Hello and welcome to my first "Story". This was originally a peice of English homework, but it's branched out in my head and I decided to make a story out of it. Yes, some of the names are strange, but deal with it.
I appreciate all feedback, critical or otherwise, so please post your thoughts.
So without further ado, here it is...
James McQue was enjoying the night. He was standing on the corner of Market Street, waiting for something to happen. There was a light breeze, and his dark hair blew in front of his hazel eyes.
The moon came out from behind a cloud, shining on his pale face, leaving half of it in shadow.
He pushed off the wall and walked down the street. As he walked, he felt in his pocket, making sure his blade was still there. It was.
The moon disappeared behind another cloud as he crept down North Street, past the empty houses and retreated through the door of 13c.
Inside was a dark hallway with a right and left turn at the conclusion.
James walked carefully along, making sure he avoided knocking the umbrella stand over, and turned right at the end. The left turn was blocked off.
Through the door was a room that could once have bedroom. The walls were painted yellow, but the dust had created grey patches here and there. A picture frame hung at an angle over the smashed mirror.
This house has seen enough bad luck James thought.
James continued through the bedroom into another room. This room was a different shape to the last one. That bedroom had been square, whereas this one was long and narrow. James assumed that it used to be the kitchen. There was a dusty oven on his left, and a fridge stuck at an awkward angle on his right. The floor was made up of a mixture of cracked marble and concrete.
At one end, the doorway was bricked up, blocking his way. There was no obvious way forward, but James knew different. He climbed behind the fridge and kicked the wall. It disintegrated, leaving a hole big enough for him to crawl through.
This final room was completely different. This room was warmer than the other two, and it looked more roomy. That was because James spent most of his time here.
There was a sofa turned on its side against the wall which, with a blanket and a grubby pillow made it his sleeping area.
There was frayed mats on the floor, creating a carpet effect and, against the opposite wall there was a desk with a red nose, a scary mask, the Keys to an Aston Martin and three photo frames on it.
James walked over to the desk. The floorboards creaked but, apart from them, the whole house was silent. He picked up the first frame and looked through the cracked glass to the picture behind. It was of his Mum and Dad.
James! Wake up! It's Christmas day!
James opened his sleepy eyes and looked into his Dad's excited face.
Has Santa been? he asked.
Come down and see! his Dad answered eagerly.
James hurtled down the stairs and bounded into the living room. Waiting for him, presents sat on all available surfaces. He rushed to the nearest and started his present opening marathon.
James pulled himself back to reality. He hated those flashbacks, showing him things he would never see again.
His parents had been killed in an explosion along with his little brother. He was the only survivor and had been blamed their deaths.
He replaced the picture of his parents and picked up the photo of his little brother, Caden. He was 2 years younger than James, so he would have been 12 this year. If he hadn't ...
The flames licked around his feet but he still carried on. He had to save Caden!
He reached for the door handle, but burnt his fingers.
That wasn't a good sign . He wrapped his hand up in his jumper and opened the door.
Inside the flames had crawled up from the kitchen and into Caden's room. They were inches away from him. James darted towards his sleeping sibling, but another explosion sent him back towards the door.
James heard his brother scream. He tried to fight off the flames holding him against the wall but his 10 year-old body just wasn't strong enough. Caden kept screaming, and then... and then... it stopped.
James wiped the tears from his eyes and put the frame down. He had loved his little brother so much, and now he would never see him again...
He had been blamed for the explosion. Apparently he had gone down to the kitchen before-hand and put the oven on max, then went back to bed. That's what the police said. That's what the Fire Brigade said. That's what everyone said.
But he didn't.
Finally, he picked up the last photo frame. This one was red, with a young boy's face on it. The boy was almost unrecognisable now, but it was him. Him before the explosion. Him before his life had been ripped apart.
James climbed the stairs leading to his bedroom. He slept on the top floor of his house, in a converted attic.
The walls were painted a cyan colour, cyan was his favourite colour, and the windows looked out onto the street.
As he went to close his curtains, he spotted a man out in the street. He tried to focus in on him, but he was wearing a black jacket and was standing in the shadows.
As he looked at the man for longer, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see more of him. He was looking straight at his house. More to the point, he was looking straight at him!
The dead-lock stare continued for at least 15 seconds before the man raised his arm and showed James 4 numbers with his hand.
1009
Then, he simply walked off, leaving James in an extreme state of confusion. What did 1009 mean?
He shrugged it off and went to bed. He could think about it in the morning, couldn't he?
James thought back to it. That was the night before the explosion. That was the night his family were killed.
His 12-year old self had no idea what was about to happen. No idea that, in the morning, he would be on the run from the police for killing his family. No idea that, within a week, a criminal organisation would be after him too.
After a week on the run, he was captured and taken to face one of the most dangerous criminals in St Andrews, the Brewster. One of the most wanted criminals in the UK. You name a crime committed anywhere in the UK, he would be involved somehow.
He had wanted information from him. Information about something he didn't know about. Something called The Rubik conundrum. He gave him a week to think about it, then he would come back and find him again.
James didn't like this suggestion and ran. He didn't know where, he just kept on going until he couldn't go any more. He had managed to get out of St Andrews but only just. He was safe, for now.
So that's how he lived for the next 2 years. On the run. Moving to a new town every month. Staying low key. Making no friends.
And now, here he was. Back in his own home of St Andrews. It had been 2 years, so he was pretty sure neither the police or the Brewster would recognise him. But he had to be careful nonetheless.
He decided to get some sleep, so he climbed into his make shift bed, and closed his eyes.
I appreciate all feedback, critical or otherwise, so please post your thoughts.
So without further ado, here it is...
The Dark Night
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
James McQue was enjoying the night. He was standing on the corner of Market Street, waiting for something to happen. There was a light breeze, and his dark hair blew in front of his hazel eyes.
The moon came out from behind a cloud, shining on his pale face, leaving half of it in shadow.
He pushed off the wall and walked down the street. As he walked, he felt in his pocket, making sure his blade was still there. It was.
The moon disappeared behind another cloud as he crept down North Street, past the empty houses and retreated through the door of 13c.
Inside was a dark hallway with a right and left turn at the conclusion.
James walked carefully along, making sure he avoided knocking the umbrella stand over, and turned right at the end. The left turn was blocked off.
Through the door was a room that could once have bedroom. The walls were painted yellow, but the dust had created grey patches here and there. A picture frame hung at an angle over the smashed mirror.
This house has seen enough bad luck James thought.
James continued through the bedroom into another room. This room was a different shape to the last one. That bedroom had been square, whereas this one was long and narrow. James assumed that it used to be the kitchen. There was a dusty oven on his left, and a fridge stuck at an awkward angle on his right. The floor was made up of a mixture of cracked marble and concrete.
At one end, the doorway was bricked up, blocking his way. There was no obvious way forward, but James knew different. He climbed behind the fridge and kicked the wall. It disintegrated, leaving a hole big enough for him to crawl through.
This final room was completely different. This room was warmer than the other two, and it looked more roomy. That was because James spent most of his time here.
There was a sofa turned on its side against the wall which, with a blanket and a grubby pillow made it his sleeping area.
There was frayed mats on the floor, creating a carpet effect and, against the opposite wall there was a desk with a red nose, a scary mask, the Keys to an Aston Martin and three photo frames on it.
James walked over to the desk. The floorboards creaked but, apart from them, the whole house was silent. He picked up the first frame and looked through the cracked glass to the picture behind. It was of his Mum and Dad.
James! Wake up! It's Christmas day!
James opened his sleepy eyes and looked into his Dad's excited face.
Has Santa been? he asked.
Come down and see! his Dad answered eagerly.
James hurtled down the stairs and bounded into the living room. Waiting for him, presents sat on all available surfaces. He rushed to the nearest and started his present opening marathon.
James pulled himself back to reality. He hated those flashbacks, showing him things he would never see again.
His parents had been killed in an explosion along with his little brother. He was the only survivor and had been blamed their deaths.
He replaced the picture of his parents and picked up the photo of his little brother, Caden. He was 2 years younger than James, so he would have been 12 this year. If he hadn't ...
The flames licked around his feet but he still carried on. He had to save Caden!
He reached for the door handle, but burnt his fingers.
That wasn't a good sign . He wrapped his hand up in his jumper and opened the door.
Inside the flames had crawled up from the kitchen and into Caden's room. They were inches away from him. James darted towards his sleeping sibling, but another explosion sent him back towards the door.
James heard his brother scream. He tried to fight off the flames holding him against the wall but his 10 year-old body just wasn't strong enough. Caden kept screaming, and then... and then... it stopped.
James wiped the tears from his eyes and put the frame down. He had loved his little brother so much, and now he would never see him again...
He had been blamed for the explosion. Apparently he had gone down to the kitchen before-hand and put the oven on max, then went back to bed. That's what the police said. That's what the Fire Brigade said. That's what everyone said.
But he didn't.
Finally, he picked up the last photo frame. This one was red, with a young boy's face on it. The boy was almost unrecognisable now, but it was him. Him before the explosion. Him before his life had been ripped apart.
James climbed the stairs leading to his bedroom. He slept on the top floor of his house, in a converted attic.
The walls were painted a cyan colour, cyan was his favourite colour, and the windows looked out onto the street.
As he went to close his curtains, he spotted a man out in the street. He tried to focus in on him, but he was wearing a black jacket and was standing in the shadows.
As he looked at the man for longer, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see more of him. He was looking straight at his house. More to the point, he was looking straight at him!
The dead-lock stare continued for at least 15 seconds before the man raised his arm and showed James 4 numbers with his hand.
1009
Then, he simply walked off, leaving James in an extreme state of confusion. What did 1009 mean?
He shrugged it off and went to bed. He could think about it in the morning, couldn't he?
James thought back to it. That was the night before the explosion. That was the night his family were killed.
His 12-year old self had no idea what was about to happen. No idea that, in the morning, he would be on the run from the police for killing his family. No idea that, within a week, a criminal organisation would be after him too.
After a week on the run, he was captured and taken to face one of the most dangerous criminals in St Andrews, the Brewster. One of the most wanted criminals in the UK. You name a crime committed anywhere in the UK, he would be involved somehow.
He had wanted information from him. Information about something he didn't know about. Something called The Rubik conundrum. He gave him a week to think about it, then he would come back and find him again.
James didn't like this suggestion and ran. He didn't know where, he just kept on going until he couldn't go any more. He had managed to get out of St Andrews but only just. He was safe, for now.
So that's how he lived for the next 2 years. On the run. Moving to a new town every month. Staying low key. Making no friends.
And now, here he was. Back in his own home of St Andrews. It had been 2 years, so he was pretty sure neither the police or the Brewster would recognise him. But he had to be careful nonetheless.
He decided to get some sleep, so he climbed into his make shift bed, and closed his eyes.
