Young Writers Society

Author's Note: I'm so happy to finally have this first chapter done! This might be a bumpy ride because I'm horrible at grammar and I haven't written in forever. I'm also not a super good writer and the idea of this is well...this might be a bumpy ride. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this, it is only the first chapter and I am working on chapter 2. The main point of this authors note is just to let you know to set your expectations low. 

- Radical Carrot

Chapter 1: Port Oliver

Miss. Anne Waltz was sprawled on her hay stuffed mattress, her blankets and sheets laid in a heap on the floor. Her long auburn hair weaved into a braid that reached down to her butt. At the top of her head, her hair was cut into short bangs. Her chest gently rose and fell while little puffs of air blew from her nose. The room around her was silent and still. Daylight streamed in through the circular room’s single window. If you had gazed closely at the sunbeam you would’ve noticed specks of dust flittering about in it. Birds chirped and sang outside, while inside, a single clock on the wall ticked away. Despite the fact that there was another bed in the room, Miss. Anne Waltz slept alone.

Just before the clock struck the hour of 11:00 AM, a young boy (no more than twelve years of age) found himself climbing the spiral staircase in the middle of the room where Anne slept. His hair was honey brown and pushed behind his ears. It hung down to the midsection of his back in thick and wavy strands. The boy sat himself down next to his sleeping mother and gently nudged her, “Mom, wake up.” She stirred but did not wake. Again, he nudged her. “Mom, it’s eleven o'clock, you need to wake up.”

Anne’s light sleep lead her to open one eye, then the other, when they focused the world around her, her eyes found themselves locked onto her son, “Good morning Oliver,” she smiled sleepily. Oliver pushed his circular glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. They were always a little too large for his head. He wished his mother a good morning and smiled back. Anne’s eyes drifted up to the clock and she sat up with shock. “Oh my god!” She cried, “It’s already eleven o’clock?”

Oliver glanced over at the clock, “Yes mom it’s eleven.”

Anne glared at her son, “And you didn’t wake me?”

Oliver smiled, “No, I sure didn’t. You need all the sleep you can get, running the lighthouse all night and such.”

Oliver’s mother leaned back against the wall and rubbed her forehead. “Yes Oliver, but we need to go into town today.”

Her son's eyes light up as if a fire had been ignited in them, “We are?”

“Yes, we need food, I’ll skip breakfast, get your coat in and meet me downstairs,” Anne rose from the bed and prepared to strip off her nightgown.

Oliver followed his mother's directions and ran down the spiral staircase. It took him through the kitchen and then on to the library and as he went further down he reached a dark room. It was the only one in the lighthouse not light by a window. Scattered about it was old dust covered and rusted objects. A closet held moth eaten clothes whose owner had long forgotten about them. On the wall was a mounted sword which served as a reminder to Oliver of his missing father.

He took a muted green coat off of a coat hanger and gently put it on. It was too big for him, much like his glasses, but he felt more like a man when he dressed like one. His mother came down the stairs and when she saw her son gazing at his father’s sword she sighed. She wore a simple dress that had once been sown for her. She passed her son to the door of the lighthouse and called him to her. Anne opened the door and light streamed into the dark place and they both strolled into the warm summer day.

Port Oliver was the only town on the island and was about hours walk from the islands only lighthouse. It was a quiet and simple town, with quiet and simple people, on a quiet and simple island. Primarily a fishing town, Port Oliver often lacked in supplies and was often forgotten about on the map. This leads the townspeople to create themselves small gardens. A single sandy path connected Port Oliver to its lighthouse and the rest was covered with the occasionally abandoned cottage and rolling hills of grass. Because the island had so few trees, the wind whipped and battered the poor thing leaving bald spots on its hills. While Oliver and his mother walked to town, Oliver often gazed into the sky and tried to make sense of the shapes of the clouds. But today not a single cloud seemed to loom anywhere.

The town on the horizon drew closer and closer. As they neared the village, the mother and her son quickened their pace. Inside the town the air became musty. People chattered to each other on the cobblestone streets and the clopping of horses hooves was always present. The smell fresh bread from a nearby bakery filled the air alongside the smell of flowers from a florist's shop. But the creaking of the boats in the harbor and smell of freshly caught fish were what made Port Oliver home.

Oliver smiled and the sunlight warmed his cheeks. He and his mother entered the bakery. A lovely old mutthead by the name of Mrs. Bunt ran the bakery. She always wore an apron over a light pink dress with white ruffles on the edges and a neat bow tied in the back. While she had the body of an old woman, like all muttheads, her head was that of an animal. A rabbit to be specific. Her fur was white with black speckles and her long ears always perked up when you walked into her bakery. Her nose often twitched and would cause her small circular glasses to slip down her short snout.

“Good afternoon Ms. Waltz, good afternoon Mr. Waltz,” She said greeting her customers. They wished her a good afternoon and purchased a loaf of bread from her.

“So Mrs. Bunt, how is Mr. Bunt?” Anne asked while placing the bread into a sack. It was still warm.

Mrs. Bunt smiled, “He’s still an old sea dog, will fish till the day he dies.” Mr. Bunt, unlike Mrs. Bunt, was human. They were quite the uncommon match. But for forty years they had been married, and despite the fact that they could not bear children together, their love had remained strong for every one of those years.

“Well, of course, he will, that’s the story of every fisherman I ever knew,” Anne replied, the two giggled.

Oliver was already gaining a sense of where this conversation was going. His mother had a talent for turning any quick hello into an hour long conversation. “Mom, can I go to the harbor while you talk to Mrs. Bunt?”

Anne paused the conversation and glanced out the window which faced the harbor, “alright Oliver you can go to the harbor, don’t play on the boats though.”

Oliver assured his mother that he wouldn't and said goodbye to Mrs. Bunt. He made his way down to the small harbor. A seagull sat on the boardwalk and Oliver sat next to it. He reached out his hand to pet the bird but it got up and ran away before he could do so.

“Good day Oliver!” A voice shouted from down the boardwalk. Oliver looked to see where the voice came from and spotted his friend Mr. Stow. He was wearing his bright red British uniform which could probably be spotted from the other side of the island (not that across the island was very far away). The man had rosy cheeks and always seemed to be smiling in all of Oliver’s memories of him, and he had known Oliver since Oliver was just a baby. In fact, Oliver couldn’t think of one thing that could make the man frown. Mr. Stow was one of the four British soldiers stationed on the island, and despite the fact that Port Oliver was the island furthest from anyone in the world's mind (even the British empire who had colonized it), Mr. Stow took his job of protecting the island with the utmost seriousness. He knew every face and every home every face belonged to. Never would there be a day where he wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice himself for the people of Port Oliver.

“Good day Mr. Stow!” Oliver shouted back.

Mr. Stow smiled and walked down the boardwalk to Oliver. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it boy?”

Oliver nodded, “Very nice indeed Mr. Stow.”

“How’s your mum?”

“Talking to Mrs. Bunt.”

“Well, I suppose she’ll be in the bakery for a while then.”

“As usual.”

Mr. Stow laughed, “Well Oliver, why is it you’re in the harbor?”

Oliver gazed to the horizon line, “Just like to watch when boats come in.”

The soldier also gazed out, “Why yes, unfortunately, no traders seemed to be headed our way according to the letters we’ve gotten. The crown does all it can, but sometimes it forgets about its own people.”

Oliver pointed to the horizon. In the distance, you could see a ship headed to the port. “Well, there's one ship. Looks like the crown didn’t forget about us after all!”

Mr. Stow followed Oliver’s pointing finger to find the ship. He then brought up his spy glass and took a closer look at the ship. “Hmm, it’s no ship that I recognize. Must be a new trader.”

“May I please use your spy glass?” Oliver asked. Mr. Stow gave Oliver the spy glass. The young boy looked through it at the boat. No flags were strung up on the boat, they were showing no colors. “Sir, that boat is flying no colors.”

Mr. Stow nodded, “Yes, ships often forget to fly their colors. I wouldn’t worry Oliver. But I must get back to my post, goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Stow.”

After Oliver gave him back his spy glass, Mr. Stow left the boardwalk and returned to his post. Oliver still locked his eyes on the boat as it drew nearer and nearer. He tried to remember all that his mother had taught him. It was unusual for a ship to not fly their colors. The ship was so close now, he could swim out to it if he wanted to. Uneasy, Oliver hurriedly walked back to the bakery. He threw open the door, “Mom there’s a boat outside and they aren’t flying their colors. I have no idea what they’re here for.”

Anne turned away from Mrs. Bunt who had just been telling her a story from when she was young. “What do you mean Oliver?”

“A ship will fly their colors so that they can be identified at ports.” He pointed out the window, “That ship isn’t flying any colors.And you told me that tends to only happen when pirates come to towns to raid them.”

Anne froze into place. “You’re right Oliver.” Her mind raced with a million questions. Why would pirates come to Port Oliver? Are they here for us? Is he here? Has he found us?

“Mom!” Oliver shouted jerking his mother back to reality. “What’s going on? Do you know those pirates? Did Dad know those pirates?”

Oliver turned and looked back out the window. The boat had now docked, but no one came out of it. Mr. Stow walked down the boardwalk, parchment in hand. He was going to register the boat. The soldier waited patiently at the bottom of the boat until and man came out to meet him. He was tall, burly, and wore a black jacket that dragged on the floor. His face was covered by a rusty mask with glass welded into it to allow its owner to see.

“Mom?”

Before Mr. Stow could even speak to the man, the man removed a flintlock pistol from his belt and blew a hole right through the poor soldiers head. Mr. Stow limply fell to the floor, his piece of parchment paper fluttering into the water. Men then fled out of the ship carrying guns and bombs. They were pirates.

Oliver stood there, eyes wide. The horror he just witnessed not fully connecting to his mind. He felt numb, faint like he couldn’t breathe. His mother’s arm curled around his. His mother leaned in close to him and whispered, “Oliver, we need to leave. Now.” she turned back to Mrs. Bunt. “Mrs. Bunt, hide behind your counter. Don’t come out no matter what.” the old mutthead crouched down.

Outside a woman screamed. Anne held onto Oliver's arm and pulled him out the door. Then, they ran. As hard as they possibly could. Behind them they heard gunshots ring out, bombs blew houses to splinters, and people wailed. Anne forced herself to not look back, but Oliver couldn't tear his eyes away from the carnage. One thought looped around his mind over and over again. Mr. Stow is dead?

Anne dragged her child by the arm up the hill and out of town. A house had caught fire and the breeze fed the homes of the town of it. Oliver could still see the man who had shot Mr. Stow. He still stood on the dock. Despite his wearing a mask, you could tell he was looking for something. His head turned left and right, sometimes he would take a few steps forward just to eventually return to where he originally was. Then, he turned his head to the horizon, and for a spine chilling moment, he looked straight at Oliver. Oliver couldn’t see the man's eyes, but he knew that their eyes were locked in a stare. The man had found what he came here for, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away. Oliver could hear his own heart pounding in his chest. His breath quickened and adrenaline suddenly jetted through his body. He was no longer numb. Oliver began to run as fast as his mother and she no longer had to tug on his sleeve.

The island’s serene landscape was untouched by the chaos of the town. Animals of the island took no notice of the commotion. The bees still collected their pollen. The rabbits still nibbled on grass. The seagulls still scoured the beach for washed up muscles. But the mother and son ran. They ran until their feet ached and their stomachs cramped. They ran to the only place that was safe. The lighthouse.

Anne threw open the door to the lighthouse. “Oliver I want you to hide upstairs under your bed, right now!”

“But mom what are-”

“Right now!”

Oliver took a step back from his mother. There was something in her eyes. Something he had never seen before, a sort of anger and rage. He was fearful of it. Oliver climbed the spiral staircase and as he did he caught a glimpse of his mother taking his father’s sword off its mount on the wall. He reached his room and crawled under his bed. The boy could feel his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it from outside the lighthouse.

Down below Oliver, Anne examined the sword of her husband. Its blade was dull, heavy, and carried a thousand memories with it. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and sighed. She prayed with all her heart that these men, these pirates, weren’t here for her or her son. However, she knew that they were. It was her fault. She thought she had escaped from him, from herself. But she didn’t, she couldn’t, and now the town had perished because of her. Even if she was afraid she knew there was one thing and one thing only that she had to do. Protect Oliver.

A fist pounded viciously on her door. “Ms. Anne Waltz, come out, please. I have some matters to discuss with you.”

Upstairs Oliver heard the pounding. He sucked in a deep breath and held it in to keep himself from breathing hard. Anne also sucked in a deep breath, but she released it. She stood up straight, tucked any loose hairs behind her ear, and opened the door. The man with the black coat and mask loomed in the doorway in front of her. “Leave,” she demanded.

The man chuckled underneath his mask, “Ms. Waltz, I cannot leave, not without you.” He stepped forward and she stepped back. She had fought men like this before, but not for years.

She raised her sword, “I said, leave.”

He drew his own sword. “Ms. Waltz, this isn’t the sort of trouble you want to get yourself into.”

“I’ve gotten myself into worse trouble than this and done well for myself,” she growled.

Underneath his mask, the man heaved a sigh. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Captain Waltz never makes anything easy”.

He then swung the sword upwards, and Anne stepped back avoiding the blow. She then lunged forward and jabbed at him. He jumped backward out of the lighthouse. Anne slammed the door shut behind her, and swung the sword at his head. His blade met hers in the air with a sharp chink. She pressed her blade against his and the blades scraped against each other. The pirate’s strength was greater than hers and she was forced to let her arms fall. He used this opportunity to jab at her. The tip of the blade caught her dress and tore through the fabric leaving a gaping hole in its wake. He then swung at her head. She bent backward and the blade just barely missed taking her nose off. With her, in a weak position, he brought the sword down. Anne lost her balance and fell to the ground, the sword sinking itself into the soft ground a mere centimeter from her head. Her eyes widened and fear clenched her heart as the man leaned down until his mask was almost touching her face.

“Anne Waltz,” he whispered. “I told you this was the sort of trouble you didn’t want to get yourself into.”

She gasped as he pinned her down, holding her arms to the ground. He then reached back into one of the pockets of his coat pulling out a tattered piece of parchment. The pirate pressed the parchment into her stomach and whispered, “Do not fail me, or we’ll come for the boy.” He then stood up, sheathed his sword, and dusted himself off. With that, he strode off down the sandy path towards the burning town. Anne lifted the parchment off her stomach and read it.

Dear Ms. Anne Waltz,

Your husband owes us a great deal of money. He refuses to pay his debts back to us and he’s quite recently disappeared from the map. We have tried to track him down, but he cannot be found. Being his former wife, we would like you to track down Captain Waltz in four months. If this task isn’t completed in four months, a punishment may be in order. We do have one clue as to the what he did and where he went in the months leading to his disappearance. We have the first clue, but only you can really know where the rest may be.

Good Luck,

Morning Star

Anne gazed at the note and flipped it over revealing coordinates scribbled on the back of it. The pirates hadn’t come here for Oliver after all. She shuddered and clenched the note into a ball in her fist. This was Frederick's fault. She thought that she was finally done with him, that snake. But even here on the tiny forgotten island of Port Oliver, he plagued her life.

The door of the lighthouse burst open and Oliver ran to his mother. “Mom, mom! Are you okay! Are the pirates gone?”

Anne faked a smile for her son, “Everything’s alright Oliver.”

“But why were the pirates here? What did they want from us mom?”

Anne inhaled deeply following it with a deep exhale to calm herself. “Oliver, I want you to pack a bag of clothes and food.” Oliver fell silent in confusion. After a second or two, he asked why. “Because we have to leave Port Oliver. We’re going to go find your father.

“We are!” He cried excitedly.

His mother answered with a solemn nod. Oliver ran back inside the lighthouse with bewilderment, fear, and joy pumping through his veins. But his mother still sat on the ground. Her stomach twisted into knots as fear clung to it. Her heart flared and pounded with rage and sorrow. Black smoke billowed on the horizon but it looked like the fire had been put out. The smell of wild flowers and smoke melded into a grotesque scent and the breeze had finally brought clouds over the island. The breeze gently brushed through the grass around her and seagulls called to each other while the waves gently rolled over the hot sand of the beach. Her eyes strained to take in all she could because Anne knew she was on the precipice of something grand and terrifying that would take her far away from this home she had made for herself. Like the tide, it would drag her out to open water, and if she did not have the strength to tread water, the abyss would swallow her whole.