As he searched his pockets for money, he felt the whistle in his pocket. When he had sat at his table he took it out to look at. It was still dirty. He gently cleared away the dirt. There was something written on the whistle. The marks looked like writing. He looked more closely and recognized some old Chinese writing. There was very little of it. All it said was: BE STILL.
Be still? How extraordinary. What did it mean? He looked at the whistle again. It was the kind that one blew from the top, like a football whistle. He wondered if it would still work. The thought came into his mind that he wanted to blow it. He wanted to very much. The whistle had not been blown it. He wanted to very much. The whistle had not been blown since it had been placed in the pot all those years before. He would blow it. it was small-it would not make much noise. Nobody would notice. So he put it to his mouth and blew.
To his surprise, the whistle gave a thin, clear note that was louder than he expected.
Then there was silence. Complete silence
Harry noticed something else, too. Everything was still. Nothing was moving. No noise, no movement.
Nothing.
People who had been walking were frozen in mid-step, like statues. They were as still as photographs.
But they weren’t photographs. They were real people. Frozen people. Harry’s eyes opened wide with surprise. He couldn’t believe it. This should not be happening.
But it was. He looked around and saw frozen smiles, frozen steps, a fly frozen in flight, a ball thrown by a child which lay frozen above the hand which was waiting to catch it.