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NOTES:

YOUNG WRITERS' SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED

Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"Out of the Street Shadows"

by Stephanie Higgins (11 yrs) - Burnham, Buckinghamshire, UK
(Ages given are at time of entering the competition)
 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Stephanie Higgins is now twelve years old. She lives in Burnham, Buckinghamshire. Since she was little she has always loved books and spends a lot of time reading, which is why she enjoys writing so much. Stephanie says, "It’s the one way you can escape to anotherworld and be a different person." Her favourite genre is historical fiction because it’s really interesting, you can learn about history and it includes lots of description. Stephanie was inspired to write My Heart will not be shattered by the events she read about what happened on The Night of Broken Glass. Her other interests are being with friends, shopping, listening to music on her ipod, singing, netball, cricket, and collecting miniatures for her doll’s house. One of Stephanie’s aspirations is to publish a novel and write stories for others to enjoy.

COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:

Good plot, excellent creativity, but the believability factor was frequently lacking, particularly in the way it ended. Remember the all-important rule of good writing: "the suspension of disbelief". The structure needs work - remember the easiest way to double-check your storyline and structure is to draw a paradigm line and mark off your necessary elements - the hook at the beginning, the middle section of the story with a good main pitch point (highlight of the story), and then the end - all three acts must be present, and strong. But most of all, unless you are writing outright fantasy, whatever you say must make logical sense in the reader's mind. In this story you skipped too conveniently over the realities, and while striving for a Dickensian element, you missed the mark in convincing me that these events were likely - particularly the over-neat rounding up at the end, which in itself was a "good" round ending - but should have been achieved with more conflict and realism. However, I love your imagination!
 

THE STORY:

Sarah Newbury stood in the cold of the ever-threatening night, facing her late Uncle’s ramshackle house in the smothering smog of the London streets. As curls of mist swirled in the air, she blew on her small, cut hands. A sinister looking man stood behind her with spiky stubbles sticking out of his face that crept up to his forehead. Scraggscum he was called, or so Sarah thought she heard. The one who was about to snatch her old life and dangle it just out of her reach. It was a week since her brother Harry had been taken away, and as she felt the firm grip on her shoulders tense it felt like a lifetime away.

“ Let Harry take care of you Sarah. He’s a good lad, that’s what brothers are for,” her Uncle Henrik had whispered the night before he slipped away silently. That was the night everything started to crumble until there was nothing left for them but themselves and the clothes they stood up in. It had always been Uncle Henrik, Harry and Sarah, three people, one family.

“ Now it’s just me,” she thought, “or me and this filthy wretch behind me.”

Another man emerged out of the eerie shadows in the dim light.

He was attired in a stained brown coat and a scratchy moustache that gave him a jagged look. It was the dreaded rent collector. However hard Sarah had tried to be civil to him like Uncle Henrik, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  Her Uncle’s words drummed in her head,

‘You catch more flies with honey’, is what he always claimed.

Sarah shuffled her feet awkwardly as the two men conversed in low voices.

The pennies dropped in Sarah’s mind and into the rent collector’s greasy hands.

She was being sold.

“ You be a lucky girl,” he snorted, “ the only other place fit for your sort is the workhouse.” Straining her neck to take one last glance at the house, she saw a flickering candle dwindle out. For her, it symbolised the end of her old life.

As Sarah trudged through the streets that had been familiar to her all of her life, so many questions circled her mind until it wanted to burst. Who was Scraggscum and where was he taking her?

The den was a drab brick cellar, hidden under a mossy green house, falling into rack and ruin. A flight of cold iron steps, dripping with moisture led the way in. By this time, Sarah was almost asleep, her eyelids batting open and shut, as she was forced to move her legs, stiff as a doll.

She was led into the cellar, a huge black room, laced with cobwebs too damp for it to be a home. In the corner they saw some boys huddled up near each other under scraps of tattered blanket. With a grunt, Scraggscum lay down on a bed with a thin mattress on it and heaved a loud yawn. For a few seconds, Sarah watched him for instructions, with all the strength she could muster before she fell asleep, exhausted.

“ Wake up,” whispered the soothing voice of a boy in Sarah’s ear.

Her sandy blonde hair streamed out behind her in a mass of tangles, which gave her an air of wild beauty. With a start, she sat bolt upright and the crowd of grubby boys that had gathered around her jolted her backwards.

“ Where am I?” she said silently, “ on my straw pellet with Harry?”

 Gradually, her surroundings swivelled into focus and the sea of faces startled her. She wasn’t with Harry at all! In one awful moment all the events of the day before came back to her in a flurry and the blood drained from her rosy red lips. No one could look more crestfallen than Sarah did at that moment.

“ Who are you?” she asked inquisitively, her brown eyes as round as saucers.

The same boy who had whispered to her put a bony finger to his lips and pointed to Scraggscum, who was tossing restlessly in his sleep.

He offered his hand to Sarah and she shook it uneasily.

“ Welcome to the gang,” all the boys said in unison. All of them looked as though they had lived on the streets all their lives, vagabonds and ragamuffins. Some of them hid in the shadows, pipes hanging at the corners of their mouth and smoke billowing up in the air.

“I’m Charlie,” he said to Sarah with gleaming eyes when the train of noise from the boys had subsided. “ Stick with me and you’ll be fine.”

Sarah tried to stutter out some words of thanks but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She had a feeling that she could trust Charlie.

“ Girl, set the fire ready to light,” groused a foreboding voice. Silence descended on the room, as fast as mist blankets a mountain. No one said anything and shivers tingled in Sarah’s spine.

“ It’s you,” Charlie mouthed at her, trying in vain to make her understand.

“ Me?” she asked timidly, her head hung. Scraggscum grunted as he snatched the sheets off his bed and stamped over to Sarah. “You ignorant girl!” he bellowed, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck until the hairs on Sarah’s neck stood on end.

“ Open your eyes, look around you. Now get on with it!”

Scuttling like a frightened mouse Sarah made her way towards the blackened grate, sprinkled with years old dingy ashes and soot that blew up in clouds of dust as she knelt by it. Boys nearby kicked lumps of coal around and jeered when Sarah rubbed her sore eyes.

“ Don’t take any notice of them.” It was Charlie, his thick mop of ginger curls, heavy with ash.

“ How am I meant to make a fire when there are no logs?” she whispered.  

“ You have to collect them,” he said. His words left Sarah in a panic. Collect? Outside? Outside, where a sheet of flecked slushy snow lined the streets? He nodded, as if he could read her thoughts.

“ You have to go.”

“ Surely Scraggscum has some heart…”

Charlie sighed as he interrupted Sarah.

“ I don’t want to see you get hurt.”  Sarah flung her arms around him gratefully.  Slowly but surely, she crept toward the door.

“ Stop!” It was Scraggscum.

“ Go Sarah. Go!” cried Charlie. She battled with the door handle but it was stuck. Scraggscum sailed over to the door and barred her way.

“ Take these flowers,” he commanded, “ Sell them and pickpocket when someone comes along.” Sarah’s eyes focused on the mass of cardboard boxes piled in a corner. They must be what the boys pick pocketed.

“ Whatever you say,” she answered with her head held high as she strode out of the door.

“ DON’T try to run away, I’ll have the cops after you. Pah!”

 Gusts of wind hit her in the face and her pinching boots got caked in mud as she was jostled into the gutter.

“I will not steal,” she muttered repeatedly to herself throughout the day. By the afternoon hunger gnawed at her stomach and she realised that if she didn’t steal anything, she wouldn’t get dinner.

“ Come and buy my sweet flowers, one penny a bunch,” she called out to passers by until her lips grew parched.

Only two people came to buy off Sarah and it dawned on her that she looked like the wretches she’d often seen begging.

Day by day Sarah grew skinnier, for she could not bring herself to steal. Back in the cellar Charlie would stick up for her and get himself whipped, with not a tear in his eyes.

Sometimes, if she had sold more than usual Sarah would sneakily use a few pennies to buy herself a hot pie or bun. The lady at the stall was the only one who showed her kindness on the streets. Her smile and words of care always did more for Sarah than the food itself.

“ I think I have just enough today,” Sarah mumbled out loud. With an effort, she dragged herself over to where the hot food stand always was. When she reached the market, there was no merry lady, ready to welcome her and no hot food. Fatigue overwhelmed her and she almost forgot about how worried Charlie would be. Settling down in a heap upon the doorstep of a small house, she closed her eyes and let sleep carry her away.

“ Easy, dear. I ain’t in a rush.”

The calm, comforting voice soothed Sarah out of her monstrous nightmare. She could feel the warmth filling her numb body from the blazing fire in the hearth.

“ Who are you?” she asked, still half asleep.

“ So you are feeling better. Have some of this.” Strangely, the voice sounded familiar.

A warm mug was tipped to her mouth and she sipped the heavenly mixture- coffee or was it even cocoa, like she’d heard about in stories. Sarah’s eyes flickered open and she gasped. She was with the plump and motherly bun lady!

“ How did I…?” she started.

“ Finish your drink while I tell you what happened.”

So Sarah listened to the bun lady Mrs Woods as she told her about how she saw her crying out in her sleep on her doorstep.

“ I recognised you as the girl who often comes to my stall and took you inside.”

Sarah, feeling refreshed had some colour in her usually pale cheeks.

“ You’ve been so kind.”

Mrs Woods turned pink and set about making some sugary porridge. When it was ready Sarah and Mrs. Woods sat down at the table to talk. As soon as Sarah had taken her first spoon, Mrs. Woods exclaimed,

“Look at those dreadful bruises! You’re black and blue all over your body.”

Sarah’s heart beat rapidly- should she tell Mrs. Woods about Scraggscum’s den?

“ Scraggscum did it,” she whispered her spoon clattering in her bowl.

“ Scraggscum?

Hesitantly, Sarah told her all about the gang of boys in the cellar who stole from people.

Mrs. Woods sat listening intently. Then, when Sarah had finished, she asked to be taken to the cellar. Quickly handing Sarah an oversized coat, they left immediately.

As the cellar came into view, Sarah’s heart fluttered and she wasn’t so sure that she wanted to go back. What could Mrs Woods do to stop Scraggscum?

Sensing how scared Sarah was, Mrs Woods went in front of her, shuddering at the gloominess of the place. After two sharp raps on the door, Scraggscum’s face appeared around it.

“What do you want?” he snarled. Sarah heaved a silent sigh of relief. He hadn’t noticed her.

Mrs. Woods wasn’t deterred and explained exactly why she was there. Eventually, Scraggscum let her in but when he saw Sarah he went as red as a beetroot and hissed something in Mrs. Woods ear.

“ I treat you boys as my own,” he bellowed, “ Don’t I?”

“ Yes,” chorused the boys. Sarah’s eyes scanned the crowd of boys for Charlie, his friendly face. Nothing.

Suddenly, two boys emerged from the shadows. It was Charlie and Harry. All Sarah could do was gape as they stood there. What on earth was Harry doing there?

We’re not afraid to speak out,” they said, “ We are forced to steal, and starved and beaten when we don’t.”

“Did you think I’d desert you? I made up my mind to find you,” said Harry.

Inside herself, Sarah felt a burning desire to run over and embrace the two boys who she loved most.

It didn’t matter that the other boys were being taken to the workhouse and Scraggscum convicted. She had her own cosy home and a family. Harry, Charlie, Mrs. Woods, and herself. Four people. One family.
 

Copyright (c) 2009 by Stephanie Higgins - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!

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