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DJ Paterson |
www.djpaterson.co.uk |
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Welcome to my web pages |
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| Novel | ||
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After
having a go at a few short stories, I decided that I would attempt to
fulfil a lifelong ambition — to write a novel. I decided on one for a
teenage audience (probably because I didn’t think I could create
something that would interest an adult audience). I wrote the first three
chapters, but then couldn’t decide where to take it, so mothballed it
for a while. A few months later Sue spotted a Waterstone’s competition
to write a children’s book, so out it came again. After a lot of hard
work, and a few stalled attempts, I finished the book and based on the
first three chapters, was pleased to receive a regional finalist ‘congratulations’ letter
from Waterstone's. p.s. I'm working hard on re-editing it at the moment. Looking back at the original entry, it contained plenty of pointers that screamed "amateur"!! Hopefully
the re-write is much more professional - here's a taster - see what you
think…... UPDATE: Depot 573 has been chosen as one of the winners by the prestigious 2007 Writers' and Artists' Yearbook 100th Edition Novel Writing Competition: Click here for details.
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| Depot
573 |
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Chapter
1
Despite
having spent the afternoon dreading its arrival, the harsh sound of the
bell caught James by surprise, and it took a moment for him to realise
where he was. But only a moment. Before the ringing had died away, James
grabbed his bag and jacket and was running.
He burst through the classroom door, ignoring his teacher’s shouts of,
‘Holden, slow down!’ If he was to stand any chance of escape, he had
to be fast. But as he tore along the corridor, James felt his chest
tighten and he started to struggle for breath. After only a few more
steps, a stitch stabbed in his side, and he realised he wouldn’t get
away. He supposed he hadn’t really expected to, but the odd thought that
had flitted in and out of his mind all afternoon reappeared. Perhaps today
was the day to stand up to them? But the thought of making a stand filled
James with fear, and he pressed on with renewed vigour.
Kids spilled from the classrooms and the corridors soon bustled with
bodies, all eager to get home. James, forcing his way through the crush,
risked a glance behind. He couldn’t see anyone - well, not one of them,
anyway. Perhaps he had worried for nothing? Maybe they had found
fresh prey? He didn’t believe it for a moment, though. Before the bell,
he’d spotted the full moon from his classroom window, leering over the
school, ready to make everyone a little more crazy.
‘What’s the hurry, Holden?’ a voice shouted. A girl’s voice.
Sarah. James’s pushing became more frantic. He didn’t think he was
scared of Sarah, but the notch-up in his heart rate told a different story
- and not without reason. Sarah Rider wasn’t just any girl. She was part
of the gang who had tormented him for months. She was also supposedly some
sort of martial arts expert, but James had never seen any evidence of
this. No, what set Sarah apart was that she was Darrow’s girlfriend, and
even the sound of that name was enough to make James shudder.
Just as he thought he was about to be caught, a break in the crowd meant
James could run again - but for how long? Wasn’t adrenaline meant
to give you superhuman strength? Hadn’t he read somewhere that
people had been known to single-handedly lift cars off road accident
victims, all down to a rush of adrenaline? Why then could he feel
the strength draining from his legs? His stitch returned with a
vengeance and he knew he wouldn’t make it off the school grounds. Oh,
but they wouldn’t get him here. How many times had he been escorted away
from the relative safety of school? More than he cared to remember.
James pushed through the heavy double doors out onto the playground, but
could run no more. His stitch felt like a heart attack, and he grabbed a
fistful of flesh from the side of his ribs, in a vain attempt to ease the
pain.
‘Going our way, Jimmy?’
James felt his legs turn to lead as four of them closed in around him.
Darrow, placing his hand on James’s shoulder in such a way that could be
mistaken as protective by an onlooker, gave a gentle push that told James
to carry on walking. He glanced behind, hoping to see a teacher heading
for the group, but was met by the sight of Sarah joining the party.
Despite his circumstances, a strange calmness descended over him. The calm
before the storm, he wondered, as he was led through the gates. With the
group heading away from school, James realised his stitch had gone, along
with any chance of intervention by the teachers. But his thoughts turned
back to the afternoon. Was now the time to stand up to them - and if so
how?
‘Weren’t trying to get away, were you, Jimmy?’ another question from
Darrow, but this one provoked a response.
‘What do you
think – I’m training for the cross-country?’
The flash of anger on their leader’s face silenced sniggers from the
rest of the gang, and James grimaced as Darrow dug his fingers deep into
James’s shoulder.
‘Don’t be smart with me, lad.’
How old do you think you are, calling me lad? We’re the same age you
idiot! At this thought James smiled, although only a little - not enough
to anger his tormentor again. But he’d done it - taken the first step in
standing up to them! But now what?
The group rounded a corner and James realised they were only a couple of
minutes from their intended destination - the wasteground next to the old
Macintyre Mansion. He’d found himself there on a number of occasions
over the last few months and usually gained a bruise or two as a souvenir
of his visits. But nothing more serious. That might all change today,
though, after his remark to Darrow – but maybe not if he did stand up to
them? Or get away?
James could see the mansion looming now – not really a mansion, but
certainly one of the biggest properties in town. Large and imposing, it
was set well back from the street, behind a wooden fence from which more
slats were broken or missing than intact. The building hadn’t been lived
in for many years, although it wasn’t displaying the usual signs of
vandalism you’d expect - just the unmistakeable look of age and neglect.
The vandals (and everyone else, for that matter), gave it a wide berth,
due to the many haunted-house stories that circulated about the place.
John Macintyre had supposedly vanished twenty years ago, and the house had
lain empty ever since. One of the more common stories circulating was that
Macintyre hadn’t vanished at all, and was still living in the mansion
– waiting for unwary trespassers. Unlikely as this seemed, people
sometimes claimed to have seen the faint glow of lights through the
mansion windows.
James neither knew nor cared whether the stories were true, but as they
drew closer to the mansion, he knew it was decision time. If he made a
break for it and headed for the back fence, could he escape? James
wasn’t convinced he’d even get as far as the mansion, let alone get
away. But if he could surprise them, it might give him a chance – even
if they only hesitated for a few seconds. He was certainly feeling
stronger now and still felt strangely calm. With the fear he had been
feeling all afternoon gone, the more he thought about it, the more
convinced he became that escape was possible. And if it wasn’t, what of
it? Darrow was already angry; how much worse for him would it be?
And wondering whether the full moon was infecting him with a tinge of
madness, James decided. As soon as they set foot onto the wasteground, he
was going to make a break for it.
The wasteground was really the site of an old house that had been
demolished some years earlier. The land was part of the Macintyre estate,
and as such it had stayed free of the developers’ clutches. As they
stepped from the path over the boundary line, James made his move.
Darrow’s fingers were still embedded in his shoulder - which was now
starting to go numb. James had switched his bag and jacket from his left
hand to his right in readiness, and then quietly drew two deep breaths. It
was now or never. He casually reached up with his free hand and as soon as
it was in position, he grabbed for Darrow’s fingers. Managing to get
hold of at least two of them (and neither knowing nor caring which two he
had) James both pulled and twisted at the same time - as hard as he could.
Darrow squealed with pain, instantly releasing his grip. James dropped
Darrow’s hand and ran for his life. Darrow had doubled over and was
clutching his fingers, while the others looked on, too stunned to react.
As James ducked through a large hole in the fence between the wasteground
and the mansion, he heard Darrow scream, ‘Get ’im, you idiots!’ and
smiled at the pain that was evident in his shaky voice.
James ran, urged on by the thought that perhaps he could
be a cross-country star in the making, as he nimbly dodged tree stumps
and other debris. His pursuers were not showing the same degree of skill
though; he heard a shout and stole a glance behind in time to see one of
them stumble and fall over some rubble near the fence. He looked forward
again, just in time to avoid a similar fate with a bush. Careful, he
thought – don’t blow it now.
‘You’re in for it, Holden,’ screamed Darrow, who had now joined in
with the second pursuit of the afternoon, albeit at a half-hearted pace.
James raced onwards, formulating his plan to escape through a gap in the
rear fence that would lead to the street behind, and home. But as he drew
level with the back of the house, the fence came into view, and James
skidded to a halt. There were no gaps - the fence looked as solid as the
day it had been built! James’s heart pounded and he knew Darrow’s gang
were seconds from catching him again. He sprang into action once more,
this time running alongside the back of the house. As he approached some
steps he made an instant decision, springing upwards to the back door. He
shoved hard. With audible complaint, the door swung open, tumbling James
inside. Chapter
2 Sarah
and the gang rounded the corner in time to hear the back door slam shut.
Leaving the rest of them to look on, Sarah continued running until she had
reached the door. She rattled the handle and pushed, but this time it
wouldn’t budge. She was already descending the steps when Darrow
rejoined the gang.
‘Has he gone inside?’
Sarah nodded with a frown, but Darrow smiled. ‘What’s it to be Jimmy?
Stay inside and let old Macintyre get you, or come out and take your
chances with us?’ Darrow took a few steps back and surveyed the back of
the building, before heading back the way he came. He circled the mansion,
trying each door and window in turn. As he’d expected, none opened and
he was soon back to where he started.
‘He can’t get out without us hearing him,’ he said. The gang
remained silent, not sure what to suggest, and all hoping they weren’t
going to have to wait. Except for Sarah, who had noticed something above
them. She took a couple of steps backwards and craned her neck.
‘Look up there. That looks open.’ Sarah was pointing up towards a
door, visible through the rusting railings that edged the first-floor
balcony. A black drainpipe dropped down from the gutter, a metre from the
edge of the railings. ‘Do you think you can make it up there?’ Darrow asked her. The rest of the gang weren’t exactly nimble, and the thought of any of them as cat burglars was almost ludicrous.
Chapter
3 On
entering the house, James slammed the door shut and threw the eye-level
bolt (which he doubted he would have found in the murkiness of the
kitchen, if it had been located anywhere else). He heard footsteps outside
and watched as the door handle turned - but the bolt did its job.
As James surveyed the room, the first thing that struck him was the smell
– musty, like old books. The window adjacent to the door had a net
curtain across it, although it was the grime that was doing the job of
keeping out most of the light.
James jumped when he heard Darrow shout. He hadn’t forgotten where he
was, but the mention of Macintyre did make him consider opening the door
and taking his chances.
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he said, startled at the sound of his own
voice. Had he meant to think out loud? He wasn’t sure, but it
certainly helped unnerve him a little more.
James stalked across the kitchen and peered through an open door leading
into a long hallway, and onwards to the front door. He hesitated, not
wanting to venture deeper into the mansion. The silence that followed
Darrow’s shout had cast a chill over him, and it was this that finally
set James into a jog towards the meagre light of the front door.
Something stopped him halfway along; a humming sound. James listened
carefully. No, it wasn’t a sound - the humming seemed to be inside his
head. As he tried to concentrate on the sensation, the doorknob of the
front door slowly started to turn. He held his breath, waiting for the
door to open. The doorknob rattled, but then became still again. No escape
that way then - what now? Front or back? Considering the question of
how to escape, James turned back towards the kitchen, but as he did so, he
realised he was standing outside an open doorway, through which was a
short staircase, leading downwards. In the darkness he hadn’t noticed it
before. There were only ten steps to the bottom, and as he peered through
the gloom, he could make out a large wooden door.
As James stared downwards, he was sure the humming in his head was louder.
A few seconds passed before he realised there appeared to be a faint
orange light coming from under the door. He tried to remember if he’d
seen any basement windows outside, but realised it was the other side of
the house he had ran along.
James started slowly down the stairs, cautious partially because of where
he was, but mainly because the steps were both narrow and steep. With each
step, the humming in his head intensified, but rather than deter him, it
encouraged him on. At the bottom, he reached for the large brass doorknob
protruding from the door, and twisted. It turned easily, but the door
didn’t open. Was it jammed? James tried again, this time pushing
the door with his shoulder as well. No movement. He looked down at his
hand on the doorknob, and noticed a keyhole. James crouched down to look
through, but the keyhole was blocked with something. He decided there must
be a key in the lock, but this was followed immediately by a question –
how could the door be locked from the inside?
James didn’t like any of the possible answers that sprang to mind, but
the humming seemed to override these thoughts, and he was already trying
to work out how to get the key. It didn’t take long. James didn’t have
too many friends - not in the real world, anyway. His best friends all
lived in the books he loved to read, and old detective novels were high on
his list of favourites. A locked door wouldn’t be a problem for a
gumshoe. Opening his schoolbag, James took out one of his books and
flipped it open at the middle. Placing it open side up, he slid it under
the door, below the keyhole. Next, producing a geometry compass from his
pencil case, he used the point to poke and prod the end of the key in the
door. He could tell the key was turned at an angle, but he quickly managed
to turn and straighten it. He continued gently prodding. The point slipped
for the first few attempts, but at the urging of the humming (that was
both everywhere and nowhere) James persisted. ‘There! Got it!’
The key fell from the lock, but made no sound as it hit the ground. Good
sign, thought James. He carefully pulled the book from under the door, and
there, sitting on the edge of the page, was an old brass key. He reached
for it, hesitated a moment, and then picked it up. James looked at the key
and again wondered how the door could have been locked from the inside. He
took a couple of deep breaths, knowing the only way to both answer that
question and obey the humming that seemed to be drawing him on, was to
open the door.
He inserted the key into the lock, and as he turned it, James felt the
hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He was being watched. He spun
around to see the silhouette of a figure staring down from the top of the
stairs.
Chapter
4 Sarah
had climbed the drainpipe and hopped over the railing easily enough, and
now she smiled down at the gang from the balcony. With an impatient wave
of his arms, Darrow urged his girlfriend on. She gave a snort and turned
to the French doors. As she had spotted, one of the leaves was slightly
ajar. Sarah grasped the handle and pushed cautiously. The door opened,
although under protest. The hinges creaked far more than she would have
liked, and it was the stillness of late afternoon being interrupted by
this metallic squeal that awakened Sarah to her situation. She was about
to enter the
‘Actually, I’m not sure I want to go in there,’ she said, only
slightly above a whisper.
Darrow’s response was sharp and immediate, ‘Get on with it, you stupid
cow!’ There was no playful affection in that voice.
Sarah glared back at him, but stopped short of telling him what she
thought. She realised he was probably still angry and in pain, and turned
back to the doors, reddening with anger herself. The room beyond was
darker than she expected. She hesitated for a moment longer, took a deep
breath and crept in. The only piece of furniture was a large bed against
the wall, which although very old looking, was made up ready. As she
looked, Sarah realised something had been spilled across it. Blood? The
stain was too old and dark to be able to tell, but her imagination slipped
into overdrive, and the first image that flashed across her mind was of a
crazed axe-man rampaging about the derelict house.
Her heart pounding, Sarah hurried across the room to the door opposite,
pulling it open against the same protest the French doors had made. She
stepped out on to the landing and tried to get her bearings - and calm her
nerves. Through the meagre light she could make out a number of doors
leading from the landing, but all were closed, save the one she had come
through. Sarah spotted a light switch and although she knew it wouldn’t
work, she tried it anyway. Nothing. She could see a flight of stairs
straight ahead, and instantly decided not to check the rest of upstairs
– it would be better to open the front door and let everyone else in. At
about the same time as she came to that decision, Sarah became aware of a
faint humming noise. What was that? The sound had the annoying
quality of an insect buzzing too close to her ear, but it certainly
didn’t sound like an insect. She walked to the top of the stairs, waited
until she was sure she could make out the treads, and then carefully
started down.
The stairs were solidly built, and made no sound as she descended. The
front door was directly ahead of her, and she could see it was a grimy
stained glass panel that had helped the light grow stronger as she moved
closer. But the light wasn’t the only thing growing in strength. That
humming was also becoming more intense, and as she reached the bottom of
the stairs, Sarah had a crazy notion it wasn’t a sound at all, but more
a feeling - although unlike anything she had experienced before. Her plan
to open the front door was soon forgotten. The humming had gotten hold of
her, and everything else seemed less important than it had only a few
minutes earlier.
She looked around and then started along the hallway, towards the back of
the house. Halfway along there was a doorway through which was a small
staircase leading down. Down to the humming, she thought. It took a few
moments before Sarah realised there was someone at the bottom, curled up.
No, not curled up. Crouching down. The figure stood, but then stooped
slightly towards the door.
I hadn’t even noticed the door, she thought. The figure, silhouetted by
an odd orange light seeping from under the doorway, stopped and spun
around. It was too dark to see who it was.
‘Sarah?’ said the familiar voice from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Sarah, relieved. ‘What’s making that
humming noise?’ she asked, the effect of the sound causing the pursuit
to be forgotten.
‘I don’t know, but I’ve managed to unlock the door,’ answered
James, himself sounding unconcerned that he was talking to one of his
pursuers.
Sarah joined James at the bottom of the stairs - their differences
temporarily forgotten. The only thing that seemed important was that door.
And the humming. It was somehow in their heads, but was also behind the
door. Sarah didn’t know how that could be; she just knew it was.
‘Open it,’ she said, hearing the nervousness in the pitch of her own
voice.
James’s hand reached for the doorknob when they heard a shout. It was
Darrow, outside, shouting James’s name.
‘Ignore him,’ Sarah said.
James let out a nervous laugh, but stopped himself almost as soon as he
had started. They looked at each other for a moment longer, and James
turned the knob.
Chapter 5 The
pain in Darrow’s fingers was excruciating - the two James had grabbed
were either broken or dislocated – and this only added to his growing
impatience. He was too squeamish to examine them himself, and he certainly
wasn’t going to let one of those idiots in his gang near him. His
thoughts flashed to Sarah and the insult he had screamed at her before she
had disappeared into the mansion. Most decent people would look back at
that moment and regret their actions and choice of words, but Darrow was
neither most people - nor decent. He tried to take his mind off the pain
by circling the house again. His gang followed suit, but their lack of
imagination led them to flock sheep-like after their leader.
‘
They all stopped and shared nervous glances, before two of them turned
back. Jonesy, the smallest of the gang, followed tentatively behind
Darrow. No-one had taken offence at being shouted at. That was normal and
accepted, and they were grateful none of them had been singled out for
Darrow’s attention.
Although they had already been tried, all the doors and windows were
checked again. It came as no surprise to anyone that they remained locked.
The gang soon met again at the back of the house, and without exception,
everyone stared at their feet, not wanting to be the first to catch
Darrow’s eye. He had never been stood up to before, and was looking
angrier by the second. They all knew James was in serious trouble when
their self-imposed leader got hold of him.
Darrow looked at Jonesy, and shouted, ‘Get up that drainpipe. See
what’s taking the stupid cow so long.’
The order was obeyed without hesitation. Well, that is to say Jonesy did
his best to obey. Despite looking the most agile, his weekly exercise
regime was restricted to chasing James and a few other unfortunates. He
managed to get his feet a metre and a half off the ground, before he
realised that was as far as he could get. Despite his size, he was
breathing heavily and his panting was punctuated with the occasional hack
of a smoker’s cough.
‘I don’t think I can make it. It’s too slippery.’
‘You idiot! Get down here!’
Jonesy dropped clumsily from the drainpipe and skulked back to the group.
‘Where the hell has she got to?’ Darrow asked. No-one dared respond.
His gang weren’t the brightest, but they knew when to keep quiet.
‘Holden!’ he shouted as loudly as he could. No response. ‘Sarah!’
again, nothing. ‘Sarah – get that door opened NOW!’
The gang stood staring at the mansion, the air feeling heavy around them.
The eeriness of the silence that followed Darrow’s last shout sent a
shiver through his entire body. . |
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