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Warning: This story has descriptions of demons and giant spiders. Viewer description is advised. THROUGH THE FISSURE CHAPTER ONE: WILBUR One cold, snowy night, a small baby in a potato sack was left on the steps of an orphanage. There was no name tag, no nothing. Nothing to identify who this little person was. His parents, whoever they were, were too poor to properly care for their infant son, and decided to leave him to be taken into an orphanage. This was relatively common in 19th century London, as so many people were suffering and starving. Though, sadly, no place could provide a worse beginning to life than this particular orphanage. One of the orphanage children heard the baby crying while they were dusting the doorway, and brought the child inside. “Hey, Millicent, look. We’ve got another one.” Millicent, the oldest and sort of the leader, sighed. “Oh dear. Well, does it have a name tag?” “No.” “Is it a boy or a girl?” “Uhhhh…” Droned the child, having a quick peek, “It’s a boy.” There was a pause as the 8 orphanage children packed into the one bedroom and thought up a name. “H-h-how a-about -A-A-A-Archibald?” Suggested a stuttering little boy, ...

WARNING: The following chapters have descriptions of giant spiders, evil robots, and evil robots being destroyed. Viewer description is advised. CHAPTER ELEVEN: DARKNESS FALLS “Let me out. Let me ouuut!” Wailed Wilbur, slightly muffled inside the tree. The tree had made a cage of sorts around him, and all he could see was pitch black. A nearby voice began cackling its head off. It was very robotic and stiff, and made Wilbur shiver. Mustering up all his courage, Wilbur yelled, “Show yourself!” The branches parted slightly with a creak, and light streamed into Wilbur’s little room. A horrible, metal skeleton with wires crisscrossing all over it poked its head through one of the cracks and leered at Wilbur. It twitched and gave sparks randomly, as if it was malfunctioning and completely unstable. “I didn’t realise that capturing you would be so easy.” It said monotonously without moving its mouth. Wilbur lurched back and started trying to wriggle through the gaps of the tree-cage. He succeeded. The metal skeleton watched Wilbur run away and sighed. “What a shame. I was hoping more of a challenge. But no, you are just a pathetic, grotty child.” It made a ...

WARNING: The following chapters have descriptions of giant, talking, magical spiders and scorpions. Arachnophobes look away. CHAPTER FIVE: THE FISSURE It was a giant crack, just floating in the air. It seemed to be leaking out some sort of glowing reddish-brownish-bluish material. It flickered and shuddered, like it was a picture on the screen of a glitchy computer. It seemed… out of place, like it wasn’t meant to be there, like vegetables on a birthday cake. Almost otherworldly, like a big fissure in between dimensions. It called to Wilbur, like a song. As he crept closer, he noticed that on the other side of the fissure, there was another land. It was disoriented by the weird glowing stuff leaking out of it, but Wilbur could make out that it was a largely flat world. He reached out and touched the stuff leaking out of it. He couldn’t feel anything, apart from a slight numbing in his hand. Odd, thought Wilbur as he took a step closer, and stuck his whole arm through the hole. This would prove to be a big mistake. Within about half a second, the glowy stuff leapt out of the fissure and engulfed Wilbur completely, and then pulled him into the crack. Everything ...

CHAPTER ONE: WILBUR One cold, snowy night, a small baby in a potato sack was left on the steps of an orphanage. There was no name tag, no nothing. Nothing to identify who this little person was. His parents, whoever they were, were too poor to care for their infant son, and decided to leave him to be taken into an orphanage. This was relatively common in 19th century London, as so many people were suffering and starving. One of orphanage children heard the baby crying while they were dusting the doorway, and brought the child inside. “Hey, Millicent, look. We’ve got another one.” Millicent, the oldest and sort of the leader, sighed. “Oh dear. Well, does it have a name tag?” “No.” “Is it a boy or a girl?” “Uhhhh…” Droned the child, having a quick peek, “It’s a boy.” There was a pause as the 7 children packed into the one bedroom thought up a name. “H-h-how a-about -A-A-A-Archibald?” Suggested a stuttering little boy, clutching a pillow. “BLUURK!!” Went the baby, throwing up. “Definitely not Archibald.” Sighed Millicent. “Caspian?” Somebody said. “What?!” (This is a funny joke because the name “Caspian” had only been coined in the 21st century.) “Ok. Well, ...

CHAPTER THREE “Giddy up, horsy, giddy up!” Cried Jimmy’s disoriented voice from my back. “Get off, Jimmy. Besides, i’m not a horse.” I garbled back at him in a strange voice. “No, but I am! Neeeeiigghh!!” Whinnied Jimmy as he transformed into a black stallion and began galloping around. “Reffreffreffreff!” Barked Jimmy. Hm. That barking sounds just like Poppy. “Reffreffreffreff!” He yipped again as he trampled me with his hooves and licked my face. I woke from my odd dream with a start to find Poppy licking my face. “Ow! Urgh! Eeeek!” I yelped as the little pug bounced around on my head. “Alright, i’m awake! Get off!” I cried as I sat up in bed. Ding dong! Went the doorbell. Poppy immediately jumped off my head and ran to the door. I found her there ripping into a number of newspapers. In a few short seconds she had turned them into confetti. “Rreffreffreffreff!” She barked. As I walked into the kitchen, I realised that I could smell something. It smelt disgusting. It was faint, but it was still strong enough to waft through house. “Hey, Anna.” I said. “What’s that smell? It smells like a public toilet, a dead rat and a garbage bin all rolled into one!” ...

CHAPTER ONE “GATHER ROUND, PEOPLE, GATHER ROUND.” Bellowed Jimmy, standing on the table like he was the supreme ruler of everything. “YOU WILL NOW WITNESS THE HUMILIATING DEFEAT OF ARI ANDERSON IN ROUND ONE OF… Wait for it…” He paused for dramatic effect. “THE DRAWING COMPETITION!!!” The pedestrians walking by were either staring, chuckling, or muttering while they picked up whatever they dropped when they were startled by Jimmy’s yells about our drawing competition. I pulled Jimmy down off the table, which was hard, because I needed both hands to fully cover my face. “For crying out loud Jimmy, it’s just a bloody drawing competition. You don’t need to make such a hullabal-“ “THREE. TWO. ONE. DRAW!!!!” Screamed Jimmy, and started furiously scribbling on his piece of paper. “Jimmy, please. I’m not as, uhhh…” I tried to think of a word to describe his behaviour without saying “idiotic”. “Extroverted as you.” Jimmy stopped stabbing the paper and looked up. “What does Ex-to-vert-ed mean?” Ah, Jimmy. Not the brightest bulb in the light shop. “It means to, um, be really, um, loud, about, um, stuff. Confident is the word i’m looking for.” Jimmy stared at me. “But ...

CHAPTER ONE He was about 50 meters away from the bus stop, but still, somehow, Julian managed to spot me. “HEY, EARPLUGS!!” Yelled Julian from across the road. Oh no. Quickly, quickly. I yanked by backpack haphazardly back onto my back and began running away as fast as I could. Not fast enough. “WHERE YA THINK YA GOIN?!” Julian rammed a hand into my backpack, and before I could pull myself together to fall over properly, Julian and his goons were already rummaging through my stuff. One of them pulled out my earplugs. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrgggghhhhh! The noise, the sound, the yelling! All streaming into my poor ears. I clap my hands over them but it doesn’t work. My earplugs are the only thing that blocks it all out entirely. “OOH! WOT’S DISS??” Squeals one of them. They’ve found Grandpa’s muffin. I bought it at a bakery for him just as I was leaving Art Club. It was the house special and cost me a fortune. I can’t let them have it. I scramble to grab my earplugs and pop them back into my ears. The noise falls away, but my head is still throbbing. I make a lunge for the muffin, but Julian’s too fast. I miss the muffin, but I clip his arm, and the muffin flies ...

~THE CRY OF THE NIGHT~ CHAPTER THE FIRST Ryan was not sure how long the night had been crying. Could have been weeks, could have been months. Maybe it’s all just in his head. But for as long as he could remember, the night cried out like a completely alone soul was trapped with nowhere to go. He shifted between the various objects in the boot of the car, trying to find a comfortable position. He didn’t. It had been like this for the last few weeks after he ran away. His method was simple: Hop on a car. When the car stops, run into whatever place the car brought you to. Find a hidden place to rest and store whatever crumbs of food you have. Manage the hideout to be more homely. Remember the spot, and then go find some food. The only reason he moved from his old place was because he was caught trying to steal some food, and was chased by the police. He didn’t have time to grab anything from his hideout, so he was back to square one. Even though the chase ended several minutes ago, his heart was still hammering away at his ribs. It was so loud that he was beginning to worry that the driver would hear it. The car swerved and skidded. Whoever was driving was ...

CHAPTER THE FOURTH Ryan huffed in exasperation. He was hoping that once he got to someone else everything would be okay. “Martin! I saw it! With my own eyes! I’ll show you where it was.” Martin smiled at him as if he was a young child who had suggested that atoms were made of chocolate. “Nonsense. Ghosts only exist in storybooks for the weak minded. Silly child.” “Nonsense? “Storybooks?” “Weak minded?” “Silly child?!” Thought Ryan. Since when did Martin talk like a shakespearean poet? He jumped up and grabbed Martin by the arm. “Oh, Lord! Where, pray tell, are you taking me?” He said with a strange flourish in his voice. Ryan felt a surge of bravery rush through his blood. “I’m taking you to prove to you that this ghost is bloody well real.” Ignoring Martin’s classical protests, Ryan dragged him into the Archives of the State library. It wasn’t until he had set foot into the place that he realised he had the same mysterious, pushing feeling at his brain again. His bravery melted away into fear as he realised he had lost control of his legs, which carried him across the floor, deeper into the archives. Martin, obviously not wanting to meet a ghost, yanked ...

A wobbling, shuddering form appeared in front of him. Instead of seeing it, it was as if Ryan could feel it. It radiated a mixture of hurt, confusion and rage. It was a small, crippled, horribly burnt child’s body with dark, black holes were the eyes and mouth were supposed to be. He was face-to-face with a ghost. Ryan wanted to scream as loud as he ever had, but his fear twisted it into a strangled croak. Even though the ghost resembled a human, it moved like a velociraptor. Its posture was haunched with jagged spikes running down its back and shoulders, Its arms were drawn up, and it had massive, black claws on its hands and feet that were as long as Ryan’s hand. It cocked its head, rustled its spines and let out a malevolent, blood chilling hiss that would haunt Ryan’s dreams for years to come. He got up and ran. He shoulder charged the ghost, but he ran straight through it. As he sped away, his head started throbbing. Every step caused an ice cold jolt shot to sizzle down his back. He could hear it crashing and stomping meters behind him. The creature had dropped down to all fours, and was fast. Things were thrown. Paintings were pulverised. Relics ...