2024 writing competition winners:
Tamariki category
Winner
Lorelei
“Lorelei…” they whispered. I tried to respond, but my mouth felt stapled shut; my limbs squirmed in the wooden chair I was tied to. “Lorelei.” The voice got louder. I felt the sensation of a hand grazing my ankle; my eyes shot to the floor, but there was nothing. I felt hands squeeze onto my shoulders, a firm, ominous grasp. My eyes were bloodshot; my crystal blue eyes felt less magical and more like glass shards piercing me. There was no one there, only the lingering voice of my name being whispered and an invisible, firm grip on my small, slim body. I felt that I was spiralling, that I was hallucinating. “Lorelei…” The voice was faint and wispy, like a breeze floating in the air. SHUT UP! I yelled in distress; my scream echoed in the black void that surrounded me.
My eyes shot open, and a quick, desperate gasp left my mouth as I sat up in bed. My clock was ticking: 4:00 AM. It was a dream. A goddamn dream. A nightmare, actually. My heart was pounding in my chest like it wanted to escape the jail of my rib cage. My hands trembled; I felt like a toy being played with by my own mind. Dreams like this had been plaguing my nights for months. “Lorelei.” The voice returned. I felt like time had stopped still. Why did I still hear the voice if it was just a dream? My fingers gripped my bed sheets like a lifeline, as my eyes darted around the room like a cat—a very terrified cat. Nothing in my bedroom was askew; everything was the same, just the light of the moon that had laid itself on my belongings like an ethereal blanket. Had I just imagined the voice? “Lorelei,” it whispered again. No. Definitely real. Courage had always been my thing, not that I wanted it to be, always the one picking fights in the playground with bullies, supporting the underdogs, only to regret it afterwards. My determination for justice and bravery was both a blessing and a curse. Although right now, it felt like something I couldn’t control. I cautiously slipped out of bed.
My socked feet met the ground softly as I approached the door. Now or never, I told myself, although this was most definitely a lie. I could have returned to the safety of my bed right then and there, but curiosity and fear would have engulfed me in that case. My hand turned the door handle, and to my endless thankfulness, everything was normal throughout the silent house. I debated whether I should inform my parents about the voice, but the dread of yet another therapist appointment stopped my thoughts.
“Lorelei, Lorelei, Lorelei.” I longed to get my name out of this vile creature’s mouth; it offended me. How dare it have the nerve to speak my name when it was in my house without permission? I quickly realised how ludicrous this sounded. The strange voice was coming from the downstairs basement. How cliché, I noted to myself—the basement. Upon making my way down the overly squeaky wooden steps to the small basement, I reached for the hanging light cord and softly tugged it. The light flickered on.
“Lorelei.”
That was the last word I heard that night. That was the last word I ever heard.
Copyright © 2024 Grace Carlson
Grace Carlson is in Year 8 at Tahuna Normal School in Dunedin. Grace is 13 years old and enjoys writing, art and volleyball.
Second
Am I the only one hearing this?
My eyes blink open when I hear the faint sound of my alarm buzzing on my bedside table. I groan and slip out of my silk sheets. Tiptoeing towards the door way, I shove my slippers on and walk out. The house is still and silent as I walk through the twisting halls of the mansion. Originally this house had been my parents house, however since they have passed away I own it now. My parents died in a fire. I was with them at the time during the fire, although I was only badly injured. Since that incident, I have been living alone in this house ever since I’d turned eighteen.
High arched ceilings hung crystal chandeliers in almost every room. Victorian style trimming lined the edges of the walls gracefully. Paintings of every shape and size filled the empty space along each empty wall and long decorated rugs were laid generously throughout the mansion. My parents had a large fortune before they died. Most of which they past down to me. I continue to walk through the vacant corridor, tracing my fingers along the walls. After my parents had died I had no-one to stay with, my parents had few relatives, and no one seemed to want a 10 year old girl living with them anyway. Whenever I see other people they ignore me and pretend I’m not there. So I minded my business and have been living in this house for as long as I can remember.
The dead silent rooms or the creaking of the rocking chairs at night never bother me. I’m used to the eerie stillness and the unsettling sounds by now. Although one thing in particular has always concerned me. Late at night, long after I’m asleep, I hear a faint mumbling under my bedroom or in other places scattered around the house. It wakes me up often. I’ve always known there was a cellar in this house, specifically under my room. I’ve heard the soft mumbling ever since my parents passed away. I would always end up convincing my self there is no such thing. Tonight, I thought as I stopped pacing. Tonight I will figure this out.
The cellar could only be opened by one particular key. I keep it in a dusty drawer, assuming I would never use it until now. I waited till it was exactly midnight to creep into the forbidden cellar. I tiptoe carefully down the halls, not wanting to scare away whoever or whatever was down there. I take a right turn and start walking down the narrow staircase. I wince when a floorboard under me creaks. I grasp the key out of my shorts pocket and jam it in the keyhole. The door swings open and I tentatively walk inside.
Peeling paint hangs of the broken walls and the dust almost makes me sneeze. This room is vastly different then compared to the glamorous rooms upstairs. I walk further into the room. The darkness seems to swallow the scarce furniture up inside. That’s when I notice them. My parents.
I stumble backward, unsure of whats happening. “Mum, Dad?” I question, drifting closer. They both ignore me. I notice they’re packing boxing, filled to the top with my childhood toys, my clothes, my books. Their expressions are somewhat devastated. I place my hand on my mums shoulder. But when I try to touch them my hand drifts right through them. “What?” I cry out. But then it all makes perfect sense. My parents aren’t the ones who died in that fire. I was. I’m a ghost.
Copyright © 2024 Isobel Eady
Isobel is in Year 8 at Arrowtown Primary
Third
Cold, frozen like a popsicle, as some people in this mysterious town may call it. The ever-blowing winds pummel against my cracked window, every blow making me flinch. Sitting on the unfamiliar bed, I peer out at the snow-glazed hills with a warmish hot chocolate in my hand. I shiver as the bitter wind creeps through the cracks, clutching me like a blanket.
My mother is yelling furiously at my drunk father who has stumbled in from a long night at the bar, broken. Whispers and mumbles meet my ears, throughout the fragmented house, when my parents are silent. Terrified at what’s in the shadows, I slip into the thick duvet and darkness engulfs me.
I awaken to whispers, calling me. They feel so close, almost like a trapped soldier from the ever-lasting war. Warm light floods my weird room as I stretch the shabby blinds. The strange sound mermers my name and I freeze, awaiting the worst. Nothing. Slowly and cautiously I creep down the stairs to find my mother and my older brother Aden gobbling cereal. Relived, I ask my mother “Did you hear the stange whispers and mumbles?” I look for an answer in her face as she finishes her mouthful, “No, what sounds?…”
She can’t hear it.
Maybe it’s a birthday surprise, I mean I’ll be fifteen in a month, I should check it out anyway.
Nervously, I tip-toe towards my wardrobe, where the sound is the loudest, and peek through the decaying doors. My hands tremble as I peel my clothes apart. An abandoned door appears. Yanking it open, I find myself at the top of a spiral staircase. As I stagger down the staircase uneasily, a myserious fairy face appears, along with wings, shining like diamonds.
“Who, who are you?” I nervously ask.
“Hello Layla, I am your fairy guardian, Breia, it’s so nice to finally meet you, after all these years, fourteen I think?”
My face falls. “How… How do you my name and how old I am?”
She giggles softly. “ Oh, Layla, I have so much to tell you”
***
“So you’re saying that I am a shapeshifter, one of the two remaining,” I say, astounded by what I just heard.
“Yes Layla, you are one of the most powerful creatures of our realm, you and your cousin, Wyatt. Your family was the greatest rulers we’ll ever know… ” she replied, her gentle smile like a light in the dark.
“You must carry on their legacy, reclaim the throne.”
“What do you mean, aren’t they still alive?” My voice shakes, I wait for an answer.
Breia’s face falls. “I am so sorry Layla they are all gone, Wyatt and you are the only ones left, thats why you MUST come with me to avenge your parents.”
She holds her breath, awaiting my answer.
“Oh I am so in.”
A path, the only way to the Lumar Relm, is through an abandoned fireplace. The dusty soot blankets me as I shuffle awkwardly up the narrow chimney. A yellow light begins to get bigger and bigger, until it takes me.
Mist clouds my eyes as we stumble through a passageway. Excitement and nerves bind together in my stomach, but my curiosity takes over. A figure appears and I relise it must be Wyatt, Cool blue eyes, rough blonde hair, Just like me. He smiles welcomely, and then he’s gone. Breia stops, pulling me back into the tunnel with one quick movement.
Just like that, he was gone. I never even got to meet him.
Someone’s coming for me, someone who’s more powerful than we expected.
Copyright © 2024 Sable Schmitz
Highly commended
Survival
As I rushed to hide under the table, I grabbed the paper from my desk, which was supposed to be my practice paper for my maths test. It turned out something good came out of this whole ‘invasion’.
From the desk of (more like under) of Jessie (Jessica) Williams
Dear Alien Commander (or whatever the aliens call you),
I am writing to you to convince you why you shouldn’t destroy Earth.
Earth is a beautiful planet full of fascinating creatures that are only found here, which is not worth destroying. I know from experience that humans can be cruel, selfish, and stupid, but everyone has their own reason for their wrong-doing.
Please, just consider if invading Earth would truly be a good choice for your species.
I had written that much of the letter when the whole classroom started to shake vigorously. I cautiously shuffled to the window to see what was happening outside. I noticed that my hand started to shake and stuffed it into my hoodie’s pocket. No more people scuttering, just large intricate-looking bombs detonating the bakery across from school. Unproductively, I felt a bad headache coming on. I shook my head as a weak attempt to clear it. I have to finish this letter.
Earth is a remarkable planet that stands out among others. We’re situated at just the right distance from the sun, we have essential oxygen for survival, and most importantly, we have water. Water covers 70% of Earth and so far, we haven’t discovered any other planet quite like ours. I understand your desire to invade, but as I mentioned before, we could probably share it. I mean, sharing is caring, right? An invasion would only lead to suffering and destruction for both humans and the planet itself. I suggest you meet with a human representative —whoever that may be — to reach an appropriate agreement.
Yours Sincerely, Jessica Williams
The classroom door slammed open. The glass shattered and the ruptured door was holding onto the hinge for its dear life. I could anticipate my future with just the force the door smashed. Unconsciously, I dropped the letter. Ponderous footsteps vibrated through the floor, as it came adjacent to the table. It stopped. I felt my heart drop. The creature bent over. Two deep-coloured irises looked back at my frightened eyes.
It was a boy.
Not an alien, or a monster. Just an average, teenage boy. He was holding a ratted baseball bat as a weapon. He reached out his slightly hairy hand. I instinctively covered my face. He was speechless for a second before he started chuckling. I slowly lowered my arms. He wiped his eyes.
“You thought I was an Alien?!”
I felt my neck up to my ears redden.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. I know a place where we won’t get hurt.” I hesitated.
Stranger, danger. An old saying came to my mind. I shook my head. Screw that. It would be better than waiting here in terror. I stood up, ignoring his hand as revenge for laughing at me. We left the classroom, and I glanced back, thinking I forgot something. The boy tilts his head in question. I shake my head and focus on the task ahead. Survival.
Copyright © 2024 Jean Shin
Jean Shin is a Year 8 student at Weston School.
Highly commended
Spotted Paws
The savoury scent of fresh bacon reaches my nostrils and my eyes instantly snap open. French toast on a Sunday morning is a Hawkins family tradition.
“Aurora!” I hear my mother call from the kitchen, “Breakfast is ready!”
I am instantly up, my feet moving silently over the soft floor. Everything looks bigger today.
Weird.
Continuing into the kitchen, I see my father and brother chatting at the oak table. My mother is still in the kitchen, finishing up with the dishes.
“ Good morning,” I say. Or at least try to say. What comes out is more of a high pitch chirp.
My younger brother, Oliver, turns to look at me. His eyes widen and his mouth opens to let out a blood curdling scream. He’s pointing at me now and as Mum and Dad turn to look at me, I peer down at my paws, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
Wait. Paws?
Where my hands should be, there are now paws. Spotted, orange, and clawed paws.
I scramble away, but the claws follow me. A crash reminds me I’m not alone and my head whips round to stare at the broken ceramic on the kitchen tiles. My mum gives a high pitched scream which makes my ears feel like they’re on fire. My dad is yelling but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
I run. Out the door, down the street and into the lush paddock at the end of my small neighbourhood. I crouch in the long barley, trying to figure out what’s going on. A rustling sound from beside me draws my attention to a small field mouse, twisting between the emerald green stalks. My paw strikes out and traps the small creature under my elongating claws. I instantly release it, horrified by my own actions, and the poor thing scuttles away, most likely terrified and with a story to tell. I stand up and plod through the grass on silent paws until a redbrick house comes into view. I crouch down and keep my belly low to the ground so the humans who live here don’t see me.
Humans? Where did that come from?
I’m becoming detached from my human brain already, the animal one taking over. First the mouse and now this, referring to people as humans.
I sneak up to a window and stare at the reflection for a few seconds before scrambling back. A large golden head stares back at me. The rounded ears twitch and swivel, and the piercing golden eyes survey me with fear. Black spots cover the creature’s face and I realise what it is. A cheetah! A real life cheetah is staring at me through the reflection of a window. I rub my eyes to make sure it’s real and startle as the cheetah copies me. I reach my paw out to the window carefully and as the cheetah copies me, I realise what I was missing all along. The cheetahs paw looks identical to mine and with the way it’s copying me, I’d make a pretty big bet that I am the cheetah.
Copyright © 2024 Amelia Claridge
Amelia Claridge is in Year 8 in Weston School.
Highly commended
Was it the right choice?
The wind howled outside, making the walls of Evelyn’s run down rental shake and shudder. Evelyn herself was curled into a tight ball at the top of her bed, hands pressed to her ears. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was trembling despite being under layers of blankets. All she wanted was for the voices inside her head to stop. They never did though, no matter how much she pleaded with them.
No one will miss you… they hissed every night. Just give up…
Evelyn had never told anyone about the voices before, knowing that her family and friends would tell her to get help. The only thing that would make them stop was when the sun came up the next day or pain.
When the troubled girl got desperate, she would give in. She would stand in the moonlit bathroom and watch as the drops of crimson liquid slipped down her arm. Evelyn hated herself for it but the voices were convincing.
This night was no different, perhaps even worse. They growled and taunted her, not giving her a single second of silence, until Evelyn gave up trying to go to sleep, the sleep she desperately needed, and stumbled over to the room’s windowsill.
The cool, patterned wood of the frame and the beautiful view comforts her slightly, as she opens the window. The stars lit the sky, millions and millions of gorgeous lanterns.
Jump off… The voices persuaded her. It won’t matter. You’re hated by everyone anyway…
Evelyn shivered and looked out of the window to see the jump. It was a long way down and the idea was very daunting. Suddenly the view isn’t so friendly anymore.
Just do it! It will be over quickly…
The young girl leaned so far away from the sill that she lost her balance and collapsed on her bed. Grabbing her pillow, Evelyn cupped her hands to her ears once again, tears pricking at her eyes.
You know no one will care…
The voices were right. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t go on living her life with no sleep, no determination and no one who actually loved her.
Yes, listen to me…
She uncovered her ears and found herself walking as if in a trance back ;/towards the open window.
Don’t look down. Just jump…
She felt the tears escaping, cascading down her cheek, as she gripped the side of the window frame. Ducking so she could stand in the small space, Evelyn kept her eyes fixed on the starry night sky and rolling hills.
Anytime now…
Evelyn tried to blink away the tears but they kept coming faster and faster, her body shaking with the sobs. And, before she could hesitate, she jumped.
The familiar colour of the pavement came rushing, closer and closer, the landscape became a blur, the stars becoming strips of light. Wind whipped Evelyn’s nightgown around her, which would have made her eight year old self feel exhilarated. Now it was just a proof of what she had chosen to do, what the voices had encouraged her to do.
They were congratulating her, jeering and whistling, telling her she did the right thing. Evelyn didn’t feel right though: she had changed her mind, this was wrong! She tried to scream but no sound came out. Her head snapped up and she caught one last glimpse of the house – the house she had lived in forever, that had sheltered her – when she felt the concrete ground come in contact and everything faded into the blackness of a deep sleep.
Copyright © 2024 Toni Guy
Toni Guy is 12 years old and attends Mt Aspiring College. “I love reading which has led me to really enjoy writing. I’m 100% not suicidal. I just wanted to know what it’s like to write a dark story.”
