Short stories

Our short stories

FASQUEL MARIE-HELENE 2nde 5 & 6 LycĂŠe International Nelson Mandela

Short Stories Drumnadrochit and the Loch Ness Monster

For 50 years, every morning, Barra Mc Cuda would wake up before dawn and go fishing on the Loch Ness, enjoying the striking sunrise. The contact he had with nature was the reason he had spent his life at sea. Everyone in Drumnadrochit knew and respected the old man. Scottish rural villages were known for their innumerable legends. People were particularly superstitious concerning the Loch Ness Monster legend whose roots came from the Urquhart Castle, a ruin nearby Barra’s house.

Night was approaching when Barra decided to walk to the lake and admire his beloved country. Barra had trouble moving, he was indeed a very old man, after years of physical exhaustion in dreadful weather. On his way, he walked into Scott Spencer, a charming young man who had bought the Urquhart Castle and was refurbishing it. Reaching the shore, he suddenly felt a searing pain. Moments later Barra Mc Cuda was dead.

The next morning, two young men discovered his body, throat wide open, blood still squirting. It was a massive shock for the villagers who wondered what mystifying wild animal could possibly have done such a thing. Of course, the old legends came back quickly and soon, the Loch Ness Monster was in everyone's mind.

Peter Harrison and Shona Mc Mullan had been together since the age of 17. They had met in high school and got married after graduating. Everybody in the town of Drumnadrochit knew them.

Everyone admired their love and how they always helped around. Shona was 5'7 feet tall, a red-head and always wore a bandana in her hair. Peter was much taller, he measured 6'2 feet which was pretty unusual because the people in the village were mostly much smaller. He had light brown hair. Every day, he would read the morning newspaper while drinking a cup of tea before going to work. That morning Barra Mc Cudda's death was reported in the paper. Peter was a builder. He had plans to build a house on the top of the hill with a panoramic view over the lake. That morning, while he was leaving for work, he came across Scott Spencer. He had never seen him before and he thought he looked exhausted. It seemed that Scott was heading in the direction of the town. At 4 o' clock in the afternoon, Peter was back home. He had finished early that day, because of the heavy rain that had prevented him from continuing work. When the weather cleared up, Shona and Peter decided to go for a walk to admire the sunset.

The next day, friends of Barra’s who had gone to the river to lay flowers upon his grave, noticed some clothes floating on the water. One of the men went to get them when he noticed one the pieces of clothing had stains of blood. He knew that it belonged to Peter because of the size of the clothes.

The police investigated the scene but they had no trace of any fingerprints or anything that might have killed the young couple. The two bodies were pulled out from the water and were wounded the

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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same way as Barra Mc Cudda had; the throat wide open. Rumors spread that the Loch Ness Monster had come back and this time for real. A search was made to find the monster that had killed these innocent people. For days, no one had dared to approach the river or to leave their house. They all feared the Loch Ness Monster.

Colin and Lucy Ravensdale were joyful children, beloved by all the villagers. Their mother, a stout young woman, had raised them on her own, her husband having succumbed to the plague not long after his children's birth. At the ripe age of 7, Lucy was a dynamic and mischievous young child and the two year elder Colin would always encourage his sister's worse misdeeds.

It had been almost two endless weeks that the siblings has not been allowed to venture too far from the village because of the previous murders, fear was now omnipresent and an atmosphere of terror prevailed. Nevertheless, the children were becoming so unbearable that when Scott Spencer kindly offered to take them both to the nearest forest to enable them to expend all of their energy, their mother who was starting to really appreciate Scott, immediately agreed.

The next morning, the three of them left quite early, the overexcited kids frolicking slightly ahead of the young man. In the middle of the afternoon, Mrs Ravensdale was beginning to think that it would be time for her children to come back when she saw her daughter running as fast as she could towards her. Lucy seemed deeply shocked and could not stop crying, her frail body was shaking violently and she frantically repeated her brother's name unceasingly. Instantly panicked, her mother called for help and accompanied by several robust men, she hurried towards the forest.

The villagers eventually reached the forest and began to look for Colin. It was not long before they heard a moaning noise like that of a wild animal.

Right there, just behind an enormous oak tree, the villagers attended an abominable and heartrending scene: Scott Spencer was bent over Colin's dead body, savagely tearing out shreds of his delicate skin, his repulsive mouth covered in blood.

The ghastly monster was not to be found in the Loch Ness after all...

(Group 1: Juliette and Charlotte)

LycÊe International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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Fright The creaking sounds of the old hardwood floor made themselves apparent quite often this night. The longest seven minutes of my life. The most torturous seven minutes of my life. I never expected myself to be caught up in such plain horror. Call it supernatural, hectic...paranormal. There’s this saying “Demons are like obedient dogs; they come when they are called.” What happens when those demons are unexpected guests?

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Flashback

I let out a small sneeze. The grass of the hills, obviously. I should’ve figured it out when Ramona told me about “a creepy manor on the top of a hill.” I didn’t believe her, since Ramona is the type of person to exaggerate every single thing that crosses her mind. But this time, I admit, she was right. A cold shudder trickled down my spine at the very sight of it. The cold autumn air enveloped my body. I couldn’t move. I felt something take over me as I was standing there...not being able to take my eyes off this house which tortured me. It was almost as if...I was being forced “Jim! Come on, everybody’s already in the house.” I took in a deep breath as I came back to my senses, looking over at the manor. Weeds and dandelions poked out from the entrance stairway cracks. Red roses had wildly grown in thick batches by the ruined porch. The house’s walls were black. Which showed that there was neither love, nor attention had been showed towards it in the past couple of years. As I walked in the house, a sensation hit me deep in my chest. As if...as if I’d been in this place before. But if I had been here before, why didn’t I remember it?

“Oh boy, isn’t there a maid who comes dusting in here?” Julian called out while going through multiple drawers like a nosy guest who barges in your house at an unexpected hour for a casual cup of tea. The house gave me a tremendously eerie feeling. As if there was something or someone that was calling me. Almost as though I was in here for a reason. “Hey, you lot! Come on here, look what I found!” Ramona said as her voice echoed through the dark corridors. I started following the direction from which her voice came, only to end up in a majestically grand library. It was terrible, the state the library was in. But funnily enough, my eyes didn’t find Ramona anywhere in the whole room. It’s impossible, I thought to myself. I looked around the room, analyzing the objects in it at the same time, trying to find any sign of Ramona. I looked down at the ground, and saw a very old book, fallen carelessly on the ground. I furrowed my eyebrows, reaching down and picking it up. By the state the book was in, you would think that it had gone through rough times. Weird thought about a book, I know. My eyes started wandering around the pages of the dark book, before landing on this story... but to my surprise, it wasn’t a story. It was a letter which read:

“The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are in it, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.” The world indeed is a dangerous place. The person I trusted the most in my life, thought my back was butter and grazed the knife in it and over it, again and again. Without me even noticing it one bit. I was blinded by my faith in him. I followed him because of his humble eyes, his small smile, and his terrified soul. But all he did, was betray me. I promise to whoever is reading this letter...I will always be here. You dared step inside my house. You are going to pay. With your soul, or your life. I will be right there. In the cellar down the stairs. Behind the iron doors. Waiting to hear your footsteps.

Something came over me. I didn’t know what. A rush of incomprehension flew high over me, it was as if I got this adrenaline pumping hard through my veins, telling me desperately to go down the stairs. I took small steps, as if I

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

was walking to a funeral. But it felt different. As if it was my funeral. The floorboards creaked under every step I took. My brain was crying out to stop whatever I was doing. But my heart forced me to take a few steps further. My heart was beating at the speed of light, but it started beating even more when I saw the iron door. The smell of the place was all rust. I approached the iron cell slowly. My glance fell down towards the lock, just to see, there was no lock. My hand shivered, reaching over and pushing the door open, only to be welcomed by pitch-black darkness and total silence.

The only thing I could spot in the room, was a body. A pale body, dressed all in white with tar black straight hair. A woman. The only source of light was a discreet candle near her. It was a terrifying sight. It looked as if she was dangerous enough to kill you brutally, but so weak that she had no source of love. Nobody to care for her. She was a type of person who would scare you but make you pity her. I took out the flashlight in the back of my pocket, and pointed it straight at her. I gasped in horror, her face was smiling and her eyes were all white, no pupils. She was grinning really widely, as my heartbeat accelerated. Before I knew it, I felt a razor-sharp pang hit right in my chest. I heard screams coming from upstairs, along with a vision of a violent massacre as the pain in my chest increased. And that was the end. My end.

(Group 2: Ishani)

And the sea lion jumped onto the circular box and clapped his fins together again… For what seemed to be the hundredth time in a row...

“What on Earth am I doing here? Out of all the acts I could have come to see, why this one?”

Mark Hampton was bored. He thought that his relationship with his boss was good enough not to have to be sent to review “Zantaffio’s Great Animal Circus”, the one that in its greatest years had people coming from all five continents, to watch the massive elephants riding a bike, the wonderful penguins walking on tightropes and the brown bears in tutus ballet dancing. But the major attraction was none of these. No act could be compared to that of the apes, the chimpanzee violinists, the piano playing orang-utan and the gorillas that played the flute, all of that to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.

However, after ten years as the best circus in the world, the most popular animals got too old to perform and the ringmaster had a lot of trouble replacing them. Rumours were starting to go around saying that the animals were not treated properly. After that, the circus lost all of its value and originality, nobody went to watch the acts anymore and the owner went bankrupt. Nowadays the circus collects reviews worsening every time and now he was the one that had to write something so terrible that it would deliver the final blow to the ringmaster, the recent owner since the other one had gone broke and left the circus. Mark felt bad for this man in a way, he had fought for ages to keep his animals and the circus running but it was inevitable, the show would end very soon.

But that would have to wait until it ended, and right now he needed to go to the toilet. He saw the sign indicating that he had to go down to the sand covered stage and then walk around it. Lucky the tent was nearly empty and that everyone else had left. He started to go to the side of the stage and saw all the rotten wood used as boxes painted with cheap blue paint that was already starting to rip off. Then he followed the arrow leading out of the tent. The night air was chilly and he could see his breath disappearing into the dark. He finally found the toilets and when he had finished he started going back to the tent. Just then dark, looming shapes caught his eye and at once he thought that they looked like cages. He started moving towards them and because he wanted to see for himself what everyone was saying about how the remaining animals were treated. As he approached the mysterious cages he was overwhelmed by the stench that came from them. The stench was like that of corpses. All that made him even more curious about what could be hidden there. When shapes started to be visible, he jumped in surprise. All the apes were still alive, in terrible condition but still alive. The animals looked beaten, all of them had lost their fur and were pressed up in the darkest corner of the cages. They were terrified of anything that moved and made horrible screeches as he passed next to them, scrutinising every one of them. One of the apes intrigued him above all, like all the others he could not tell from what species he came from, but this one had something special about it. It was an old male sitting down crossed legged and this human position was what caught his eye. Mark paused and looked at this creature all over his face, his eyes were different and as the animal turned his head towards Mark, he looked at him right in the eyes. That was amazing. None of the others would have been able to establish eye contact and even less keep it that way. The gaze was that of someone that had no hope left yet had knowledge of life worthy of Buddha’s.

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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Mark, a bit confused by this vision, went back to the tent. The show was over, everyone had left. “Anyway, he thought, I could not have stood 5 more minutes of that nonsense”.

All of a sudden, the ringmaster appeared in front of him and Mark bowed down in front of him congratulating him and saying that the show was stunning. However whilst doing that he realised that this was something he had never done before and he would not have said it but no matter how unwilling he bowed down he could not help it. Mark looked up at the ringmaster’s face when he was looking down at him and heard him mutter the words “good boy” in a soothing and caring voice, one that would be used when petting animals. This calmed Mark down a little, but only his body; his thoughts were getting more afraid every second. This man, standing in front of him seemed to have managed to subdue his body and Mark knew that he would not stop there. Slowly, he felt that not only he had lost control over his body but his mind and thoughts were starting to dilapidate. He dropped to his knees and started crawling back away from the ringmaster. He felt terrified and in danger, a human was standing in front of him! He looked down at himself, what was he doing in human clothes? He ripped all of his clothes off and tried to run! However, was trying to go on his four feet and so tripped over and got caught up by the ringmaster who called for assistance. Soon after two people came over carrying a cage and brutally threw him into it. Mark whimpered and as he was getting locked up, he tried relentlessly to remember his name, at least his name! “Mark… Mark… Mark… Mar… M… …”.

(Group 3: Mathieu and Alix)

Today had been a normal day at school. I got on the bus to go home. I slept most of the time. When I got off the bus I walked the usual ten minutes, this was a usually boring habit but today was fine because Beth was with me. We talked the whole way before going into our house. It was a beautiful day so she decided to go on a bike ride with the dog, I didn’t go because I wanted to eat and rest. There isn’t much to do where we live, we’re mostly surrounded by fields so on a sunny day after school the only nice thing you can do is go for a walk or a bike ride. I ate some biscuits and chocolates with my parents and went to sit in front of the TV. But two hours later my sister still wasn’t home yet and I started to worry when the dog came back alone. This had never happened before. That’s when the phone rang. I heard my mother greet the neighbor over the phone, her voice changed suddenly. Panicked, she hung up quickly and called my father. The only thing I heard was “It’s Elizabeth.” It wasn’t much but it sufficed, I got outside just when my mother was grabbing the car keys and jumped in the car before they saw me. I knew they didn’t want me to come. They were trying to sneak out. I hid on the backseats. When we arrived, I saw the ambulances’ flashing lights. My parents jumped out of the car, I sat up. That is when I saw her, my sister was lying on a stretcher, motionless. My parents rushed over to her but I froze in place, I didn’t know what to do or think… The paramedics took her into the ambulance, my parents following them. I saw them talking to her and she seemed to be answering, this comforted me. When I saw my parents come back, I hid again. We followed the ambulance to the hospital. I waited until my parents were in the hospital to sneak in and saw them all in a room, Beth lying on a bed and my parents talking with the doctor. When they came out to deal with paper issues I thought it would be my only chance so I entered the room and sat near my sister, taking her hand and trying to warm it up. She was sleeping but I talked to her anyway, I knew that somehow she could hear me. I stayed there for half an hour before they came back.

I rushed to the car just in time. When we got home, they had no idea I had been there the whole time. They didn’t talk about it until the next day, at dinner. I acted as though I was surprised, they told me she was going to recover soon but I

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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wasn’t worried, my sister was strong. The next days went as usual, I went to see her twice, and she was sleeping each time... One day, after school, I decided to go and see her but when I asked for her, they said she wasn’t here anymore. At dinner, I asked my parents where she was, and they replied that she had been moved to intensive care. I thus thought it was because of the noise and that she needed more peace and quiet to rest. Unluckily, she was now even further away from me.

The following week was probably the worst of my life. I missed Beth so much. I hadn’t seen her in so long and hadn’t talked to her in what felt like forever. My parent’s attitude didn’t help. They were so cold. They hardly talked to me, let alone to each other. One day, after school I decided to go to my friends’ house, I maybe stayed there for an hour or so. When I came home, my mother was so angry with me, it actually scared me. She had never been that mean. I also noticed that my mum’s hands were shaking when she was cooking. I had never seen her like this. And my father just stayed in his chair, staring, without saying anything. I didn’t understand how they could have just changed, from one day to the next. If only my sister was here, at least I wouldn’t be going through this alone... Although I had a feeling her being gone had something to do with their attitude (but she was in the hospital and going to be fine so it didn’t seem to be much of an excuse).

The next day, I decided not to speak to them so they would know how angry I felt. But when I got up, my mother was crying in my father’s arms in the living room and this I could not ignore so I went to see them asking what was wrong. When my mother realized I was there, she dried up her eyes and said” You have to get ready, we are leaving” in a tearful voice. My mother looked at me and burst into tears. Then my father looked at me and said “your dress is in our room, put it on and we are leaving”. It is only then that I realized they were both dressed in black. I went to see my dress, it was my black one that I had only worn once: at my grandmother’s funeral. We were going to a funeral. And then it hit me to whose funeral we were going to. My heart broke when I realized I was going to bury my sister.

Group 4: Celymene, Charlotte N, Margaux

Turn of Fate “Tonight we have more news on the recent earthquake that occurred in Haiti near Port-au-Prince. So far there have been 296 victims and the rescuers are still actively looking for survivors. It might seem very unlikely 20 hours after the disaster but there have still been some miraculous survivors. One of them, Amanda Colman an American volunteer was found yesterday in a car that had been crushed under a fallen building…….”

I woke up abruptly this morning with the deafening sound of my monstrous phone ringing. It was 5:00 am but the hospital needed assistance urgently. I got up quickly from my uncomfortable bed that my poor host family had so kindly given to me. I looked at the messy room, picked up a dirty t-shirt that was lying around and put it on. I nudged my roomy for her to wake up. I picked my Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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cup of coffee as usual, but accidentally spilt it. Hurrying, I ran back inside and got another t-shirt on the floor. Then we went out and called a taxi. It was surely not my day because the first cab passed by without a second look.

As I was in the cab I thought back to the feeling I was often having recently. A feeling of insecurity in this foreign country and felt observed because of the color of my skin. This country contrasted so much with my homeland. I was starting to miss my family though I was lucky to have company. My family had been very understanding about my wish to come to Haiti and help people in need even though they were worried for my safety. But during this trip there had been very little time for missing home as there was so much to do especially after the recent earthquake. As the taxi arrived at the hospital we jumped out of the car and headed inside.

As we went through the emergency waiting room we had to be careful not to step on people as the room was so flooded with a strong stream of bodies so that it made it impossible to see the floor. We pushed through this crowd to get past to meet up with the rest of the medical team. It had apparently been a harsh night as the night crew seemed exhausted and barely managing to stay standing up without collapsing. Their languishment was not only physical but mental too. The extremely poor medical resources made it very difficult to treat the badly injured. All we could do was merely to put bandages on all day long and to give some few patients some of our scarce medicines. What added to the dispiritedness of the whole medical crew was knowing that in other countries these patients would be cured in very little time.

I was suddenly snatched from my thoughts as we received an emergency call. We would have to hurry out quickly, use the old truck that served as an ambulance and hope that we got through the traffic before it was too late. It was our turn with my roomy so we got the medical cases and started jogging out to the truck. She was a few meters behind me, as I got out in the truck.

Without warning everything started shaking, things were falling, trembling from everywhere and I was completely disorientated. An earthquake. Just after understanding this all went black. I lost conscience.

She awoke to the cacophony of the heart monitor and found herself in a room filled with a monochrome of whites. A doctor came in accompanied by a nurse. While she checked the machines, he questioned her about the incident.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked.

She was being tortured by an awful headache so her only answer was a groan.

“Do you remember your name darling?” asked the nurse who now checked the catheter.

She recalled something important. She suddenly panicked.

“Where’s Sarah?” she yelled with her croaky and tired voice. The doctor and the nurse tried to calm her down but she only got more frustrated and kept moving around even though her injured body hurt. She groaned ceaselessly the same question again and again.

A few hours later she finally calmed down. The doctor came back.

“We need to ask you these questions. Who are you and what happened?”

She took a deep breath.

“My name is Amanda Colman. I’m an American medical volunteer… We had left for on an emergency and I lost sight of Sarah….

She was just behind me.. Where is she? How is she? When can I see her?”

The doctor glanced at her briefly and looked away.

“I’m sorry Amanda…” “......A few hours later another victim was found near the car. Unfortunately she hadn’t survived. This victim was Sarah Melfield, another American volunteer and also a close friend of Amanda Colman’s. It was a great loss since she was only 24 years old. All our respect to her family who has to suffer from this tremendous grief but also to all the families of the victims of this disaster in Haiti. Also on the news tonight…”

Group 5: Christel and Haruka

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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My name is John.

I heard that “life is like a chocolate box, you never know what you're going to find”... the problem is that my chocolate box is empty, chocolates are nowhere to be found.

My life has no special meaning... I hope meaning didn't eat the chocolates, because I'd be screwed. It doesn't matter anyway. It's true, what's the point of having chocolates without a reason to eat them? Even worse, what is the point of having a box without anything in it?

If other people's lives are like chocolate boxes, then mine must be compared to an iPhone screen, not one of your brand new phone that you take care of, more like the one you want to break because it is at least 50 years old (which is a bit stupid because it did not exist back then) and you know you are not going to get a new one. The problem is I am only 17, and after having broken this one, I won’t get another one...

But here we are, during this school trip, it might even be my last one, but I don't mind. I do not particularly enjoy myself, but I find pleasant to watch my friends having great fun, the "friends" was obviously a joke... At least, the landscape is fine, but I'd rather be elsewhere I suppose, on the top of the Himalayas, I'm not racist, I just prefer white... I shouldn't make jokes of this kind, it could cost me freedom. A large amount of actions lead to prison nowadays... And if you are afraid of turning the light off, you might be considered as racist, and therefore go to prison. But only if you are poor, or at least, not rich enough. Through my recurrent visits to the hospital, I realize the power of money: the “serviceable” doors it can open, and the “troublesome” windows it can close. When you are ill, it can buy you life... I'm not blaming nor criticizing, but it's always easier to be sick when your dear father is able to slip a thick envelop under the doctor's office door.

I love criticizing, it makes me feel intelligent. There's a great deal of self-criticizing in my class, or hypocrisy... (and I also have to admit that I'd rather criticize others because there's not much to say about me.) ... It makes me even sicker to hear all those self-insufficient, socialized hypocrites. I know someone who would have named them “little bitches” but I'd rather keep it gentle... so I will just stop mentioning them.

I know that's harsh and rude, but I have to admit that they are - I said I will stop, so let’s put an end to this I never talk too much, it might be disturbing for my fellow-students, but it might be better for both of us. They wouldn't appreciate what I say, and I'd rather talk to my grandmother than talk to them. Since she is deaf, both are useless...

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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Oh! Looks like the bus finally arrived! Poland, here we are!

---

This room is incredibly spacious! The cave where I sleep is three times as small as this one. It must be normal, we are surrounded by desert, no human being miles around, and I must be the only one pleased by this concept of complete quiet. I suppose nobody came to ask a room since 2000. And this person actually forgot some of his stuff, that was never thrown away, and was still in the closet (you are supposed to be disgusted by now... just as I was, discovering the toilets...).

Rachel was knocking on the door, don't ask me how I knew it... I obviously ran to open, because even though I despise every and each one of my "classmates", Rachel was obviously one of a kind... the holy grail of 12th grade... She was beautiful, intelligent, kind... all at the same time, even when she had her periods - which I suppose is an unexpected quality, nowhere to be found .

I invited her in, and was glad to see her accepting smile. We were both sitting on the bed, and none of us dared to talk, as we knew it would sound strange... So she lied down, and I followed, who wouldn't?

I first asked the reason of her visit, breaking this holy silence must have been the hardest thing I've ever done... but I needed to know what the point of her visit was, and, I have to admit that, deeply, I hoped she came for me, to tell me something. She is so important to me. I don't know what real love is, the only person I have ever loved is ME (but that's understandable, I mean...).

More seriously, I don't know a lot of people... I have never been in school during a whole year.

Some problems require long holidays, in a bed, surrounded by people dressed in white.

Never mind, I was there, with her enjoying a moment of pure delight... Her blond, curly, magnificent hair were tickling me, but I forced myself to stay motionless, even trying not to breathe. I did not want her to move, unless she wanted to get closer, and I would have been glad And believe me or not, that's what she did But then she kissed me and fled... And as far as I am concerned, I'll never be as close to such a creature anymore...

One thing I would have liked to do before leaving this world is having sex... I know it might sound a bit gross said as I just did, but I'd like to know how it feels, and I've got the impression my last chance has just gone out by the door.. A blue-eyed blonde, and gorgeous chance...

My name is John.

According to the doctor, I have got 3 days left...

LycÊe International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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Group 6: Bruno

Mystery in Chippewa It was a cold and winter night and a group of policemen was gathered near the small village of Chippewa in North America. A girl had been found, dead, lying in the park of the town university.

The girl was named Cassie, everybody knew her and this discovery came as a shock for all of the policemen. Some hid their eyes, others had tears rolling down their cheeks. It was hard to look at the lifeless body especially for Tom Hawkins, the chief officer, who was a close friend of Cassie’s dad. She was lying on her back and her mouth was still open, it seemed like she was screaming.

Broken glasses were to be found near the body, and a piece of shirt as well. It looked as if there had been a fight between Cassie and the murderer.

A few hours later the body was brought to the Medical examiner.

He soon discovered that Cassie had been strangled to death. After that all the officers on the case were warned of the reason of her death, some of them went to interrogate Cassie’s classmates. It took them about an hour to figure out that one professor in particular held a grudge against Cassie: Mr Jimmy Forms. One of the officers went to the University to question him. He had to, after all, he seemed like an important suspect.

“Hello Mr Forms” the chief officer said “I am the officer in charge of Cassie Mc Ferman’s murder. My name is Tom Hawkins, can I ask you a few questions? I heard she was one of your students here.”

“Oh, of course” Mr Jimmy Forms answered “But I don’t think I will be able to help you much” he added.

They discussed the situation for more than half an hour. The officer’s conclusion about the interview was that the teacher’s relationship with Cassie was pretty tense. Although he hadn’t been honest on everything: he had omitted to talk about this one time when he had strongly blocked her on the wall because of her attitude.

Tom Hawkins took his assistant, Brian Murphy, to the University a few days later to observe Mr Forms in his class. Brian was young and good looking, and girls looked at him intensely when they arrived. They kept walking until they reached Mr Forms’ class. Tom knocked on the door and asked the professor if they could stay during the course. He agreed and they observed him during the lesson. He seemed to be a quite good teacher, students listened to his course, he made them laugh, interested them. After the class, Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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Tom decided to ask the teacher a few questions; Mr Forms was working at the school and went home late at night the day of the murder.

Tom didn’t know what to think. His assistant, Brian, was convinced that he was the culprit, but to Tom, Mr Forms looked like a great teacher and even if evidence was against him, He needed more clues to solve this case. A moment later, the officer received a call. His colleagues informed him that someone had frequently called Cassie during the last weeks. Apparently, it was a number that was registered in their files, so it was a policeman's.

Everyone concluded that Cassies’ number must have been a wrong one for the caller.

As he entered his office, the medical examiner informed him that they had received the results of the footprints examination.

The footprints found near the body were 9.5 sized Mountain shoes.

Therefore, Officer Hawkins decided to visit Mr Forms since he was the major suspect.

Mr Forms' shoes were Mountain ones, and he wore a size 9.5.

Tom asked him again what he was doing that night but his version of the facts hadn’t changed. Tom told him what had been found on the scene of the crime. The teacher explained that, to go back home, he had to walk in the park. There were too many coincidences for Tom who decided to take the teacher into custody, but Mr Forms continued to deny his invoolvment.

Tom got a new phone call from the medical examiner who told him that the fingerprints found on the body didn’t correspond to the suspect but to Tom’s assistant, Brian. Everything made sense in Tom’s mind. The looks of the girls at the university, Brian’s shoes, and the numerous calls from him on Cassie’s phone. Tom had to find him right away.

Brian had been at the office an hour previously but he had gone. Tom rushed out of the office, got in his car and went to Brian’s home. As he arrived he saw a car speeding out of the driveway. It was Brian’s. Tom called the police office for backup and a high-speed chase began.

A few months later the judgment was revealed with the truth behind this sordid story. Brian was considered mentally ill. He had been stalking Cassie for months. He was madly in love with her but the feeling was not shared. He kept harassing her and when she laughed at him saying he was disgusting and pitiful, Brian lost control and murdered the young girl.

Group 7: Matilda, Suzanna, Emma

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

11

The Cheesy Life of Taylor Monáe I wake up. A horrible pain crosses my head. I am staring at the ceiling when I hear my mum’s voice again. I sigh, annoyed. She always shouts to wake me up. I hate it.

First I do not ask myself why my mother wakes me up at 7 o’clock on a holiday morning. I don’t even glance at the alarm clock. I quickly put my dressing gown on and run down the stairs. I tumble in the kitchen. My twelve-year-old little sister Zoey is having her breakfast. This does surprise me. During the holidays, she always gets up at eleven. I ask her, amused: “What is your problem? Is it the end of the world?”

I burst out laughing. Zoey throws me one of her terrible bloodcurdling look. It freezes me. She is never upset by my jokes. I am really anxious now.

“What is it, Zoey? Is there really something wrong?”

She swallows her cereals and mumbles: “Mummy’s in the livin’ room with Mr. Gallagher and another man.”

“Dr. Gallagher!”

“What is he doing here?” I manage to articulate.

My sister opens her mouth to answer. My throat is dry and tied with anxiety.

“Somethin’ to do with yeh.”

Her last words ring in my head. I feel the pain coming. I take my head in my hands. The pain crosses my head for the second time today. I nearly believe that my brain is on fire. About a minute later, there is no trace of what I had just felt. My sister stares at me. I try to smile, but the result must be scary. I take a deep breath and walk right into the living room. My mother and the man are whispering to each other, as if they feared that someone could hear them. Could this “someone” be me?

Dr. Hugo Gallagher is looking out the window. He is tall, about fifty years old, with grey hair, but still handsome and always elegant. I really like him, but when I see him at home, it is always ominous.

Mum and the man, who is wearing a long coat are now talking louder. I can hear snatches of their conversation. Mummy looks hopeless. “… We have to tell her right now, she is old enough. If you don’t, somebody else will do it, said the man sharply.”

“She’ll never agree. And I don’t neither. She has a chance to…”

“Good morning Taylor.”

Mum and the unknown man suddenly turn around. Mum stares at me with her hands in front of her mouth as if to keep the words she had just said in her mouth. The man turns to face the doctor and quickly mutters something to him. Dr. Gallagher does not act as if someone had spoken to him.

He stares at me with his mysterious and deep dark eyes. Eventually, he murmurs: “Taylor we have been talking with your mother… About your brain cancer.”

My voice is extremely low when I mutter:

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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“And?...”

“And you’re going to go to the hospital. Nothing can be done now at home.”

“Will I come back?”

“Ahem.”

He coughs to play for time, I know it. The pain crosses my head again. I don’t care.

“Sean, it’s your turn. This is Dr. Sean.”

I realize a few seconds later that he was calling the man with a long coat. Sean takes the Dr.’s place on the chair and leans towards me.

“Your disease has reached a critical point.” ********************* A week later, I am pathetically lying on the hard and uncomfortable bed of the hospital. When I open my eyes, I see Dr. Gallagher, Mum, Mr. Sean and what looks like a dozen nurses. I feel sick. I have never liked crowds. The room is small and the atmosphere heavy. Nobody seems to see me and they all talk as if they were in a bar. A loud and melodious voice suddenly shouts: “SILENCE! Nurses, leave the room, please? And let young Zoey come in,” adds Dr. Gallagher, gently.

His tone is authoritative and no one contests his orders.

“Now,” he says, when the nurses are out of the room, “now we are going to tell you the choices you have. First, we know nothing about your cancer and, sorry to tell that, you will die soon or not.”

My sister bursts into tears. I whisper with a weak smile: “Don’t cry Miss Zoey, it’s not the end of the world! Yes, doctor, I say, turning my face to Gallagher. What is the other option?”

“Ahem. The other choice is: I and Doctor Sean, who is a very famous doctor specialized in cancers, will try an experimental treatment on you.”

“But?” “As I said, it’s experimental…”

Dr. Sean was walking around the room. He stopped and exclaimed: “Hugo and I won’t influence you in your choice. You can discuss it with your family. We’re leaving the room.

Dr. Gallagher seems to have something to say but he stands up and follows Dr. Sean outside. ********************* I am alone in the scary white place. I can smell the smell of antiseptics. They give me two hours to be sure I will not change my mind. I ask my sister and mother to leave me alone. I don’t want to cry during what can be the last hours of my life.

The two hours pass slowly and the crucial moment comes. I say goodbye to Zoey and Mummy.

Dr. Gallagher and Dr. Sean’s masked faces are leaning over me. I am ready. They stick a syringe full of anaesthetic in my left arm. The darkness overwhelms my toes, my feet, my legs, my hips, my torso, my arms my neck and finally my brain. I know I failed. I feel it. I’m going to die. I have a thought for my sister, my family. I cannot feel my body. I cannot think anymore.

Everything is dark. No! I can see a light!

Group 8: Aymie

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

13

Newspapers It all started a few weeks ago. I was unemployed and had nothing to do with my life. After a boring Tuesday, I had paid my daily visit to the pub, and I was walking home, half drunk. The street was amazingly quiet, I was alone. It felt so peaceful. The alcohol was starting to make me feel dizzy. I walked by a phone box and decided to call my friend Jake to ask him to pick me up. Unfortunately, I was too wasted and fell asleep in the booth.

When I woke up, I wasn’t feeling any better, my head was burning and my neck hurting because of the extremely uncomfortable position in which I had slept. A few seconds had gone by when I realized the phone was ringing. I picked it up. From habit. A low husky voice said: “Are you still there?”

I hesitated, but then I figured out I had nothing else to do.

“Hum…Yes…” “Alright, remember: Friday, four o’clock, meet me at the bus stop next to the graveyard. We will discuss the terms of the arrangement. Clear?”

The man sounded really serious and severe, and I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Yes, quite clear.” I said, trying to sound confident.

“Describe yourself, physically, to recognize you.”

I felt really confused and didn’t know what to say so I just said what came to my mind: “Err… Yes…I’m quite tall, my hair and eyes are brown…and I got a tattoo on the back of my neck.”

“Very well then, don’t be late.” He said.

“I won’t be sir!” I answered, but he had already hung up.

He had seemed to me like a nice man but I didn’t know if I should go to the appointment or pretend nothing ever happened. I wouldn’t have minded using a friend’s opinion so I finally called Jake. I told him everything and asked him what he would do in my position: “That’s awesome! Go for it Shane! I mean, all you do these days is lay around and watch television.”

Jake was very enthusiastic about it, I, on the contrary, was doubtful.

“Yes I get it but, one small problem: the call wasn’t for me.”

“Only you and I know that.”

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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Jake had a point and he had convinced me, what if this meeting changed my miserable life?

“Let’s do this.”

Friday came faster than I had imagined and at four o’clock I was at the bus stop, waiting. I kept staring at everyone walking by, I must have seemed insane. How would I have recognized him anyway, I didn’t know what he looked like. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but that wasn’t a problem since I had no other plans for the day. I thought that maybe the whole thing was a bad joke and no one was coming. I had just sat on a bench five feet away when suddenly a bald man accosted me: “We don’t have much time, listen carefully.”

I was surprised and wasn’t sure to understand what was happening. Time for what? I just nodded. He handed me a newspaper.

“Each transaction will happen at the same place and at the same time, that is to say every Monday at five o’clock, you will leave a newspaper, like that one, in the park under the green bench so that people can’t see it. This is your first transaction so I give you the first paper, but...”

He handed me a key. “…you will find the others in an apartment. This opens a condo on Wood lane, number twenty-six of the newest building. I will leave a newspaper under the bed. Inside it there will be your payment for the previous transaction. It will always be that way: you go to the apartment, take the paper, leave it in the park and you go back to the apartment to get your money and the next paper. Clear?”

That was a lot of information in a small amount of time. I had loads of questions in my head but I didn’t think it was the appropriate moment for asking. I played along: “Yes, all clear.”

He added: “Oh, I forgot the most important part: don’t talk to anybody about the transactions and don’t try to figure out why the newspaper is important, you wouldn’t understand. Just make sure everything is done on time, you wouldn’t want to piss off the wrong people. But you won’t do anything stupid right? We can trust you, that’s why Mr Murphy chose you.”

I wanted to tell him I was the wrong guy but he left. I was puzzled. Who was Mr Murphy? And why would I want to piss anybody off? I was once again with the same problem: what should I do? At least I knew for sure I was going to tell Jake everything.

And so I did. Jake was as perplex as I was. But he persisted in his opinion, I should go for it. We also had a look at the paper. At first we thought it was perfectly normal but then we noticed some underlined letters or words, we tried to crack the code but nothing made sense and we gave up. However, I decided to keep playing along.

On the following Monday, I sat on the green bench. I looked around, there was nobody. I took the newspaper out of my jacket and slipped it under the bench, as I was told. Nothing happened. What was I expecting anyway? I got up and walked away. Then I drove to Wood lane, I found the building easily. I started looking for number twenty-six. I saw it, next to it was the name Murphy. That must be the one, I Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

15

thought. I got to the door and opened it. The flat was the smallest one I had ever seen. It was empty, except for a bed in the middle of the room. I lay down and looked under. I saw it. It was stuck between the mattress and the slats. I grabbed it and a dozen of dollar bills slipped out. I was astonished. I picked them up. I couldn’t believe it. Two thousand dollars! I drove straight to Jake’s to share my discovery. We talked all night long about how that job would change our lives and how happy we were.

After that day, I kept on leaving papers under the bench and getting more money. Three months later Jake and I were richer and happier than ever, we had had so much fun with all that money.

One day he called me, hysterically:

16

“Shane, I cracked the code!”

He had shouted so loudly that I had barely understood what he had said. But rapidly, I got excited: “Great!” I shouted. “I’m coming, don’t move.”

I jumped into my car, when I got there, I ran upstairs to his bedroom.

What I saw at that moment, tore me apart, I will never be able to forget it. I called an ambulance.

Everything rushed after that, he was taken to the hospital and I was brought home.

I was devastated. Jake and I had known each other since we were kids and I couldn’t accept the fact that he had died. At first, I thought that he had killed himself but the police concluded it was a homicide. Four days later, I was accused of Jake’s murder. They had found my fingerprints on the gun and I had no chance against a court. Somebody had set me up and I was then sent to jail. I was extremely confused but had just one question: why?

A year later, I received an unusual visit. A man wanted to see me. I didn’t know him but he seemed friendly. I told him my story and he listened. Just before leaving he gave me a newspaper. I opened it and a note slipped out:

Don’t talk to anybody about the transactions.

Don’t try to understand what’s in the papers. *Now you know why* -Murphy

Group 9: Julie

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

How my love for records brought me to Japan Two months. Twelve days. Five hours since I had met him. Each step that brought me closer to him, made my eyes sparkle, made my smile bigger and my heart beat faster. Fall had well settled in our agreeable neighbourhood of Crown Heights, Brooklyn. I genuinely enjoyed it here.

The color of the bricks, the small and unique shops along the streets and the mix of people who lived there. I entered Straker’s records knowing that he would be there. He stood under the light, next to the vintage jukebox, looking, as always, for a new vinyl for his brilliant collection. His flame-colored hair was messy and his bright green eyes had this searching-for-a-treasure look. When he noticed I was here he smiled and waved his hand. This pleasant routine had been going on for weeks.

One sunny day, I came in and he was not looking for any new records, he was joyfully dancing to an eighties song, warbling along Hall and Oates’ voices. It made me laugh and he felt embarrassed, stopping immediately.

When we started talking I felt that something had changed, he seemed especially cheerful so I asked him what was going on. He started speaking quickly and enthusiastically but from the very first words I stopped listening. I stared numbly at the floor. He had met someone. He went on and on telling me about how he had not felt this way in a very long time.

Suddenly he paused. He asked me a question that I did not hear. I did not dare look at him.

“You simply ran out without saying anything ?” she asked. My best friend kept mocking me for my ludicrous attitude. I felt ashamed for having made such a fool of myself. All this time I had thought that my love for him would one day be mutual. I tried not to think about it too much because it would drive me crazy. Annora was quietly looking at me while she was stroking her beautiful Ragdoll cat. We had been friends since our first year in pre-school. She was like a sister to me. But sometimes she was not of much help. Seeing that I was about to continue complaining about my lot in life, she changed subjects.

“So. We need to deal with our hopeless parents. They urgently need to be in a relationship. My Dad is seriously irritating. All he talks about are his work problems and all the disgusting details of a doctor's life.”

“Oh, I bet she is a hundred times worse!”, I complained, “I can’t wait to leave the apartment and live on my own!”

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

17

“What are you waiting for? Oh, don’t tell me! You are only waiting for that red-head to take you with him!”

I ignored her provocative joke.

For a couple of minutes we fell into silence and tried to imagine a solution so that our parents would not bother us as much. Suddenly my eyes lit like lightbulbs, a brilliant idea had sprung to my mind.

“We should set our parents up!”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, frowning her eyebrows.

“I mean we should make them meet and try to make them fall in love!”

Annora laughed, “Our parents have known each other for ages. They will never be more than friends! Even that is sometimes hard…”

I gave her every argument I could and finally convinced her. In a few days everything was organized. The following week they would happen to be on the same tennis court. They would play a match together and then have a snack in a romantic little park. The plan was perfect. In fact it worked better than we expected.

My mom and I did not have a very close mother-daughter relationship but we still enjoyed spending time together. We had a ritual which consisted in watching romantic movies in our very comfortable sofa while eating delicious pizzas and diabetic ice cream. Our appartment was particularly fit for those kinds of activity. My mom had chosen this flat because it was cozy and situated in Brooklyn, near her art gallery. A week after Annora's father and my mother had gone on their set up date, my mom finally told me that she had met someone. She paused our favorite movie at the moment where Allie desperately asks Noah why he had not written to her for all that time. It was unbelievable. She was incredibly happy, nearly hysterical. I was an awful liar so it was difficult to pretend that I did not know exactly what she was talking about. I pretended to be crossed that she did not want to tell me who the lucky one was, but I really was just laughing inside. She told me shyly that she was not ready for me to meet him yet and only let me know that he was really handsome and that he was a doctor. I did not really understand why she would not tell me that it was Annora’s father but I supposed it was because she did not want it to be a shock. She had never been like that since my father had left us eight years ago. I was glad that finally something good had happened to her and I really hoped it would work.

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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On the other hand I was miserable... I could not reasonably consider my life without him. I had told Annora exactly how I had planned my whole existence. Loving another person was certainly not part of it. I moped and cried for hours and hid from my mother, willing not to worry her.

A few weeks had passed and I could still not get rid of this picture in my head. The picture of him dressed perfectly, surrounded by records of the greatest stars of the ‘80s. “I have met someone.” Those words instantly made me want to cry. I was desperate. The only thing that cheered me up was that I knew my mom and Annora’s father were dating. I tried to put all of my sadness behind and I was doing my best to support this new and more than welcome relationship. Every time Annora and I saw each other we would discuss our parents’ love life. She would tell me everything that her dad would say about my mother and vice versa. It was unmistakable, my mother was getting more and more passionate. In fact, each time she would talk about him her eyes would sparkle, her smile would get bigger and I was sure that her heart beat faster.

Winter was now slowly arriving in the city of New York. Seven neverending weeks had gone by since I had been in Straker’s Records. I tried not to think about him looking extremely confused and asking himself what he had done to me. Now I had something else to look forward to, my mother had finally agreed for me to meet her new partner. She had invited him over for dinner. Even though we had nicely decorated the living room and set a fine table, it did not go as we expected. Once he had left, my mother and I had much to talk about.

I was now sitting in a plane ready to leave for Japan, willing to start a new life. The stewart going down the aisle was checking that all the passengers’ seat belts were tightly fastened. When he reached my seat his blazing hair and green eyes struck me. It reminded me of the last look my first love had given.

Group 10: Alizée, Lucie, élea

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

19

I

t was a cold rainy winter day when the phone rang. Mathew instantly took it. It was the phone

call he had been waiting for since he had finished his exams. He listened to the person with a particular attention until the phone fell from his hands to the ground and he couldn’t move. He cried and lay on his bed. After a few hours he felt hungry and went to the 1st kitchen of his manor located in the east part. He was living with his mother and his step-father in one of the wealthiest districts of the town. After eating, Mathew directly went to sleep trying to stop thinking about the previous incident that would be crucial a few months later.

3 Months Later Mathew’s life is now a disaster. After having failed his exams, his step-father left his mother. He’s now living in the suburbs. After being thrown out from his step-father’s manor, Mathew’s mother had not any money left. She was keeping the house all day waiting for Mathew, and he therefore had nowhere to go. He didn’t want to see his mother yet. He hadn’t seen her in over 3 months.

After distracting himself at the park, he walked through the poor suburbs of his mother’s town and found her house. The house was small and stingy, the closer he got the more he became disappointed. The letter box had broken, the weeds were taking over the tiny, overgrown garden and the path was cracked.

He finally reached the step and rang the doorbell. Almost instantly, he heard footsteps rushing to the door. The door opened suddenly and before him stood the same woman he had known when he was 9. Same haircut, same smile and the exact same smell of her perfume that he would never forget. Mathew did not want to give in yet, he was still affected by the way she had made no effort to see him for the last 3 months. He gingerly hugged her as she showered him with affection and comments about how he had grown so much and how handsome he was.

As she showed him around her cramped, partially breaking down house, she didn’t seem to be affected by the fact that she was desperately poor. She was happy and still seemed slightly overwhelmed at seeing him. He quickly told his mother that he was very tired and asked for his bedroom. His mother seemed slightly shocked by being cut off so quickly but proceeded with his request and ushered him to his so called bedroom. It was a sofa with a bedside table and light and a table in a garage with peeling wall paper.

This was so different from his luxurious lifestyle in his father’s mansion. A maid would come and make his bed with a breakfast tray as he woke up. Here there was no maid, no breakfast tray and

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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definitely no mansion. This would take a long time to get used to but he had no choice. This was where he would be until he could figure out what to do with his life.

With too many worried thoughts running through his mind, at 8:30 at night, Matthew switched off his bedside lamp and got under his itchy bed covers. This would be a long night. After 5 hours of tossing and turning in his thin bed, Mathew finally fell into a restless and uncomfortable sleep.

The next morning, Mathew was awoken by the lights passing through his thin, curtains. For a few moments he had forgotten where he was and was just starting to think about breakfast when he focused his eyes on the ceiling and instantly snapped back to reality. His father’s mansion definitely didn’t have a cracked and dirty ceiling. The truth sunk in and Mathew couldn’t help to be set back into his depressed mood, just like yesterday and the past 3 months. Would things ever change for him? This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and it was all his fault.

If Mathew had applied himself for 2 weeks and studied for his final exams, he would have stood a chance of getting the scholarship he wanted and go to university whilst staying in the comfortable lifestyle of his father’s riches. But instead, being an idiot, he had procrastinated and wasted time playing video games. On the night before his 2 major exams, Mathew had suddenly realized that he had just made one of the biggest mistakes of them all.

After trying to cram in some last studies, he collapsed by his desk from desperation and fatigue.

The next day he woke up with a stiff neck and the last thing he wanted to do was to go and fail miserably at an exam that was pertinent to his educational future. That day was one of the worst days of his life. During the 5 hours of exams he had gone throughthat day, Mathew felt as though he had been in the room for a lifetime. He knew straight away that he had completely failed his exams but had to endure the 3 weeks of waiting before his parents would receive his report card.

Today, Mathew had decided that he would figure something out. He realized that if he hated being here so much, he should find a way to sort himself up. He would write a CV and find a job to earn some money. This was very new to him, he didn’t have any previous work experience and no idea how to write about it. This meant that he would need to talk to his mother again.

After overthinking it, he resentfully called out to his mother in the living room. In an instant she was with him, asking him many questions and being overly enthusiastic. He stopped her in her tracks and told her he was only after her help to write up his CV. He was still shocked due to the sudden change from heaven in his step-father’s mansion where everything was done for him, to hell; his mother’s run down flat. This was all too much for Mathew, he didn’t know what to do or where to go. He didn’t get joy from anything anymore and at that moment, Mathew made a split second decision to run away from home.

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

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He stopped talking to his mother and slammed his bedroom door shut. He frantically packed away his few belongings into his bag and jumped out the window. He didn’t even say goodbye to his mother and before he could even think about what he would do now, something terrible happened.

When Mathew was running out onto the road out of rage, not thinking or looking down the street, the last thing he heard was a scream and the screech of car brakes on the bitumen. One flash of pain and then blackness…

22 Group 11: Hippolyte, Josie, Felix

Lily I burst out of the door in a great hurry. I couldn’t take it anymore, the air was heavier and I couldn’t see clearly. My throat was hurting to the point where I wanted to throw up and my legs were shaking. I only realized five minutes later that I had been running and I had to stop. I sat but I was really cold. It was the middle of December and the trees were covered in snow as the ground was. I thought this past was gone forever. I thought everything would be normal again. Why did I always have to mess things up? Why did I have to be that curious? Where did I go wrong at first anyway? I tried to clear up my mind, and the day came back in a flash.

When I opened my window, that morning, the snow was everywhere. I thought I was in a completely different world, but then I remembered that I was in Canada and that it was normal to have snow even though it had come late this year. Whitehorse was a small city, or at least the smallest I had been to in my life. Well, the only city I had been to was New York so maybe I can’t exactly say if that was a small city or not. Hum… Never mind. I took a deep breath. It was so good to be free and to feel the fresh air fill my lungs. It's said that Whitehorse is the city with the least pollution in the world! Isn’t it fabulous?

“Daddy?” I turned around and looked at my daughter. Lily was five years old and she looked exactly like her mother. Her dead mother. “Yes Lily?” I answered. I took her in my arms and she gave me a hug.

“Daddy, can I have my breakfast?” She asked nicely. She was my life and the only reason I was still trying to work hard. I brought her to the table and took a bowl with some cereals. I gave her a spoon and she ate silently. Lily wasn’t the kind of child that speaks endlessly. She was quiet and discreet. I was thinking of her when she called me again. I shook my head.

“Yes, sweetie?” She stared at me and looked away.

"We don’t have any milk left…” I looked at the bottle of milk. Indeed, it was empty. My eyes turned around the room and I saw that the cleaning hadn't been done. Boxes of pizzas were everywhere, and bottles of… I don’t even know what, were emptying their last drop on the carpet. I sighed. We had to go shopping. I hated this life, but it was the only thing I could do.

“Lily, we are going to the shop and we will take some bread and some milk, alright?” I asked her. She nodded. This wasn’t a life for her in fact… I felt guilty, but I couldn’t do much, could I? She took her coat and put some shoes on, with her pajamas still on. The look in my eyes was sad, but I had to be more than serious today. Outside, it was cold, many people stopped to stare at us, and other people spoke of us. I could hear the whispers saying: “Look it’s the man with the girl always stealing food from the supermarket. Don’t…” And he couldn’t, most of the time, hear the following sentence.

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

“As always?” asked Lily sadly. I nodded. She took my hand, and we went to the supermarket. There, we went to take some bread and some milk. Lily was holding on her back her little backpack and her little teddy bear. She took the food, and went to the toilet. I took some bread and milk and when we saw each other, we went to the checkout. There I passed with my stuff in my hands and Lily with me. As usual we heard the little bip bip bip. We stopped and looked at each other faking surprise on our face. The security guard came to us and said that we had to pay for that.

“I’m sorry. Just wait a second… Where is my card again…?” I looked in my pockets and looked everywhere around me. “Lily! I forgot my credit card at home! I’m sorry we will come back another time, don’t worry! And I’m sorry to have made you waste your time with me. Have a good day! Come on Lily.” We came out of the supermarket and went into the car. While she was taking out our errands from her bag, I looked outside. Suddenly a guy passed in front of the car. He stared at me and smiled. This smile… I know it from somewhere? But from where? He was so familiar that it didn’t cross my mind a second more and I slammed the door leaving Lily alone. “Hey, I’m sorry do I know you?” The man was old and tired. He had grey hair and wrinkles everywhere. And he had those blue eyes that can make you thrilled just with one look. I had to look down when he answered.

"I do not know you sir. Maybe we know each other. Shall we go to my house for a cup of tea?” Usually, I wouldn’t say yes to those invitations. Firstly because he was a stranger and secondly because I do not particularly like tea. But this time was different; something was telling me I knew him. And those eyes… Gosh where had I seen those eyes? I said yes. Just in a casual way. As if I were saying yes to my best friend, or yes to my family. Just yes. Then I turned around to look at my car and down on the parking floor was a post it. I went to it and looked at it.

13 Knightsbridge Road Don’t keep me waiting.

He was such a strange man. Maybe I should have asked myself more than just one question which was, How to get there? But I went into my car. Lily was asking me where we were going but I never answered. How could I tell her where we were going when I didn’t even know myself? I stopped thinking for a second of the person he could be. It was impossible. He was just a total mystery. At some point we came to a junction, and as if in a dream, I knew where to go, and I drove. Half an hour later, there was no bread left, and Lily was still as confused as I was. Finally in the countryside, we arrived at a road and it was impossible for me to drive on. I parked the car on the side; hidden from the road. “Hey Lily hum… I just have to do something and then I’ll be back. Here’s my phone in case something happens, I won’t be long.” She tried to convince me to let her come along, but I was firm and she finally stopped. I slammed the door of the car and ran on the path. It was long. I hadn’t run for a year or more and it felt good to feel the fresh air.

The path stopped in front of a house that was looking more like a dirty hut than anything. Some ivy had grown all over it and some grass was so high that it was hiding the windows. Stop! Charlie, what are you doing? You can’t just show up at somebody’s house as if you knew them and just say, “Hi I’m Charlie, how are you and who the hell are you?” I smelt something which was familiar… again. It was some cooking I knew from somewhere. Even this house was quite recognizable. Where was this place? In the middle of Yukon in Canada! I was sure I had never been there, but everything looked like it. I coughed. I needed the truth and I needed to know. I knocked on the door. It opened by itself. Don’t freak out. Everything is normal. Everything is ok; this is just an old stranger’s house, nothing to be worried about. I entered the house quietly. It was dark and the smell was a mix of smoke, wood, and… Chicken? I felt déjà vu.

The voice of the old man echoed “Come in,” And suddenly the house lit up. Blood was on the white walls, a dead person was in the middle of the room, and when I took a step back, the door closed. I wanted to take my phone but instead was a knife. I screamed. I looked on the door and the head of the old man was there. Just the head. I screamed again and fell. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, a picture was next to me. The picture of Lily. I closed my eyes again, and everything went to normal. Everything came clear, I knew this place. I burst out the door.

The floor was cold. I felt like throwing up again, and I didn’t avoid it. When everything became clear, I tried to walk a little but when I put my hand in my pocket, something was there. A picture. The picture of Lily… I turned it around and something was written. It fell from my hands. On the back of the picture, was written "You've killed me. Now you have to pay."

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Group 12: Estelle

His hidden side 24 On this cold day of winter, in Philadelphia, Jessy was driving back home where her partner was staying all day. She wondered “What has he been doing all day? Has he found a job yet?” She just wanted to get home and rest, and let Jake take care of their child, but she knew that he wouldn’t even have picked up Rose from school. She thought to herself that a separation would maybe be the best for her. When she got home, Jessy found Jake slumped on the sofa, wearing his pajamas that he had been wearing for days. “Could you please stop watching TV all day and start searching for a job? I’m already taking care of Rose, of the house and I’m the one who brings back all the money! I can’t handle taking care of you too! You didn’t even pick Rose up from school and now I need to go and get her when I just want to relax after the long day I’ve had! You’re so irresponsible and I’m so fed up with all of this!” she screamed to Jake who didn’t even react.

From this day on, Jessy became more irritated and distant towards Jake and she started to have negative thoughts. She had a desire to leave the house and to take Rose with her every day a little more. She was aware it wasn’t good and that it was selfish leaving Jack with no explanation but she didn’t love him anymore and she knew that he would never change for her. She thought that it was Jake’s fault if all of this was happening and that he should have shown more love. She started to prepare everything for a new life somewhere else. She saved money, she bought one way tickets for her and her daughter, she bought suitcases and everything else that she needed, she also looked for a new flat, a new job and a childcare centre. She was afraid that Jake suspected something but he actually didn’t notice anything. This made her want to go away from him even more.

Jessy left the house at the end of spring, on a full moon Thursday night. The taxi was here, the luggage was packed, even if she had not taken a lot of things. She came in Rose’s room, and when she wanted to put her in her arms, she began to cry. For minutes, that felt like hours, she hesitated and wanted to give up everything she had been preparing for months but she realized that it was her only way to start a new life. She took Rose, walked to the taxi, put the bags into the trunk, went into the taxi and it finally drove away.

One day had passed. Jake woke up, made his coffee, and directly went to the sofa like he normally did. He wandered all day in the house, but as the evening went by, he started wondering where his partner was, he tried to call her but the number didn’t exist anymore. At first, he thought that there was an explanation and that Jessy would come back later at night. He went to the childcare centre to see if Rose was there, he hadn’t picked her up for a long time and he was quite proud of himself because he knew that this time Jessy was going to be happy. But it was too late.

One week had passed. Jake was so stressed out when he reported Jessy and Rose as missing that he was the police’s first suspect without noticing it. Also, the police had been searching for the mother and her child for days

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but they still hadn’t found any tracks. Jake progressively started to understand that Jessy was never coming back home. He became angrier and angrier towards his family, he felt abandoned by them and he had a growing desire to avenge himself.

One month had passed. Jake had isolated himself even more than before. In a few weeks, he had already turned so mad and frustrated that he had prepared a plan to avenge himself.

The day had come. It was a warm and sunny day in Philadelphia and Jake went for a walk in a park. He had been planning this for months now. He needed to find the perfect family: a young woman with brown hair, like Jessy, and a little girl with blue eyes, like Rose. He saw them; he saw the perfect family on his first day of searching for one. It was a mother and her daughter who perfectly corresponded to Jake’s criteria, everything was perfect. He started talking to the mother, Alison, who quickly got fond of him because he was good looking. After talking about half an hour, he asked her if she wanted to have coffee in his house, and she accepted. An hour had passed and Jake was about to start his plan. He threatened Alison with a knife and fastened her on a chair. He then took care of the child, he killed her ruthlessly in front of the mother, who was crying. Afterwards, he killed the mother, and he felt an extreme satisfaction doing it. He didn’t feel any pity, or any regret; his plan to avenge himself had worked perfectly.

Two months had passed and the police still had not found Jessy or Rose, so they decided to go back to Jake’s house, because they were persuaded that he had killed them. They didn’t find who they were looking for, but they were extremely surprised to find two other bodies hidden in the cave. A few days later, they discovered that it was the family who had been missing for weeks. They jumped on the occasion and put Jake in prison, but he didn’t care anymore.

Six months later, Jake’s trial took place. He was sentenced to death for the premeditated murder of Alison Davis and her daughter Lucy Davis and for the suspected murder of Jessy Palmin and her daughter Rose Palmin. At the moment Jake was going to die, he smiled.

Group 13: Amy and Annika

Catch me if you can!!

It was eight o’clock in the morning, as I was putting my apron on, when the first customer entered the café. He was a tall, elegant man, with red hair and green eyes. He sat down in the corner of the room next to the window. My heart skipped a beat, I knew a boy once with that hair color. I approached him and asked him what he wanted to order. The curious way that he looked at me reminded me of somebody I used to know…

It was the end of the summer of 1845 and I was 12 years old. Waking up in the dark, it must have been around four o’clock in the morning. I had an hour before me. At the rise of the sun work started and the day would be long, the cotton harvest

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had begun and we wouldn’t be finishing work until the sun went down. The cotton harvest went from the end of August to January. Then we had to harvest the corn and then cotton again. Every day, every week, every year since I could remember. It was a sort of routine. A very sad routine of course. Nobody likes being hit and mistreated like slaves, like us.

I got up, and walked out for a little morning walk. Every morning I used to go walking in the field next to the cotton field, where the cows graze. It was my favorite moment of the day. A moment of peace where I could be alone with nature before the hardships of our masters polluted the world around us. The empty field was much more inviting in the nightly hours, yes, it sent shivers down my spine when a cloud passed in front of the moon sending shadows over the field or when a rabbit rustled through the plantation, but nothing could scare me as much as my masters.

Suddenly I heard a sound from far away. Like horses at a gallop. I wondered what it could be. It could be a messenger, but there seemed to be not only one horse but a few. I was thinking of why the horses could be there when I heard the sound of the horn, saying it was time for work.

The first time I saw him, it was the same day at about four o’clock in the afternoon. He was visiting the property with Sir Ramsbottom, my master. I smiled thinking about this name. Of course, this was not my owners real name, his name was Mr Perkins, but he was so large and I hated him so much that I secretly called him that way.

Coming back to the man, well at that time he was still a boy. Around 14 years old. He was visiting the farm as I said. It seemed to annoy him pretty much, but I remember the look he gave me as he passed in front of me. My work was to pick the cotton. I would first collect the cotton in my basket and when the basket was full I’d empty it into my big long bag that trailed behind me as I could have imagined a wedding veil would. I remember having a big bag full of cotton hanging from my shoulder and my basket full in my hands. It was so heavy and, of course precisely at the moment the master went past, I fell on the floor spreading the cotton on the path in front of me. I quickly stood up and started picking up the cotton. Everybody stopped working, looking at the master, waiting for his reaction. I was terrified. I heard his steps and his voice screaming at me. The pain came quickly. I screamed so loud. My mother screamed too but before she could make a move, two men took her arms, covered her mouth and pulled her away. The master whipped me 5 times in a row. He then told me to stand up. I couldn’t. I tried, but each time I pulled myself up, I fell back on the floor. The master screamed again saying I was weak, useless like all the people of my race. I couldn’t stand up. The deputy chief came to me lifted his arm ready to hit me again and suddenly stopped. The boy had said something.

“Don’t you think it’s enough?” he repeated, “I think she’s understood…” I looked up at him. He was scared and hesitating. The deputy chief looked at the boy and then turned his face to the master. There was a long silence. The Master finally turned away and left. I looked at the boy a last time and pased out.

***

“Aren’t you scared standing here alone in the dark?”

I turned around so fast that a little gasp escaped my mouth. Three days had passed after the incident, but my back was still hurting.

“Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t want to scare you.”

I looked at the boy but did not answer. I hadn’t heard him arrive. I was, as usual in the field, trying to forget everything when the boy just turned up from nowhere. I stood up very quickly and took a small step backwards.

“Oh, it’s ok!! I am not going to hurt you. I was just out for a walk to have time for myself, if you know what I mean.” I did. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“I am so sorry about what happened to you...”

I thought this was very unusual. A white man had never talked so nicely to me.

“I am ok… thank you”, I answered. I remember taking two other steps backwards. The boy looked up at the sky.

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“Have you ever seen a shooting star?” he lay himself down, his face turned to the stars. In the little light that there was, I noticed his lips and his nose. My first thought was that white people had a strange look. I never had the opportunity to really look at a white man. Or a white woman. I found it strange. The boy had such thin lips that I could barely see them in the dark. And his nose. He had a very small nose, especially compared to mine. I smiled interiorly at my last thought. In the dark his hair seemed to be brown, but I remembered his very red hair the first day I had seen him. Red hair. “How strange.” I thought. He did look a bit like Mr Perkins although he was much thinner than my master. He had the same small eyes. Later on in our meetings I remember also noticing the freckles that were scattered all around his cheeks. And his green eyes. I thought that he was a good looking boy around 14 years old. Tall, thin…

“I made a wish once when I saw a shooting star.” I stopped thinking and listened. “I was about 6 years old. I wished to find a cake in front of my bed when I would wake up.” He smiled “All I found was my angry nurse waiting for me to get ready. A Terrible day that day.” His last sentence made me angry.

“When I was 6, I replied, I was already working hard and was already beaten by my master.”

The boy looked at me, ashamed, sat up and looked at the beaten up soil in front of him.

“I don’t like my uncle you know. I think what he does is unfair.” So he was the master’s nephew. “My family wants me to follow my uncle’s path. That is why I’m here.” I still didn’t move. I was just listening to him. After a long silence, he turned his face to me and asked: “What is your name? I am Jack Perkins.” Perkins… Just like his uncle, my master. I hesitated. Why should I give him my name?

What for? I didn’t know what to do. I was scared, but also curious. Jack had seemed to see my hesitation because he just smiled at me and lay back down waiting. For what, I didn’t know. I thought about the smile he gave me. He was white and he had smiled at me. It must have been a dream. White people are not nice to Negros. I was horribly confused. Should I trust him? Or not? Well I decided I would. I walked carefully towards him, sat down 1 meter away from him, I could not lie down because of my back and even if I could I wouldn’t have, and looked at the stars. I finally decided to tell him: “My name is Maiwouri.”

He looked at me and smiled again.

“I like it”, he answered.

We stayed there looking at the sky until we heard the sound of the horn.

“Here, I brought an apple for you and some bread and cheese.”

Jack was standing in front of me with the food and a big smile on his face. I walked towards him and took the food he was handing to me.

“Thank you.” After that first night we were together, we had seen each other again. I had told him that I came here every morning and he asked me if he could join me there. I don’t remember what my answer was, but what I know is that after that day, we had become friends. And when I had told him that all we, slaves, had to eat was cold lard and a sort of corn pancake, he had decided to bring me some food each morning.

Jack sat down and started ripping out blades of grass. As usual we were not in the cotton field but in a field next to it, where the cows graze.

“I was wondering, what your name meant.”

“It’s African. My mother told me once that it meant “daughter of the sun””.

He lay down on one elbow and with his right hand lifted in the air, he repeated in a mysterious and ironic way: “Maïwouri, daughter of the sun”. He stayed in this positon with his hand in the sky.

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I raised the eyes to heaven and giggled stupidly.

“So!” Jack said so suddenly that I jumped. He laughed out loud and carried on with what he was saying: “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s play a game.” I replied. As I was a slave, I didn’t know any good games. Slaves, even children, don’t have time to have fun and play. We work all the time, from sun rise until very late in the night. So late that when work is finished, we just wanted to sleep. A boy like him would know tons of good games to play so I asked: “Do you know any good games?” Jack thought a moment before giving his answer: “Well I do know a game. I call it catch me if you can. I’m pretty good at it.”

I laughed. “Well of course if you choose the games where you always win…” Jack smiled and stood up.

“Come on! There are two roles, one runs and one catches.”

We both stood up facing each other. We were looking at each other. Then, when I thought we were going to stay there forever, he jumped towards me touched my arm screaming “You’re it!!!” Then before I could make a move, he ran away laughing. I thought. Two roles, one runs and one catches. And Jack was running. My turn to catch. Jack had just turned around to see where I was when I started running towards him.

“Well I thought you would never come!” he screamed at me. Jack was very fast, but I was even faster. So fast that it was easy for me to catch him. When I had caught him, he gave me a terrible look. He was that type of boy who didn’t like to lose. I laughed and said: “I thought you were good at this game!” This, of course didn’t help. I could see in his eyes that he had decided to win. He took a deep breath and ran towards me with a scream and his arms wide open pretending to be a beast. I laughed and started running.

At first he didn’t catch me but when he started doing strange animal noises, I laughed even harder and slowed down. When he finally came to me, I was bent in two, laughing.

“Looks like I have won” he said, a big smile on his face.

“No! It’s not fair,” I replied, “I stopped running.” We argued on this until it was time for me to go.

Jack and I had become very close friends. We saw each other almost every morning, except the days when I worked very late and I was very tired. The game that Jack called “catch me if you can” had become our favorite game. I liked this game because I always won and for once I could enjoy this feeling. I don’t know if Jack really enjoyed it but what I know is that Jack Perkins didn’t like losing and he always wanted his revenge. What he used to do was to run away screaming “catch me if you can!” and when he saw that I was not far from him, he pretended to let me win because he was a gentleman. When we weren’t chasing each other, we used to do other things. Jack always brought me food. He taught me games, told me about him and how he lived. I taught him how to sing. I showed him some dances and songs my mother used to teach me. I was always scared to get caught, but when the dogs came with their master because of the noise we made, I ran behind a bush or a tree and Jack just pretended to do a little morning walk speaking to himself.

***

Almost a year had passed when Jack first talked about running away. We were lying down on the grass and he simply asked me if I had ever thought about running away. I did not laugh because I knew that he was serious. I just stood up saying it was impossible.

“Why?”

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“You know why Jack. It’s already really risky to come out here in the grass field but running away! What, with all the dogs and the guards? Many others have tried before and all have failed!”

“All?” Jack said suspiciously.

“Yes all of them. At least since I was born.”

“But these people were alone. You have me!”

“And? How can you help me?”

“Well… I have a plan!” I lifted my eye brows and sighed but he looked so proud of his plan that I listened, “Well first I shall tell you that I have found a man who could help you to hide.” He stopped waiting for my reaction. I didn’t show any reaction but inside I was starting to be interested. “He will be waiting for us at the river and will accompany you to the first hiding place.”

“You? So you will be staying there.”

“Well… Yes… I cannot come with you. Besides, if it works, I can maybe help other slaves to run away.”

“You would do that?”

“Yes.” He answered proudly. I think he didn’t realize that we were only children. Of course I kept this thought to myself.

“So let’s come to the plan. After work, you told me you had to weigh your cotton.”

“Yes.” “We don’t want them to look for you before bed time. So you will have to weigh your cotton as usual but instead of going into bed you will have to stay in the shed were the cotton is put. You shall hide there until I come and get you. There we will have to go really quickly but carefully to the corn field and go through the corn field so that the guards don’t see us. At the end of the corn field, it will be too dark so they won’t see us anymore and we’ll run to the forest and to the river to find the man. I don’t know his name, but there is a code word, which is “step one”.

“Step one” I repeated to myself.

“He will bring you to a first hiding place where you will be hidden for a while and then take you to another one. These people will bring you to a place where you can have free papers and you will be free.”

“And… Are you sure I can trust them?”

“Oh don’t worry. You can trust all the people from the Underground Railroad. They help other slaves.”

I was starting to be more confident. To believe in this crazy plan.

“It will work. I promise. And then, when you’re free, we’ll meet in New York and see each other again. Everything will be better. It will be hard of course, but the result will be good.”

New York? What is New York? “Oh never mind” I thought. I was staring at the grass thinking. “Listen, I… I have to think about it.”

“No problem, I can wait.”

We left each other. I thought about it all day and all night for two days.

We didn’t talk about Jack’s plan for three days. The third day, I told him that I would go along with his plan. He was so excited although I am sure he was also scared but he did not show it. I was not scared, I was terrified. We got ready; he told me that the man would wait for us on the Friday of the following week. The week passed by very slowly. I was thinking about it all the time. I remember some mornings, I didn’t even go and see Jack. I talked about my escape plan to my mother. She cried a lot and then she asked about Jack. Could I trust him? Why did he do this for me?

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One night, two days before D-day, she came to me and told me that she had thought about Jack’s plan, and said that if I thought that it could work, I should go. She said that she wanted me to be happy and that she loved me. This determined me to leave.

***

On Friday, I worked very well. I didn’t want to have any problems at the weighing. And I didn’t. I had said good bye to my mother the day before. As it was planned I didn’t go to our houses but stayed hidden in the shed. My mother helped me on that. I remember this moment very well. I had weighed my bag before her and when I was about to discretely leave the queue she looked at the opposite side and pretended to see something incredible. Everybody turned towards where she was looking and nobody was looking at me. I found a place to hide. Later on, Jack came to the shed and called me. I joined him and we found a way to the corn field. My heart was beating so fast. I could barely control my legs, all they wanted to do was run back to my mother. My hands were shaking. We were behind a carriage when I stopped. Jack turned his face to me. “Are you ok?” his eyes asked. I shook my head. Nothing was ok. I was terrified. He gave me a smile of encouragement, took my hand and we joined the corn field. In the corn field we walked very carefully trying to make the least noise and movement possible. “This is impossible” I thought and I was right. We had walked maybe 15 meters when we heard voices far behind us. I looked at Jack. My heart had never beaten so fast. I was so scared that I was starting to feel sick. “Don’t move” mouthed Jack. Oh I didn’t, I couldn’t. I was petrified. We waited. It was as if time had stopped. We waited an eternity. Then there was no sound anymore. We waited another five minutes when Jack started to walk again. This was when the shots rang out. Jack pushed me on the floor and forced me to lie down. He was halfway down when he screamed and fell on the floor. “Jack!!” No sound came out of my mouth. “No! No, No, No.” The shots had stopped. I could hear people coming towards us. I bent over Jack.

“Go!” he pleaded. I couldn’t bring myself to move “Go now… Please… I’ll be fine. They mustn’t find you.” He put his hand on my chest and pushed me away.

I nodded. The guards were coming closer. I crawled backwards. Jack smiled.

“Good bye Maiwouri… The daughter of the sun…” And he closed his eyes.

When the guards found Jack, I was crouching a few meters back. One of the men looked up at the rest of the field but did not see me. I could hear voices and screams. People running. There was a big argument about who would go and tell the master.

Someone picked up Jack’s lame body and moved as fast as possible towards the main building.

“I must stay to see if he’s alright.” was my first thought. “It’s all my fault.”

I watched them leave and knew at that moment that I could not help Jack whatever state he was in but I could fulfill his wish. I turned around and ran away, stealthily bent low. I joined the river without a problem and there was a man on the riverbank chewing tobacco.

“Step one?” I asked to the man who was waiting with a boat. He nodded and helped me in.

“Mai! Come back down to Earth! There is still a lot of work to do!” I came back to reality. I stood up, smoothed my dress and walked to the new customers. The red haired man was still at his table drinking his coffee. When he had finished, he stood up and paid. I waited for him to pass the door into the New York air before going and take away the dish. No tip. “Well that is nice.” I thought to myself. I was putting the cup on the tray when I saw something written on the serviette. I put the tray down and took the serviette. “Catch me if you can” was written on it and on the corner was a small sun. I looked up at the door and ran outside.

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Group 14: Asalis and Clemence

Only the Forgotten Are Truly Dead Stacy was almost a six year old girl. Like most girls her age, she wanted to be a princess; she dressed in pink and loved to drink a cup of tea with her dolls and plush toys. Jimmy was Stacy’s thirteen year old brother who always teased her like boys know how to at that age.

Stacy and Jimmy’s parents were both in their mid-thirties. Their father, Marc, was a lawyer and their mother, Jessica, used to be an interior designer, but she had stopped working ever since Stacy had been born. The teenage boy was a little bit jealous of his younger sister because everyone, (especially their parents) was always in admiration in front of the youngest member of the family. He was sort of left out and a bit forgotten. He could not live with it anymore, but he had no choice. The Millers were a typical American family who lived in the suburbs of Chicago.

It was July 20th and today was Stacy’s birthday. She had woken up with a huge grin on her face that made her dimples so visible. Her mother had promised her to go with her to Chicago for the day to purchase a doll from the American Girl store. Stacy had waited for this moment the whole week and to really enjoy this precious time alone with her mother; the little girl took out her red dress she adored, out of her closet. She then brushed her beautiful golden hair carefully before tying it with a white bow that matched her white sandals.

After yelling for her daughter to come down quickly because they had a long day, Jessica saw Stacy running down the stairs and stopping on the last step. She looked at her mother and said “I’m ready!” she said enthusiastically. They walked out of the house, locked the front door and left for the city.

They parked on State Street, and walked to the mall on Michigan Ave. Stacy was so awfully excited that in the elevator escalator she ran up pushed everybody who was on her way.

They finally got to the fourth floor where the amazing store was, and for Stacy it was paradise.

Her eyes were filled with sparkles and her mouth was wide open in shock. She started running all around in the store to find THE best and most beautiful doll. After about ten minutes of checking out all the girls’ toys, Stacy stopped in front of a huge glass rectangle. “Stacy! Stacy!

Where are you honey?” Jessica did not wait for her daughter’s response to find her. “What are you doing honey?” “Mom I think I found the one I want.” Jessica took a look at the doll her daughter was staring at. The doll, named Lilly as it said on the insignificant label at the bottom right of the glass, was a little taller than the average American Dolls. She had curly brown hair which was down to the lowest part of her back. If you took a close look at her dark green eyes you could see her left eye had a whole quarter that was chestnut. Her eyes were shaped as if

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she was giving a mischievous look as if she had a secret to hide. Lilly’s dress was a very dark purple easily mistaken with black.

It was curious because usually every American doll had both eyes the same color, wore a colorful dress that expressed the happiness of life, a smile on her face and a clean skin. Lilly, she had a scraped knee and a scar on her neck, and her face was emotionless. There was no doubt, the toy Stacy had chosen, was different.

“Stacy are you sure you want this one?” asked Jessica with a worried voice. “She seems so different and …” she stopped and the whispered “… weird”. “Mom she is unfamiliar and that’s what I like about her”. Jessica lowered her head down to see her child’s look which was pleading her. It’s her birthday and I want to make her happy she thought. After letting her daughter pick out some accessories for her birthday present, Jessica went to the cash register to pay. Before handing the paper bag with the gift inside, the cashier looked at the person standing in front of her and said “This doll is uncommon and you should lock her up at night.” Jessica smiled and replied “Why would we do that? It is just a doll after all” “It’s not just a doll”. Jessica ignored her and ripped the bright pink paper bag out of her hands.

Once home, Jessica did not see her daughter at all. Stacy was locked in her room all day too occupied to even come out of for a snack. It was six pm and every member of the family was around the table, even Fluffy their beloved Labrador who just waited for crumbles to fall on the black and white rug. None was speaking just enjoying their delicious salmon with white rice. At desert, Marc broke the ice. “Honey, how is your new doll?” Stacy dropped her spoon that was still filled with the chocolate cake bite her mother had made, and explained to her old man that Lilly was so marvelous. Her mother interrupted her by telling her that she needed to hand her doll in so she, Jessica, could lock her up. Marc busted out laughing and asked why anyone would lock a doll up. Jessica explained that the doll was sort of mysterious and the cashier told them to lock it up, but Marc told her to not listen to a twenty year old who probably did not know what she was talking about. So eventually, the housewife listened to her husband and no one locked Lilly up. A big mistake they would regret their whole life long.

All went to sleep quietly. All? No. One person was awake that night and it was… Jimmy.

He was sick of getting forgotten, of everything always being about his baby sister. So he decided he was going to get revenge. He had a friend whose sister happened to work at the American Girls store. He had asked her to take one of her old dolls and make it look different because he knew his sister loved everything that was different from anything else. So she had turned an old doll into a creepy and strange small human figure who could walk and just do everything a human could do but she had to be controlled with a remote. Jimmy had that remote. So he led Lilly to the kitchen drawer where the sharpest knives were. He made her take one out and go back upstairs to his sister’s room where he made the doll slowly rub the knife on his sister belly and suddenly stab her. She squealed and finally dropped dead… He did exactly the same thing for his dog that he had always hated and for his father who worked so much he was never

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home. His mom was awoken by the scream her cherished husband made when he was killed by a toy controlled by her teenage boy. She was so shocked she couldn’t let words out of her mouth. She was devastated but mostly she was so angry at her son. Why and how could he do such a thing? She wondered.

He explained to her how he felt and that he couldn’t take this anymore. She couldn’t recognize the boy she had raised for thirteen years. They talked about it and Jessica explained that he could have talked about it instead of becoming a murderer. Unwillingly, the woman called the police to report her dear son.

After that she never went to visit him in prison and she fell into a damaging depression that made her crazy and was placed into a psychiatric hospital where nurses took care of her. As for Lilly, she was burned and American Girl’s market dropped suddenly and no one really ever bought a doll after that story.

Group 15: Juliane, Angus

If you are fond of thrills, you certainly will appreciate reading this story.

This is the story about three young freshmen, in boarding school, whose lives got turned up upside down, when they were woken up in the middle of the night by a strange noise…

Emily and Katherine were sleeping after a long day of school during which most of the people in the class had acted quite strangely for an unknown reason. Around three o’clock, Emily woke up feeling slightly cold. She painfully opened her eyes and looked over to Katherine, who was still asleep, and she also …. Amy, their other roommate. She noticed Amy was not in her bed, so got out of it and turned the light on. The next thing you know she was gagging and screaming trying to wake Katherine up. You probably are wondering what Emily did see, but trust me, it is not pretty.

Amy was tied up by her feet, hanging from the ceiling. Katherine finally woke up and screamed as well. They noticed Amy’s head had been cut off and her blood was running out of her body creating a pool of blood on the carpet. If you are sensible and do not like horror you should probably stop reading and find some pathetic “My beloved wife” book, because it does get worse. But if it is not your case you can keep reading.

They turned around and saw the missing head on one of the bed side tables. Amy’s eyes were wide open and creepily staring at them. Her mouth was wrinkled forming a terrible grin. We could read the fear on her frozen face as her last living expression. It then got very cold in the room. Emily and Katherine were terrified and just stood there without knowing what to do.

They did not move for a few seconds, not being able to erase the terrifying look from their brains. Then Emily finally said that they should look around for a teacher. Katherine followed Emily down the stairs to the high school hall. When they got there every bench that was originally there was now gone and all the windows’ blinds were closed. The two girls walked up to the first floor.

All the class's doors were closed except for one. Katherine pushed the door that was already open slightly and stopped breathing.

Emily rushed over to her and asked her friend what was wrong. She then looked into the room: on the big white wall was written “You’re next…” … in blood

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The bloody writing was still dripping and seemed like it had been done only a few minutes ago. They slowly walked out of the room still not believing what they had seen.

The two girls suddenly heard a deafening scream. They ran over to where the scream seemed to come from. Just at the bottom of the stairs a boy was standing, he was about their age, terrified by something in front of him. Emily and Katherine ran down the stairs and asked him what was wrong. The boy could not talk and just pointed at something. The two girls turned around. Now after what had happened in the room and in the classroom, you might not want to keep reading.

Standing in front of the three teenagers was a little girl in a white dress. Her black and long hair was covering her face so you couldn’t see it. She stepped forward. Emily shouted at her to go away. The little girl kept walking towards them. The young boy fainted. Katherine took a few steps back. Emily looked at the boy and started to try to wake him up. The little girl stopped and let go a very high pitched scream. Emily opened her mouth and said: “Who are you…?” The little girl said nothing but you could see her smiling under her black thick hair. Her teeth were crooked, and her head was nodding. Are you scared now? If not keep reading I’m sure you’ll enjoy the story.

The little girl kept walking towards them. Katherine and Emily were about to run when the boy woke up. When he saw the two girls petrified and wanting to go he stood up and ran before them. He shouted back at them “Run, run, run!!”

The two girls started running, catching up with the boy who was still running in the stairs and the three of them hid in the bathroom locking themselves in. They were out of breath because of their run, but mostly because of the fear they had felt during the last minutes. They just let themselves fall on the floor to let the beating of their heart get slower and stared at each other in a mix of fear and incomprehension.

“That’s maybe not the right moment but what’s your name?” asked Emily to the boy.

“Aaron… W-what’s yours?” stuttered the boy.

“Emily, and this is Katherine.”

Katherine gave a little smile to the boy. You can guess she kind of had a crush on him. Anyway, back to the story.

As they looked at themselves in the bathroom, Emily was thinking of something to get out. Then they suddenly heard a knock on the door that lasted about three seconds, then nothing for a time; that time felt like forever to the three teenagers. They looked at each other, the beating of their heart starting again. Aaron’s face was white as a ghost’s. It felt like time had stopped for a second, then they heard the knock again. They saw the lock on the door starting to turn. Emily started to cry. The door opened slightly. A hand reached in and pulled Katherine by the hair towards it. Katherine screamed and Aaron tried to grab her foot but it slipped between his fingers. Emily was screaming too, her nose and eyes were red and some tears were falling on her cheeks. The next minute Aaron and Emily couldn’t hear Katherine’s screams anymore and were left alone in the cold and dark bathroom.

“We should go and help her...” Aaron said.

He looked at Emily. Her arms were covering her head and he could hear her sniffling. He stood up and opened the door widely.

There wasn’t a noise, only a cold wind that came through. He grabbed Emily’s arm and made her stand up.

“I know it’s hard but we have to go and help her. We don’t know what this thing is and what she is able to do to Katherine.”

“Why were you in the hallway when we met?”

“Oh, I was in my bed and had a... a pressing need so I got out of bed, lit my phone up and saw…”

Aaron’s face decomposed.

“What? What did you see? “

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“I saw Liam, my roommate, lying on the floor. Some blood was staining the carpet. I turned his face so I could see it and… and his eyes were out of his orbits like, they were gone. I screamed and ran out of the room, went downstairs to find a teacher or someone who could help me, and then I saw the creepy little girl standing in the hallway, and then you came.”

“Oh my god, so Amy is not the only victim… I hope there aren’t anymore…”

“Oh so this happened to your roommate too?”

“Yeah. Let’s go find Kath before that thing hurts her.”

Aaron and Emily got up and went downstairs, holding hands, not because they liked each other but mostly because they were two frightened teenagers, alone in a nightmare which might not end.

35 Group 16: Kim, Capucine, Tasio

THE MISSING GIRL They’ve never found the body, but they found the doll. They saw its porcelain head poking out from the dirt in the woods. Its left eye was gone and a worm had burrowed in the empty socket. They thought it was the corpse at first, but soon realised it was only a doll. They pulled it up and sent it away to be examined. She was used as evidence in the inquest. My mother could vividly remember a lawyer holding it in the courtroom, dangling her around for everyone to see. The poor thing looked so confused, very lost and far away from home. I swear once that I saw a desperate flicker of emotion in its remaining right eye, but of course that’s ridiculous. I was just a child, attaching meaning to things that weren’t there. I don’t really know how the doll came to be with me. Ba d luck, I suppose.

After the trial, it was given back to the girl’s mother, who screamed that she wanted it out of her sight. The mother’s sister – my mother - said not to do that, and that she would give the doll a home until the mother saw fit to look at it.

Forty years later and almost everyone involved in that story is dead. The doll - still eyeless - lies dormant on the mantelpiece. It has been there ever since we cleared out my mother’s house. It doesn’t normally scare me. During the day it is simply a rusty old doll with a glassy eye. When viewed in the night, things change considerably. Darkness has a way of warping reality, taking everyday things and twisting them out of perspective. I’d become a child again, a feeling of uncertain fear turning my stomach as I stared across at it. The doll was no longer a simple ornament; it became a haunting memory, a lost child crying in the woods. I’d think of her pretty face; forever trapped in youth. I would begin to question what could possibly have happened t o her, and why she would ever leave the doll behind. I’d sit for hours and wonder, the doll looking back at me with the same hopeless stare.

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I did think about taking it to an antique dea ler, but the sentimental value wa s too much. I don’t know whether anyone should want it. The blond curls are colourless and flaccid, the face blotchy and scratched, but it is still an antique. I’d never do it really; it would dishonour her memory, or whatever’s left of it.

I had been watching it that morning, surveying t he doll with bored and tired eyes. Since leaving work, I spend most of my mornings in the same seat, watching the four walls around me. I had almost drifted off when I heard the telephone. Its incessant ringing quickly drowned my macabre thoughts, and I w ent out to the hallway to answer it.

“Hello?”

36

The voice on the other end was a familiar one, which always unnerves me more than hearing a stranger’s. Family always want something. True enough, my cousin Marcia had a favour to ask. Our mutual uncle, Sidney needed somewhere to stay while she went and pleasured herself with a four week cruise.

“He says he’s fine to be left on his own,” she said “But we all know he isn’t. We’d be so grateful if you could.”

I grudgingly accepted. I’d never warmed to my Un cle Sidney, for reasons I can neither recall nor truly understand. He’s a lone figure that traipses through my childhood memories, with no ropes of sentiment or emotion binding him to me. I hadn’t seen him for decades, a state I remained entirely ambivalent about. Much as I opposed the idea, I didn’t want to seem unwelcoming, so it was decided he would come and stay. Pretending to be happy about this, I put the phone down. The doll, slumped as usual against the wall, stared at me. Dolls can’t look at people, so I suppose I mean that I was staring at it. Either way, our eyes met. I know as much as the next sane person that she’s just an inanimate object, but there’s still something human about her that appeals to me. I suppose she makes me feel nostalgic.

My Uncle arrived a few weeks later, and it was clear he had succumbed to the pitfalls of age as much as the poor doll on the mantelpiece. His face was mapped with creases and dips, grey eyes sunk back into their sockets. His hair, once thick and auburn, has been reduced to smoky grey tufts between canyons of bare scalp.

“Diane…” his greeting was cold, distant. “Nice of you to have me.”

“My pleasure…”

He’d brought a stuffy grey armchair from home, and I seated him in it carefully. Dust clung to it like creeping ivy. We seated him a few feet away from the TV. The doll was almost hidden from view, tucked away in the corner of his eye. I saw him turn, glance at it, and immediately withdraw his gaze.

We rarely spoke, quickly adopting the template of an embittere d married couple. I brought him his food and helped him to the toilet, carrying out menial tasks that required no conversation. Sometimes I’d close the door and eat my food in the kitchen just to avoid talking to him. I’d sit there, listening to him watch the television. There was an unspoken

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awkwardness between us, one neither of us could rightfully place. I couldn’t anyway. Not at first. At the end of his first week, he mentioned the doll. I felt as though he had wanted to since arriving, I imagine the wo rds had been nagging at his lips all day and night.

“What’s that?”

He knew exactly what it was. I glanced casually upwards from vacuuming. My hand gripped the side of his armchair.

“Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I do remember,” he said quietly, anger stir ring in his face. “But I thought I’d have to be seeing things.”

I sighed through gritted teeth. “What do you mean?”

“It’s morbid, is what it is. Why on earth would you put something like that up for everyone to see?”

“It reminds me of her,” I replied me ekly. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s very strange, Diane. Very strange.”

That stayed with me for days.

One night, we were watching television. He’d dozed off in the chair, and I was about to join him. As my eyelids fell heavy over my vision, I suddenly caught sight of the doll, its face turned enquiringly at me. As I stared at it, ha lf asleep, my uncle’s words floated back in my mind.

“Why on earth would you put something like that up for everyone to see?”

I had shrugged, continuing my housework. But t he words returned to me. I bolted up, the shackles of sleep falling quickly away. My eyes drifted from the doll to my uncle, and back. Suddenly realising I was almost completely in the dark, I leapt to my feet and made for the light switch.

Uncle Sidney stirred in his chair.

“What?”

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“Nothing…nothing…”

The light went back off.

# The following day, while Sidney had fallen asleep watching daytime television, I took the doll from its rightful perch and marched it upstairs with me. In my bedroom, I took a damp cardboard box from the wardrobe and spilt the contents over the mattress of my bed.

Yellowed newspaper clippings and legal documents tumbled onto the sheets, curling at the edges like stale sandwiches. I searched through them, spreading each one out in search of a pattern. Search for missing child continues , Local man suspected in child’s disappearance Thirty Years On- The Mystery of the Lost Girl and the Doll she left behind There were photos too, black and white snapshots of the two of us standing together in matching dresses. We were both smiling, innocent smiles. I remembered how we would play in the forests, treating the quarries and mines as though sections of our own private play area. My smile soured. I wanted to fight the thoughts that were creeping into my head, but instead I let them flow over me. What if it had been him? I knew I was acting on irrational impulses – namely the evidence of a child’s doll - but I couldn’t stop myself. He had always been strange, never having married or held a steady job. I’d overheard my mother and aunts talk pityingly of him, wishing he’d find a nice girl to sett le down with. Strange that he hadn’t. Stranger still was his strained and awkward relationship with me. Perhaps… I tried desperately to make something of it, digging in my memories for any hints or clues. My recollections of her death are blurry, and I’ll only occasionally remember the odd scene or snatch of dialogue in passing. I could possibly have repressed some of it, perhaps because of him.

One thing I do recall is the day of her funeral, with everyone in black and crying in the living room. I had been sent to play with my cousins, and when I returned everyone was sitting in the chairs, eating sandwiches and drinking lemonade.

I asked what was wrong, and my question hung in the room for an eternity. Then Uncle Sidney had looked at me, giving me a distant and unfeeling glance. I felt as though he’d taken a cold, bony finger and prodded it into the back of my spine. Then I had started to cry.

Forty years later, and I was still crying. Crouched over my patchwork of papers, I failed to prevent a steady stream of tears rolling down my cheeks and into my mouth. If these cloudy speculations formed into a hard truth then the repercussions were colossal. I t also meant I was sharing a house with a child killer. My blood boiled, chilled, ran in cold streams through my veins. I ran to the door suddenly and bolted it.

I picked up our photograph again, the black and white snapshot in the lives of two little girls. I wore a smug smile, my thick black hair bound in clumps. She, blonde and freckled, presented a gap-toothed smile to the camera. The doll hung from her hand, lopsided head and also looking absently into the lens.

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I stroked it, a combination of hope and horror swilling in the pits of my stomach.

# I dropped the tray of processed, ready -cooked food onto his lap. He winced with pain, and looked up at me with a flash of anger.

“Do you mind not dropping it on me like that?”

“Sorry…”

I opened the curtains in a rush, and unwelcome light sprayed into the room. The morning after my epiphany, I decided that I should interrogate my Uncle about the subject which had irritated him so much the previous day. I sat down on the sofa opposite his armchair, and our eyes inevitably drifted towards the doll.

“Why didn’t you want me to have that doll up there?”

He grumbled into the hollow globe of his teacup. “It’s morbid, that’s all.”

“How so?”

The anger crept into his voice. “Because it’s the doll of a dead child. And it was used at the inquest.”

I pounced on a single word he had chosen. “Dead? You’re assuming she’s dead then?”

“Of course she’s dead. We held a funeral.”

“I know, but they never found her body, did they? You don’t think she….ran away?”

He turned, his wrinkled face taking an age to incline toward me. He raised his eyebrow slowly.

“Do you think she ran away?”

I averted his gaze. “Maybe…”

We both returned to watching the television. We sat in silence for a few hours, and then I helped him into bed. I returned to the living room, and watched the doll. It seemed unusual to find the pieces falling into place so long after the jigsaw had been thrown away, but

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perhaps things had been overlooked or rushed at the time. Sidney had certainly been questioned by the police initially, but released due to lack of evidence.

Sitting alone with my thoughts, I quickly fell asleep and began to dream. I was walking through a forest, and everything had a sepia tinge. Uncle Sidney was calling to me from somewhere, but I only saw flashes of his face through the trees. I’m not sure whether he moved towards me or vice versa, but his white, wrinkled face was suddenly leering into my face behind a mask of branches and leaves.

Suddenly back in my house, we watched the television and I told him not to scare me like that again. He laughed loudly and his laughs mutated into knocks at the door. As I got up to answer, I shot a casual glance at the mantelpiece. The doll was gone, and in its place a little girl. A dead girl. With empty eyes and a bloody mouth and pale as a mortuary slab. I remember trying to scream.

When I awoke, the living room was cold and my mouth was dry. The doll was slumped forward, dirty hair hanging over the face. I heard shouting, vague and wordless, and ran to Sidney’s room. He was sitting on his bed, looking helpless and impotent. His whimpering face stared up at me like a frightened child.

“Where have you been?”

“Sleeping. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t get out of bed by myself.”

“I know…I know…”

I felt a pang of sympathy for him, a momentary lapse that quickly dissipated. I jerked him upright suddenly, and his face winced in pain.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing…just my leg…”

I wasn’t thinking rationally at this point, already starting to convince myself that he had been held up in her death. I felt drawn to the mystery surrounding her, as though a shard of my own life was trapped there too. The two of us were inseparable as children, and it’s possible that he was involved with both of us. I realise now how twisted and perverted these thoughts were, but they seemed so vivid and real at the time.

“Will you bathe me?”

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There was a painfully long silence.

“I told Marcia I could manage by myself….but I’ve realised I can’t. I need a wash….could you help me in and out of the bath?”

The initial thought filled me with revulsion, but then something clicked at the back of mind.

“Yeah…yeah…no problem…”

41 It seemed perfect. A time for questions. We agreed to have a bath the following night.

This gave me ample time to decide my questions, to reassert that I was doing the right thing. All that time, one empty mind spinning with fresh ideas. Within days I had decided he was the killer. It felt like such a fitting conclusion, and I wondered how i t had not occurred to me before. After all, it was a fact that murder victims were very likely to know their killers.

My own childhood was also extremely hazy. There were so many gaps, patches of white that I desperately wanted filled in. I suppose I can s ee now that I was searching for myself as much as I was for her.

The following morning, I placed a bacon sandwich on his lap. He murmured thanks – our conversations having slowed to a bare minimum. Looking up at me, his eyes conveying an uncertainty.

“About that bath?”

“Yes, tonight.”

I began to walk away, casting a casual glance backwards. He was doing exactly the same to me. Our eyes met in an awkward stare, and we both quickly returned to our separate activities.

That night, I drew him a bath. I watc hed as the cool ceramic was filled with piping hot water. Steam rose to the air and into my eyes. The mirrors turned glassy silver as they steamed over. The temperature of the room rose steadily. I heard him coming. I heard the deep thuds of his walking frame as he made his way across the landing toward me. When he did finally emerge, our eyes refused to meet. Walking slowly to the bath, his cane fell from his grasping hands and hit the cool white tiles of the floor. The noise it produced made me feel like I’d been smacked in the teeth.

I had to undress him, working through each layer of clothes until we reached his bare and wrinkled flesh. Watching him standing in the cold sent a shiver down my spine. Age was a cruel, circular thing and in Sidney’s spotted , stretched body I was seeing the worst it had to

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offer. I lowered him into the tub, the clear water making his body sway and ripple as though it weren’t actually real.

“I’ll just come back in a few minutes.”

I descended the staircase, entering the livin g room at an angle so that the doll was looking right at me. I walked over, lifting her from the seat she had occupied for almost forty years.

A ring of dust remained as I raised the doll into my arms and carried her out of the room.

Her head lolled in my lap, decaying face nodding against my heaving chest. I stroked the dress, stared hopelessly at the optimistic curve of her lips. For one awful moment I felt I was holding her, the dead child in my arms. It’s difficult to describe, but I felt the doll needed so desperately to be there – to hear whatever he had to say for himself.

I opened the bathroom door once more and saw the look of terror shadow his face as I brought her over the threshold. His eyes darted around awkwardly.

“What the hell are you holding that for?”

I ignored him, and placed the doll on the window sill. He was watching it, rather than me, as I stepped back to the bath and knelt down besides it. His head turned to me suddenly, still waiting for an answer.

“Well?”

“I want answers, Sidney” “Answers about what?”

“About her.”

The muscles around his mouth twitched, his tongue stroking empty words. He spoke carefully, each letter and syllable carefully enunciated.

“What do you want to know, Alaska ?”

I felt my confidence failing. The sheer idiocy of the situation knocked me sick in the stomach, and I almost laughed with embarrassment. I almost stopped dead, but then I saw her face. The face that has always lived on in my memory, long after the death and decay of the original. I paused for what seemed like endless time, before finally continuing on.

“I think there might be something you’ve not told me. I think you may have been involved in her death.”

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His eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine shock. Then, his face sunk back dow n. He didn’t answer my accusations, but directed a question back to me.

“Do you remember her, Alaska? Do you really remember her?”

I was puzzled by the question. Rather than bringing him back to my point, I decided to answer.

“I remember her about as well as anybody else. Obviously, there are gaps.”

“Really? And how much do you remember about her?”

A nostalgic smile wet my lips. “Oh, plenty. Her curly hair, her cute little dresses, her laugh…I really loved her…”

He sneered. Gooseflesh rippled across my arm.

“Are you…laughing?”

His clawed hand reached from the bathtub and grabbed my hand. Water ran from his skin to mine. His eyes were aflame, more life burning inside of them than I had seen in many years.

“You hated her. Hated. You went out of your way to make her life a misery, didn’t you?”

I balked at the suggestion. “You’re lying! None of that’s true.”

“You pushed her, you kicked her, and you tore her hair because it was nicer than yours. You were an absolute bitch to her, Alaska , and only I ever seemed to notice…”

I shook my head in utter defiance, pulling away from his limp grip on my arm.

“You’re just taking attention away from yourself! You’re making all this up!”

“And that doll…Christ, you were so jealous of that thing….you used to actua lly pull it out of her grasp, poor thing…”

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A change had fallen over the doll’s face. Before I had viewed it as a living being, the personification of her killer’s guilt. Now I saw only a child’s doll. An empty thing.

“Can you really look me in the eye an d tell me you’ve forgotten?”

I met his angry gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were a nasty little girl,” his lip curled over with a strong and biting hate. “I always said that something would happen…”

He was leading me somewhere with these questions, down a dark and dusty path. I let him take me there, dragged into his poisonous re -imagining of our past.

“You’ve got some nerve….accusing me of something! We both know what happened to her…”

I spat out a mute reply, mouthing only the g hosts of the words I had planned to say.

Memories were slowly coming back to me, developing like darkroom photographs.

Everything coloured, memories were bright and vibrant again.

His face was soured; lips snarling.

“I knew, I knew it all along…I knew you were a malicious child….but the police wou ldn’t listen…they thought I was….I tried…I tried to tell them that it was……

You…..”

My hand slipped against the wet surface of the bath and I lost my balance. My head missed the porcelain by inches. I tried to steady myself again, shaking.

“No, I wouldn’t…I would never…”

I would and I had. I remembered the childhood jealousy stirring inside me, the plans hatching in my mind, and the day when I told her we were going to play a little game in the forest. She had laughed, and skipped behind me as we entered the woods.

“There were so many of those old mines in those forests…which old people had forgotten were there …”

He recounted the story as a despondent narrator, grimly retracing my own bloody steps.

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“I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t there. My guess at the time – and my guess now – is that you lead her into the forest, into one of those mines….and…”

His eyes were shining with tears. My mouth filled suddenly with warm and sickly bile. I spat it out against the cold, white floor. I wanted to shout out my denial, to scream at him that he was a dirty little liar. I couldn’t because I knew he was telling the truth. Everything was clear now, all the vivid memories forcing themselves against my skull. It was like peeling off layers of my skin, revealing a rotten inner self. I knew all the words: projection, denial, repression – but couldn’t believe any of them applied to me. I wasn’t a killer. Alaska Symons was not a killer. Never. I remembered my gleefully sadist ic behaviour towards her. I loved to tease and torture her; it gave me some naïve sense of power over weaker creatures. All the sympathy, all the grief had been an invention of my own guilty psyche.

Even my memory of leaving her funeral crying had suddenly been altered, I remembered it correctly now. I had been told to leave because I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Only now you’re remembering?” Sidney said, reminding me he was still in the room. “I don’t believe you.”

I didn’t reply because there was nothing left to say. My whole life I had let her bloody murder scab over with false memories and invented stories, trying to fool everyone so badly that eventually even I fell for it. He rose from the bath, and the water ran in snakes across his body. I turned around and stared at the doll. Running towards it, I picked it up and held it against the light. I remembered burying her, covering her pretty white face with handfuls of dirt. It had stuck under my nails, and I’d cleaned them in the pond. I started to cry. T he doll looked at me impassively, giving me the same blank look it had for the past forty years.

It had known all along.

“You sicken me, Alaska…you absolutely disgust me…”

I ran from the bathroom. My head throbbed suddenly, and I felt as though my whole body were pumping with sick. I stopped, nearly laughed, and remembered that all this was actually happening. I tried to make it fiction, but reality was screaming in my head.

I don’t know what’s happened to him. I’ve left him in the bath. Maybe he’ll get out or maybe he will just give up and drown. I don’t know. I can’t care.

I am in my room, with the newspaper clippings. Mystery? There was never a mystery. Just the usual horror cliché, a killer hiding behind a mask. In my one hand is the doll, and in the other I clutch the telephone, ready to call the police. I will have to drop one of them. I don’t know what to tell them if I do. Alaska Symons didn’t kill anyone, at least not the Alaska she thought she was. I’ve changed so much. I’m not the same person an ymore. Am I? Am I?

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6

45

The doll cracks as she hits the floor.

Group 16: Valentine

46

Lycée International Nelson Mandela – Mrs Fasquel – 2nde 5 & 6