Young Writers Society

Melody stepped onto the bus and made her way to the back of the vehicle. The bus lurched as it pulled away, and stepping back to regain her balance, Melody’s backpack swung into a girl sitting in the seat behind her.

“Watch it, Kearney!” she yelled angrily as she pushed the backpack off her lap.

“Sorry,” muttered Melody.

“You’d better be, clumsy idiot,” snapped the girl.

Melody made no reply except to heave her backpack onto her shoulders and walk to a spare seat. She collapsed with a sigh and rolled her shoulders back. I hate high school. I don’t get why all the kids suddenly got so mean. What’s the deal? It’s not like I’m exceptionally strange in any way. Average grades, average height, average looks... she mentally listed all the things that would make people dislike her.

It was with a heavy heart that Melody opened the door to the large colonial style house.

The Myschae momentarily forgotten with the worries of her current friend-less life, Melody dumped her backpack on the kitchen floor and ran upstairs to change into something more comfortable. Changing her jeans for sweatpants, and her heavy sweater for a tank top, she went back downstairs and rummaged in the fridge for something to eat.

Finding nothing satisfactory, she decided to make bacon and egg spaghetti, followed by chocolate chip cookies. After cleaning up the mess, and putting the leftovers away, Melody grabbed a small plate of cookies and a tall glass of milk. Taking that up to her room, she ran down for her backpack. Might as well get my homework done right away. I hope Mrs. Hingham doesn’t stop by tonight, thought Melody remembering that the neighbor lady was supposed to come by daily to make sure she was OK while her father was out of town.

She unzipped her bag and pulled out her books. With her school books out came the Myschae. Oh my word, I totally forgot about you! She picked it up, homework forgotten. Bed was a better place to read. Wrapping the covers around herself, she lay down and opened the book. She glanced down at the pages, bewildered. It was not in English – yet the closer she looked, the clearer the strange writing appeared- like someone’s eyes would adjust to sudden light. As she peered at the yellowed paper she felt herself becoming very drowsy. Huh? It’s not even 6:30 yet…why I am so tired? Must be the cookiesss….

Melody Kearney had opened the forbidden book, and was now thrown into an enchanted sleep. Would she ever awaken?

Alban awoke the next morning from his position on an old couch. One of the legs was missing, causing it to lean at a precarious angle. Old newspapers piled up underneath helped straighten it, but it was still an uncomfortable bed. With a groan Alban stood up, rubbing his eyes groggily. What I wouldn’t do for some coffee, he thought wistfully back to the days when his mother had bought it as a treat.

“That you, Alban?” asked his mother weakly from a creaky bed.

Alban winced at his mother’s pathetic strength. He knew she would not last long. Not on the lifestyle she had developed. What will I do when she dies? I’ll leave and try to get a job somewhere. That’s what. I’ll save up money and then buy a car to live in or something…yeah right. You’re a kid, that won’t work, and you know it! You’ll get caught and stuck in an orphanage. And no one would want to adopt you. You’ll end up living in a crummy orphanage your whole life.

“Alban?!” Beckah now had a frantic tone in her feeble voice.

He roused himself. “Yeah, it’s me,” he spoke dully.

“Where…” pause, “where ya goin’ today?”

“I can’t tell yer; it ain’t safe,” he said, reverting to the commonly spoken slang.

“My own son won’t tell me where he’s gonna be,” the pale woman pouted from her position on the dirty sheets.

Alban heaved a sigh, “It’s not safe,” he repeated firmly. “If you want your dumb drugs, you’d better leave off!” He was angry now. I’m sick and tired of her ‘momming’ me. All she cares about is her stupid ‘stuff.’ It ain’t fair. I wish I coulda left her years ago, but I can’t up and leave me own mom. Dunno why I have to be so protectin’ of her, he thought in frustration. She’s still your mom, even if she’s not acting much like one. She’s done the best she could, his loyalty to his family dug into his conscience.

At his hasty words his mother had lain back down on the lumpy bed, a look of hurt on her sallow face her blonde hair limp around her face.

He glanced at her. “Sorry,” he muttered, no longer upset with her.

Silence reigned as Beckah ignored his apology. Without a backward glance he turned swiftly and left the shack that served as home.

A few hours later found him sneaking up the drive to a large pale blue house. It was his first visit to this one. It had elegant style, built in a manner that expressed wealth without being gaudy. Its navy blue trim finished off the ‘well dressed’ house, completing the picture. Spindly trees lined the blacktop driveway up which a figure was casually walking. After ringing the doorbell several times and receiving no answer, Alban turned the handle experimentally. Surprisingly, a lot of people left their doors unlocked. Yep. It opened easily, and he stepped in calmly. Ah, another easy break-in, he thought satisfactorily. Now the only problem is if someone just didn’t feel like answering the door…

Alban had quite an interesting way of robbing houses. In broad daylight he went up to doorsteps and rang doorbells. If he received answer, he made up a panic story of how he lost his dog, and “Did you see him?” or some other such nonsense. If silence was his response he checked the door; if the door was locked he made himself inconspicuous and broke in, but more often than not, he was able casually to stroll in. And if misfortune was his way, and he ‘ran into’ someone in a house he had entered, believing its occupants were out, he upped his lie a notch and pretended fear and panic had caused his uninvited presence. Alban was a very good liar…err, actor.

He walked along the hall and made his way into the cozy kitchen. Usually if someone were home they would have discovered him already, and if not they were probably asleep, which was fine. He had made many burglaries with people asleep in the house.

He opened the fridge, feeling hungry after his long walk, and no breakfast. But first I’d better gauge out my surroundings, see what I want to take first, besides food. Then, if I have an expected visitor, he grinned at the irony of his thoughts, I will have the goods already. Putting his thoughts into action he quickly roamed the rooms, taking whatever choice items caught his interest. He then made his way up the carpeted staircase. This is a nice homey house. I wouldn’t mind living in a place like this, he sighed wistfully.

Turning the corner at the top of the landing, he made his way into a room with its door open, and at its entrance, paused, mouth hanging open. A young girl lay wrapped in a blanket, asleep, yet one could easily see it was not a natural sleep. With fears of waking her aside, Alban walked quietly into the room to examine the strange sight. She lay peacefully, her hand fallen away from an opened, old-looking book, out of which a plant was growing. A plant…growing from a book…? Alban brushed his light brown hair off his forehand in a perplexed manner as he gazed at the pretty girl.

She had an angelic appearance with her light brown hair -much the same as his- softly surrounding her face in a halo. Her features were delicate and rounded, the freckles dotting her nose giving her a childish look. Alban’s curious gaze drifted to the book, catching on the green foliage that gleefully sprang from the yellowed pages.

He stood in awe for several moments, drinking in the peculiar sight. What on earth? This is the strangest thing ever. And why is that girl asleep? Then it dawned on him: Holy cow. No way! That can’t be true, I mean, whoever heard of magic? No. That’s just crazy! He tried to brush the lingering thought aside, but another glance at the girl confirmed his doubts. She still hadn’t stirred, and an unearthly stillness filled the room, almost suffocating in its density. What’s happening, he wondered nervously as fear started coiling in the bottom of his stomach. I should probably get out of here, this is really creepy.

He glanced around the room quickly, and at the sight of the cookies on Melody’s desk, his belly gave a loud grumble reminding him he was famished. He gulped down several cookies in rapid succession, and downed the milk quickly. Yum, cookies are amazing, he sighed in ecstasy, worries forgotten for the moment.

As he was finishing off the last of the cookies, a loud bang pierced the brooding silence. Alban jumped off the desk and banged his knee in his haste to get up. “Whaa…?” he stuttered, cookie crumbs falling from his shirt. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and it would have been comical if he weren’t so frightened. Suddenly a wavering cloud-like substance issued from near the window. It looked almost like fog, yet had more substance.

In horror-struck awe Alban could only watch as letters appeared in mid-air. They were a strange language, similar to what Alban had seen in the Mysterious Library he had visited, where there had been a book called the Curaverse that had captured his attention. As was with the strange book, Alban could decipher the writing. Why can I read this?! It’s in a different bloody language! The lines appeared one by one, fading away after he had read them.

Important:

Alban, by this time, was trying to digest everything (including his poor cookies) without causing himself a panic attack. I should take off. Like, right now! his senses begged him. Wait. Alban, when has anything this exciting ever happened to you? This is really freaky and messed up, because magic doesn’t exist…but I could become rich, and, well, my life has always been so boring. I’ve never helped anyone before, and, oh my word, ‘be in court’ must mean I’ll be living in an orphanage or adopted by awful parents! The impact of the words hit him full force. Yes, but you got this message in a nonexistent language on floating words! How can you believe that? You have to, an inner voice spoke.

Alban sighed, the confusions of the day muddling his mind. You have two options Alban; take the easy way out, ignore the floating message and pretend you never saw the girl or this room. Go home and live as you have before or go on an adventure and help someone who will otherwise… here Alban paused his train of thought as he pondered the situation. Will otherwise what? Die? ‘Stop the vine’ that… that must mean she will be eaten by the plant? Ah, but why wouldn’t it have eaten her already? No…’time is short’…that’s it! The plant will grow and suffocate her! I wonder what clue I have to find? ’Place that you admire,’ hmm, what’s that? Speaking of clues, I wish there was a clue as to why this girl seems so familiar and why I feel obligated to help her?

Alban didn’t know it, but by his intense pondering, he had already accepted the quest. He turned to leave.