@jihan
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Gossip had quickly spread through the school that Jack had been arrested by the police for setting the fire alarm off on Thursday. The whole school had been herded onto the sports field while the speakers wailed and cried about the fact that “this is not a drill!” even the fire brigade came only to find it was a false alarm and someone had deliberately pressed the “panic button”. Later, people with magnifying glasses came and checked for fingerprints on the fire alarm button. After school that day, Jack was taken by a police car.
All sorts of rumours had gone around the school during the week that Jack wasn’t in. Most people believed that he was sent to prison for ten months and would return as a hardened criminal, warning people to not be his friends when he came back. Others believed that his parents had decided to abandon him and he was sent to an orphanage.
However, when he came back a week later, it turned out that he only got suspended and was not sent to prison. The police car was his dad’s car and his dad worked for the police.
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“Then all I saw was granny splutter blood and fall down dead.” She replied in a matter-of-factly way, as if she was dealing with a child crying in kindergarten other than with a “murder case”. “I didn’t even see the bullet; you just killed her with an imaginary bullet from an imaginary gun!”
“I don’t even know what I did!” Cried Jake. But he did know what he did. He had pulled out a coin from his pocket and flipped it without thinking about it. After catching it, he found a 35-calibre pistol in his hands, and pointed at granny. Without even knowing what he was doing, there was already a bullet buried in granny’s chest. That was the biggest mistake of Jake’s life. He felt like a complete and utter fool. He regretted that decision so wrong that he wanted to commit suicide.
“Of course you don’t know what you did!” retorted Della, Jake’s sister, as she was the only one who blamed him for the death of granny.
“I don’t!”
“You do!”
“I don’t!”
“You do!”
“I don’t!”
Immediately, they started fighting. They both went to taekwondo practice so you would know that the fight didn’t end well. Della came forwards with a sidekick, aiming for Jake’s chest, followed by a jumping snap kick aimed for his brother’s chin. Jake swiftly evaded the attacks and punched her sister in the stomach. Her sister though held strong and hurled a tsunami of attacks at his brother, knocking down a porcelain vase, a printer and a pile of books in the process. Jake was caught off guard by this and received a black eye as a reminder to never fight his sister again.
“What are you two doing?!” came a voice
“N-n-n-nothing…” the twins replied in unison
That night, Jake ran away from all his guilt and went to live out on the streets. He was never again seen.
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homework:
When my mum drove me back home after school, we always passed a small, deserted village called the Knife’s edge. The reason the petite town was called the Knife’s edge, was because the layout of the town looked a bit like a knife. It was a beautiful town, full of history, with its mudbrick-built houses and its hay-made roofs. The fences were even an ostentatious but modest piece of art itself, sprawled out across the village in an intricate pattern, one that was put to good use by the farmers, creating a one-way system between the cattle and the farmer.
Over the past years, the power of nature has been gradually taking over, moss growing on the houses, wild weeds penetrating the ground everywhere. Even the well at the most eastern side of the town (forming the hilt of the knife) was covered in mould. Legend has it, that back in medieval times, they would throw a child into the well once each week, to receive a message from God. And when the child came out shivering from the frigorific waters, the people in the village would believe what the child said. But often they never made it out alive. If you looked down the well today, if you listen very carefully, you can still hear the muffled screams of dead children…
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I felt like I was charging forwards through the rain. I could almost feel the heat of a summer’s day in the forest. But I was in the dead of night, it was January, and I was walking at the pace of a snail. The wind battered me, the rain lashing out at my face. The creepers were tangling my ankles as if wanting me to stop.
Abruptly, just like how it started, the forest ended, giving way to a massive clearing with a two-storey house in the centre of it. Although the clearing was less sheltered, I realised that the rain had ceased, and the wind had stopped howling, as if the house was welcoming me, as if the clearing was protected by some sort of spell. I was hungry, and somehow thirsty although I had been in the rain for days now. My spirits were raised when I saw the house. I ran towards the house like I was attracted to it, like two ends of a magnet, or bees to honey.
The house, mainly made of wood, looked fragile and old, with moss growing everywhere on the roof. There were cobwebs in every corner of the house imaginable, they were literarily ubiquitous! Slowly, I walked up the stairs leading to the front door there was a knocker illustrated with a skeleton holding a scythe dripping blood. Uncertainly, I knocked. No answer. I tried the door handle; it gave in easily. Opening the door, I ventured in. As I entered the dark hallway, the door behind me slammed shut, and the once-lit, but dying candles were easily snuffed out, plunging me into total darkness. There was no way back now, someone or something had trapped me.
I ventured into the kitchen, hoping there was something there to eat. But all that met my eye was a couple of abandoned knives, dripping with lamb blood, all pointing at pointless angles on the table, there was even a lamb’s heart, it was still beating, trying to keep its last few moments of life. There was though, nothing edible.
Next, I ventured into the study. On the desk were some documents, the paper all yellow with age, the gasoline lamp flickering, dying. Behind the oak desk and chair, there was a bookshelf, with the most horrifying titles: How to spot a ghost, demonology, witchcraft, ways to kill a zombie. These were only some of the horrifying titles. In the corner, facing the window was a small girl, about the age of 5, reading a book. She then slowly lifted her head, turned towards me, and smiled, revealing teeth as sharp as knives she then pounced on me.
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28 Appleton way
Reading
Berkshire
United Kingdom
23/07/2021
The palace in the snow
Svalbard
The north
The Artic
Dear Iorek Byrnison,
So yesterday, I had to go out ad midnight and…well, get the garbage out because my dad forgot to do it, so definitely nothing wrong going on, nothing to worry about, and that was when it happened… I would like to ask you for advice, as you are much wiser and older than me.
So as normal, I was walking through the never-ending darkness as normal to reach the garbage place, and when I was walking back, I seemed to stumble and trip on nothing, and abruptly I found myself falling and falling, like the world had somehow come to an end. My torch was flashing like crazy, and then it went dark, heart-splintering darkness crashing into me, and I found my heart skipping at least thirteen beats…
The eerie whistle of wind, the dim glowing undetectable sources of light, the harsh whispers of haunted bodies unable sleep in peace… Sudden consciousness then snapped into my head, that it made me dizzy, and… I was sure something, or someone I should say, was calling my name is a flash of whispers and silent calls: Will, Will, come here! I know you want to, just come! But the voices were untraceable, it was coming from everywhere, up, down, left, right. Then the dim, glowing silhouettes of hooded figures, with a light material tracing behind them, they were gliding gracefully, but a aura of horror surrounded them, still. Come here! Play with us, come on, Will! The voice sang. They were ghosts. But… how did they know my name? They danced a dance of horror around me, they were reaching out, and then, small ghost shoved a heavy envelope into my hands, and with a harsh scream, they disappeared, as if being sucked away by a vacuum cleaner.
At last, when I was still unable to move and frozen by horror, BOOM! And I found myself in front of my front door. It all felt like a dream, but I still had the envelope in my hands, so it couldn’t be. When I opened it, it read:
Dear William Silvertounge,
I would Like you to go to Bolvanger Crescent at midnight, knock on the door and say: no strawberries today, then you will see a long table in the hall, sit down. This is an dinner invitation because of the events that have happened this week…
Oh, Iorek, what should I do?
Look forward to reading your replies
Best wishes,
WILL
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