3 May 2023, Week 1: A troublesome character

Chapter1 Derlia Veruli Tertulia was one of the worst people in the world. She lived on Vancouver Island. She would take all of your lollies, make you trip by tying your shoelaces together, throw your hat onto the road and heaps more. She was 15 years old, and was the tallest person at her school, reaching up to 2.23 metres /7.3 feet. She had long blond hair, and you could always see her wearing ripped jeans and a reddish-black dress. She had been expelled 43 times, breaking the current world record of 14 in 6 years. Her parents were outraged and were constantly trying to find a solution, but every attempt had failed miserably. One day, precisely on Friday 27 September 2013, when Mr and Mrs Tertulia were walking down the city roads when they saw a skyscraper with a sign reading ‘Evil Children Fixers’. They immediately hastened to the building were they asked for an unbooked appointment. They were immediately put with their best man. Chapter1 Derlia Veruli Tertulia was one of the worst people in the world. She lived on Vancouver Island. She would take all of your lollies, make you trip by tying your shoelaces together, throw your hat onto the road and heaps more. She was 15 years old, and was the tallest person at her school, reaching up to 2.23 metres /7.3 feet. She had long blond hair, and you could always see her wearing ripped jeans and a reddish-black dress. She had been expelled 43 times, breaking the current world record of 14 in 6 years. Her parents were outraged and were constantly trying to find a solution, but every attempt had failed miserably. One day, precisely on Friday 27 September 2013, when Mr and Mrs Tertulia were walking down the city roads when they saw a skyscraper with a sign reading ‘Evil Children Fixers’. They immediately hastened to the building were they asked for an unbooked appointment. They were immediately put with their best man. Chapter1 Derlia Veruli Tertulia was one of the worst people in the world. She lived on Vancouver Island. She would take all of your lollies, make you trip by tying your shoelaces together, throw your hat onto the road and heaps more. She was 15 years old, and was the tallest person at her school, reaching up to 2.23 metres /7.3 feet. She had long blond hair, and you could always see her wearing ripped jeans and a reddish-black dress. She had been expelled 43 times, breaking the current world record of 14 in 6 years. Her parents were outraged and were constantly trying to find a solution, but every attempt had failed miserably. One day, precisely on Friday 27 September 2013, when Mr and Mrs Tertulia were walking down the city roads when they saw a skyscraper with a sign reading ‘Evil Children Fixers’. They immediately hastened to the building were they asked for an unbooked appointment. They were immediately put with their best man. “This might be dangerous, Mr T. Are you sure you want to risk it?” “Please do whatever you can, Mr..” “Call me Tefla.” Answered the worker. Little did they know that Tefla was plotting a most horrible plan……………..

Do not come after me. Because death awaits you in this world. The nib of the pen scratched against the parchment as I spent my last moments at the writing desk. “Quintalline, stop fretting!” The little glass man had been pacing the shelves for days after the news of my awaiting end. “Your new master will be just as good! So long you do your job properly!” Quintalline grumbled over his shoulder as he climbed up the desk to scatter some sand onto the fresh ink. “They definitely won’t feed me enough!”With a mutter he settled into sleep, his glass joints clicking with a crystalline ring. I stretched my arms and relished the last night I would have. Steadily, I creased the letter into a small crane and whispered a few words under my breath. A tear began to appear in the air, the seams ripping to create a portal. “I hope you get this in time.” With my last wishes said, I gently pushed the crane into the wormhole and waited for my end. She waited. She waited every single day for him to come back. To hear the sound of the doorbell ringing. To see the large stack of books he always took back for her. To feel his embrace again. But he didn’t come. Cora picked on others. She wasn’t genuinely mean but something had to fill up the vast void of loneliness in her heart. Everyday she sat alone. After he left, Cora became hollow. So she took it out on others. She wasn’t particularly big so she used her words to attack. Oh words. The one thing her father had loved most. He would sit at his desk for hours, conjuring up lands of fairies and trolls, forests with prowling beasts that could kill you in seconds. And Cora could only sit in amazement as her father typed away these magical words, the lulling click of the typewriter filling all her senses. But now, now things were different. She lived all alone still waiting for him to come back. Until she found the crane. Since her father left her, Cora had always neatened up his study in vain of his reunion with her. But then one day, she saw something out of place. The shelf on top of his desk was always filled with little glass animals, collected from his travels. Cora knew them off by heart. An elephant from India, a white tiger from Nepal (one of his rarest), a phoenix from Greece and a red – crowned crane from Japan. Except…it wasn’t a crane. In place of the delicate glass bird, a roughly folded paper crane sat innocently in the midst of it all. Cora blinked. She reached for the parchment and slowly unfolded it. Dear Cora, You may have wondered where I’ve been – I hope you haven’t been worried sick. You may not believe what I am about to say, but I trust you with this information.You know that book I always loved? What was that it called? The Seas of Tarronia? Well anyways, I’m in the book. I’ve been researching in the Royal institute here and I’ve found what this is called. A ‘book warp’ is what happens when readers get sucked into the very lines they were on. And yes, I am enjoying it here though I am trying to figure out how to come back. But I warn you. Do NOT come after me because death awaits you in this world. Father The last line smudged as one tear fell onto the page. That was all it took. One tear and Cora disappeared. Later she wouldn’t even believe how such a fuss grew from a tear. But it was inevitable. She just didn’t know what was waiting for her in the printed world beneath the pages…

James Sicily set his eyes on the prize a piece of Almonds best chocolate lay there on the teachers desk its gold wrapper shining. Easy,the teacher was busy talking on the other side of the room. He had to make a grab for it. Stretching his arms, he grabbed just as he tumbled of his chair. With and earsplitting crack his arm broke. Every kid in the classroom turned his or her head towards him.The teacher stared at him menacingly as she had just parted ways with her chocolate. Which now lay gooey on the floor. Eyes watering in pain he sighed as he was sent to hospital. “Seriously James, another mischief incident. These are becoming too often James Bryon Sicily.” Groaned James Mum as she watched the doctor wrapping up her sons broken arm. “Right before the holidays, I thought you would put on better behaviour.” She added emphasising every word. A small Toyota trundled along the dusty lane with way too much baggage that it bent the car slightly of balance. Looking out of the window, James felt crammed in the car, it was hot and stuffy. His spoilt sister greedily chomped on Almonds best chocolate she hadn’t broke a arm for. Mum was snoring loudly and dad was wearing sunglasses under a expressionless face. A minute seemed like an eternity. Finally they arrived at the holiday house. If you were thinking that the house was recently built you are wrong. The house was a grand georgian house that was built who knows thousands of years ago. Exploring the halls of the house James found ancient scottish tapestry, gilded cages and 13 grand bedrooms. But not a single cobweb was found.

Another detention is just what I needed. The clock ticked rhythmically against the wall, tick, tock, tick, tock. Eyes staring devilishly into my soul hidden under a racing heart. “Isabella Jones. How many detentions have you had, including this one?” the principal asked. “Four detentions Ms Buck.” I answered proudly. “WRONG! You’ve had FIVE detentions not FOUR!” Ms Buck replied sternly. Bummer. I’ve always been terribly horrible at math and pretty much everything else but it never bothered me. “And why have you been sent to detention today?” Ms Buck shouted. Her face filled with rage as she gripped tightly to her desk, her tight bun high in the air. “I was playing with fire. But it was an accident!” I insisted. First lie. Oh I know that you’re thinking something like, ‘This girl is so revolting!’ or ‘This girl is so dangerous!’. I promise I am nothing like that and have always been a good little girl. Second lie. Racing out of the office, I shoved past students as I ordered everyone to MOOOOOVE! Skiing around the corner I awaited my delicious lunch as I entered the canteen. BANG! As soon as the door opened I strolled into the kitchen waiting to make my move. Peering through a gap I spotted my prey whilst I crept toward the steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese. Glancing across the room, I snatched the bowl as I snagged a seat to enjoy my meal. I wonder whose meal it was? Eh, who cares? Instantly, I heard a screeching wail from the long line. “SOMEONE TOOK MY LUNCH!!!” he screamed. Time to chicken out of here and find somewhere else. Yep. This is my everyday life as a despicable girl. No one ever thought girls could be naughty but they always thought of the male. “Could Isabella Jones please come to the principal's office. Isabella Jones.” the loudspeaker announced. As soon as they called my name I froze as still as an ice statue stuck to the ground. Not long after that I ended up in the office next to my mum. After a long talk about stuff like unexcceptable behavior, being rude and blah blah blah yada yada yada. I don’t usually pay attention to conversations except my own. My mum had to go back to work and my dad is still at his long conference in Mexico. Almost every day I go back home alone. Kicking the same rock over and over again I thought about whether I should get pizza from the canteen kitchen or off someone else tomorrow. THUMP! A door landed right in front of me. Nothing behind it with no door knob and a single dragon keychain hanging in the middle. Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen in the past 10 ½ years. Yanking open the door I realized it was a big mistake.

The sharp blinding light searing through my house. A pale figure grabbing, twisting and a scream. The water hit my skin like bullets as I sat all alone in the rain on my seventh birthday. The thick smog of London choked me as I scrambled helplessly in the sea of coats. I tightened my pristine braids strangled by my whalebone corset. Sauntering into the room, I received commands from my grandparents which were constant reminders of the things that I lost. " Lyrya do your laundry!" Shouted grandma. " Make me!" I retorted. Whenever I was forced to do something, that was my escape. Everyone resented me and I loved it. Escalating the stairs to my room, I hovered around taking in the warm glow and ringing bells of the shop. Both were unknown to me. Slamming the door behind me, I savoured the lingering echo. Pulling out my bows and unloading my shoes, I scowled. All my grandparents wanted me to do is help out with the dusting in the pen shop. Except now it was my turn to show them what I was capable of. Staring out of my framed window, I pinpointed my guiding light the lighthouse. Looking down at my retro typewriter, I started my journey.

THE ABANDONED CLASSROOM By Angus J A SHORT STORY BY GUS(# 10) CHAPTER 1- THE DOOR RIINNGG!! The lunch bell rang and all (well, almost all) of class 6T left the boring classroom in a stampede. Only James Keller and the VERY strict teacher, Mr. Thompson remained in the room. “Well? Why aren’t you going off to play on the bunky-mars or whatever they’re called?” spat Mr. Thompson, his moustache bristling. “Two reasons,” James replied, his voice nothing but sass. “A: I absolutely HATE playing on the MONKEY-BARS. B: I’m staying in here to look for my jacket.” Mr. Thompson looked at James disbelievingly and stomped out of the room flat-footed. James made sure that Mr. Thompson was completely out of the room before leaping up and starting to write some VERY rude words on the whiteboard. At that very second, Lily Evans, the teacher’s pet, walked into the room, humming Tiptoe Through the Tulips. Lily dropped her water-bottle and stared at the whiteboard, open-mouthed. James dropped the whiteboard marker and bolted out of the classroom, in fear of being caught and given a detention. James was a 12-year-old boy who attended St. William’s Private School. He suffered from ADHD and Autism and REVENGE issues. Let me tell you the REVENGE story. The date was the 13th of May, 2018 and James was in class 2B with Mrs. Bagman and the worst boys in the world: Bob and Bill- the Muscly twins. That day, the Muscly twins did something HORRIBLE: They stuck James’ head in a pile of leaves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Once James could breathe again, James decided one thing that would change his life forever. He decided that one day he would get his REVENGE. Not just on Bob and Bill, but on everyone in the entire school!!!!! Anyway, back to reality. James was running down the 5th floor corridor when he realised that the school was deserted. Then he remembered that it was lunchtime and that the whole school was outside, eating their lunch. James knew that Bob and Bill would be outside for lunch as well, so James kept on running. After around 10 or so minutes, James came to a halt. He had reached the 10th floor. James had never been up here. He was always causing mayhem on the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th floors. James walked slowly along the corridor until he came to a door with a large white sign that read: DO NOT ENTER OR ELSE!! The door was made of rotting wood and had a very old-looking iron handle. To James’ surprise, there was no keyhole. James turned the old handle and the door creaked open…

James opened his eyes. He had just woken up in his modern two-storey house in the jungle. When he gets up he says to himself, “maybe today I will get my revenge!” There are a few things you should know about James. James is 12 and lives all alone because when he was little his parents were captured and taken away. He was happy and nice as a baby with his two friends, Benjamin (a red panda) and Leo (a lemur) - but ever since his parents vanished James has been grouchy and mean to everyone. Oh and one more thing - James is a gorilla. This morning James does the usual routine. He brushes his teeth, eats breakfast and packs his lunch box with 1 banana, half a mango, and 1 kiwi. He tries to be healthy because he remembers his parents said to always eat healthy food. He packs his bag and leaves for school. As soon as he steps out the door he starts growling and roaring and stomping his feet. A little bunny who has been watching the house is supposed to be telling the other animals when James is coming. As soon as James is nearby the little bunny screams “EVACUATE! James is here! He’ll squish us!” James meets his friends, Leo and Benjamin, at the bus stop. All the animals in this forest town (except insects) live in modern 2-storey houses because they all like to slide down the stairs. The insects like to live in small 1-storey houses. James and his friends get to school and have classes until there is a fire drill. The teachers tell all the animals to leave the building and go to the playground (but they are not allowed on the equipment.) James growls and says, “this is boring.” Then he notices a big tree outside the school fence. He tells his friends, “let’s go relax on that tree” pointing to the tree. So while the teachers are counting everyone up, Benjamin and Leo dig a hole under the fence and James jumps over the fence. They all run over to the big tree and sit at the base of the trunk. When they lean back on the tree they are instantly teleported to another world…

Mr. Edgar Spears gave the lanky, dark-haired girl in front of him a look of terror surpassing even the one he usually gave to children. How he had ended up in the teaching profession no-one really knew. However, it was obvious to even the most sceptical of his career path that without this particular student, Unfortunately, for the past year and a half he had been attempting to teach Umbrielle Carbone. It wasn’t that Umbrielle wasn’t intelligent - she displayed ample cunning and deviousness, and was usually at the top of the class. It wasn’t that Umbrielle was lazy - she had laser focus and iron discipline when it came to achieving her goals. No, Mr. Spears was sure that Umbrielle would be a fine student if she wasn’t so damned determined to be wicked! She had no qualms about demonstrating her malevolent intentions, and when pressed, admitted that she tried to break the rules. Like today, for example. “M-Miss Carbone,” Mr Spears stammered, “what d-do you think you’re doing?” “Tying your hands up,” she said calmly, moving on to his legs. By the time Umbrielle was three weeks into kindergarten, students had already been banned from bringing rope into school. That couldn’t stop her. Last week it had been grass, the week before that skipping ropes, and today it was her hair ribbon. Mr Spears was distinctly familiar with the differences between them all at this point in his career - how they chafed, how quickly they would cut off his circulation. “But h-how am I supposed to get out of the cupboard if my hands are tied?” “I can’t be expected to think of everything, can I?” “I… I can’t just spend the break in a cupboard! I have duties as a teacher at this school…” She shrugged, face betraying almost no emotion. “Your problem, not mine.” * * * Thomas ‘Big T’ Tucker and William ‘Billy’ Gregory were, in their opinions, the kings of the school. At twelve years old they were both tall and hulking for their age, with big mouths and bigger fists. Yes, they were kings of the school - and they wanted everyone to know it. “Hey kid!” Billy yelled at a passing child who couldn’t have been more than five years old, “Gimme your lunch or I’ll give you a wedgie. Ain’t that right, Big T?” “That’s right,” said the other boy, licking his lips in anticipation. The little boy looked up at them, wide-eyed, hands trembling slightly. He clutched a brown paper bag tightly to his chest which Billy made a teasing swipe at. “Mmm. Smells like… meatloaf.” A thin girl with dark hair pulled back in a braid walked up to them. She was only in year four, so Big T turned up his nose at her, but she didn’t seem perturbed. “Emily Hansen told me to ask you why you didn’t meet her in the staffroom this break.” Billy could almost see the gears ticking in his head. Emily Hansen hadn’t asked him to meet her in the staffroom. Big T mightn’t have been the brightest, but he knew that. However, he also knew that Emily Hansen was the prettiest girl in school. “She said she’d only wait five more minutes.” The pipsqueak (she had to be at least an inch shorter than him) checked her watch. “You’d better hurry.” That was the icing on the cake for Big T, and he was off like a flash. Billy didn’t really care. T had bunked off without him before, and Billy was perfectly capable of tormenting the small fries by himself. “Now, you little twerp,” he said, “gimme that meatloaf.” The pipsqueak was still standing there. “Whadda you want, kid? Scram!” “Mr Spears wanted to see you on the soccer pitch about your track performance last week. I think there may have been some kind of reward involved.” His eyes lit up. If there was anything he loved more than beating stuff out of people, it was when they just gave it to him. He rushed off as well. “I’m not going to take your meatloaf,” she said to the boy, “but you are going to give me your money.” He burst into tears. * * * Mr. Spears was just opening the staff meeting - only slightly late, he’d only been calling for help five minutes before a cleaner opened the closet - when Thomas Tucker burst into the staffroom. “I’m so sorry I was late,” he said, “I guess I just forgot…” he trailed off as he saw the eyes of every teacher in the school upon him and his face grew very red. “Mr Tucker, what are you doing?” Asked Ms Euston, the vice principal, with a frown on her characteristically pinched face. “I, uh… nothing?” His face was florid with the anger and embarrassment coursing through him. “Mr Tucker, I think a detention may be in order if you don’t explain what you are doing here, now. I should think-” At that moment, however, a cream pie came sailing in from the upper window and caught Ms Euston squarely in the face. She gaped, looking something akin to the abominable snowman. Mr Spears found himself similarly treated a few seconds later. There was no point deliberating over what had happened. “Umbrielle Carbone! Was that you?” “Yes.” “Why on earth would you do something like that? Now we’re all covered in whipped cream!” She shrugged, letting another pie fly into the face of the principal. “Your problem, not mine.” * * * Umbrielle walked through the wrought-iron school gates with her typical proud posture, but as soon as she caught sight of the tall, tight-lipped woman standing on the street corner she began to slouch slightly. Throwing her bag into the 1968 Volkswagen Beetle (her mother had a bizarre infatuation with antique cars), she slumped into the passenger seat. “How was your day?” Her mother asked in an indifferent term. “Fine. I threw cream pies at all the teachers. I shut Mr Spears in the closet again.” Her mother didn’t reply, her disappointment palpable. After all, Umbrielle had done it three weeks in a row. “I stole a kindergartener’s money.” Her mother’s eyes gleamed avariciously. “How much?” “Three pounds fifty pence. He cried.” “I don’t care if he cried! Your mother is the leader of an international crime syndicate and at ten years old you can only steal small change from babies? Umbrielle Carbone, you are such a disappointment!” She hung her head in shame. “Try harder!” * * * “Where are you going?” Umbrielle asked. It was late evening, the sun already almost below the horizon, and yet her mother was dressed in a stylish travelling coat with abalone buttons and trimmed with ermine. (Umbrielle herself, of course, was dressed in a plain grey dress. The only adjustment her wardrobe had had in the past three years was when she had hacked off all the frills. Of course, her mother was a very busy woman - it wasn’t her fault she had forgotten to buy more.) “To Palermo.” Umbrielle didn’t remember her mother talking about going to Sicily at any point. So she dared another question. “Why are you going to Palermo?” “Because my cartel has an important smuggling operation this week and I don’t trust Antonio Esposito not to mess it up like he did last time. And on the subject of hopeless incompetence, don’t ask me to bring you with me. You’ll only get in the way - you couldn’t take candy from a baby if its mother was looking the other way!” With that, her mother walked out the door, closing it with a bang of finality. Without even a goodbye. Umbrielle sat there for a few moments, stunned, before the gears began to whir in her mind. She needed to do something big. The perfect crime, something even her mother would be impressed with. Regardless of what she said often and loudly, Umbrielle did like to think of everything, and she was sure she could plot a worthy heist. After all, the Louvre was only sixty pounds and a three-and-a-half hour train ride away… * * * Intrigue floated by in the Parisian air. It was after dark and the Louvre had shut its doors. Luckily, Umbrielle had discovered a disused service entrance. So, smiling to herself and crouched behind a stack of mouldering crates, she lifted her hand towards the door. Nondescript metal and adorned with a scratched sign reading ‘Employés Selument, Entrée Interdite,’ it was hardly an auspicious portal to the biggest moment of her ten years of life. However, the smallest things can prophesy greater ones to come. Umbrielle turned the handle and saw…

Ashley was a girl who grew up in a small isolated town with her two parents. Her mum, Catherine, worked on a farm and her dad, who was known as ‘Grooving’ Mr Graham was a teacher at the school across the street. (He taught Hip-Hop dance classes after school on Fridays.) Her parents were always short of money. They worked all day every day just to get dinner on the table. Because they were always working, they never had time for their daughter. Ashley herself was 10 years old. She had hair the colour of freshly fallen autumn leaves and ocean blue eyes. Of her few clothes, her favourites were brown overalls which she paired with a short-sleeved thin red shirt. “I’m going to school now”, Ashley droned as she opened the creaking door. “OK” her mum replied distractedly. “I love you.” “Whatever”, Ashley said under her breath as she rolled her eyes. School only had one class for everyone. Ashley didn’t listen to a word her dad spoke. Instead, she put her feet up on the chair in front of her, sat back and relaxed. “Get your feet off my chair”, Lilian whispered in irritation. “Make me”, she replied with a smirk. “What’s your problem?” Lilian asked, annoyed. “Why do you care, huh?” came the response. With a sigh, Lilian just turned around and ignored her. On her way back from school she saw 5 men riding horses to the old stable. One of the horses caught her attention, shimmering in the warm afternoon sunlight. It was golden coloured with stunning brown eyes. Its hooves made a lovely tapping sound as it trotted down the cobblestone road. Ashley started to follow it. “No one would notice if I was half an hour late, right? Right.” She shrugged and quickened her pace. Eventually the sun started to set and a beautiful orange glaze coated the clouds. As they arrived at the stable the men got off their horses, tied them near the trough and headed to the pub close-by. This was her chance to go to the most beautiful horse she had ever seen! Just as she was about to touch it, the horse startled, jumping in the air and neighing loudly. Everyone emerged from the pub to see what was happening. “If they find me”, Ashley thought, “then I’ll be in big trouble!” She decided to make a run for it but they had already seen her! She bolted into the woods, continuing until she thought they wouldn’t find her. After slowing down to a walk, she followed an old trail for a while. It led her deep into the cold and dark forest. Shivering and tired, she could barely see. “Ouch!” Ashley bumped her head on something wooden. She opened her eyes as wide as possible and saw an old unstable looking wooden door. It was covered with leafy vines. Confusingly, the door didn’t seem to lead anywhere. She walked in circles around it. It was just standing in the middle of the path for no reason. Ashley ran her hand up the rough timber. It gave her a nasty splinter she grasped the bleeding finger. The smell of dust filled her nose and made her sneeze. Just then she spotted a pair of bright eyes watching her! Ashley’s heart was pounding! “G-Go away”, a small voice trembled. A little boy stepped out of the shadows. He looked at least 6. “Who are you?” Ashley replied. “I am Chris.” He looked scared “Well what are you doing here?” Ashley asked in a careless voice. “I live here.” His voice sounded a bit less scared. “What do you mean?” “That door leads to my home.”Ashley was very confused. “How?” she asked. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?” Chris pleaded. “Yeah whatever, just tell me!” she replied dismissively. “OK, the door leads to another realm. A place where anything you want comes true, but at a cost. For each thing you create there, something else in the real world disappears; and everything you make come true in there causes something else to become a lie over here.” Chris looked up right into Ashley’s eyes. “That’s why you can’t tell anyone.” He turned around and sat down under a tree, his gaze fixed firmly on the door.

Barg was a very effective guard, no one ever messed with Barg! He wasn’t skilled in fighting, he was terribly unfit and had the attention span of a goldfish. The only reason Barg is a guard is that whatever Barg guards is simply not worth the effort of talking to Barg to get to. No one messes with Barg. Everyone always knows when Barg is around. When they’re around, whatever air was unfortunate enough to be in the area was immediately replaced with Barg's atrociously putrid personal air bubble. A bubble of air so beyond mere stink it can no longer mix with outside air. Barg is commonly know as the most disgusting thing to walk the very world he inhabits. Barg is guarding the royal palace of Mothdroth. It's boiling, uncomfortably dry and far below fun. Mothdroth has been in a decade long drought, with no end in sight. Usually the precious rain finds its source in the great river Armanthir, Armanthir happens to no longer exist. The new dam built by the High Ancrians in the mountains has cut off Mothdroth from one of the most basic necessities of life. Mothdroth has tried to reason, to plead, to bargain and to fight the Ancrians, yet they can never get past the gate. Barg is a glorified siege engine, and Mothdroth’s last resort. Barg is not going to enjoy it. He doesn't even know where the gate is yet. “Helllo Barg, it's time to get mooving,” croaked the old scribe. “Mmph,” snorted Barg. “Gett in the carrt Barg, we have – loong routes ahead,” “Mmm,” groaned Barg as he clambered onto the hard seat of the creaky cart. The scribe, choking at the stench, started explaining to Barg the mission. “No one has gotten past the gate, yet you might. The High Ancrians aren’t used to you yet – so, surely they muuust cave in to your… stench.” An unlucky leaf of an unlucky oak fell to the ground, shrivelling up in the toxic airs. “Our mission is to destroy the dam and free Mothdroth from the tyranny of drought and famine, you might just be the key,” “Why,” humphed Barg, “Why should I help Mothdroth?” “Mothhdroth is your home, your life, your everything, Barg. Why shouldn’t you!” exclaimed the scribe. “Mothdroth never helped me,” The journey was painfully silent after that. The cart passed through pines and vines and oak and croak and all the wonders of Mothdroth. All were dry. They crossed the old Bridge of Armanthryer, once a beautiful rush of life, now a bridge over a sad dry chasm. Finally the day grew old and they reached a stop, the old tower. “What. Is. This. Place,” threatened Barg. “Thiiis iss the oold necromancer’s tower,” replied the scribe, surprised. Barg calmly got out of the cart, slowly hobbled over to the tower and punched it so hard the stones crumbled. “What did you just – you just – why – how – Barg?!” stuttered the scribe. “I. Don’t. Like. It,” “II thinkk I mightt knnow why,” said the scribe. There once was a necromancer in the old tower who dabbled with not just the revival of life, but the creation too. He created many things in his studies, rabbits that breath fire, horses with wings, trees with legs, and a whole range of life all the way from completely normal to mythic. Once for an experiment he created a human. The experiment failed and the human was left at an orphanage. The orphanage didn’t give much love either, it barely paid any attention to its children at all. As soon as the child turned 12 he was kicked out into the wider world with nothing. Then Barg became a guard. It was a job he could do and he got fed. No one ever liked Barg. That night they slept restlessly. The next day the party went onward through the dying forests of Western Mothdroth until they reached the Ance Mountains foothills. The cart turned back as Barg and the scribe were left to go on foot. Through rocky desolation and icy, unbearably windy damnation they walked for 5 km. Until it stood before them, the secret gate to Ancria. A granite behemoth hidden in a little mountain valley, chained shut with 500 tonnes of pure lead. The gate to a much better world.

“NANCY!!!, get back here!” the principal shouted through the hall to no one’s surprise, but they were all wondering and thinking what did the girl with the permanent frown, who some believe she was born with, had done this time. Nancy was well known around school for being the person you would avoid at all cost. No one rarely walked away from Nancy unless in tears and miserably upset. So, it was no surprise that Nancy was in trouble again. Trouble seemed to follow her everywhere, what most people didn’t realise though is why trouble haunted Nancy. Nancy ran making her escape as she heard the principal yell even louder “NANCY!!!, get back here NOW!” She knew she had to get away, she turned the corner and she tried the old locked classroom door that hadn’t been open in over two hundred years. To her surprise it opened without even a creak. Not believing her luck, she took her chance, just in time but now an odd thought crossed her mind, why was the door open if the key for the door was buried under the plaque at the entrance to the school? This classroom was an experiment to show how much a class room can change over a 200-year gap, so the room could be a time capsule of sorts. But why was it open now and who had opened it and how? Nancy, filled with curiosity, explored the room and she could see that black board was covered in messages from all of the kids from over 200 years ago and all of the desks had notes from them untouched excepted one, which unlike the others, looked like it hasn’t been sitting around for 200 years but was just written and the ink was still wet. If that wasn’t strange enough, the date and writing was all from a time that is long gone. It read “beware of the hidden door that if opened, at all costs you must…” “Nancy? What are you doing here?” someone said in a very quiet voice that came from a door in a shadow at the back of the class that Nancy could of swore wasn’t there before. It was highly decorated and had a clock on the middle, but it had 10 arms and instead of numbers it had B.C and A.D and years. What was even stranger was the person who called to her. “Otto? Is that you” Nancy said so shocked she fell over and hit her head on the edge of a table and everything seemed to turn black including Ottos face saying “Nancy, stay with me! oh nooooo”.

Writer’s Club Term 2 Year 3 story: magical realism By Adele S The snow began to fall. Crisp, clean and cold, the snowflakes danced like ballerinas, glinting in the watery afternoon light. In the bleak streets, people pulled their coats tighter, wrapped scarves around their necks and slipped in the icy sleet that was building in the streets. Winter had set in for real now everyone was prepared, least of all Christie. From her tennis court sized balcony, she watched the first snowflakes fall, one by one. Almost bored, she fished out a remote. Clicking it absentmindedly, she lounged back in her chair as if it was a throne as a retractable roof expanded over her head and fans blasted warm air into the cool evening. The sun began to drop in the sky and the temperature suddenly plummeted. She pulled on her designer fur coat and watched the last people disappear from sight. Christie sighed and marched down the marble stairs of her grand mansion, annoyed but unsurprised to find that her parents weren’t at the dinner table. She pulled some cold leftovers from within the fridge and ate alone,surrounded by everything she could ever want, but hollow inside. She woke up early in the morning, deliberately. Maybe her parents would be free if she called. She dialled the number and waited. And waited. Nothing. She held the receiver up to her mouth and left a message. “Hi mum, hi dad, I just wanted to say…I love you.” She put down the receiver, her heart as cold and empty as a stone. The school corridor was buzzing when Christie entered, feeling subconscious. She tried to keep her head high, a good way to hide her lack of height. Fingering her spun gold locks of hair, she looked around, trying to find someone to pick on. Her eyes landed on a small girl struggling to padlock her locker door. Bingo, this was her specialty. She strutted over, trying to radiate power. The small girl looked up at her, rosy faced and smiled. “Can I help you?” she asked politely. “Ha! ‘Can I help you?’” Christie mocked, sticking out her tongue. “Get out of my way.” Pushing her aside, Christie swiftly wrenched the lock of the door and pulled it open, sneering at the contents. “Do you call this a plant? It’s more like a twig!” Christie jeered, pouncing on an ornate succulent sitting in a corner. But this wasn’t her final act. She swept the contents of the locker aside, ruining the perfectly colour coded books, making sheets of paper fly everywhere. Without missing a beat, she rifled through the unordered heap until she found what she was looking for; a sweetWithout a second glance, she tore it open and read it to the rapidly growing crowd. “Dear Mum, Happy Birthday! Thank you for being the light of my life and thanks for being the best Mum ever! I love you. Lots of love, Julia. xxxooo” The girl burst into tears and sank to her knees. A cruel smile grew across Christie’s face. She slowly walked up to the still sobbing girl and right in front of her face, tore the letter into tiny strips and let them flutter to the floor. The bell sounded and the crowd dispersed. Christie strutted away, slamming the locker door with a bang, trying to ignore the way her conscience was pricking painfully. On her balcony, her breath turning to fog, Christie watched as posh business people streamed out of their dull grey buildings and bustled on the streets. As the last people returned to their homes and Christie was about to go back inside, a strange man caught her eye. He was dressed in a smart black suit, complete with a top hat and mahogany walking stick, though he is not old. Looking behind him as if checking that no one was watching, he briskly strode down a complex backstreet, kicking stray bricks away and dodging overflowing rubbish bins. About half way down however, he abruptly stopped. Bending down low, he ran his fingers over something in the ground. Even though she was squinting hard, night had beaten her and it was way too dark to see a thing from her balcony, six storeys up. But as she started walking inside, the burning question still nagged her; what had that shifty man been up to? There was nothing for it. She had to investigate. Christie knew her neighbourhood like the back of her hand, but even she didn’t know this part of town well. She assumed it was a poor district, full of lower class people that ought to be sneered at. And by the narrow beam of her torch that made the shadows on the walls loom above her. As she walked farther and farther along, she became increasingly aware of how narrow this alleyway was. She hunched her shoulders, trying to avoid the chewed up bit of bubblegum plastered to the walls in the remaining space that all of the graffiti didn’t take up. Finally as she was about to turn back, her shoe hit something hard and round. She shone her torch towards the ground and saw a small manhole set into the ground. The top was rusty and plain as if it had not been used in many years. The only decoration was a small brass handle that was well oiled; quite a contrast to the rest of the top. In fact, as she looked closer, the sides were also lubricated and when she tugged on the handle, although it ground and screeched against the cracking pavement, it was quite easy to move. As she was about to move it back into place, a gruff voice shouted from the end of the alleyway. “Whatsthat noise Benny?” the voice asked. “Dunno Mitchy. Maybe a wimp we could pick on?” a new voice answered from the other side of the alleyway. Christie’s heart beat so loudly she was sure they were going to hear. Blood rushed in her ears and her forehead became clammy. She switched off the light of her torch and heard footsteps coming closer by the second. She was surrounded. There was only one option. She ran forward and jumped into the manhole, falling down, down, down.

I was adopted. I hate the thought of it, that Ann and Tim lied to me. Saying that they were my parents, when they weren’t. So I broke my promise. ***** “You used to be the kindest girl, Ellie, what happened?” Silence. “Ellie, answer me.” Silence. “Ellie!” Silence. This was my tactic. When people wanted me to answer a question, or admit to something, I would stay silent. Then after about three attempts, they give up, and leave me alone. It works every time. So, I count to three in my head, and just like that, she leaves, slamming the door behind her. Once her footsteps had faded down the hallway, I shuffled around to face the window. I pressed on the slab of wood underneath the windowsill, a drawer comes out, inside are photographs, newspaper clippings, letters, and an old, rusted heart locket. Their evidence, things that might help me find my real parents. Not my fake parents. Not Ann and Tim, who both are sleeping happily in their graves thinking that I still don’t know. I lay out the contents of the drawer on my bed. I opened one of the envelopes, it contained 5 photographs, all taken about 10 years ago, the mum suspects. I pick up the first one, Brianna Reid, who went missing 9 years ago. I stare at the photograph, nothing about her looks like me, she just feels so familiar. “SUPPER TIME!” ***** I have no friends. I sit alone. I know I don’t deserve friends. And those who have been friendly to me, I’ve treated like dirt. I’m fine though. I have my siblings. They always talk about their friends, and that’s the closest thing I’ve had to experiencing real friendship. But they never arrived at the table today. I sat alone. Feeling truly left out. Even my own family hate me. Well, I guess they’re not my family, but they were lied to as well, so, to me they are. Well, they were. ***** That night, my eldest “sister” Kate, came to my room. “Ellie?” I stay silent. “Fine. If this is what you want. To be rude to you family, as well as everyone else.” “You’re not my family!” I shout. Kate stares at me in utter disgust, “Wow. You know you are a truly horrid person. This is why we didn’t sit with you at dinner, you don’t even care what we talk about. You just sit there. Doing nothing. Everyone in this orphanage hates you, you are the most unlikable person I know. Goodnight.” She leaves. I’ve had the same “conversation” with almost everyone who live here. I’m used to it. And I don’t really care. ***** I take that back, I do care. Every time someone comes to tell be that they hate me, I go. To the attic, where no one will find me. So once the lights are turned out in the hallway, I open the door. Check for carers, then tiptoe down until I reach the door that says, STAFF ONLY, ORPHANS NEED PERMISSION TO ENTER. I take the bobby pin out of my hair and stab it into the keyhole. I move the bobby pin around until I hear a click. The door swings open and I walk in, silently closing it behind me. I run up the stairs and walk towards my corner, the one I curl up and cry in. But something else has taken up my spot. A mirror, shining bright and silver, lighting up the room with its luminescent glow. I walk towards it, it was beautiful. Intricate designs were carved into the golden frame. My arm instinctively reaches out, the silver glass moves as I touch it, it’s cold, like water with ice in it.

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, how about Wilbur?” Everyone looked at the baby. The baby didn’t throw up. And the baby was henceforth named Wilbur. CHAPTER TWO: CRUELTY The owner of the orphanage was a bitter old boot called Miss Mann. The hairy woman had lost a lot of the hair on her head, but made up for it in the hair on her legs, arms, and face. She would remind the onlooker of a gorilla crossed with a witch. And boy, did she behave like one. She treated the orphans terribly, giving them one little bowl of food every two days, and played horrible tricks on them. A favourite of hers was to declare that there was a bug or a bit of dirt or something like that stuck in the spine of one of her massive hardcover books, and when the child would peer into the book, the old hag would slam the book shut so that the child’s nose got caught. At Christmas, all the children would line up one by one to get used as target practise with big blocks of coal. “You’ve been naughty children, and so Santa gave you this!!” Yelled Miss Mann as she hurled the coal at the children. “ME ARM’S GETTING TIRED!” Wilbur suffered all this and more. He yearned so much to be completely free, out on the streets, doing whatever he wanted. He decided that he was going to get his freedom. Some day, somehow… Wilbur walked into the bedroom after a long day of chores. He was tired and hungry. He snatched a smaller kid’s bowl. The poor child was too frail and weak to fight back. Wilbur sat down and ate. Everybody else in the room stared at him in exasperation. Please, their expressions said. Please stop. Wilbur yawned and tucked in. It had emotionally hurt him badly the first time he did this, but he had grown thick skin. Suddenly, Miss Mann burst in. “YOU!!” She screeched, jabbing a finger at Wilbur. “COME WITH ME!!” She grabbed Wilbur’s hair and yanked it so he stood up. She quite literally pulled him by the hair to her bedroom. “YOU CALL THIS PLACE DUSTED?!?!?!” She roared, her cheeks red. Wilbur looked around the room. There was dust absolutely everywhere, even though he had cleaned it earlier. “Ummm…no?” “INDEED!! I WANT YOU TO CLEAN THIS ROOM TEN TIMES OVER UNTIL YOU’VE DONE IT TEN TIMES OVER!!!!” Yelled Miss Mann. Wilbur gave her a funny look. “That’s what I said!” Growled Mann. “I didn’t say anything.” “Well…Yeah!” Grumbled Miss Mann as she stalked out, obviously confused. As soon as Miss Mann was gone, Wilbur went right over to the tiny window in her room and resumed chipping at it. It created massive amounts of dust all over the floor. Which was why it was so dusty in the first place. Finally, Wilbur created a big enough hole for him to climb through. But not just yet. He rushed back into the dorms and grabbed a very large, very smelly metal bucket, full of dust, water, the sloppy, disgusting soup and just general muck from around the place. He ran back into Miss Mann’s room. “Miss Mann! Come quickly!” The old woman pushed open the door. “What do you wa-“ Her sentence was cut short by a wave of disgustingness that engulfed her. “AAARGH!” Wilbur leapt out of the window and landed head-first in a dumpster. Lovely. He jumped out, and made his escape into the cool night air. He had done it. He was free. CHAPTER THREE: FREEDOM Considering how vain and bitter Miss Mann was, Wilbur thought that she would chase him, so he ran as far away from the orphanage as possible. He ran and ran and ran, and as he ran, the feeling of worry that Miss Mann would give chase faded away. He was free. But then, when he was too puffed to go on and came to his senses a bit, everything around him was unfamiliar. The buildings towered over him, and the dark alleys loomed threateningly, as if they would suddenly lunge forward and gobble him up. His joy melted like an ice block dropped on the pavement, and he curled up into a ball where he was. Suddenly, he heard voices, and the light thudding of shoes. His heart leapt into his throat. It must be Miss Mann. Wilbur leapt into the air as if electrocuted and took off. He couldn’t run for long, and he didn’t. He had to hide. There was a big, dark hole, with steps going down it. It loomed at him, like a giant, gaping mouth, waiting for something to fall in. Wilbur shuddered. But then he remembered Miss Mann and the beatings and the starvation and the work. He jumped down the hole. The hole was connected to a network of tunnels that were supported with wooden posts. He even came across burnt-out lanterns and rickety railways as well. He didn’t know it, but this was an abandoned mineshaft. The mineshaft was cold and dark, and Wilbur was creeped out of his wits. He sat down for a while. Maybe Miss Mann would have gone by now. Yes, probably. Or… SHE COULD BE SILENTLY CLOSING IN ON HIM AT THIS VERY MOMENT!! Wilbur jumped up and ran. Stumbling and panicking in the dark. CLANK!! What was that? A falling pickaxe? Good. Go. This went on for quite a while until he tripped over a railroad, and fell flat on his face. He curled up into a ball and huddled in a corner. He had no idea where he was. He was lost underground. CHAPTER FOUR: LOST Wilbur sat in silence for a while. He almost longed for the rooms of the orphanage. Sure, he was treated horribly, but at least he got food. Almost anything was preferable to knowing that he would starve to death down here alone, in the dark. Suddenly, he heard a faint humming noise. Not like a person humming a tune, but a sort of humming, whirring sound. He got up and followed his ears. Perhaps the humming noise lead to a way out. Eventually, he came to a dead end. But there was something in front of the dead end. And that something scared the daylights out of Wilbur. 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 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.

Chapter 1 Declan Red was obnoxious. it wasn't his snotty nose. it wasn't his piggy eyes. it wasn't even his tendency to take everyone else's lunch (although that could contribute.) no. Declan was obnoxious because of his attitude. 'Give that back!' Criss yelled. 'that's for my brother!' 'Nope!' grinned Declan, holding the large chocolate bar above Criss' head. He took a big slobbery bite. ‘You…’ Criss lunged for the Mars Bar. He hit it out of Declan’s hand, and it hit the ground, instantly starting to melt in a chocolaty puddle on the playground slide. Declan stopped, and stared down at the boy 3 Cm shorter than him. ‘Now you’ve done it!’ Declan charged at the smaller boy, and… ‘Now stop right there!’ yelled Mr Jenkins, the PE teacher. He flung his skipping rope expertly to catch the running Declan around the shins. Declan crashed down at a petrified Criss’ feet, who, awoken from his stupor, ran as fast as he could away. ‘Declan Red,’ Mr Jenkins said slowly. ‘Go to the principal’s office. Now.’ ‘Inexcusable behaviour…wrong thing to do…poor Criss…suspension for three days.’ This was the string of unrelated words Declan heard as he sat in the uncomfortable chair in front of Miss Zahner, the principal. ‘Yes Miss Zahner,’ Declan droned. He had been in the principal’s office so many times he had broken a school record, at 1,000 visits this year. ‘Now get out!’ Miss Zahner said. Declan obediently got up, and walked out of the door. He shoved Freddy Zean out of the way, and stormed down the corridor, and out of the school. ‘Been suspended again?’ the matron for Declan’s dormitory, Miss Handers said in a bored voice. ‘Well, get to your dormitory.’ Declan trudged up the stairs. He flung himself onto his mattress, and stared up at the ceiling. It was tonight. He was going to run away, far away from this orphanage, this school, these people. Maybe to Queensland. That would be nice. Away from all those accusing stares. He gathered up all his things, which took approximately 2 minutes, as he had only a second set of clothes, a jumper, an action figure of Hulk, and the last thing his parents – father and half-mother, Declan reminded himself – had given him. A note, saying never come back. He sighed. Then, he waited. And waited. And waited. He knew his presence at the dinner table wouldn’t be missed. He waited until he heard the feet marching up the stairs, and Miss Handers calling, ‘Lights out! Lights out I tell you! Vincent, please stop attempting to shove the cat in the fire. It doesn’t like it!’ Then, he opened his window, and looked down at the ground below. It was high up, seeing as he was three stories up, but Declan had made an escape plan. He took out his Hulk action figure, and threw his bag down. It landed safely below. He looked out, and reached for a pipe. It just held his weight. Declan slowly inched his way down, until he was close enough to the ground to jump. He landed uncomfortably on his bag, then picked it up, and ran. He ran down the road, and into the park. There, he started walking. PE had never been his strong spot. Declan walked onward, crickets chirping, the night air blowing on his face. It was almost peaceful. Then, he nearly ran into the door. Declan stared at the strange door. It was just there. Nothing was behind it; nothing was in front of it. He could have sworn that it wasn't there before. Just standing. In the middle of a patch of grass with a sign saying, ‘do not place anything on this grass.’ At 7:00 in the evening. It was covered in swirls...and they seemed to be moving. Declan scoffed. His mind must be playing tricks on him. He turned around…and there it was! In front of him. He looked behind him, but it wasn’t there. He turned again, and started running, only to nearly walk into it again. He grunted in anger. Was someone playing a trick on him? He punched the door. Declan knew instantly, that that was a very bad idea.

Fern was the most despicable child you could know-a snobby child, lazy and selfish, with a most repulsive way of speaking: Fern's teacher suggested she should become better at her homework; her reply? "Why don't you do it if you're so concerned?" Fern's friend asked her if she could get one of them a present she requested; her reply? "Why don't you get it if you really want it?" But she wasn’t really such a terrible child as it might seem at first glance. Her past experiences made her feel terribly dejected and lonely as could be. Fern's parents always expected her to be fully independent - they handed her money for the week, and she went and did everything herself-bought her food, her clothes, caught the bus herself, went to the library-she thought if she wasn't at peace in the home, she could let everyone else do something for her, since she had to do everything herself. After all, her motto was, from an Aesop's fable, "If you want something done, do it yourself!!" *** Fern lived in a simple grey town where a few shops, a library, and no candy stores were. Her house sat on the very edge of the town, and her parents would fly to another country, travelling, while she struggled to keep the lawn straight. She hardly had any friends-only one, and they secretly hated each other. Fern spent her days at an 8-hour-day school and the occasional skiving. On these days, she sat thinking about the life she could've had. *** One day, Fern trotted outside into the backyard gaily. She’d found some poison ivy, and thought it was a perfect replacement for the pink tulips lined in a neat row against a brick wall. And then she suddenly fell to the ground, rivulets of pain running through her ankle. *** The trapdoor in the overgrown backyard Fern struggled to keep was a simple thing, just a few random planks with a rusty handle sticking up. Fern had happened to trip over the handle, and it flew off, stuck to her shoe. She pried it off and threw it into the neighbour's yard. A sharp "Ouch!" came from that direction. Injuries aside, she found the culprit of her pain. The wooden planks sitting, quite obviously, in the centre of the yard, glared at her quite seriously-if doors could glare. Fern's thoughts about planting more poison ivy were extinguished and replaced immediately with the thought of opening a door-or vandalising it! She rushed inside and grabbed a black pen, then went outside and drew a few lazy doodles on it. Suddenly the door grunted. Maybe it was alive-it had glared at her. It opened, and an awful noise, a raspy voice, rang out: "Whaddaya think you're doing, drawing old robots and squiggles on meh, eh?" Yep. The door had spoken. She peered inside. A row of teeth lined it. It snapped shut. Well, she wasn't going to let any old living door stop her! She tore it open and ripped out a tooth! "Gah!" screamed the door. Aha! Now the tooth fairy would pay her millions!