June Story Contest

Twilight Darkness
By: Faylem
Age: 9

Chapter 1

Whisperer stared at the holly bush. She dived into it, searching for the noise. It had to be here somewhere! she thought. Yes, she THOUGHT. Until she felt something bite her leg. She bucked, but being only a filly, that didn't do much. MAN that raccoon was strong. And it STUNK. Literally, of garbage and what-nots.
"Get off my leg, ring eyes!" Whisperer insulted. After the raccoon had left(Whisperer needed help, of course), Whisperer watched someone come and refill her water. She was so caught up with that that she did not notice Tucker until he bucked her into the fence.
"HEY!" she screamed. She stared at a gash on her side. "THAT WAS THE ELECTRIC FENCE!"
"Sor-ry,"Tucker mumbled.
Whisperer let out a faint whinny. For quite a few days Whisperer did not even leave her stall. She was bored. COMPLETELY-bored.

This is the first part. There are many small parts leading to the end of the story. I hope you enjoy the Twilight Darkness big finally!

 

Chapter 2

It grew dark as twilight crept over the stable. Although her leg was healed, Whisperer was not allowed outside of her stall. She was still quite bored of watching butterflies glide over the ground, watching squirrels scurry up slippery maple trees. It was boring! What could she say? Sometimes Whisperer wished she could leave. Run away. Escape. She could, but would loyal little Whisperer do such a thing? Yes she would, perhaps, with a little push. And that's just what came.

Chapter 3

The next day was dark and stormy. Whisperer stared at what she could see of the moon through wisps of black cloud. An owl watched over. A strange carriage pulled up. The shadowy figure of a man bundled in coats knocked on the door of the farmhouse. Light spread across the ground. Soft mumbling was heard, before darkness closed around again. The owl's piercing amber eyes were all that were seen besides the moon. He hooted and flew off in a flutter of wings. Whisperer was scared for the next few sunny days. She was no longer bored, but watchful. On a hot day in late July boxes and boxes of furniture, kitchen items, etc. All moved into a large truck scribbled with something in another language. Even the farm dog was led out into a car. A man stood at the door of the house, waving and swinging his cane. His short puffy beard was straggly and his heavy black clothes looked like they had been thrown on top of him and pulled on without care. He was the figure!