Ben tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hurry up, slowcoach. What are you knitting new shoelaces or something?”
Tilly brushed his comment away and picked up the torch. She stood up cautiously and shone the light in his face.
“Let’s go!” she said.
Ben closed his eyes and placed his hand over his face.
“Hey . . . stop that!”
Tilly giggled.
“I’m just mucking around.”
Ben sighed. “We can muck around here, or we go inside. What do you want to do?”
“Ummm. Like, go inside,” said Tilly, in a sarcastic tone of voice.
Tilly and Ben had only taken two step forwards when they heard footsteps behind them.
Tilly spun around in fright. She lost her grip on the torch. It flew into the air before falling violently onto the ground.
Thud!
The torch blinked twice, before the light disappeared.
Tilly screamed. Ben grabbed her hand. “Who’s there?” he shouted into the darkness.
“Hey, don’t be scared,” said a young female voice. “My name is Abigail and I’m here with my brother, Gavin.”
Tilly stared into the distance as two silhouettes walked towards her. They were of a similar build to Ben and herself and were waving at them in an enthusiastic manner.
“What are you doing here?” said Ben, still with his guard up.
“What are you doing here?” said Gavin, stopping a meter in front of them.
“I asked you first,” said Ben, stubbornly.
“We were walking towards the house and saw you guys holding a torch. We wanted to know if we could join you.”
Tilly rubbed her forehead. “So, you’re here to see the haunted house?”
Abigail giggled. “Yes, isn’t everybody?”
Ben shook his head.
“This doesn’t make sense. Why are you walking around in complete darkness? And how did you get here?”
Gavin held up a torch. “It stopped working. And we walked.”
“We can’t drive as yet,” said Abigail, chiming in.
Tilly nodded. “Neither can we.”
The four teenagers stood in a minute of silence, before Ben finally spoke.
“Fine, you’re in. But you stick with our plan, okay?”
Gavin groaned. “Fine,” he muttered. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Tilly walked towards her broken torch and gently picked it up. It wasn’t cracked, only dented.
“Okay guys, here’s the plan. We’re going to walk around the house first and see if it’s safe to go inside. And if it is, we’ll go through the front or the back door, whatever seems like the safest option. And don’t forget, we need to stick together. If anyone sees, hears or feels like they’re in danger—we get out immediately!”
Abigail scratched her head. “And how do you know that there’s nobody inside?”
Ben scoffed. “It’s abandoned. Nobody lives here . . . except maybe some ghosts.”
Gavin laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, that’s why we’re all here, right? To witness something paranormal.”
Tilly tapped the torch firmly against her palm. “Come on. Come on.” After the fourth attempt, a feeble light returned. She switched it on and off until the torch slowly returned to its full strength. “Finally!” she said, with a sigh of relief.
Tilly shone the torch into Ben’s face with a big grin.
“Are you ready?” she said, with a chuckle.
Ben closed his eyes and growled.
“Tilly, I shouldn’t have to tell you a second time. Take the stupid thing off my face!”
Tilly did as she was told. “Relax. It’s just a joke,” she mumbled.
Tilly shone the light towards Abigail and Gavin.
“Guys are you ready?” she asked.
Tilly froze, and her heart started pounding. She opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream. The light penetrated them like they were a hologram.
“They’re ghosts!” shrieked Ben.
He yanked Tilly’s hand and started running towards the road. Tilly’s hand trembled as she lit up the path in front of her.
“Run, Tilly! Run for your life,” stammered Ben.
Tilly and Ben stumbled over rocks, falling over at various potholes that hadn’t seemed to be there before. They didn’t care. Bruised and grazed, they picked themselves off the ground and forged forwards.
Tilly and Ben heard high-pitched laughter behind them.
“Run, scaredy-cats. Run!” taunted Gavin. “Run for your life!”
Tilly and Ben ignored him, determined not to look back.
“And just to clarify, “shouted Gavin. “Oh, yes. This is a haunted house and we’re the ones that haunt it!”
Gavin stuck his middle finger in the air as he watched Abigail and Ben running further along the road.
Abigail clutched her head and threw Gavin a menacing look.
“Why’d you do that for?” she growled.
Gavin pulled a face.
“What’s with the look? You saw them. They ran off like the rest of them.”
Abigail sighed. “I realise that. But taunting them isn’t going to help. We’ll never get anyone inside the house at this rate.”
Gavin crossed his arms. “They were probably too scared to go in anyway.”
Abigail walked up to Gavin and put her arm around him.
“Please, Gavin. Luring people is going to be a million times harder if you’re not nice to them. That means, even if they find out our little secret . . .”
Gavin groaned. “Yeah, alright. I get it.”
Abigail and Gavin turned towards the sound of deafening heavy metal music. Two headlights came tearing down the street, suddenly swerving in front of their house with urgency. The windows of the beaten-up sedan rolled down as puffs of smoke escaped into the night sky.
Abigail rubbed her hands together.
“You know what this means . . .”
Gavin chuckled. “Yep. Fresh meat. There’s hope for us yet.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: AMANI Gunawardana is a children’s author residing in Melbourne. She loves reading and writing stories that are humorous, quirky and fun. You can find her published work via her website: www.amanigunawardana.com.au
Out Of The Shadows by Manna Clarke
AZ STOOD AMID THE CHARRED, blackened landscape, surveying the damage. He cut an odd figure, standing amongst the devastated countryside, looking completely out of place in his blue chinos, white collared shirt and mustard sweater. In truth, Az hadn’t paid attention to what he was wearing when it all started and he’d been summoned to the Southern Continent to work. Weeks later, his outfit was still pristine despite the horrors he had been forced to witness.
It was a small thing, but important. He must look the part for the role his father had given him, no matter what.
That was what the lanky dark haired man told himself at least. If he truly wanted to look the part, a hooded black robe would have been a better choice to throw over his lean frame. In times like these, Az felt more like the Grim Reaper from the legends than he did himself.
Brown eyes regarded the charred, twisted corpse of a native animal that had gotten stuck in a farmer’s fence when a firestorm rolled through. Two steps to the side, another struggled to breathe, desperately holding onto life. Earlier, the bodies had been human. Before that, more animals huddled together in what remained of a shed with a solitary charred human in their midst. It was death and destruction on a scale that Az hadn’t seen since the last war zone he’d been sent into. Regardless of species, he’d never seen anything like it, and it made his chest ache . . . something else that was more or less new to him. Despair crept in as he ticked off yet another body in his Tablet, ensuring that he at least would have an accurate record of the lives lost in the fires that ravaged the land.
Lives ended before their time. It isn’t fair.
It was too much, and he w
as being forced to record names and species where there shouldn’t have been space for them, not yet.
Despair turned into desolation, and Az had no choice but to admit that he couldn’t do it alone anymore. He needed help. Naturally, his first thought was his assistants, but just as his fingers brought up the information he needed, Az froze. He knew that these fires weren’t natural. Az also knew who was behind them . . . but in knowing that, he also needed to be careful who he approached for help.
Best keep it in the family.
And so, his message went out to the one he trusted most.
Raph, I need your help. Bring the others.
His twin sister would arrive in due time, but there was little point in waiting. With a deep sigh that betrayed the calm exterior Az was projecting to the world, he went back to work.
THE COMMOTION AT THE end of the wharf wasn’t quite enough to raise the heads of the weary survivors. A few of them turned their dirty faces when a small group of people started pressing through the crowd, waiting for the rescue that hadn’t come. Several irritated voices could be heard complaining about being asked to move, but they were soon hushed by the solemn air that surrounded the newcomers.
Nobody thought to question where they had come from, most assuming a boat had dropped them off from an area just evacuated, or one not touched by the fires at all. There were only three of them, all clean, all wearing the grim expressions of those that knew disaster.
The trio came forward, nodding now and then to those laying prone on the rough timbers of the wharf, a frown of concern appearing on their leader’s otherwise calm face whenever she saw an injury. She didn’t stop, instead pressing almost gracefully through, weaving her small group in and out of the stranded, the tired and the weary alike, her eyes searching all the while for something . . . or someone in particular. Towards the junction of the wharf and the road, she suddenly stopped, head tilting curiously to one side as she regarded a man who had been watching their journey through the survivors with keen interest.
Ice blue eyes set in a dirty, ash-covered face studied the newcomers, but nobody spoke. Eventually, the man pushed away from the post he was leaning his tired body against and stood straighter, forcing a smile onto his exhausted face as he approached the small group.
Lord help us, where will we find food for these extra mouths?
“Welcome. My name is—”
“You are the priest that looks after these people.” Her voice was like a gentle rain falling on stones, kind and soothing, but with a determination that told him that like the water, there was a hidden strength inside, powerful enough to erode away the most stubborn of barriers.
“Oh.” He paused, wondering how she could possibly have known. He wasn’t wearing any identifying markers, and his church didn’t use collars or uniforms. Not outside of sermons anyway. “Yes ma’am. How did you—?”
Once again he was interrupted, this time by a voice coming from the opposite direction.
“Father Marcus. I see you have met my sister.”
The woman’s head whipped around, and for the first time since she had landed on the end of the wharf, she smiled, though it was tinged with confusion. “Brother. I got your message.” She turned back to the priest, Marcus and offered her hand. “Raph. It is nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Marcus took the offered hand and shook it, eyes widening in surprise at the strength of her grip, which was at odds with how soft and delicate her skin was. He flicked his eyes between the siblings, noting with detached interest the close resemblance they had to each other. “Any help you can offer is . . .” Marcus removed his dirty hand from hers and shrugged helplessly, his voice cracking with distress. “We’re cut off. The roads are closed. We’re running out of food. Our phones can’t get signal, and when they do. Well . . .” Reaching up, the priest wiped a tired palm down the side of his ash-covered face, smearing a rogue tear through dirty skin. “I think the world has forgotten us.”
“But you keep praying.” Raph hadn’t met someone so devoted for a long time and it awed her. “Your faith is commendable.”
“Ahh Miss Raph, mostly they’re just tolerating my prayers, but they do it with good hearts.” He smiled, his teeth showing white against soot darkened skin. “It gives us hope.”
One of Raph’s companions leaned forward to get her attention, pointing toward the angry red sky. Fire clouds had started to drift over at an alarming speed, indicating that the fires beyond the small town had not only changed direction, they were coming towards them fast.
In the distance, they heard a scream, followed by a resounding crash that echoed across the still waters of the bay. More heads turned, and everyone present could see the new smoke cloud that billowed up on the far side of town.
Az winced, his pleasant face contorting in anguish as he realised there were more deaths to come. More needless waste.
“Help!” The voice, desperate and pleading crackled through a radio attached to the belt of a woman nearby. “They’re trapped! My husband and father. Someone. Anyone. Please help!”
“Raph . . .” The people around them forgotten for now, Az turned pleading brown eyes to his sister. “I can do my job. But this? This isn’t my job. It isn’t natural. It’s him.”
“I know.” Raph looked over her shoulder to ask one of the others to go, the space between her brows crinkling when she realised her friends were missing. “What are they . . . ?” And then, she knew. Raph felt a rush of pride for her companions, a few months back they’d have asked for some kind of incentive for their help.
Now? Now they just helped, and they helped because it was the right thing to do.
The brunette was concerned, however, that their appearance there would be too public, too open. Catching her brothers’ eyes, she motioned with her head for him to join her as she stepped away from the priest.
“This is big, Az. We’re not ready.” Raph spoke quietly, but firmly. Her eyes betrayed her tone though, letting him know that she was at least as worried as he was.
“Unprecedented, Raph. But he knows. Why else would he create such chaos?” Az mused, his mind going over the same thing it had been for the past few weeks.
Raph’s response was cut off by a sudden scream of agony, followed quickly by one of terror and loss. She pushed past Az toward the voices, her senses aware that it had grown substantially hotter as the wind picked up and the fire headed in their direction.
“Chas?” One of her companions was kneeling next to a man so horribly burned that it didn’t take medical knowledge to know he was near death. The small woman with honey-blonde hair looked up at Raph with tears in her big amber eyes. “I tried. I tried Raph, we both did. But we were too late.”
Next to her, another woman sat on the ground, her torso bent over the prone man as she cried out great, heaving sobs that shook her entire body. A man collapsed near his other side, holding one hand against his ribs as he coughed up ash and flecks of blood. Raph’s other companion looked up at her from her place near Chas with worried eyes.
“This has to stop. We can stop this.”
Raph nodded and knelt between the two injured men, reaching out to lay one hand on each of them. By now a crowd had gathered around and she was aware of voices calling out for help. Then another asking what she was doing . . . and then, Marcus asking her the most relevant question of all.
“Are you a doctor, Miss Raph?”
“Something like that.” Raph smiled gently at the priest and her mahogany irises shifted, glowing a rich golden brown.
Az stood at her side, his expression solemn. “Hurry, Raph. He’s fighting me. He wants to leave.”
Raph grunted at her brother, her face inexplicably paling under her dark hair. Slowly, ever so slowly the burned man’s body began to alter, the black and charred skin fading back to pink as though it were healing itself. Scars formed, twisted and horrible but soon they too faded into smoothness right in front of so many eyes.
Witnesses.
> A nudge to her side made Raph focus on the crowd that had gathered, and she was shocked to see a circle of kneeling people surrounding them. “Please, stand up.” Raph shook her head in denial, standing to help the nearest of them to his feet. “Marcus, you are not required to kneel.”
The priest obeyed, rising to his feet in shock. “Who . . . who are you? What are you?”
“You know, Azreal.” Raph used her brother’s full name for the first time. “I am Raphael.”
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, and Marcus made the sign of the cross.
“Your prayers have been answered.”
Azreal. I must put these fires out.
Save them, Raphael. We will collect the injured.
You were right. It’s time. Let’s make sure he knows we’re here.
Azreal, the Archangel of Death nodded at his sister, the Archangel of Healing. No more words were needed. A gentle cascade of bells could be heard as the siblings revealed themselves for the first time in aeons. Raphael’s cobalt blue wings glittered with silver, while Azreal’s were the opposite, shimmering with the deepest blue flecks when he shifted, readying himself for flight. They turned to the priest as one, expressions of resolute determination on their faces. Raphael bent her knees and pushed herself upwards, beating her magnificent wings as she took flight. Azreal smiled and turned to face the priest as he watched her vanish into the clouds.
“It’s time to come out of the shadows.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: MANNA Clarke is a Melbourne-based marine scientist who has always had a creative mind and often escaped into fiction when she should have been studying. Her writing blends science fact with fiction in many different settings. In her spare time she likes to think about roller-skating and can often be seen wandering around at Comic-Con.
Manna can be found in the following locations:
https://www.facebook.com/MarineManda/
https://twitter.com/MarineManna
https://www.instagram.com/iammannaclarke
https://themindoflam.com/
Whiteflower Duet by R.A. Goli
Stories of Hope Page 22
