18 Peter Pan - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Peter Pan, written by J.M. Barrie, is a classic children's novel first published in the early 20th century. The story revolves around the beloved character Peter Pan and follows his adventures in the fantastical Neverland, along with a young girl named Wendy Darling and her brothers, John and Michael.

In this episode, Hook gets out the poison. This story is adapted for radio by Stephanie Poppins at Neworld Books.

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter 13 The more quickly this horror is disposed of the better.

The first to emerge from the tree was Curly.

He rose out of it into the arms of Kecko,

Who flung him to Smee,

Who flung him to Starkey,

Who flung him to Bill Dukes,

Who flung him to Noodler,

And so he was tossed from one to another until he fell plucked from their trees in this ruthless manner,

And several of them were in the air at the same time.

A different treatment was accorded to Wendy.

She came last.

With ironical politeness,

Hook raised his hat to her and,

Offering her his arm,

Escorted her to the spot where the others were being gagged.

He did it with such an air that she was too fascinated to cry out.

She was only a little girl.

Perhaps it is telling tales to say that Hook entranced her.

Had she haughtily unhanded him,

She would have been hurled through the air like the others,

And then Hook would probably not have been present at the tying of the children,

And had he not been present at the tying,

He would not have discovered Slighty's secret.

Without that secret,

He couldn't presently have made his foul attempt on Peter's life.

They were tied up to prevent them flying away,

Doubled up with their knees close to their ears,

And for the trussing of them the black pirate cut a rope into nine equal pieces.

All went well until Slightly's turn came.

He was to be found like those irritating parcels that use up all the string in going round and leaving no tags with which to tie a knot.

The pirates kicked him in their rage,

And strange to say it was Hook who told them to stop.

His lip was curled with malice,

But while his dogs were merely sweating every time they tried to pack the unhappy lad tight in one part,

Slightly bulged out in another.

Hook's mastermind had gone far beneath Slighty's surface,

Probing not for efforts but for causes,

Slighty,

White to the gills,

Knew Hook had surprised his secret,

Which was this.

No boy so blown out could use a tree wherein an average man would need a stick.

Poor Slighty,

Almost wretched of all the children now,

Was in a panic about Peter,

Bitterly regretting what he'd done.

Madly addicted to the drinking of water when he was hot,

He'd swelled in consequence to his present girth,

And instead of reducing himself to fit the tree he had,

He whittled the tree to make it fit him.

Sufficient of this,

Hook guessed to persuade him that Peter at last lay at his mercy,

But no word of the dark design that now formed in the subterranean caverns of his mind crossed his lips.

He merely signed the captives were to be conveyed to the ship and he would be alone.

But how to convey them?

Hunched up in their ropes they might indeed be rolled down the hill like barrels,

But again Hook's genius amounted difficulties.

He indicated that the little house must be used as a conveyance.

The children were flung into it.

Four stout pirates raised it on their shoulders,

The others fell in behind,

And singing the hateful pirate chorus the strange procession set off through the wood.

I don't know whether any of the children were crying,

But if so,

The singing drowned them out.

As the little house disappeared in the forest,

A brave though tiny jet of smoke issued from its chimney.

Hook saw it,

And it did Peter a bad service.

It dried up any trickle of pity for him that might have remained in the pirate's breast.

Captain Hook was now alone.

He remained brooding for long,

His hat of ill omen on the sword.

So that a gentle breeze which had arisen might play refreshingly through his hair.

Dark as his thoughts were,

His blue eyes were as soft as the periwinkle.

He listened intently for any sound from the netherworld,

But all was silent below.

Was Peter Pan asleep,

Or did he stand waiting at the foot of Slightly's tree with a dagger in his hand?

There was no way of knowing save by going down.

Hook let his cloak slip softly to the ground,

Then,

Biting his lips,

He stepped into the tree.

He was a brave man,

But for a moment he had to stop there and wipe his brow.

Then silently he let himself go into the unknown.

He arrived unmolested at the foot of the shaft.

At his eyes became accustomed to the dim light.

He saw Peter on the bed,

Fast asleep.

Unaware of the tragedy being enacted above,

Peter had continued for a little time after the children left to play gaily on his pipes.

Then he decided not to take his medicine so as to grieve Wendy and lay down on the bed to vex her still more.

Sometimes,

Though not often,

He had dreams,

And they were more painful than the dreams of other boys.

They had to do,

Though,

I think,

With the riddle of his existence.

At such times it had been Wendy's custom to take him out of bed and sit with him on her lap.

But on this occasion he'd fallen at once into a sleep.

Thus defenceless,

Hook found him.

Now,

Hook always carried about his person a dreadful drug lest he should be taken alive.

This he had boiled down into a yellow liquid,

Quite unknown to science,

Which was probably the most virulent poison in existence.

Five drops of this he now added to Peter's cup.

His hand shook,

But it was in exultation rather than in shame.

Then one long gloating look he cast upon his victim,

And turning away he wormed his way up with difficulty to the top of the tree.

Peter,

Meanwhile,

Slept on.

The light gutted and went out,

Leaving the tenement in darkness,

But still he slept.

It must have been not less than ten o'clock by the crocodile when he suddenly sat up in his bed,

Wakened by he knew not what.

Who is that?

He said,

Feeling for his dagger.

Who are you?

He was thrilled and loved being thrilled.

In two strides he reached the door.

I won't open unless you speak,

He cried.

Then at last the visitor spoke in a lovely bell-like voice.

Let me in,

Peter.

It was Tink.

She flew in excitedly,

Her face flushed and her dress stained with mud.

What is it?

You can never guess,

She cried,

And she told him of the capture of Wendy and the boys.

I'll rescue her,

He cried,

Grabbing his weapons,

And as he leapt he thought of something he could do to please her.

He could take his medicine.

His hand closed on the fatal draught.

Anything for Wendy.

But Tinkerbell knew better than that.

No,

She shrieked.

It's poisoned.

Who could have poisoned it?

Said Peter.

Hook.

Don't be silly.

How could Hook have got down here?

Alas,

Tinkerbell could not explain this,

For even she did not know the dark secret of Slightly's tree.

Nevertheless,

Hook's words had left no room for doubt.

The cup was poisoned.

Peter raised the cup.

There was no time for words now.

This was time for deeds,

And with one of her lightning moments Tink got between his lips and the draught and drained it to the dregs.

Why,

Tink,

How dare you drink my medicine?

But Tink did not answer.

Already she was reeling in the air.

What's the matter with you?

Cried Peter suddenly.

I was poisoned,

Peter.

Now I'm going to be dead.

Did you drink it to save me?

Yes.

But why?

Tinkerbell's wings would scarcely carry her now,

But in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his chin a loving bite.

Then,

Tottering to her chamber,

She lay down on the bed.

Every moment her light was growing fainter.

Peter knew if it went out,

She would be no more.

Tink's voice was now so low,

At first he could not make out what she said,

And she liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.

She was saying she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.

Peter flung out his arms.

There were no children there,

And it was night.

But he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland,

And who were there,

Therefore,

Nearer to him than you might think.

Do you believe?

He cried.

Then Tink sat up in bed to listen to her fate.

She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative,

But again she wasn't sure.

What do you think,

Peter?

She asked.

If you believe,

Peter shouted,

Clap your hands.

Don't let Tinkerbell die.

Many children clapped.

Some didn't.

A few little beasts hissed.

Then the clapping stopped suddenly,

As if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was going on.

But already Tink was saved.

First her voice grew strong.

Then the next moment she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever.

And now to rescue Wendy,

She said.

The moon was rising in a cloudy heaven when Peter rose up from the tree,

All fit with weapons and wearing little else to set out on his perilous quest.

He had hoped to fly,

Keeping not far from the ground,

So nothing unwanted should escape his eyes.

But in that fitful light to have flown low would have meant trailing his shadow through the trees,

Thus disturbing the birds and acquainting a watchful foe that was already astir.

There was no other course but to press forward in red-skinned fashion.

But in what direction?

A slight fall of snow had obliterated all footmarks and a deathly silence pervaded the island.

He had taught the children something of the forest lore he'd himself learned from Tiger,

Lily and Tinkerbell.

Slightly,

If he had an opportunity,

Would blaze the trees,

For instance.

Curly would drop seeds and Wendy would leave her handkerchief.

But morning was needed to search for such guidance and Peter could not wait.

The upper world had called him,

But would give no help.

The crocodile passed,

But not another living thing,

Not a sound,

Not a movement.

And yet Peter knew well that sudden death might be at the next tree or stalking from behind.

He swore a terrible oath.

Hook or me this time.

Then he crawled forward like a snake and darted across the space on which the moonlight played,

One finger on his lip,

His dagger at the ready.

It was time.

And he was frightfully happy.