Also by Kimberley Neville-Downer
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Asher Dagg
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Ella Blake-Brislen
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Helena L. Mayer
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Jesse Perrott
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Krishi Shah
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Raissa Zhang
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Also by Sreeya Bugata
NZ Young Writers' Anthology
Secrets Anthology 2015
Table of Contents
Also By Kimberley Neville-Downer
Also By Asher Dagg
Also By Ella Blake-Brislen
Also By Helena L. Mayer
Also By Jesse Perrott
Also By Krishi Shah
Also By Raissa Zhang
Also By Sreeya Bugata
The scars of the night | Kimberley Neville-Dowler
The Untold | Asher Dagg
Forever and Ever? | Ella Blake Brislen
Magic Secrets and | Secret Magic | Helena L. Mayer
The Very Bony Gallimimus | Jesse Perrott
Secrets | Krishi Shah
The Key to every Secret: Dark Chocolate | By Raissa Zhang
The Precious Weapon | Sreeya Bugata
Dedications
About the Editor
Further Reading: You Can't Cure A Witch's Curse
Also By Kimberley Neville-Downer
Also By Asher Dagg
Also By Ella Blake-Brislen
Also By Helena L. Mayer
Also By Jesse Perrott
Also By Krishi Shah
Also By Raissa Zhang
Also By Sreeya Bugata
About the Publisher
The scars of the night
Kimberley Neville-Dowler
As the sun sinks to the world below,
And the moon defines its luminous glow,
The secrets emerge from the depths of darkness,
The lies of people, ever so heartless.
Flitting, flying,
Shrieking, crying,
Oozing through people’s minds.
Darting and scurrying,
Springing and hurrying,
Whispering tales of all kinds.
They are heard and absorbed,
Laughed at and adored,
Each one a fabrication.
Their victims shrink in shame,
Their self-worth cruelly slain,
Running off to different nations.
Gleefully so, tellers observe as the hunted flee the scene.
Bystanders watch, frightened by the way their evil eyes gleam.
Finally the sun bursts up in blazing flames again,
As the moon’s eerie glow trickles down the drain.
Suddenly, the secrets realise with alarm,
That time is up, for their harm,
They disappear, forgotten, hiding from the light of day.
But scars are left, they are always left, when secrets come out to play.
The Untold
Asher Dagg
My heart sank deep into my soul. Nobody could find it, no matter how hard they looked. I felt dizzy, lonely and sad. I sat on the ground, leaning against an old tree trunk down the drive. Nobody would find me here, they wouldn’t bother to look.
I sat with my knees up by my chest and my arms wrapped around my legs. My heart sank even deeper. I could feel every rain drop fall on my head, run down each strand of hair and land on my legs. My jeans were soaked right through to my skin, my bare arms sparkled with rain drops and were covered with tiny little goose bumps. There was a very slight breeze, but it was enough to make me colder.
It’s starting to get dark, better go inside, I think. I wander back up the drive, my hands in my jean pockets and my head down.
“Where have you been?” Mum asks, looking me up and down. I’m still wet from the rain.
“Nowhere,” I reply, dragging my feet. “I’m taking a shower,” I say, heading towards my room, I find my pajamas and a towel and drag my sorry self to the bathroom. My little sister is in there looking at herself in the mirror.
“Out!” I order. She hurries out and watches telly with the others. I turn the shower on, take all my clothes off and hop in. The water feels nice on my bare skin, it’s warm and comforting, making me feel nice inside. I go over my skin with the block of soap and I shampoo my hair.
When I get out mum is in the kitchen putting dinner on our plates. It’s a pie and hot chips. I eat mine and head for bed.
“Where you going?” Dad asks
“Bed, that ok?”
“Yes, night.”
“Night.”
I fix up my blankets and make myself comfortable.
I lay in bed with my eyes shut trying to fall asleep but I’m not even getting sleepier. I think about next weekend. I have a horse show. I’m taking my beautiful palomino horse, she’s 15.2hh and she’s the best at games and jumping. I imagine us jumping, a clear round, perfect and...
I wake up and it’s 11:00am in the morning. I jump out of bed and throw on some day clothes. I rush out and make breakfast, shoving most of it into my mouth, and I have trouble swallowing. I freeze. All this rushing for nothing, everyone is outside doing jobs and I’m rushing to help them, why would I want to help? Weirdo, I think to myself. I then start again, I go and get in bed, slowly climb out again and walk into the kitchen, make my breakfast really slowly and take my time eating it. At that moment while I’m enjoying my breakfast Mum bursts into the door.
“She’s having her foal!” Mum's excitement is taking over, I can tell.
I automatically get up and wander outside to where Puzzle was lying. She is now standing with her newly born foal in the sun.
“He’s gorgeous,” Mum says proudly.
“He is,” I reply as I study his white markings and small joints.
“Puzz seems very happy with herself.”
“Yea, she’s very pleased.”
We stand watching for a while, both imagining the foal in a harness pulling a cart in a few years time.
“We better leave her to it then,” Mum says as she turns to walk away, but I stay watching him flick his little tail and nurse from Puzzle. He is buckskin with a splash of white on his tummy, four white legs, the back one’s crawling up the under part of his flanks, and a white face with two blue eyes as blue as the sea.
I watch for a little longer before walking away. Today is so different from yesterday - yesterday was cold and wet, today is dry and sunny, I thought. I walked towards the house to finish my breakfast.
“Hey, where are you going?” It’s Dad, must want something from me.
“To finish my breakfast!...” I yell back.
“Alright,” I hear him reply.
I carry on walking.
I finish my breakfast and start to make my way outside. I go over the concrete and through the tack shed door, grab my saddle and bridle and head for the riding paddock. I dump my stuff on the fence, pick
up the halter and lead rope and head for Ocean’s paddock. I climb the fence and I gently put the halter on Ocean’s head. Ocean follows me to the gate I open, we then head to where we tie up. She stands in a relaxed way, her head down and her back leg resting. I brush her all over, pick out her feet and place the saddle on her back, I do up the girth, replace the halter for the bridle and climb on.
Our warm up is nice and relaxed. After a while I gather up my reins and get her head on the bit, we start to trot, we trot left and right, left and right and again. She has a nice rhythm, head on the bit, nice and relaxed. I push her into a canter, and work on getting her head on the bit, it’s not easy, she’s not used to it yet. I decide to move on. I slow her to a trot and then walk, we walk around on a loose rein. As she walks I look at the jumps to see if any need adjusting. They don’t. I pick up the pace and shorten my reins, we trot into them and glide over each one, not refusing or thinking about it first. I stop her and climb off, I flick the reins over her head and adjust each jump so that they are higher. We glide over them too.
Once I had finished I cleaned the bit and put all my gear away. Mum comes strolling out of the house.
“Since when could she do that?” she asked surprised.
“Who do what?” I asked, confused.
“Ocean, she jumps a metre 20...”
“I’m good at secrets, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” she sounds quite surprised. “What other secrets are you keeping from me?”
“I don’t know...” I say trying to keep a straight face, but still ending up smirking.
She leaves it at that and goes back to house work. I head to my room and start picking up stuff off the floor.
Dad comes to the door and slips his boots off.
“It’s raining outside,” he says, with water all through his hair and little droplets running down his face. “I’m going for a shower,” he says after a long silence and heads for the bathroom. Mum is quiet, and I come out of my room. The two little ones are in the room laughing and playing games. Mum walks to the bathroom door.
“Us ladies are going out, you’re stuck with the kids,” she says opening the door just enough to let the words flow through.
“Okay,” I hear dad grumble back. We hurry to the car, and leave without telling the others.
Forever and Ever?
Ella Blake Brislen
Kathy and I are best friends. I have known her all my life. Even though we are the complete opposite of each other. That is absolutely true! I am, apparently, ‘troublesome’ and Kathy is ‘a well mannered young woman’. When we were babies one of us crawled right into the rubbish bin at the park and fell into the pond whilst feeding ducks. The other one us sat up prettily in her buggy cuddling Mr. Peanut (a teddy bear) and laughed at her naughty friend.
When we were at Kindy, one of us played in the sand pit, and didn’t do finger painting but whole body painting. The other one of us sat at the table and made two necklaces (one for each of us) and sang ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ with all of the hand gestures. When we went to Primary school, one of us pretended to be a Wild Thing and roared terrible roars in class and got sent out of the room. The other one of us read Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy and wrote stories about a mouse in a little hole in a cottage in her very best handwriting.
Now, when we were at Intermediate one of us ran into the staff room as a dare and got told off. She also climbed over the fence at home to retrieve her ball and almost got run over. The other one of us got made Head Councillor and wore a sparkly top to the school disco and all the boys wanted to dance with her - but guess what? She danced with her best friend instead.
We’re best friends but we’re not one bit alike. I suppose that goes without saying. We have been best friends for ages so that is great, great, great because, as I might’ve mentioned before, Kathy and I are best friends. Kathy and Poppy. And we are going to stay Kathy and Poppy forever. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
I don’t know what to do. I’m worried. Something super weird is going on. It’s Kathy. She’s got a secret and she’s not telling me. We’ve never ever had any secrets from each other before. I’ve told Kathy all sorts of stuff. Even dead embarrassing things, like the time I thought I could make the car ride home from the movies after drinking a whole bottle of L&P without going to the toilet but didn’t make it. Kathy knows that I don’t like to sleep without Mr. Quakers (my little duck night-light) because I don’t like the dark that much. Kathy has told me her secret stuff too. She told me when her Mum and Dad has a big row because her Dad stayed late at work and didn’t tell her Mum. Or when she got sunburned at the beach and had to go to school looking like a lobster and missed a class because she was in the sick bay crying. She’s told me heaps of stuff. But now she’s got this secret. She doesn’t know that I know she’s got this secret. I found out in a bad way too. I read her diary.
I know I shouldn’t have read her private diary. Especially as we are close. But she’d been acting weird at school and I knew something was up so I just HAD to peek. So... whilst she was in the bathroom, changing for the play we were going to perform for our parents, I had to move some stuff off the bed to get my costume, including Kathy’s diary which, as I was moving it, might have cracked open. So obviously I had to look inside to see what it was and had a little tiny glance at what she’d written. Then I read it again. And again.
I don’t know what to do. I feel so awful. I can’t tell Poppy. I simply can’t. It had to stay a SECRET. Yet it’s so hard to act like normal, as if we are going to carry on the same old way, Kathy and Poppy forever and ever. But how can we stay the same if I am on the other side of the world?
“Hey Pops, I’m done! You should get ready fo- Poppy! What are you holding?” Kathy asks as she stands in the doorway, her expression full of fear and concern.
“You’re moving?!”
Magic Secrets and
Secret Magic
Helena L. Mayer
Midnight. I moan. I hate bad dreams. Hate, hate, hate. They make me feel so insecure, unsafe even though I know I am perfectly fine, it’s just another night. Mum and dad are less than ten metres away. So why won’t my mind settle? The other thing about nightmares is they make me restless. Which does not help when its pitch black in the middle of the night. There’s nothing I can do about it. I have to get up and do something. I would tidy my room but there’s nothing to tidy. So I pace. Six steps between my bed and my closet. Back and forth and back and forth and back. I sit on the edge of my bed and tap my feet in the carpet. I pull back the curtain a tiny bit... and am stunned. ‘Wow...’ I breathe. It is beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful. Oh, so beautiful, that it’s horrible. Horribly beautiful. I can’t bear it anymore. I pull the curtain shut. Just a dream... Just a dream...
I lie back down, but I can’t sleep. A strange radiant glowing is coming from a corner of the room. I stand up and cross over to my shelf, where the light is coming from. It’s more of a haze though. A coloured haze. I gently open the lid of my treasure box. Sitting there innocently, but emitting an otherworldly gleam, is the moonstone that Mum gave to me when I turned nine. A small egg-shaped pebble, opaque and pretty. This is too much for my mind. I flop back on my bed and cover my head with a pillow.
I wake to a muffled voice shouting at me. ‘Hey! Hey you!! I don’t appreciate this you know. Get me out of here!!’ Ugh. I really can’t be bothered right now. It’s way too early. ‘WAKE UP!!!’
‘But I don’t want to...’
‘Too bad, you don’t have a choice.’
‘But...’
My legs pull me out of bed. What? I didn’t want that! My legs, who are apparently being controlled with a mind that was not mine, bring me over to the treasure box. Then, my hands, which are also not listening to me, open it up. There, stands a, um, pixie? He is tiny. He is partially see-through, made up of a swirling mist of colours like purpllow or gred, that I have never seen before.
‘Who... are you? Or... What?’
<
br /> ‘Excuse me, young miss, but that is VERY rude. And, duh, I’m your secret.’
‘My... secret?’
‘Yes,’ he answers confidently.
‘Um, which secret would that be exactly? I’m not entirely sure... I ...er...’ he acts as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, like that 'A' is the first letter of the alphabet.
‘The secret, of course.’
‘Right...’
I start to get ready for school, ignoring him.
‘So... you’re gonna have to come to school with me until I figure out what to do with you.’
‘Keep me, obviously.’
I pack my homework book, reading book, lunch box, drink bottle, iPod, and earplugs.
‘I’m not going in there!’
‘Uh, no you’re not, you’re going in the side pocket.’
‘Side pocket!’ he said, pronouncing the words like they were “dirty rat”.
‘But side pockets are for scraps and homework and rubbish. I am SO above that.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, grabbing him. I screamed. Where my bare skin touched him, pain shot up my arm.
‘Of course you can’t touch me.’
‘But... there is no way I’m leaving you alone in my room all day, and mum cannot find out about you. You have got to come.’
‘But not in the side pockets.’
‘No. Not in the side pocket.’
I grabbed a small bag from my closet and put it on beneath my jacket.
‘Climb in here.’
Morning tea. I wrote a note in code to my BFF, Leah. It said: come to the tunnel in 5. The tunnel was our hideout. None of the kids in our class played around there, they were to “cool” for that. Only the year ones and twos went there, and they never bothered us.
‘Hey, Leah, I gotta tell you something...’
‘Yeah,’ she said, inspecting her nails.
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