The saga began when Kilo refused to ‘bob for apples’ at Jack DeLong’s ninth birthday party. Though clearly passionate, Jack’s six-year-old sister, Samantha, used her high-pitched voice to relay the rules of the game in excruciating detail to Kilo, fuelling his distaste for a game that was, quite frankly, demeaning at best and degrading at worst and certainly not worthy of an individual possessing even a fleeting desire to graduate Greenvale School with his dignity intact. Taking this opportunity to reflect on matters far more worthy of his time, Kilo excused himself from the kitchen where the events were about to take place and went and sat on the living room sofa. As if she had been waiting for Kilo her whole life, Jack’s pet cat, Luna, jumped up into his lap, purring so ferociously that Kilo chuckled at the thought that she may have swallowed a miniature motorbike. Luna dedicated the next several seconds to padding down Kilo’s jeans and, once the desired softness had been achieved, curled up into a perfect ball on his lap.

Kilo admired the esteem with which cats held themselves, but it was their ability to get humans to adhere to their every whim that impressed him the most. With one or two well-timed meows, cats could force humans to feed them, open doors for them or organise a place for them to sleep. Their entire day was filled with doing exactly what they wanted: nothing less and certainly nothing more. The sounds of laughter drifted further into the background as Kilo and Luna silently encouraged each other to close their eyes and drift off to sleep.

It was difficult for Kilo to think of anything worse than waking up to the sounds of seven out-of-tune children singing Happy Birthday, yet this was the exact predicament in which Kilo now found himself. Luna and Kilo looked at each other with equal amounts of disgust as the dreadfulness of their situation dawned on them. Kilo turned his body and rested his left elbow on the top of the sofa to better see the crowd desperately vying for the rare positions closest to the triple-layered chocolate cake. He squinted and yawned before picking Luna up from the cat-shaped ditch forged into his lap and made his way over to the table just in time for the crowd to cease their singing. The birthday boy dutifully drew in a deep breath and let out an almighty blow, much to the delight of both the younger and older people present at today’s celebration. The blow didn’t quite have the desired effect, however, leaving a single candle blowing alone in the stillness of the dining room. In what many students at Greenvale would later consider the catalyst for the following events, Kilo let out a subtle, yet very audible, chuckle.

Jack issued an intense challenge to Kilo for him to do better, emphasising the importance of ensuring all nine candles on the cake be completely blown out should he stand any chance of receiving the benefits associated with the elusive wish. Although he found the tradition of blowing out candles to be far more odd than people gave it credit for, Kilo had exactly zero intentions of leaving this party with a tainted reputation, so he accepted the challenge. Once they had been lit, Kilo lifted his head back, took a breath and blew every single one of the candles out for good. Kilo would never know if the party guests were genuinely impressed by his efforts, or if they were clapping loudly just to encourage the moment to end a little quicker. Either way, all of the candles had been blown out just as his friend had asked and, just for his own amusement, Kilo made sure he made a wish while watching the last puff of black smoke drift out from the top of the red and white candle.

That was three weeks ago, and Kilo had been trapped inside of a cat’s body ever since. He had made the wish “to be a cat” under the incorrect assumption that most wishes would, or could, never come true. Sitting down and licking the loose hairs from his body for the third time that day, Kilo now knew this was not the case. Although it had its positive moments, being a cat was nowhere near as grand or decadent as he had first presumed, but it was decent enough. As Kilo settled in for the night, lifting his head occasionally to sniff the night-time breeze finding its way through the open window in his room, his thoughts jumped from one idea to the next, with one burning question that he was unable to communicate: If he was here, then what had happened to Luna?

Nervous energy filled the surrounding arena. The crowds had looked forward to this moment for so long that they braved the torrential rain for what was easily the most anticipated race in modern history. Statistics were pored over in the days leading up to the event, with each of the racers’ strengths and weaknesses studied and analysed to better make conclusions about who would be crowned the winner and who would be deemed a loser. Firstly, there was Ainsley Adair. A first-time racer who had delighted crowds with his efforts in the pre-match events. Then there was Briony Bay, a veteran racer, known for patiently playing the long game. Despite the quality of the field, the favourite for today’s event was Clay Conell, a racer whose level of fame was only matched by his theatrics. Today would mark Clay’s fourth race, but, being a leaf in the intense world of gutter racing, four races was more than enough.

Dozens of excited sticks, ecstatic blades of grass and intensely dedicated birds waited in anticipation for the racers to arrive and take their places at their starting positions. There was an air of expectation surrounding Clay Conell’s entrance and he did not disappoint, his yellow body floating down from the sky in a series of flips, turns and tumbles after being released from the talons of one of the most majestic eagles the crowd had ever seen. This was classic Clay, and he was the reason most of the crowd were here. The commentators of today’s race did not hesitate in making the claim that Clay himself was solely responsible for the dramatic rise in the public’s interest in gutter racing, adding that, if Clay won today’s two-metre race, he would not only be crowned winner, but would be considered the greatest racer the gutter racing world had ever seen. If Clay was feeling half as nervous as the crowd when he took his position beside the other two competitors then he was certainly not showing it. With the three competitors lined up at the white pipe marking the start of the race, the umpires gave the signals for them to prepare to race and, a split second after the whistle blew, they were off.

Due to the consistency of the rain, the water levels in the grey concrete gutter had risen dramatically, resulting in a powerful current that Clay could use to his advantage. He shot out in front, sharpening his focus on the obstacles ahead. This was a difficult course, with three tufts of grass growing out of the cracks in the gutter at the thirty, forty-five and eighty-centimetre marks, their longer blades swaying back and forth across the width of the track. The shallow section between the ninety-five and one-hundred-and-twenty-centimetre marks would prove to be Clay’s undoing if he didn’t make the best use of his lead. Then there was the bend, where he might be able to gain some traction by making his way to the inside of the track. If everything went according to plan, Clay would be able to use his remaining strength along the straight, falling down into the drain first and claiming his place in gutter racing history.

Clay made easy work of the first and second tufts of grass, gliding past the first while ducking underneath the second in an act of pure showmanship. The crowd showed their appreciation, but Clay heard their cheers quickly turn from excitement to shock when he got himself caught on the blades of the third tuft of grass. Trying to keep the attention of the crowd while maintaining his lead, Clay used some of the strength he was saving for the upcoming shallows to flip himself over the waving grass, but it was too late and Ainsley now had possession of the lead. Seeing the mistake for what it was, Clay eased back, regaining some of his energy while providing the rookie with the false hope of having both the mental and physical games in the bag. As they approached the shallows, Clay could sense Briony’s patience aching to give way to action. He distracted the crowd from his lack of prowess in the shallows by spinning his body rapidly from one end of the shallow section to the other. Clay drifted out of his final spin, straightening himself up and reading the race as the crowd stood on their feet in anticipation of what was to follow. He wasn’t in the last position for long, using the inside of the bend to overtake Briony and set his sights on Ainsley. Clay’s theatrics and his passion for gutter racing overlapped as he raised half of his body out of the water, waving to the crowd and using the energy from their chants to power himself along the straight and overtake a very exhausted Ainsley Adair.

Falling into the drain in first place happened in slow motion, with each drop of water representing the hand of Mother Nature congratulating Clay on his commitment to being the best. Despite the illusion of ease with which Clay won most of his four races, the achievements that came from this race were the result of a lifetime of dedication.

Today, Clay would celebrate being a champion. Tomorrow, the world would continue to celebrate the art of gutter racing.

Krinsala stood in a forest whose beauty would have best been described by a poet or story writer. He secured his fighting stance by turning his body to the side and forcing his back foot down on the soil beneath him as if the Earth relied on its pressure to continue spinning. His sword was held in a black leather sheath hanging from his hip, adding considerable weight to how Krinsala perceived his body in space. His left hand held the sheath steady while his right hand ached to move in front of his body and remove the sword in preparation for the fight. His training had taught him how to channel this energy and to concentrate instead on his breathing. Krinsala’s master invested significant time patiently teaching him how the body could trick the mind into becoming calmer simply by slowing one’s breath. He inhaled the forest air while treating the speckled hints of pine vying for the attention of his mind as an unwelcome distraction.

Today, there would only be the fight.

Standing underneath a canopy on the perimeter of the clearing, Krinsala’s body remained still, his eyes scanning for movements in the mist. His breaths remained slow and deliberate so as not to give away his location and he was grateful for all of the discipline his master had taught him. His master never strayed from the narrative that Krinsala was unique and that he would one day be the greatest warrior the world had ever seen. For a moment, Krinsala’s thoughts drifted to considering the difference between thinking you can do something and knowing that you can. This brief distraction was nearly enough for Krinsala to miss the subtle movement of thousands of specks of mist being pushed through the forest. When compared to how the mist behaves for a hare or a bird, Krinsala concluded that something large was navigating its way towards the clearing in the forest.

Appearing to make an attempt to confuse Krinsala, a shadow inched its way through the forest, its opaque outline betraying its location and determination. Krinsala gave his right hand permission to cross over his torso and grip the black-patterned cloth covering the handle of his sword. Krinsala allowed his mind to wander more freely and, before long, the outline of the creature was thick enough for Krinsala to be confident that he knew what he was dealing with. He tightened the grip on the handle to the point that his knuckles had gone white and, just as a spirit appeared out of the smoke of a fire, so too did the creature step out of the mist and into the clearing.

Krinsala exposed a hint of his sword’s reflective surface as he watched the creature start walking on his hooves, sniffing the perimeter of the clearing, its light grey horns contrasting against the dark, thick hair covering its body. It was not possible that the creature did not know that Krinsala was there, but, not only was it a creature of dignity, it had survived this long, knowing that rushing into a battle was the equivalent of signing your own death wish. When the creature was close enough for Krinsala to make out the individual hairs on its body, he drew out his sword slowly and completely and took a step forward into the clearing. Krinsala held the sword out in front of him, ready for whatever it was that was about to come his way. Staring deep into its soul without moving a muscle, Krinsala found the creature’s disappointment surprising. Knowing it was time to uncover what fate had in store for both of them, Krinsala transitioned his body into a weighted stance. “It is time, Master, to challenge what you think you know.” Krinsala and the creature bowed ever so slightly before taking a deep breath and charging towards one another.

The stars could sense that The Moon was not in the best of moods before they even had a chance to see her glowing face appear before them. Several bolder stars drew on their vast experience, claiming that they just knew it wasn’t going to be a great night while the shyer stars silently cradled their nerves. Among the quietest of them, a newborn star, Stellar, listened to the conversations with particular interest, observing how the older stars behaved in these high-pressure moments while admiring how brightly all of the other stars shone. Stellar’s response to stress was to continue looking into how to become a better star. Unfortunately, Stellar was the dullest star in the night sky and everybody knew it, including The Moon. So, over the months, some of the more supportive stars worked tirelessly with Stellar, attempting to match her eagerness about learning the art of being a star with the ever-present problem of a lack of space and a lack of time. There were only so many times The Moon was going to ignore her lack of light before replacing her with another, brighter star.

The stars had invented their motto several years earlier and it was something that Stellar repeated to herself before commencing each shift. Tonight, as The Sun’s light was replaced with darkness from one end of the sky to the other, Stellar repeated this motto until it was the only thing she could think about. ‘Shine bright, shine all night’. Even without the sense that The Moon might be in a particularly awful mood, Stellar struggled to maintain a decent brightness for any significant length of time. Occasionally, The Moon would make herself known to the other stars well before their shifts were due to begin. These surprise visits didn’t happen often, but when they did, The Moon would ask any stars not doing a wonderful job to leave her night sky. Stellar wasn’t quite sure where the stars ended up when they were asked to leave but she was sure that she wouldn’t want to go there. The stars had an important job and, if you weren’t up to the task, then you had to find yourself another job in the interests of working together to create the best night sky in the universe.

Stellar relaxed when she realised that The Moon was on time tonight and started performing her job to the best of her capabilities. If she felt as though she was unable to shine as brightly as she would have liked, then she would do her best to camouflage herself amongst a group of brighter stars. Tonight, however, The Moon’s impatience seemed to fuel the sharpness of her eye and, out of the billions of stars in front of her, she singled out Stellar, causing her heart to beat faster and faster. The Moon stared at Stellar for an eternity while the other stars looked on helplessly. “What is the work of a star?” The Moon asked Stellar, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.
“To shine bright and shine all night,” Stellar answered in a wavering voice.
“These are just words,” responded The Moon. “Let me ask you another way.” Stellar had not expected a second chance. “What is your purpose?”
This question had caught Stellar off guard so it took her longer than she had hoped to answer it. “I help make the night sky the best that it can be.”
“Exactly,” responded The Moon. “And how do you expect to do that when you are not shining as brightly as the others?”
Stellar was convinced her time in the night sky was over. As she started to turn to leave, she saw something that she had never seen before. The Moon’s light flickered. Stellar dared not blink as she turned back to stare at The Moon, looking to see if any other stars had seen what she had seen. After several seconds it happened again. Though, this time, The Moon’s light completely went out.
“How dare you!” a booming voice sounded behind them. Stellar turned to see The Sun, the brightest star of them all, holding a planet between himself and The Moon, making The Moon appear duller than anything else in the night sky. The Sun released the planet, causing his own light to reflect off of the surface of The Moon. “Your light is not even your own, yet you think brightness gives you the right to decide who belongs here. This sky belongs to all of us.”
The Moon retreated and quickly found a place to hide.

It would be several weeks before any other star would see The Moon and, when she returned, she remained silent while Stellar took pleasure in knowing that even the dullest object could make the night sky a place of wonder.

Living under the ocean meant that Olivia Granger didn’t have the same problems most other people had. It meant that she faced a vastly different set of issues and situations on a daily basis. During her first few days away from the land, for example, Olivia had made the mistake of choosing a single underwater cave to be her home, intending to dedicate her free time to decorating her new home. The jagged rocks on the inside of the cave created the perfect natural hooks from which to hang any trinkets she found in her adventures. Staying still was never a good idea in a world filled with predators lurking behind every dark shadow, so Olivia now thought it best to change caves every other day, dashing her hopes of being able to create a sanctuary to which she could return every night.

Olivia’s lungs carried a memory of the constant pain associated with learning to breathe underwater and, although her eyes had worked tirelessly over the years, they were still showing signs that they were adjusting to the darkness beneath the murky depths. Food was extremely scarce. At least, that’s what Olivia told herself following a sequence of failed attempts to catch anything resonating with her own personal definition of food. The obvious solution of redefining what food meant, how it should taste and where you should find it, took over a week to surface in her mind and another two days before it was ready to be turned into action. Olivia was now finding food everywhere and, in her quest to not waste any time underwater, she was beginning to combine different flavours to create meals worthy of being baulked at not so long ago.

There wasn’t a night-time anymore. At least, there was no clear way of telling when the sun was up and when the sun was down. Depending on where Olivia ended up during the day, she might occasionally catch glimpses of light towards the surface of the water, but, now, days and nights were measured by observing which sea creatures were asleep and who was awake. When the grey sharks with the pointy noses began emerging from the hidden caves beneath the underwater boulders, it was time for Olivia to find her cave and attempt to get a sound night’s sleep. Seasons were measured by sensing subtle changes in the temperatures in various bodies of water as well as through observing the direction of travel of some of the more intrepid sea creatures. Olivia had come to accept that there was no such thing as a positive change underwater, so, even when the sharks swam overhead in immense numbers looking for a change in environment, Olivia knew that this meant the jellyfish were on their way. There was no respite underwater. No opportunities to relax. No time to waste. And, for these reasons, Olivia loved being here.

Just as it took Olivia’s body time to adapt and accept all of the changes, so, too, did it take her mind time to realise that the ocean had not given her what she wanted, it had given her what she needed. The land had provided her with a world of distraction, while the ocean provided her with opportunities to discover what was truly important by forcing her to remain focused on survival. Olivia had left the land behind in the hopes of falling in love and finding peace, but that is not how the ocean operates. The ocean may seem cruel. It may even seem indifferent and callous, but that does not mean that it should be avoided. By diving beneath its turbulent surface and swimming amongst its menacing depths, Olivia found a different type of happiness, set apart by the shifting of the tides and all the more affected by the movement of the Earth above.

Down here, she was free. Up there, Olivia was unable to breathe.

Zayden and Jace. Jace and Zayden. They were Greenvale School’s very own set of twins. It wasn’t unusual to have an opinion on the brothers given that they were identical right down to the number and placement of freckles on either side of their noses and, if such a thing could be measured, the graphs would clearly show the number of opinions fluctuating throughout the day. Eating times and break times had a particularly mysterious way of drawing out the thoughts and feelings one held regarding the lives and behaviours of the twins, with the students feeding off one another to justify why it was OK to even hold an opinion about them in the first place. As for my justification? Well, we’ll get to that. For now, though, let me do something favourable and provide you with as much information as I can about the events leading up to the announcement that we were no longer allowed to speak about the twins or acknowledge that they had ever existed in the first place.

Three days before the teachers made the announcement, the eating areas at the wooden tables beside the school’s library block were buzzing with rumours, gossip and hearsay. I know because I was there, receiving an influx of embellishments. I would take no offence if you wanted to call me a connoisseur of canard and the tables outside of the library block were the number one place for anyone with an unquenchable thirst for tall stories to spend even a minute of their time. Over the years, I had developed a sixth sense for being able to sort through the trash and find the treasure, relying on my skills as an avid listener and keen observer to get to the truth at the heart of the story. Motivation played a key role. What did the person stand to gain by beginning the rumour in the first place? In this case, very little. The rumour that the twins had snuck out of their bedrooms after dark and had made their way to Crow’s Nest Pond was started by their very close friend, Jonathan Taylor. Jonathan’s grandparents had asked him to ride his bike over to Zayden and Jace’s house in the hopes of borrowing a jar of sugar. When he arrived, he overheard the twins’ mother and father arguing over the details of the event. As Jonathan was telling the story to those of us lucky enough to be at the tables, the seriousness of his voice caught the attention of every other student walking by to return their library books.

Another skill to adopt when establishing the truth is to pay attention to the commonalities between the many variations on the stories. I was confident that the twins had left their house and that they had indeed made it to Crow’s Nest Pond. Outside of those two facts, however, the perpetrators of this intriguing rumour were surprisingly comfortable employing a significant amount of artistic licence when presenting their own versions of events to the eager listeners in front of them. The twins had disappeared. They had morphed into the one person. They were no longer human. Their parents had already met with the headmaster. The list went on, making each new point appear increasingly irrelevant.

Lastly, I prided myself on my ability to match up the pieces of reality with the puzzle of the rumour. If history was anything to go by, then, by this stage, my experiences and interactions in the real world should have allowed me to discard 99% of the rumours spreading like wildfire amongst the students and teachers alike. But, this was not the case. On the contrary, with every new bizarre theory added to the already murky pool of ideas, the teachers and school staff themselves were behaving noticeably weirder. Keeping their heads down as they walked around the school, staying on the line for several seconds in uncomfortable silence every time they received a phone call, hosting impromptu meetings in the faculty buildings. All the while, a palpable sense of unease grew amongst the students of Greenvale as our questions about the twins went unanswered. When the twins didn’t arrive at school for the third day in a row since the rumours began, the students of Greenvale School were summoned to the school hall to hear an important announcement.

It wouldn’t be safe for you if I were to explain everything they told us in the hall. It wouldn’t be safe for me, either. But that doesn’t really bother me. You can’t be on a never-ending quest for truth if you’re not willing to take a few risks or rock a few boats. That’s how I justify the opinions that I hold, anyway. It’s all about finding the truth. And, what is the truth? Well, the truth is that the headmaster has given me a new buddy to show around the school. His name is Jayden, and he recently moved to Greenvale from a town known for its annual pumpkin festival. How much truth is there to any of this? I’m sure you’d have an opinion on that, and I’m sure that it’s an opinion I would love for you to tell me.

See you at the tables.

Is your headache in your toes?
Is your headache in your nose?
Oh, tell me, tell me, please,
Is your headache in your knees?

Is your headache in your fist?
Is your headache in your wrist?
Please don’t tell me lies,
Is your headache in your eyes?

Is your headache in your lip?
Is your headache in your hip?
It mustn’t be very fun,
If your headache’s in your bum!

Oh no, I’ve now lost track,
Is your headache in your back?
But now, with all that said,
I think a headache’s in your head!

There was no reason to open the present. There was no good reason to throw it away, either. So, it just sat there. On the small coffee table. Beside the bookshelf. In the living room. What else could be done with it? It couldn’t be re-gifted because there was no way of knowing what was inside without opening it and shaking it would be considered inappropriate. No card had been attached and there was no name or salutation written anywhere, making it impossible to tell who the present was for in the first place. It wasn’t anybody’s birthday the day it appeared, nor was it any of those annual celebrations where people exchanged gifts. There was a knock at the front door and, simply put, there it was, sitting comfortably between the two concrete walls creating a walkway to and from the house. The present had been meticulously wrapped in what looked to be high-quality wrapping paper with each of the thick diagonal white and green stripes lined with narrower gold trimmings. Golden ribbon divided the outside of the box into quarters and a handmade golden bow perched itself where the ribbon intersected at the top of the box. The wrapping job was all the more impressive as two hands were needed to lift the present whenever it needed moving. Whoever wrapped and then delivered this present knew what they were doing.

There was some speculation that the present was meant for another house, but that idea was eventually laid to rest following an hour of shameful door-knocking from one side of the neighbourhood to the other. When the embarrassment subsided, the present was placed on the coffee table so that it could be the centre of attention during an emergency meeting to brainstorm what should happen next. Disposing of it had been discussed several times but, with an unknown value attached to the gift, it seemed reckless and unnecessary to just throw it away. What if it was worth something? What if it was worth A LOT of somethings? Of course, there was always the risk that the present was worth very little as well, but the mystery of its value played in its favour when it came to avoiding being thrown in a skip. Though it was not possible to pinpoint the source of the discomfort, the idea of the present being placed in any one of the bedrooms was swiftly discarded. Having thrown every conceivable solution at the problem, the present was left to sit in the living room until an appropriate course of action could be agreed upon.

Though it was never completely ignored, the present held its place in the living room long enough for it to shift from being the focus of attention to never being discussed at all. This did not mean that its presence never factored into the decision to leave the house. On the contrary, any meetings discussing the move, or any other serious venture for that matter, were now held in a separate room. Most of the packing boxes were stored at the back of the house, well out of sight of the present, with the household items being secretly packed away one by one over the course of two months. Gradually, every desired memory was tucked neatly into boxes while the present went untouched. Emptiness filled the house on the day of the move and yet every space was crowded with a growing unease. During the final tour, the present became the centre of attention for one last time. Just as a chorus of silent farewells was spoken, there was a knock at the door that would forever go unanswered, heard only by a coffee table and a green, white and gold present neatly wrapped with a handmade bow at the top.

“Why do you always wear that mask?”

It’s a question I get less regularly now, but it’s to be expected when you wear a mask every day. I remember when the idea occurred to me because it was my first day at yet another new school. My father works as a dentist and was sent to Greenvale to replace his boss’s nephew who had to leave the town for medical reasons, or so the story goes. It was a fifteen-and-a-half-hour drive from my old town to Greenvale, but the three of us combined our creative energy, inventing new ways for us to pass the time and, before we knew it, we were pulling into the paved driveway of our new two-storey house. Once Dad had turned off the car, I remember undoing my seatbelt and bringing my head forward so that it was in between my mum and dad. We sat in silence for a good thirty seconds, staring through the windscreen at the enormity of the house. The other houses that had been provided to us were nowhere near as gigantic, or as isolated, as this one and I think our brains were trying to wrestle with the reality that this is where the three of us would now be living. This was the moment when I started to feel like one of those people who pretend to be rich when really, they’re up to their eyeballs in debt.

A lot of people came to visit us over the next few days. Some of them brought freshly baked cakes and muffins while others gifted us flowers or trinkets to place around our house. A few of them even offered to help us unpack, but there was no way that Dad was going to accept help from anyone, especially someone he had only just met. Every time there was a knock at the door, I would stop unpacking, sneak out from my bedroom and tiptoe along the carpet in my rainbow-coloured socks towards the thicker banisters at the top of the stairs. This gave me the perfect hiding place while still being able to get a decent view of the interactions happening below on the ground level. Every visitor was decorated with an obscene amount of jewellery and wore clothes that I had only ever seen in catalogues. They also used their hands a lot while speaking and habitually smiled whenever they were silent, reminding me of the robots I had read about in my comics that were being trained to act like humans. Any time Mum offered me a piece of cake or a muffin, I politely declined, saying that I still felt a little carsick. I kept waiting for her to interrogate me further about why the sickness was lasting for so long but she never did.

The night before I started at my new school, I forced myself to ignore the ghastly sound of the branches from the large oak tree scratching against my bedroom window as the breeze wrenched them up and down. I was honest with Dad when he asked me how I had slept after my first night in the house, so he came into the room and leaned out of the window, breaking off the branches he was able to reach. He told me I would have to be patient and wait for things to calm down before he would have time to saw off the remaining branches, which I knew meant it was never going to happen. Instead, I closed my eyes and pushed my thoughts towards the few humorous moments we’d shared as a family over the past couple of days while setting up our new house. It’s funny how even in the memories I couldn’t ignore the feeling that we were all pretending that everything was going to be O.K. The sense that things were unsettled stayed with me throughout my dreams and into the morning, dominating my thoughts as I struggled to get out of my bed. The mask my grandma had given me for my fifth birthday stared back at me from my dresser. I had unpacked it and left it out to remind me of her and of all the good times we had shared dancing around our small living room to her wonderfully melodic records. There were no negative feelings attached to the mask, so I picked it up and pulled it over my face.

That was three years ago and, now, I’m simply known as the girl in the mask. It’s something everyone, including myself, has had to get used to, because every time I take it off, the feeling that things aren’t as they should be gets stronger and stronger and I don’t want to find out what happens if that feeling comes to overtake me.

“Now, this looks like a good read, boys,” Billy said, tapping the book three times in the palm of his left hand. He fanned every page of the book from cover to cover as his smirk morphed into a teeth-filled grin. “Though, I’m not sure why they’d need four parts. Should just be called Weirdos and Freaks and be done with it.” Billy kept his eyes on Haley’s as Samson and Kyle laughed behind him.
“Give it back,” Haley said, the seriousness of her tone matching the expression on her face. Billy squinted at the book and made a clicking noise with his mouth.
“Maybe when I’m done reading it,” he said, slightly tilting his head to one side. Haley stood up, her face so close to Billy’s that he could see her nostrils flaring. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally showing some evidence that she’s actually a human being and not a freak dressed in a human’s outfit.” Billy didn’t move a muscle. Samson and Kyle glanced at each other, trying to decode the gravity of the situation. Their silent conversation ended after Samson shook his head at Kyle. Billy held the book in front of him with two hands and Haley took a tight grip on the other end. He could feel Haley pulling on the book, so he drew it back just enough for her to know that he wasn’t going to give it up that easy. “You’ll have to tell us if any of that stuff is true. You know, about the orb.” Haley’s mouth opened slightly but she remained silent. Billy chuckled and took his eyes off Haley’s for the first time since their exchange began. “Well, best we head off and find ourselves some grommets to squash.” Billy headed towards the exit of the library, his friends needing no prompting to follow him. Haley breathed out and brought her hand up to her stomach.

That night, Billy lay in his bed, unaware that his feet were tapping against one another as he replayed his conversation with Haley, raking through the memories, searching for anything that would tell him what she was up to. No matter what angle he looked at the situation from, his conclusion was always the same: She was going out there and he had to be there when it happened. For the next two days, Billy encouraged his friends to find some other activities as he shadowed Haley from a distance, watching her like a hawk watches a worm. She spent most of her spare time in the library, occasionally joining her friends for a brief conversation just so they wouldn’t get suspicious. Billy again thought it was clever of her not to risk leaving a paper trail by getting the book on loan and, after the bell signalled the end of recess, watched her put the book back on the shelf for the second afternoon in a row. During afternoon recess on the third day, Haley didn’t go to the library. Instead, she collected her school bag and walked towards the front of the school. Billy felt the blood pumping through his body as he followed Haley out of the school grounds and into the open forest surrounding the grounds.

Most of the tourists came on the weekend, and anyone who lived in Greenvale never had any real reason to go near Crow’s Nest Pond. Billy himself had only ever been here once before and, as he trailed behind Haley, he tried shaking off the memories wanting to resurface. He and his friends had promised never to talk about how scared they were, so it was best to focus on the task at hand. Billy only lost sight of Haley for a moment but it was long enough for him to lose track of her altogether. He continued through the forest, making his way towards the clearing where the pond could be found. Once he reached the outskirts of the clearing he stopped and stared at the jagged rock surrounding the pond. There was no sign of Haley. The tourists may have treated the stories about what happens when you look into the water with humour, but Billy took the stories seriously. He was scared. Shaking his head, he turned to leave but found that his body wanted to do something that his mind was not telling it to do. Without any control over his own body, he dropped to his hands and knees and began inching his way towards the edge of the pond.

With his chin now clearly over the rocky edge, Billy dared not open his eyes. He was about to give in and call out for help when he heard a girl laughing behind him. He felt as though he had control of his body again and opened his eyes for an instant. He rolled over and stood up as fast as he could. In front of him, Haley Bremmer stood there pointing, her chuckles echoing through the forest behind him. “You should have seen your face, Billy Coates! Priceless! Absolutely priceless!” Billy felt an anger he had never felt before, but he had little time to acknowledge that fact before the two of them heard the water in Crow’s Nest Pond begin to boil. Haley froze and stared at Billy, who was too scared to turn around.
“Run!” Haley yelled as she dashed into the forest. Billy watched her running up the hill for a moment before forcing his legs to follow her, while the sound of bubbling water grew louder and louder.