Essence

By Leanne Grime

Mackenzie Taylor is an ordinary, typical girl with normal everyday problems such as school, bullies, teachers, and friends. But all that changes when a stalker becomes known, and changes everything.
Moonlight Hollow Village desperately needs her help and powers to defeat a tyrant king who is set on becoming more powerful and having everyone at his mercy. However, that isnt the only priority Mackenzie needs to think about; she also has to be aware of the dangers around her, choices to make, betrayal, and keeping those close to her safe.
Can she vanquish King Carlo before it is too late? Or is Carlo going to obtain the power and destroy everything that Mackenzie holds dear? Can Mackenzie become the sophisticated warrior prophesied by the Goddess and prove she is the Chosen One? You decide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466912205

Leanne Grime

Hi, my name is Leanne Grime. I was born on the 3rd December 1991. It has always been my wish to become an author and publish a book. Many authors have inspired me to write but I give many thanks to J.K. Rowling for being the one who had captured my heart in her world of Harry Potter and Hogwarts, for this is the book that had captured me more keenly into writing my own book. My story ideas for my books come from my dreams and I use these to create the stories I intened to write and publish. For me, reading and writing is the most precious thing to behold. It is a wonderful experience to go through because it allows you to step away from reality for a brief or long time and into the world of the characters in the books. It gives the reader an opportunity to ravish in their character's senses within the book. It allows you to feel what they feel, feel their everlasting pain and love, and it allows you to walk into their shoes. And writing your own stories for others to hear is as intoxicating and beautiful as the sunset or sunrise.

Book preview

Chapter One

This Is My Life

Are you listening to me, Mackenzie Taylor? asked my teacher, Mrs Lopez.

I glanced up from my note pad I had been doodling in and, I secretly and quickly extracted my earphones out of my ears as I stared at my teacher, innocently.

Mrs Lopez was a tall slim woman with bleached blond hair that was tightly fixed into a bun. Her pale long pointy nose rose upwards at the end and flared as she gazed at me. Her blue eyes glared and her bossy attitude increased as she crossed her bony arms against her flat chest. She also wore a grey suit that spoke authority. Sometimes I wondered how her husbands puts up with her, but heck, I can’t be the judge of that.

She was one of the teachers who despised me with a passion. She hated me as soon as I stepped through the threshold of my tenth year at school. She was the most bossiest, deceitful and sly teacher on the planet. And I was one of the few unfortunate specimens that had entered her lawful classroom.

Of course, I said sweetly, but inside I wanted to call her a whole bunch of names and tell her to leave me alone. However, I had sworn to myself and my very strict Father that I would behave, for once.

My Father was very strict on me behaving, as no matter what; I always inexplicably got into trouble a lot. My Father had persistently been ordering me to pay attention in class and listen to my teachers so I would learn something and stop getting myself in detention or excluded every other week. And get an education in the process.

Sometimes I could get into trouble within the first minute of class. I would just walk in, probably knock a chair or bump into a table in the process, and the teacher will suspiciously growl at me and send me out just because they believed I was doing it on purpose. Bah! Adults are so thick sometimes. They actually think they are always right. Well, I got news for you! Teachers, adults, parents, whatever, are totally not right. They only believed that because they have so-called authority over us.

They believed they could prove their authority over us by using the school method. Teachers equal awesome. Pupils equal slimy worms doing the teacher’s work. Yeah, right! It was like a storm cloud was hovering over you 24/7 and you can’t get away, especially when they stared down at you, trying to make you feel inferior about yourselves.

It wasn’t only teachers I hated; it was high school in general.

School to me was like a prison sent from the government. And your parents send you there to get rid of you for a few hours. Not to get an education but be prisoners to the unfaithful curriculum the government had popped onto us.

It was awful and a waste of my bloody time. I just didn’t see the point in it. My conscience always seemed to wander. I just couldn’t listen to a word any teacher, parent or adult told me. It just goes through one ear and out the other, as my Father always puts it.

Not to mention that some students here are so mean and disrespectful towards other people’s feelings. Bullies believed it was funny to hurt people’s feelings or ruin a perfectly good designer top that cost a lot of money. And I was talking about what a girl, by the name of Stacey, did to me at break time when I was on my way to the girls’ lavatory.

She had unexpectedly exited a cubicle in the girls’ toilets and thought it would be funny to call me and my family a loser. The way she did it was like it was planned or she had been forewarned about my incoming. Then again I remembered her friend, Melissa, had been speaking into her phone the exact moment I had got up from my seat in the cafeteria.

Even though my family was annoying, not to mention my little twin sisters who by the way touch my stuff all the time without my permission and who seemed to be born for one reason: make my life a living hell and make me the bad guy in the family; I still hated how Stacey called them every name under the sun.

I didn’t let it go so I called her a whole bunch of names that came from the top of my head. Really, I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just ignored her as everyone kept telling me too, but I just couldn’t keep my loud mouth shut.

So of course it got worse.

She ranted and laughed at the thing that hurt me, my worst spot: the day when my grandparents (my Mother’s parents as my Father’s parents moved away before I was born, so I didn’t get the chance to know them) died in a car crash when they were on their way to visit us on my fifteenth birthday. This happened only a few weeks ago and I had never really got over it.

I had to see a therapists for a few days a week to stop my depression. All I did was sit solemnly on their sofa or lie down, ignoring her and giving her the silent treatment. I even sneaked in my headphones before she caught me. She had snatched my phone out of my hands and placed it into her locked drawer before ordering me to pay attention and answer her questions. After a while I did speak up, but that was when my parents had given my therapist permission to have a social worker in the room with me.

Every month I had to see a councillor, outside school, for a few hours. Telling her all my troubles to her, every single time I visited. I was even constructed to do stupid activities as word association games, drawing and talking to a puppet. I was forced, literally, to do all these things, even though some of them were very embarrassing and childish. At least, in those sessions, she allowed me to step outside for fresh air and brought me on trips to the zoo, theme parks and even fast food restaurants.

Then I had to see an anger management professional, though I didn’t understand why because I never was angry. I was just depressed and upset. My anger management teacher always told me it was because I kept lashing out at people who slightly irritated me. She was always asking me such annoying questions as How are you today?, Anything upsetting happen to you these past few days? and the most annoying one, when I come in red faced and my eyes glazed over was; What has angered you today?

Those anger management sessions was the most annoying because I had to sit around with a group of people and hear their innermost thoughts and what angered them. I remembered having to stand up and discuss my own problems, after the professional ordered me about six million times non-stop to get up and discuss my anger because it would so-called help to relieve my negative feelings.

At first, I would have thought my Mother would have been worse then me, however, she took it more easily than I did. She had cried at first but she had realised to put the past behind her, after she had a few sessions with a councillor and diverted her focus on something else, such as going to the gym, cleaning up after my sister’s mess—just anything to get her mind away from her parent’s death. At a few times she went to the same sessions with me, but it stopped after she slowly got over it. She had told me, after I asked her why she wasn’t in the sessions no more, that she had more matters to attend to; my sisters’ and mine welfare. So of course I let it go.

After a while these sessions eventually worked, but I got slightly upset every time someone mentioned it or, as Stacey was doing now; patronising me about it.

I didn’t know how she knew about the incident. I had only told a few trusting people, including my councillors. But who I discussed my true feelings to would never ever be told to someone as low as Stacey.

So when she said that my grandparent’s death was my fault and that they would be happy to be gone anyway, I felt my heart crumble. My eyes stung as I tried to hide it and I tried preventing the tears from flowing down my cheeks. I felt such huge rushes of guilt cloud my judgement and heart. It even squeezed my lungs so tightly that I couldn’t breathe.

Ever since the accident, I had accused myself that my grandparent’s death was entirely my fault because they were coming over on my birthday. If it wasn’t my birthday they wouldn’t have died. Their life wouldn’t have been extinguished from their grasp and left them as a soulless husk to be buried deep into the ground for the rest of eternity, where they would eventually disintegrate and decompose into nothingness.

Fortunately for me, to much of Stacey’s pleasure, she just laughed, squirted the whole of her water bottle down my front and left when I didn’t have a comeback for what she had just said to me because I stood frozen before her.

Soon as the door had closed behind her, I had quickly hid in one of the cubicles and cried my sorry eyes out until it was time for class to start. As a result, I had no choice but to get up, sort my make up out as my mascara had run down my cheeks, dry my grey sparkly blouse then I left the toilets and followed my classmates to our classroom.

My best friend, Cheryl, knew immediately that something was wrong with me because I didn’t seem to be my cheerful outgoing self. She also noticed that I seemed to have smoked my cigarette a little too quickly at lunch time. But she knew enough not to ask why because I could be very distressed when I wasn’t relaxed. Eventually, I discussed to her why I was upset and she gave me a hug and told me it would be alright. I believed my friend and trusted her with my life so I stopped thinking about it. I also ignored Stacey throughout the evening.

Cheryl, however, didn’t.

She glowered at Stacey throughout the whole day. Stacey didn’t like it. As soon as she spotted Cheryl with an evil face that spoke I’m-going-to-kill-you!" she ran away as quickly as her skinny tanned legs would carry her. If you haven’t seen Cheryl give you a dirty look, thank yourself lucky. If looks could kill, that look would.

Cheryl wears glasses and has smooth, pale, dry skin so she frequently uses moisturisers to help her skin to be more nourished as she has asthma. She’s pretty and has brown eyes. She uses dark foundation for her skin and uses a lot of eye shadow and mascara, where she repeatedly coats her eyelashes until they are thick and long. Lastly, she wears very nice clothes and lots of jewellery. Her closet is packed up with many varieties of shoes, boots and high heels. Today she was wearing a light pink top with a cream cardigan and a denim skirt. She was also wearing pink pumps.

Cheryl was sitting beside me in English and when I glanced at her I saw she was doodling in her pad of a woman getting her head cut off. I had to stifle a laugh because I figured the woman was our boring English teacher.

Well? Mrs Lopez repeated. You gonna tell me what I just said a few moments ago?

She eyed me cruelly.

Er, I said. I didn’t have a clue what she had just said because I just had loud music playing in my ears for the past half hour.

I guess not, Mrs Lopez smirked resentfully. Does anyone like to tell Mackenzie what I just said? She glanced around the room, expectantly.

Of all people that raised their hand, it had to be Stacey. I bet she was only doing it to rub my face in it. She was such a teacher’s pet!

You were giving us homework to do before next lesson, miss. She says, looking at me with a not so friendly smile on her face. You want us to read the play Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare and write a book report on it for Friday.

Great, I thought. I have to read a boring book in five days!

Thank you, Stacey. At least I know my best student was listening, said Mrs Lopez with admiration.

I gagged at that.

It was very disturbing to think a girl like Stacey could ever be the best in anything apart from horrible, cruel and obnoxious creeps. She’s bossy and a complete control freak. She was also a bully. She just didn’t bully your normal average young kid. She bullied her friends into doing what she wanted them to do. Everybody, in her mind, was below her. That was only because her parents were rich and she drove around in a pulsating pink limo, to and from school or any place that caught her dark cat-like eyes.

She always got what she wanted. Even her parents hand her anything she wants. Most of the time they were away on business so her babysitter or nanny came over to keep an eye on her until her parents came home. From what I know of, her parents left the house early and didn’t return till God knows what time at night, so they hardly saw their daughter at all. But when they do; she got her own way.

I always thought, and still think now, that was why she was a total jerk to everyone. She may be spoilt, but she had one thing that everyone has but she, herself, hasn’t got; parents that come home everyday and interact with them.

And I would like a descent report from all of you, Mrs Lopez announced, "or else I would have to fail you or . . . she let the threat hang in the air for a moment . . . I’ll give you detention."

She eyed me ruefully. Just to show me how much she disliked me and that she couldn’t wait to give me the first detention, as if she knew I would immediately fail her essay.

The bell sounded and everybody, even me, rushed to their feet, stuffed their books into their bags and rushed out of the door before Mrs Lopez assigned us to some other horrible essay on something we didn’t want to do.

I reached my locker and pulled my black bag out and placed my black leather jacket on before Stacey pushed by my shoulder roughly to get to her locker. She turned around and smirked cruelly at me before opening her locker and extracting a lime coloured handbag out of her locker. Ew! Who even uses are lime green bag? It looked like snot!

Just ignore her, Mackenzie, whispered Cheryl as Stacey was only a few lockers away from me. She’s not worth it.

I know, I said. It’s just that she’s asking for it, the stupid bitch!

I glanced in the direction where Stacey was laughing with Melissa at some ridiculous joke. And I knew immediately she was talking about me, when Stacey glanced at me with her eyes narrowed before turning back to her clueless, brown haired and chubby friend, Melissa.

I closed my locker and passed Stacey on the way, hearing her demand from Melissa to do her book report or she would tell everyone her deadly little secret. Melissa, of course, accepted because she was Stacey’s lap dog while Stacey, in her own eyes, believed she was the Alpha female in the pack.

I headed towards the bus stop with Cheryl and waited for the bus to arrive. When the bus finally did come, the doors slide open with a faint hiss and I stepped on board. I showed my bus pass and headed for the back of the bus, along with Cheryl. We cranked up some tunes and I ignored a few elderly people giving us some dirty looks.

I turned up the volume on a Hot 40 number one hit, making sure it was loud enough for me and Cheryl to sing along to. The driver didn’t mind, but I could tell it was annoying one of the old women with dull red hair and dark grey streaks; who was surrounded by many shopping bags. She was also wearing a shaggy brown coat that looked like it came from the dumpster.

Will you turn that off! yelled the woman.

I ignored her and laughed.

Excuse me! she shrieked. I told you to turn that rubbish off!

Cheryl and I shared a joke and sniggered before I turned towards the old woman and stuck my middle finger up at her. No one got away with calling my music rubbish. And I wasn’t in the mood to be assaulted by a terrible, patchy skinned and wrinkled old woman. Not today. Not ever.

Got a problem? I jeered. Go and see the doctor.

She looked at me incredulously and got up from her seat. She left her bags on the seat, another old woman keeping watch over her bags, and headed towards the middle aged driver and complained about us, yelling.

The bus driver stopped at a red light and turned around to frown at us, begging with his eyes. I acknowledged his plight. He wanted me to switch it off so the old hag wouldn’t moan all the way because he wouldn’t be able to stand it. I untangled my earphones and plugged them in my phone. I listened intently to my music, hearing it blast through my eardrums and enjoying the moment.

About an hour later the woman got off the bus and I stuck my finger up at her. But she wasn’t staring in my direction to see it so I felt really bummed. I really wanted her to notice it and I wanted to see the shock on her face as she gives me a dirty look. That would just have made my day.

Cheryl and I finally got off the bus and we strolled to our house. Cheryl and I lived next door to each other. We were both childhood friends. We both lived in a semi-detached house with red bricks. My house was on the right with a white door and a rose imprinted in the oval glass, while Cheryl’s was just a plain brown wooden door.

I said goodbye to Cheryl and gave her a hug before I entered my house, telling her I would see her tomorrow at the bus stop.

My hallway had gray carpeted flooring and white walls. On my right were the stairs, with its gray carpet leading up towards our bedrooms and bathroom. Down the hall was a dead end wall but beside it was a white wooden door that led into the lounge.

I entered the living room. Facing me was the 60inch Flatscreen Plasma TV that was standing on a large oak two drawer corner unit with a DVD player and Sky+ box on the units left hand side shelves. Beside the TV on the end wall, was a two-door and five-drawer side board made out of oak. On it was a cream lamp and a large vase of red tulips. On the other side of the TV was a small oak table with a house phone on top. In the middle of the room was a black glass coffee table.

There were two black faux leather sofas: a three-seater in front of the window and another two-seater beside it. Lastly, the flooring was made of satin lacquered oak and the walls were painted cream with thick fabric curtains that were black with vertical blinds shielding us from peepers and the sunlight. Also, on my right hand side was another door that led into the kitchen.

I entered the kitchen so I could make myself a sandwich. My belly was rumbling and I was hungry, seeming as I had hardly eaten anything at lunch time because of Stacey.

In the kitchen we had white gloss cupboards and black marble surfaces, with our daily kitchen appliances. We had a black stainless steel cooker and oven, stainless steel toaster, kettle with its sugar, coffee and tea bag jars and a microwave. Our fridge was polished grey. Beside the fridge was the washing machine and a dryer, with our black laundry basket on top of the surface. On my right was our chunky wood-effect dining table in white oak with its silvery grey six comfy low-backed leather-look chairs. Lastly, the flooring and walls were made of gray Indian slate.

I made myself a ham and cheese sandwich and went back into the living room, switched the TV on and sat down watching Two and a Half Men. It was hilarious and I couldn’t stop laughing.

As you know, my name is Mackenzie Taylor. I am fifteen years old. I live with my Mum (known as Janette) who is a primary school teacher and very light hearted and soft, while my Father (known as Tom) was a police officer and was very strict and was mad on discipline. I have two nine year old identical twin sisters: Mercedes and Morgan. Mercedes had blond hair like my Mother and Morgan had brown hair like my Father. This was how I told them apart as they shared the same button nose, brown eyes and freckles. Both Mercedes and Morgan go to the school my Mother works at. However, my Mother doesn’t teach them as she worked with the younger children.

On the other hand, I have caramel blond hair with a hint of red in it. I had tried my hardest to get the red out but I could never accomplish it. It just seemed to get brighter every time I tried to dye it or wash it out so I stopped and left it at that. And anyway, I kind of liked it so I wasn’t bothered about it any more.

I have a button nose and emerald green eyes. I also have a honey coloured complexion, slim jaw, high cheekbones and rosy cheeks. I was slim and kept myself healthy even though I sometimes pigged out on ice cream and crisps or on any other type of junk food and I never put on any weight which was a relief because I could really eat lots of food.

Just when I finished my sandwich, I heard a car engine stop and keys jangled in the lock of my front door. The door opened and I heard excited cries of young girls and a stern, friendly shushing.

My Mother had arrived with my twin sisters.

Hey, Mackenzie, my Mother intones when she entered the living room and saw me.

Hi, Mom, I acknowledged.

I turned up the volume on the TV as I heard my sisters talk loudly with each other and informed my Mother what they had done today.

Mercedes and Morgan stampeded in the living room and jumped down on the sofa I was sitting on, making it bounce repeatedly. Mercedes was wearing a pink top and white trousers, while Morgan was wearing a yellow jumper and dark jeans. My Mother went into the kitchen to start our dinner.

Me wanna watch Hannah Montanna, whinged Mercedes.

Me too, cried Morgan.

Well, tough, I shouted. I’m watching my programmes first, not your stupid shows.

Because of my luck they both began screaming for the remote. They were making it hard for me to listen. So naturally I got angry.

Will you both shut up? I yelled.

No! they both cried in unison.

I ignored them but they kept messing about. They walked in front of the TV, making it hard for me to watch it. They had begun speaking loudly to stop me from hearing the TV. And they had begun making it impossible for me not to lash out when they began trying to take the remote off me or poke me in my sides.

Mercedes stood in front of me and demanded me for the remote. I scowled at her and pushed her out of my way where she landed on the floor, banging her knee on the coffee table where she started to cry and hugged her leg towards her chest.

Shut up, you big baby, I sneered at her.

Mercedes got up and ran into the kitchen, still crying with Morgan at her heels. I sighed and slumped on the sofa. I knew what was going to happen next. They were going to come out with my Mum, angry faced. My Mother would believe everything the twins say, storm out of the kitchen and shout at me for being a bad role model and not to bully my sisters. In the end that would mean I would have to give the twins the remote and watch their stupid, silly, baby shows.

As I predicted, my Mother came out of the kitchen and began yelling at me, to which I ignored her and didn’t understand a word she said, so she ended up switching the TV off to get my attention.

Hey! I screeched.

I gave my sisters a dirty look before looking at my Mother.

You listen to me when I’m talking to ya! my Mom said angrily. Now, give your sisters the remote.

Whatever, I growled.

I threw the remote at Mercedes head and stormed out of the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom.

Don’t you tell me whatever! my Mother yelled up the stairs.

I do what I want you stupid idiot! I yelled towards my Mother’s direction.

I found my room, entered it, slammed the door shut and cranked up my stereo to full blast, so I could drown out her voice when she screamed up the stairs to tell me off. I slumped on my double four poster bed, which was made out of black oak with its purple quilt, pillow and drawn silk curtains.

I looked around my neat and tidy room.

I liked everything organised and orderly, and I had been told that I had a serious case of overly clean disorder.

On my right was my dressing table and desk that held my laptop and printer. On my left was a huge long wardrobe with mirrors on the slide doors. And in front of me were my drawers with my very own Flatscreen TV with its own portable DVD player and stereo where my music was blazing at this very moment. On both sides of my bed were two small bed side cabinets: one with a BT phone with my remotes for the TV and stereo, and on the other cabinet was my alarm clock with my small bedside lamp. My quilt covers, curtains, walls and carpet were all purple, which by the way was my favourite colour.

Time passed by while I just stared into space listening to my music until my Father walked into the room and turned my stereo off.

Dad! I cried.

Mackenzie, your tea is ready, he said, sternly. Now, come on

I got up and followed my Father down the stairs, hearing him mutter at me angrily, Banging Mercedes head against the table. You could have hurt her. What do you think you were doing?

She asked for it Dad, I moaned. She kept getting in my way while I was watching TV. And I didn’t push her. I kinda of, erm, nudged her out of my way. I defended myself, sternly. Not my fault she’s clumsy, I muttered to myself.

Okay, I’ll speak to her later about it but, he whispered, not sure if he heard that last part, just behave while we eat. I don’t want any trouble today. He added.

So I did behave.

I just ate my food while my sisters gossiped about what they did at school and what they wanted for their birthday, which was this Friday. I listened all the way through, which wasn’t like me at all, but I was bored so I heard what they had said.

The twins both thought alike as they both wanted a pet and lots of toys from Barbies to dolls to prams to make up. I wouldn’t have disagreed because I knew my Mum and Dad would buy them whatever they wanted. I just kept my mouth shut as they raved on about an endless list of birthday presents.

So what did you get up to today, Mackenzie? asked Dad, trying his best to change the subject.

Nothing, I shrugged.

Seriously? he asked, urgently edging me on so he didn’t have to hear more birthday wishes from the twins.

I nodded, smirking because of the look of desperation on his face. It was mind blowing. And besides, I wasn’t going to tell my family what happened at school with Stacey or that I smoked. If they knew that, they wouldn’t let it go and probably send me to rehab and punish me for the rest of my life.

They have a ban on all smoking products and drinking unless you were of age. But I do both anyway. Who’s going to stop me? I could whatever I wanted and my parents had no right in telling me otherwise.

Also, I couldn’t wait for Halloween because Cheryl and I were going to a Halloween party at Charlie’s house (my sixteen year old boyfriend) while his parents had gone to Hawaii for their eighteenth anniversary. A lot of people were going, so it was going to be a full house and, unfortunately for Charlie, who would have to clean up, become extremely messy. We would be all dressing up and having the time of our lives. Cheryl was also bringing her boyfriend, Samuel, along with her.

That’s because she’s boring, Morgan announced loudly.

At that moment I really wanted to slap the little gremlin, but I couldn’t because both my parents would stop me and ground me for a month and I couldn’t get grounded under any circumstances. The party was this Saturday. And I couldn’t wait! It was going to be awesome. We were going to be drinking till we were drunk and unable to walk straight. We would be listening to music at full blast and dancing. It would be like we were at a club.

You want me to show you what’s boring, Morgan? I threatened her.

Morgan gave me one of her famous dirty looks before turning back to her food.

Now, now, no fighting girls, Mom chided us. She gave me a stern look first before giving Morgan a shake of her head.

I sighed.

No matter what, I always seem to get in trouble more than the twins, even if they had started it. To them, it was a sweet voice and a firm don’t do that again, honey. For me; it was a shouting match between us and a you’re the oldest you should behave more appropriately, not like a child. So of course, I had to watch what I did. But it was hard. The twins were sent from hell to terrorise me. I just wished that I was an only child so I didn’t have the agonising stress from the spawns from hell.

As soon as I finished my dinner, I said goodnight, headed upstairs and had a nice short but relaxing shower. Before I got into bed I dried my hair and straightened it before putting it up in a pony tail.

I know! I know! I’m guessing you’re confused as to why I was straightening my hair when I was going bed, right? Well, that had a reasonable explanation. My hair could go haywire if I didn’t straighten it beforehand. If I go bed without having it straightened it would poof out like a bush when I wake up and take me a very long time to put it straight. So I take the easy route and do it night before. Less hassle, you see?

I pulled on my lilac pyjamas, turned off the light and jumped into my bed and fell asleep, wishing the school would just blow up so I wouldn’t have to go in next day and have to finish my match with Stacey. I didn’t want it to end where I was deeply troubled and Stacey would have a satisfied grin on her face. I just knew she was going to keep her promise and extract her revenge on me and I knew with my heart that she will be granted that savoury moment.

I crossed my fingers and begged any unforeseen gods to grant me my one wish and blow up the school.

Anything, I whispered to myself desperately. Just let a bomb crash into it. Let it burn down. Have it snow so we don’t have to come in. Have a tornado hit it…

My ideas were getting more creative as I prayed more; telling the Gods anything will do as long as I was off.

Chapter Two

Stalker

My luck must have had been very bad because next day it was sunny; bright and hot with no clouds in the sky. So, unfortunately for me, the school was still open, its gleaming gloominess hovering over me as I desperately hoped something quick would happen.

Any untimely disaster.

Anything at all.

As I peeped out of my curtains next day the sun blinded me and I knew; there was no such luck whatsoever that would be used at this unforgivable time to allow me the chance to stay off school just for today.

Fate must have had other plans to deceive me in the way it had.

So I slowly got dressed with a sinking heart, depressed and headed for the bus stop, where Cheryl was indeed waiting for me with a smile on her face.

You okay? Cheryl asked me as she saw my unhappy expression.

I leaned against the lamppost and crossed my hands across my chest as the cold air buffeted my hair.

Yeah, I’m fine, I muttered. I just wish the school would blow up or something. Don’t wanna go in today.

Cheryl laughed.

Well, I just hope it won’t blow up when we’re inside because that would totally suck, she laughed, cheerfully.

Something was indeed making my friend happy.

I watched Cheryl carefully.

Today she was wearing a cashmere jumper with jeans and black boots that went just below her knees. Her hair was down but had beautiful curls bouncing around her face. She kept pushing her fringe behind her ear as the wind fought against her. She was also carrying a Prada bag she had received for Christmas last year.

Her appearance hadn’t changed. That was for sure. So it couldn’t be anything she was wearing because I had seen those clothes a dozen of times. It wasn’t her hair as she alternated her hair styles everyday. So it must have had been something else.

Can I ask you a question? I asked her.

Sure, Cheryl replied.

How come you’re so happy?

She smiled mischievously at me.

Can’t tell ya, she shrugged cheekily. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.

Aww, why not? I moaned. And by whom?

Only joking! she laughed at my befuddled expression. My parents are going out tonight and not coming back till tomorrow evening so if you want to come over you can do.

I was confused.

I don’t understand how that would make someone bounce with happiness.

I don’t- I began, until Cheryl interrupted me.

My Mum and Dad are getting me something…

She let the hint hang in the air.

She was trying to tell me something, but I had no clue what she was getting at. Her parents were going out tonight so she would be home alone with no one telling her what she couldn’t or couldn’t do. That wasn’t the reason why she was so happy. Her parents go out on odd days for an adventure all the time. It had something to do with what she was going to receive from her parents.

Are you going to tell me what it is? I asked her, still puzzled and having no clue whatsoever why she had to be so secretive.

She shook her head.

My lips are sealed, she zipped her lips for effect and pretended to throw away the key.

Okay. Have it your way then, I said, hoping she got fooled by my I-don’t-care-expression. But no such luck. She could see right through me and knew I was curious. She had piqued my interest and she was having a whale of a time allowing me to figure out what it was.

Cheryl glanced at her watch and frowned.

The bus should have been here a few minutes ago, she muttered to herself. Wonder where it had got to?

As Cheryl looked out for the bus, my eyes wandered across the other street as I tried to figure out what it was that had my friend excited and hooked, and then I noticed a small figure at the far end of the street beside the corner shop.

The figure was standing solidly like a statue, minding his own business. However, I was not very sure, but I believed his eyes were staring at me intently, like I was an interesting specimen and he was studying me closely.

From this distance, I could tell he was wearing (I knew it was a he because of the shape of his body) some dark long coat that flowed down to his ankles. I have no idea why someone would wear a coat that long in this weather. I considered that he might be wearing a robe, seeming as it was early morning and many people go out in their robes. He must be boiling hot and sweating though.

As I watched him and he watched me, something clicked:

I had seen this guy before.

I know I have.

I may had forgotten when and where but I knew with certainty that I hade seen him years ago, when I was little.

I was slightly creeped out that this guy was watching me. He wasn’t watching anybody else. Just me. His eyes examining me as if he knew me.

He was probably an old neighbour, and I may be getting paranoid. And he could have or might have recently moved in and was being friendly or he lived in the old retirement home down the street and wanted to take a stroll. However, I was positive he didn’t live on or near this street.

But, on the other hand, something weirdly told me I shouldn’t be freaked out by his apparition.

He raised his hand and waved.

I didn’t know how to react.

This guy, who I didn’t know but recognised from my distant past, was waving at me. I still couldn’t recall where I knew him from. And it was getting on my nerves trying to recall the moment.

Hey, Cheryl, I turned towards my friend.

Mmm? she mumbled, still occupied in finding the bus.

I turned towards the shop, pointing.

You see that-

I stopped dead in midsentence.

The guy had mysteriously disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen and I was positive he had strolled away or ran for it, though I don’t understand how an old man would be able to run that fast in such a short time. I was positive that if I saw him, I would still notice him because of his long cloak. But I couldn’t see any hide or hair of him. It was like he had disappeared into thin air.

See what? Cheryl asked, taking me out of me reverie.

Never mind, I signed. Thought I saw someone…

It was no good admitting the inevitable. Cheryl would clearly think I had gone mad. And there was no way I was going to let her believe that. If I had told her then and there, she would think something was wrong with me or believed I was in immediate danger and would do anything possible to make sure I wasn’t. And I couldn’t be bothered with the attention at this very moment.

I was still, with difficulty, trying to work out Cheryl’s excitement and worrying about Stacey’s impending quest to give me hell, like she promised.

The bus miraculously arrived and parked itself in front of me, and both Cheryl and I jogged onto the bus to the back seat. The dull red hair woman wasn’t on the bus so that gave me the great opportunity to crank up some tunes.

When I got to school, I was relieved that Stacey wasn’t coming in today because of some unfortunate flu. I thanked the unknown Gods for helping me and half-heartedly looked forward to my lessons.

My first lesson was I.C.T and within the first fifteen minutes my teacher, Mr Donald, intentionally approached me with all the purpose in the world and he leaned over me, his armpits full of sweat and his belly hanging out, as he demanded me to do my work and not go on game sites, playing Pacman.

Before I could keep my mouth shut, I told him to "get out of my sight because he smelled of sweat and it was making me sick". He didn’t like that one bit so he ordered me to stand up, and when I refused, he grabbed me by my upper arm and pulled me out of my seat roughly. If I hadn’t grabbed the desk in front of me I would have cleanly banged my head upon it.

Don’t you dare talk to me in that tone of voice! he yelled at me, asthmatically.

He was sweating from the heat (this room was the hottest in the school because it was next door to the furnaces) and he was breathing hard from the weight he had to carry every day of his life because he was too lazy to exercise.

That’s only because you can’t handle the truth! I swore at him. Not my fault your fat and don’t wash yourself!

His face was already blood red but I knew when he got angry; his lower lip curled and his crooked yellow teeth and rotting gums were shown at their full glory.

Get out! he shouted.

With pleasure! I snarled. See ya, loser!

And I had exited the classroom, slamming the door on my way out and hearing the satisfaction when the window pane on the door cracked and I heard him roaring his head off at my attitude.

I wandered around the school for the next few minutes before the bell rang and I trudged my way back to my next lesson.

The next lesson wasn’t so bad.

French was one of the boring languages I have ever tried learning and what made it duller was my French teacher, Mr Rupert; a ginger haired, spectacle freak with bloodshot eyes and a white complexion. He always talked about himself, like he was some sort of superhero or celebrity. He only spoke a few words of English so most of the time we had no idea what he was saying, which was fine by me. The only words he knew where those needed to tell me off, or whoever was in trouble, whenever we disobeyed him.

I left his class without once getting into trouble, which had been a miracle as Mr Rupert always seemed to love catching me out. But not this time. Guess he was distracted or too busy recalling what awesome day he had in Paris when some famous person approached him.

By break time, the man who waved at me had clearly dissolved from my mind and I stopped thinking about him and who he was as the lessons dragged on, while my harmful class work was established and needed my full attention.

School was always boring and dull for me. I only ever enjoyed the moments we were on break or dinner, because I could talk easily to Cheryl without being overheard by my other classmates or we simply enjoyed a cigarette behind the church.

After our third lesson, Maths, (nothing interestingly happened in maths today, apart from a couple of students falling asleep) we were finally excused and ready for lunch.

Have you done that report yet? Cheryl asked randomly.

We were both behind the church having a cigarette. No one could spot us behind here because of the foliage and high banked trees. To spot anyone behind here they would have to walk up the path. If anyone did, like a teacher, we would have the high advantage because we would notice them coming before they spotted us. So that will give us the chance to hide or run away as fast as we could.

Not even started, I replied. You?

Me neither, Cheryl answered. Hate Shakespeare.

We all do, I concluded. I’m going to have to start doing it though. I don’t want to get another detention. And my parents have told me, if I end up in another detention; they will ground me for a month.

That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? Cheryl imploded.

I just shrugged.

We better get cracking then, Cheryl said with an air of dread. Let’s get to the library before all the computers are taken.

She grounded in her cigarette with the soles of her foot on the floor. And I flicked mine in the air, where it landed into a bush, and we both headed towards the library.

As it turned out all the computers had all been taken so we slouched down in some comfortable chairs and flicked through pages of books, laughing and joking. We even doodled on some paper we had collected from the main library desk.

The bell rang.

We grudgingly got up from our comfortable positions and headed to our next class.

After two more boring lessons of rubbish, the bell for home time rang and we had both skipped out of the school and jogged to our bus, after collecting our stuff from our lockers.

Finally, school has finished, I sighed contently, enjoying the breeze and fresh air.

You could say that again, Cheryl said. Let’s go home and chill.

And so I did say it again, just to show Cheryl how happy I was that school had ended for the day. I was enjoying the freedom we were having away from the death trap my parents called a school and I was determined in dedicating my free time to relax with my best friend.

We hurriedly caught the bus, talking about normal stuff like what we were going to wear tomorrow while listening to some music, before we jumped off the bus at our stop.

Well, see you later, Cheryl hugged me. Going to have a shower, so I see you later tonight?

Okay, I replied. And yeah, I’m coming round.

Text me when you’re on your way, Cheryl told me.

Damn! I groaned, as I remembered something from this morning when I tried ringing Cheryl up.

What is it? Cheryl asked, worriedly.

I need to top up my phone, I answered. No credit left.

God! Cheryl smiled. Almost had me worried then. Okay, I see you later.

And she disappeared behind her door.

I turned around and headed for the shop. I heard my phone go off, alerting me that I had a message. Taking a small brisk walk so I didn’t end up colliding with a lamppost (did that once, long story); I read the text and saw my network had sent me another useless warning that my phone was out of credit.

I stopped at the busy junction and pushed the button on the traffic lights while I waited for it to show the green man. As I put my phone away, I focused on the shop before me.

I received an electric shock of goosebumps and I involuntarily shivered, gasping.

The man from before, who I had spotted this morning outside the shop, was standing on the other side of the junction, waiting and watching me, shocked clearly etched across his wrinkled skin.

For the first time, I saw him up close. He wasn’t wearing a long cloak. He was wearing a brown tracksuit and wooden sandals. His hair was white and tied back into a ponytail, and he was old.

Before I could shout at him, demanding him why he was stalking me, a lorry drove by and when the lorry sped off into the far distance, the man had disappeared.

I gaped.

I asked a woman if she saw the man, but she had stared at me strangely as if I had made the whole thing up. When she crossed the street she kept on mumbling psycho and that I had must been hallucinating because she had seen no old man.

Maybe I was hallucinating, because I was sure that woman was looking straight at him.

This was seriously getting ridiculous.

I had seen this man about twice today at the shop, watching me intently, and every single time I had seen him I still couldn’t decide where I had seen him before. And part of me believed he must be real, but if others couldn’t see him; then was I imagining it?

I had no clue what was happening, but I was starting to get uneasy.

Chapter Three

Nightmares Cripple

Ididn’t go to Cheryl’s yesterday because I was too freaked out. As soon as I had got in, after I topped up my phone, I ran back home and straight upstairs into my room.

When I was safely in my room, I texted Cheryl saying that I felt unwell and I wasn’t going to come round. I apologised and told her everything was okay, after she texted me back asking if I was alright. She knew something was wrong because I never missed an opportunity to get out of my house and she knew less than an hour ago that I was totally fine and was looking forward to coming round.

So we left it at that.

I couldn’t sleep that night and when I finally drifted off I had a nightmare that a different; tall and dangerous man shrouded in a thick black cloak and a heavy hood over his face, had drawn a golden blade from his sheath.

I couldn’t see his face but I knew he was cruel and staring at me hatefully. I knew just by the feeling of the razor sharp atmosphere that surrounded me in my nightmare creation, to understand that the man loathed me.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about my nightmare when I got up.

Every single time I closed my eyes or daydreamed in my lessons, the images of my dream would replay before my eyes like a film with the same man, sword and evilness repeatedly showing itself.

I couldn’t help reacting to the small gut wrenching feeling that something was about to happen, something awfully bad and life changing. Every slight movement or noise made me jump and my face turned a deathly white.

I knew with conviction three things:

I knew that sword was meant for me. I knew he wanted to thrust that sword through my chest. And I knew he wanted me dead.

I just didn’t know if my dream was just a nightmare or a warning.

*

On Wednesday night while I was going through my book report (to distract me from the flashing images of my nightmare), I was cornered by my Mum; who told me I should get my devil sisters a present for their birthday.

I’m not getting them anything, I said.

Don’t be so cruel, Mackenzie, my Mum scolded me. Get them something or I won’t be happy. They’re your flesh and blood so treat them fairly or I will not get you anything for Christmas.

My jaw dropped.

Did I just hear right? My Mother actually blackmailed me into getting my sisters a birthday present. So all in all, if I don’t get my sisters a present, I was not getting presents for Christmas. That meant no new phone, iPod or, most importantly, money. How dare she? She had to get me Christmas presents or it wouldn’t be fair.

Not to mention, she reminded me, pointlessly, that Mercedes and Morgan were my flesh and blood like I didn’t even know that. What does she think I am? Stupid? Clueless? Truthfully, my Mum treated me like I was the dumb black sheep of the family.

Why was I cursed into such a family?

That saying that goes you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family is, frankly, stupid. I wished I could choose my family. I would be an only child with rich, generous parents who didn’t treat me like I was a childless, insolent brat.

But they don’t get me anything, I complained, which made me sound like a child.

My Mom just gave me one of her forceful you-do-it-or-else kind of looks and I grudgingly mumbled, Fine, I’ll get them something."

Emphasising the word them as if my sisters were rubbish and horrible junk underneath my shoe.

Good. My Mother informed me, Tea is going to be ready in a minute.

My Mother left my room and headed downstairs, with me following behind her. At least, I was having a break from my work. However, without me being distracted, the images flowed towards me, suffocating me and holding me there on the banister as I drew breath and fought against the ongoing crushing of evil.

My hand grabbed desperately on the banister as I tried controlling my legs from collapsing beneath me and falling downstairs. My knuckles cracked and turned white from the strain.

I drew breath and slid down, sitting on top of the stairs and desperately fought against the frightful tears from streaming down my cheeks.

I closed my eyes as a whole load of emotions engrossed me in its grasp and wouldn’t let me go. It wanted me to succumb to it and I fought hard not to let it win. However, the feelings got worse and stronger against me and broke against my shield of steel, smashing it into a million fragments.

I felt weak.

I felt hopelessly lost.

And I was scared.

I quietly cried on the landing, feeling completely embarrassed and ashamed of how I was acting because of one simple nightmare.

Nevertheless, the feelings wouldn’t stop.

Why wouldn’t they stop?

Why wouldn’t they just leave me alone?

Why was I acting like this because of some dream?

I have had nightmares before but they’ve never made me feel like this, even those dreams that scared me to death. However, the dream had felt so real. That was probably what got my fearful. But I still didn’t understand why it was breaking me from the inside, as if it was the last thing I would ever do.

I couldn’t stay sitting on the landing all night.

I needed to get up and have something to eat, although I didn’t feel well enough to stomach any food. I would just have to force it down so my parents wouldn’t become suspicious.

I inhaled heavily, my breath shaking. My throat was raw and tight and I felt like I was going to throw up. I fought the urge, took more several deep breaths, opened my eyes and heaved myself up from the stairs.

I wiped my eyes and controlled my breathing.

My body shook but I forced myself to take a step at a time down the stairs, still holding on the banister like it was my lifeline.

I entered the kitchen and sat down on my chair, and forced the roast beef down, glugging as much water down as I could to help the food slide down my throat and the acrid taste to lessen.

I was the last one to finish. My parents and sisters had left the table a few minutes ago and had squashed themselves onto the couch while they watched Coronation Street.

I emptied the rest of my dinner into the bin (I was feeling sickish from the food forcing), washed the plate before taking my sorry self upstairs to my bedroom, crawling up the stairs like a toddler and yawning widely.

I was knackered. I hardly slept at all the night before because of the nightmare. And as I brushed my teeth, I noticed my eyes were slightly bloodshot from tiredness.

I crawled into bed and stared at my bedside lamp, as I didn’t want to stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I would have been freaked out. I already looked like a phantom ghost and it would just give me more nightmares. And that was one thing I wanted to avoid.

It took me a while to fall asleep but when I finally did fall into a deep slumber; a low, calming voice whispered into my head saying; "You shall be free from this nightmare. Rest. Forget your troubles."

And unequivocally, I fell asleep and forgot the nightmare the next day. And I even forgot the voice that had echoed into my head. All I remembered was the order my Mother had given me the night before to get my sisters a birthday present.

Chapter Four

Birthday Joys

So next day after school, Cheryl and I go into town looking for something that the brats will appreciate. I just couldn’t find anything. Everything seemed too babyish or too expensive. And I wasn’t going to spend a fortune on something the twins would eventually destroy. Plus, my Mum would think I was being childish if I had bought them something that supposed to be for five year olds.

What about this? Cheryl asked as she picked up a Polly Pocket house with accessories.

They’ve already got it, I answered.

A dance mat?

Already got one, I said.

Dolls? Barbies? Make up?

Yep. I was starting to get fed up now. The twins seemed to have everything. Got them too.

God! Cheryl cursed. They must have a whole shop in their room if they have everything.

I shook my head; feeling exhausted from our trek around town and getting totally fed up that there was nothing I could get them. They seemed to have everything. And everywhere I looked, I noticed they had it in their room.

This is going to be a long day, I thought to myself.

I was about ready to give up when I saw something catch my eye. It had glinted and sparkled when the sun had shone on it.

I went over to the counter and saw what I had glimpsed out of the corner of my eyes. And there it was! The perfect gift I could get to which my parents wouldn’t complain and my sisters would appreciate: A silver pendant!

And I could get it personalised for free. Plus, it was real and only cost about £25. (It was on sale). The twins had many toys but I knew they didn’t have jewellery and I knew they liked them because I saw them admire my friendship necklace Cheryl had given me for my birthday (which I had around my neck twenty-four hours a day).

Can I help you? the cashier asked nicely.

I jumped.

I didn’t hear her coming. I was so tantalized with the pendants that I didn’t