by Dan Cash
“If you know where Max Myers is, or if you hear anything about his whereabouts, you must come forward. He is dangerous, and he has escaped with his accomplice, Freddie Vassallo. You will have seen that people in grey cloaks have been guarding our streets recently. These people are looking for Max and Freddie. They are effectively Pipton’s new police force.”
Sofia felt as though she was watching the scene from a great distance. This can’t be happening! Heads were beginning to turn in her and Russell’s direction.
“If you see or hear anything that may help us find these two dangerous boys, you must alert someone immediately. Not to do so will result in your own punishment.”
Before she could think about what she was doing, Sofia was on her feet. Russell was standing, too.
“No!” she shouted, her body trembling and her voice unsteady. “You’re lying! Max was in trouble and Light on the Landing saved his life!”
“Sit down, Miss Vassallo,” said Mrs. Stormonth calmly.
“No, she’s right.” Russell said, confidently. “You’re lying. These new police, these Creeps, they were hunting for Max and Freddie so they could kill them. They took Matthew and Anne-Alicia, too. They’re the enemy in this, not Max! Not Freddie!”
“Both of you have detention all week. Anyone else who wishes to raise their voice at me, lie, and spread silly little rumours will join them.”
“WE’RE NOT LYING!” Sofia shouted, desperately looking around at her schoolmates, trying to make them believe her. She could see only fear in their eyes.
Suddenly, six tall, hooded figures marched into view, eyes fixed on Russell and Sofia.
“DON’T BELIEVE THEM!” Sofia screamed over the buzz of her fellow pupils. She looked over her shoulder to see three of The Creeps approaching fast. Russell looked panicked, but then Sofia saw it on his wrist. With one final scream of “LIARS!” filling the ears of everyone on the field, Sofia grabbed Russell’s wrist, twisted the clasp on his bracelet, and the pair disappeared.
They ran without looking back. Sofia fought back tears as she ran hand-in-hand with Russell away from the school and onto the yellow meadow. She knew that they did not need to run away, they could have gone anywhere unnoticed thanks to Russell’s magical gadget, but running was a welcome distraction. She did not want to cry. Not again.
Russell allowed himself to be led by Sofia until they reached the woods. He slowed down, eventually bringing himself and Sofia to a halt.
“You okay?” Russell panted. Sofia nodded, breaking away from Russell to sit down among the beautiful array of flowers. “What do we do now?” he wondered aloud.
“Well, I’m not going back. If we go back, we’ll be watched by the Creeps so closely I doubt we could ever leave our houses again. And plus we’d have a week of detentions.” Sofia said, surprising herself at how little she was bothered about not going home.
“Are you serious!?” Russell exclaimed. “We can’t just leave! We have no money, no food, no clothes… nothing! And what about our parents?”
“Well then I’ll just have to go alone then, won’t I,” snapped Sofia, disappointed and angry.
***
Three hours later, Russell and Sofia had arrived back at the woods. They each wore a large backpack, containing some essentials that they would need to survive: a tent, small amounts of food, bottles of water, clothes, and their ScribblePads (with chargers).
Neither had said goodbye to their parents, but they had both written a letter explaining that they were in trouble, that it would be safer for their parents to remain ignorant, and that they had taken some cash from their wallets.
They entered the woods and walked. They had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, but at least they were doing something.
Jimmie
A week had passed since the Pipton incident. Wherever the band had travelled they had been bombarded with questions about the concert from reporters and fans. Scribbler was filled with theories and rumours, for once none of them containing an ounce of truth.
The boys had played five other venues in Hurburt in as many days and were now on a ferry, making their way to Terexe. They were relieved to be leaving. The five young men had been living in fear; although nothing else out of the ordinary had happened, they still refused to believe that nothing more would occur.
Every gig was tarnished with haunting memories of darkness, screams and flashes of blinding light. Haze struggled most, waking every night with a start, sweating and shaking.
After the Pipton gig, the band had fled to Wyltan, a town not too far away, and checked into a hotel. They were due to spend another night at home but they could not risk it. Graham tried to insist they drive through the night and head straight for their next tour location but the band overruled his decision, not wanting to be easily found.
They could not be cautious enough. Upon their arrival to the hotel, Graham booked rooms under false names – not an uncommon thing for him to do – and the boys entered the lobby without allowing any hotel staff members to see them. One Scribble and the world would know the whereabouts of Light on the Landing.
Graham and the crew were confused and as the boys did not wish to divulge any information, received no answers to their numerous questions. The band said goodnight, put their luggage in their rooms, and met back in Haze’s suite.
The hotel was minimal compared to the luxury to which they had become so accustomed. Each room had a double bed, a small bathroom, a tattered brown armchair and a bedside table. Haze, Jimmie and Naithian sprawled across the springy mattress while Jayke took the armchair and Zaak sat on the worn and torn carpeted floor.
“Has anyone been on Scribbler?” asked Jimmie. Everyone shook their heads except Haze.
“And..?”
“And it’s mental,” Haze said, his voice trembling slightly. “Everyone’s talking about it, even people who didn’t come to the gig. Some are saying that there was a big electrical fault that caused a huge fire…”
“A huge fire?” Zaak enquired.
“Yeah, apparently when people finally managed to escape the hall, it went up in flames. The fire spread to the whole school,” explained the youngest band member.
“And they’re saying it was an electrical fault?” asked Jayke.
“Well, some people are.”
“And what are other people saying?” Jimmie enquired.
Haze exhaled deeply. “Some people are saying that we were the target of a hate crime – that, for some reason, people were trying to harm us. And because it was a fire, people are blaming Terexians.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Naithian exclaimed incredulously.
“I know. But then others are talking about Max and saying that he had something to do with it because he was on stage at the time. Nobody really has any idea. It’s all just guesses and hysteria,” Haze finished.
None of the boys knew what to say. Jimmie was overwhelmed by everything and he could tell that his band mates were, too. It did not help that they were all exhausted. Their minds were reeling, remembering the evening and wondering what was happening now.
Jayke broke the silence, “You know this is going to follow us around for quite a while, right?”
He was right. Not only would it follow them but it would haunt them, like a gloomy grey cloud hanging over their heads threatening to unleash a violent storm at any second.
The boys eventually decided that they all needed to get some sleep and so returned to their own rooms. Jimmie struggled to shut down his brain, his overactive imagination running riot. He kept on checking his ScribblePad to see what people were saying.
Thousands of people had scribbled to him. Some were asking, hoping, wishing that he and the band were okay; their Scribbler silence since leaving Pipton seemed to have sparked even more panic among fans.
Others were demanding answers, expressing their concern at all the rumours they had heard and voicing their worries over attending a Light on the Landing gig. Various journali
sts had sent Jimmie private messages, asking for statements and interviews. It was times like these that the musician resented Scribbler, ScribblePads, and all things celebrity.
Jimmie slipped out of bed and reached into his backpack, taking out a packet of painkillers. Reading through Scribbler had given him a stress-induced headache, realisation sweeping over him that the boys had yet another hectic day ahead of them.
He sat on the edge of the hotel mattress, swallowed two of the small pills and checked his band mates’ Scribblers. None of them had scribbled yet either. Jimmie was often considered the leader and he knew that it would be down to him to break the band’s silence.
Despite it being the early hours of the morning and most people being asleep, he had rumours to quash and there was no time like the present. He picked up his stylus.
Hey Lighters. Just so you know, all of us boys are okay. We are so sorry about the Pipton gig. We send our love and gratitude to all who attended and we really hope that nobody was injured. We’re not sure what happened. It was crazy and we had to leave as quickly as possible. Sorry that we couldn’t meet any of you afterwards, but I promise we will come back soon to see you all again! And remember, rumours are poison. Don’t believe all you hear or read. Love you guys, LotL.
He pressed send. The blue light immediately began to flash as Jimmie instantly began to receive hundreds and thousands of Scribbles. Jimmie shut his ScribblePad away in the bedside cabinet and got back into the disappointingly uncomfortable bed, trying to clear his still aching head.
Gradually he could feel himself drifting into slumber, his body shifting between a state of relaxation and discomfort, and his troubled thoughts slipping away from him. Then there was a knock at the door.
“Hello?”
“I can’t sleep,” a deep, husky voice replied through the door. Jimmie opened the door to a tired and upset Haze.
That’s when it began. Each of the musicians struggled to sleep at night and could barely stay awake during the day. Their week in Hurburt seemed to last for ever. When they arrived at their hotel in Strathem the next day, it was swarming with news reporters.
Light on the Landing’s security helped the band force their way through the mob and into the hotel foyer, jackets sheltering their faces from flashing cameras. A spokesperson whose name Jimmie could not quite remember stood on the doorstep, waited for silence, and gave the speech that the band had written during the long bus journey.
“Last night in Pipton, the gig ended in a way we did not expect. We have spoken to the venue and they suspect that there was a technical error, causing a fire to start in the hall. Nobody was grievously injured, and for that we are immensely relieved. Light on the Landing send their love to anyone who has been affected by the events in Pipton and vow to return at the end of their tour to see you all again.”
The stern woman turned to enter the hotel, ignoring the hoard of questions and microphones thrust towards her.
Graham turned to Jimmie in one last, desperate attempt to find out what had really happened. Jimmie claimed ignorance once more and the band made their way to the bar.
The rest of the week was not much different. With each town came a hundred journalists, a thousand fans and a million questions. Jimmie had taken to regularly checking the Scribblers of the group of friends the band had met in Pipton.
Bizarrely, the only person who had been scribbling was Lornea, who appeared to be living in fear that one of her friends had been harmed. Jimmie contacted her via a private message in an attempt to offer some comfort.
Since moving to Salmont, Lornea had not heard from any of her friends and had no idea what had happened after the concert. She asked Jimmie an array of questions but he gave her no answers, either because he did not know them or because he had been sworn to secrecy. They began to forge a sort of friendship; Jimmie comforted Lornea while she reassured him.
The other band members dealt with their worries in different ways. Zaak and Naithian disappeared shortly after each gig and returned in the early hours of the morning. Jayke kept to himself, scribbling to fans and acting as if nothing had happened. Haze was constantly worried. His usual confident-verging-on-arrogant demeanour had completely evaporated. Paranoia had swept over him and he felt claustrophobic whenever he was around large groups of people, which was often.
Jimmie remained strong for his best friends. When Graham scolded Zaak and Naithian for being photographed by paparazzi during their nightly adventures, Jimmie defended them. When Jayke slipped wordlessly away into his hotel rooms, Jimmie knocked lightly on his door to check if he was okay. When Haze had a panic attack after being swarmed by fans, Jimmie was there to talk him through it.
Jimmie was the eldest and while he had never been the most mature, he was dealing with this better than anyone else. He had no choice.
And so, the band was relieved to be leaving Hurburt. Even though nothing else out of the ordinary had happened since the Pipton concert, they felt like were constantly checking over their shoulders.
When they boarded their private ferry to Terexe they felt a slight weight lift from their shoulders. Jimmie felt confident that the incident in Pipton was a one-off and was certain that the rest of their tour would go smoothly. He reminded the other four on several occasions that they were asked to help Max, which they did. Their duty was done.
Four hours on a boat was daunting, especially because the band had not spent that much time together for a whole week. But now they were heading for Terexe, the boys began to feel more relaxed.
For the first time that week, they were talking about normal things and almost enjoying themselves. Zaak and Naithian had many hilarious and embarrassing tales to tell about their escapades during their nights in Hurburt. Jayke and Haze were grinning and laughing along, grateful for the distraction that these stories provided. Jimmie was happy because his best friends were finally being themselves again.
Before they boarded the boat, Jimmie had been messaging Lornea. Their conversations, too, had moved on from worrying about Pipton to just getting to know each other. Every now and then, Lornea would mention Freddie, and Jimmie was unsure how to respond. She clearly still loved the Terexian but Jimmie was unsure whether they were still together or not. He decided, with Haze’s advice, that it would be best to wait a while longer before voicing (or scribbling) his question to Lornea.
From time to time, Lornea would express her disbelief that she was chatting to a member of Light on the Landing, which Jimmie found extremely awkward. He tended to brush past these remarks – he still found it unbelievable that he was in such a famous boyband and so when somebody else brought it up, he suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed.
He was unlike the other four in that sense, because they seemed to lap up the extravagant celebrity lifestyle, conforming effortlessly to fame and all that came with it, while Jimmie mostly just missed having a sense of normality in his life.
But the messages from Lornea grew thinner and further between. He persisted, urging conversation along and hoping that he had not said anything to upset the girl, but it was to no avail. Eventually, the messages stopped altogether. Rejection was not something of which Jimmie had much experience.
As the boat was slowly approaching Terexian shores, the boys began to feel truly excited about the next leg of their tour. Terexe was an incredible land and by far their favourite place to be, except perhaps Pipton. Never a dull moment, that was for sure. Most celebrities from all over The South opted to live in Zinthyar, the capital of Terexe, and Haze, Jayke, Jimmie, Naithian and Zaak were no exception.
They were to hold two concerts in Zinthyar’s largest stadium before heading off to Salmont, and they were already in talks to play Zinthyar Arena on their next tour. Every city, town and village in Terexe was unique and electric. The boys were confident that the following three weeks would be some of the best.
Jimmie picked up his ScribblePad to tell their fans that the band was hugely excited abou
t arriving in Terexe but a flashing green light told him that he had a new private message. It was from Freddie.
Private Message from
They’ve got my grandparents and now they’re after me. Please help.
Freddie
He had only been there for a week, but Freddie had already learnt a lot. Since arriving in Terexe, he had realised that nothing he thought he knew was actually true. Terexe was not a powerful land, nor was it all that magical. In fact, Terexe seemed to be just as unmagical, just as normal, as Hurburt.
The morning after his arrival, Freddie was woken up by the glorious, sweet scent of his grandmother’s pancakes. He stepped out of bed, slipped on some pyjama bottoms and made his way downstairs into the kitchen where his grandmother was busy preparing breakfast.
The small old lady greeted her grandson with a weak hug, expressing her happiness that he had decided to pay them a surprise visit. Freddie decided that he would not tell his grandparents the real reason he had left Pipton.
During his first few days in his homeland, Freddie gradually became more and more bored. On the first day, he explored the town and walked all the way up until the foot of the Fiery Mountains. Only, they were not all that fiery. In fact, they looked like any other mountains that he had seen in pictures and on television.
Freddie had been keen to learn about Terexian magic and the mystical land that his parents had so fondly described to him and Sofia. However, on the second day when Freddie journeyed further east towards the ocean, he began to lose all belief in his parents’ tales; the ocean was indeed bluer than any body of water he had seen in Hurburt but he could see none of the bizarre sea creatures that had been promised.
Freddie hired a small rowing boat and ventured out further across the ocean. He carried on further and further but still not finding anything mystical, magical or vaguely unusual about the sea. Eventually, his arms tired from rowing, he headed back to the shore, disappointed and deflated.
