where they had been picked up. As they rode away, there was sound of thunder followed by lightening, shaking the ground. Sarah, feeling scared, held on tightly to her brother.

“Hold on tight,” shouted Charles, as he thought he could feel his sister slipping away, as strong, heavy winds, pushed them into the air.

“Bang!” came the sound, as the air around the children stopped swirling and the dust settled.

“If you have dropped something up there, I’ll come up and give you both a walloping,” yelled the mother angrily, as she heard the sound.

Charles and Sarah looked around and saw that they were back in the attic and were sitting on the photo. They had leaped back.

“Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” said Charles, as he helped his sister to get up from the floor and led her down stairs and out of the attic. As he closed the door, he looked back.