Young writers from across the Chichester area celebrated

Young writers from across the Chichester area have been celebrated at a special awards ceremony held as part of BookFest YA.

The 11 to 16-year-old finalists in BookFest YA’s creative writing competition gathered in Chichester’s historic Assembly Room to read extracts from their work to an audience of 100 parents, carers, grandparents, siblings, friends, teachers and school librarians.

Prizes were presented by the Mayor of Chichester, Councillor Sean McHale, and YA author Nicola Garrard, recognising the emerging literary talent among young people in the city and surrounding area.

The event brought together pupils from Chichester High School, Chichester Free School, Fordwater School, Bishop Luffa School, Fordwater SEND School and home-educated families from the Chichester area, who had had the opportunity during June to meet YA and Children’s authors Lucas Maxwell, Briony Thompson, Tasneem Abdur-Rashid, Nicola Garrard and the Children’s Laureate Patrice Laurence.

Ed Bond, senior teacher at Fordwater SEN School, and young writer Charlotte, collected the picture book written by Charlotte and her class when they were visited by picture book author-illustrator, Briony Thompson.

The First Chapter winners were Alisha Tanisha, of Chichester High School; Ella Blamire, of Bishop Luffa School; and Emily Stringer, of Chichester Free School.

Key Stage 3 Winner Alisha Tanisha said, “I met Tasneem Abdul-Rashid when she visited Chichester High School in June. I found hearing about her experiences and journey as a writer very inspiring. Meeting her encouraged me to continue developing my own writing and made me realise that my experiences and perspective are something I can bring into my work.”

Runner-up Ruby Simpson said, “I had a lot of fun reading out my story and seeing everybody's passion for writing and their different stories! Everybody had something so unique, and it was my first time being recognised properly for something like tonight, and it was an honour. I will remember this night forever.”

The competition was made possible with £100 worth of book token prizes donated by Steve Howe of The Petworth Bookshop, who also ran a pop-up children's and YA bookshop on the night. A further £50 of prizes was donated by Waterstones Chichester.

BookFest YA was funded by Chichester City Council as an initiative for the National Year of Reading 2026, with organisers thanking the council and the Mayor for their support.

BookFestYA is also having a long-lasting impact by coordinating the donation of a new YA library to Chichester Free School.

Ruth Huddleston, publisher of Old Barn Books, who attended the evening, said: “You could really tell those kids were big readers!”

BookFest YA director Nicola Garrard said the inaugural festival and creative writing competition demonstrated that “counter to the stereotypes sometimes associated with teenagers, so many young people are passionate about reading and creative writing.

“The organisers would like thank the young writers and their families, participating schools and librarians, Steve Howe and The Petworth Bookshop, Waterstones Chichester, Chichester City Council, and the BookFest trustees and director for helping make the celebration possible.”

**************

Winner, Lower KS3: Emily Stringer, Chichester Free School

Untitled

Amelie woke up with a start. Her head throbbed as if she had been whacked by a rock solid metal bat. Around her birds chirped, leaves rustled, and sunlight streamed through the gaps in the trees.

She sat up disoriented, searching through every memory desperate to recall how she got there and where she'd last been. The only thing she could remember was being at her best friend's sixteenth birthday party. That was the best night of her life.

Now it was all gone. And she was stuck here ... in this isolated forest of endless trees stretching as far as her eyes could see.

Panic hit her, faster than lightning. Her heart sank as the thought of being trapped here forever crossed her mind. No one would ever come looking for her. How could they? Not even Amelie knew what town, country or even world she was in! She scanned her surroundings, searching for any sign of civilization. Anywhere. But there was none ... Not even the faint sound of a plane or anything. Just trees and rocks stretching in all directions.

Amelie took a deep breath, hoping, forcing herself to calm down. However it didn't work. The fear remained lurking, lingering in her subconscious. Although to Amelie escape rooms were easy. But this time felt different. So much different ...

She decided to start walking, her feet crunching on the thick, dead, maroon leaves that fell from the trees above. Creepily the trees peered over her like silent giants watching her every move. Their branches weaving and twisting together blocking the bright sunlight.

She checked her phone.

Dead ... she let out a desperate, muffled cry.

She had been walking for hours as the sun began to sink behind the thick wall of trees, bleeding orange and red through the tangled branches. A cold wave of fear slid down her spine. The forest was changing, growing darker, quieter. Almost too quiet.

A sudden crack echoed; her muscles tensed. Her breathing quickened, each inhale sharp, and shallow. There was no shelter, no lights, no voices. Just herself and the deepening shadows stretching towards her like hands ready to grab her. To pull her away at any single moment.

Amelie walked. She didn't know how long it had been. It felt like days but could have been hours. Time had suddenly become impossible to measure. It felt like she had a gaping hole in her stomach from hunger. Along with the unbearable thirst that clenched her throat like someone strangling her.

SPLASH!

The sound of water could be heard through the silence. Amelie ran in every direction searching for the water she had waited so long to drink.

There it was ... right in front of her eyes.

She cupped her hands, desperately trying to quench her overwhelming thirst. A bird quietly perched beside her, drinking the murky water. It tasted of mud and leaves, but for the first time since being thrown into this mess, something overpowered fear.

Hope.

*************

Winner, Upper KS3: Alisha Tanisha, Chichester High School

The Sound Of Shattered Glass

Metal shrieked. Screams ripped through the cramped car. Glass exploded across my lap like frozen rain, each glittering shard catching in the dying sunlight before disappearing beneath twisted steel, while the deafening roar of grinding metal swallowed every desperate cry before it could escape.

The seatbelt crushed against my chest, trapping every breath inside me while the world around me forgot how to move. The taste of blood coated my tongue. Silence hung between the fragile wreckage before crumbling beneath the relentless hiss of the engine, which coughed and spluttered like a wounded animal refusing to surrender. Smoke drifted through the broken windows in slow, pale ribbons, while the bitter smell of burning rubber clawed at my throat until every breath felt like swallowing ash.

Outside, the sky bruised into charcoal and violet-grey as wind prowled through the broken remains of the car, tugging at strands of my hair until my face stung. Pain splintered through my body like shattered glass beneath my skin. My blood-slick hands trembled violently as I reached towards the dashboard, where fractured and distorted reflections stared back at me from every splinter of glass. None of them looked like me anymore. Fear had carved a stranger into my reflection.

A horn blared without pause. Again… again… and again. Its endless cry echoed across the empty road, while somewhere nearby metal groaned beneath its own weight.

“C-Claire?” The name barely reached the air.

No answer.

Slowly, I turned my head with whatever strength remained. Claire sat beside me, her head slumped against the fractured window, dark hair tangled with sharp glittering fragments of glass that sparkled like cruel stars. Crimson threaded slowly across her forehead, tracing thin rivers along her skin before disappearing beneath the collar of her jacket. Her eyes remained closed, peaceful against the chaos around us.

“No…” The word cracked apart before it reached the air.

Grief crashed into me with enough force to hollow out everything I was.

I stretched out my shaking hand, every centimetre between us feeling longer than every year we had ever shared. My fingertips brushed against hers.

Cold.

Not the familiar coolness of autumn mornings, but an empty, lifeless cold that carried no comfort. Images crashed through my mind without warning: Claire laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe; the time when she stole the last chip from my plate, and how we used to race home before the streetlights came on because Claire always insisted she would win.

“You just wait,” she'd laugh. “One day I'll win.”

She never liked losing.

This was the first race she never finished. Beyond the crushed windscreen, distant sirens began singing through the evening, growing louder with every passing second, but hope had fallen behind, while despair had already made itself at home.

I squeezed Claire's hand a little tighter.

She didn't squeeze back.

We'd promised we'd grow old together.

Somehow, I'd kept my promise.

But she never got the chance.

*************

Winner, KS4: Ella Blamire, Bishop Luffa

The Arrangement

The downpour of rain drenches my clothes as the lurking sound of thunder rings out across the street. It taunts my ears over and over; my mind cannot forget their screams, their cries, bombarding every town, every village each year, for as long as I can remember. It has become a ballad of sorrow for the young, a reminder of what is waiting for them at 16. Families torn apart, siblings separated, and one begins to wonder where the line of compassion was ever drawn.

In a few short weeks my name will grow distant from the identity of my mind, objectified and adorned by wedding vows. All for an attempt to conserve a human race that has long lost a sense of humanity.

The night air bites at my skin as I'm called inside to relight the dying embers of the fire.

My mother scolds me, “Ara Wilding, what have I told you about going out in the rain?”

I look up at her. “I’m sorry” I mumble, fingers clutching together awkwardly in an attempt to ground myself. “I was trying to forget about tomorrow, you know I’m not something to be auctioned off by the decisions of high society.”

My mother gasps in disbelief. “Ara, must I remind you of the dangers of opinion? Do not utter such things, especially with the presentation ceremonies due to begin next week.”

I try to distract myself from that fact as I replenish the coal keeping our kitchen warm. I feel the slate floor, still cold to the touch underneath me.

“Are we still to be transported across to Leohelm tomorrow?” I ask, already knowing the answer I dread.

My mother nods eyes glazed in the disassociation to the putrid normality we were decreed 50 years prior. We both know that my stubbornly determined personality and lack of impartiality in my mind will leave me with scarcely desirable suitors.

The coming of dawn brings no comfort to me as we are to be escorted to Leohelm. The strings of my corset couldn't be any tighter, my breathing laboured by my constricted lungs. It could just be the anxiety for a life which I do not wish to attack, gaining closer, closer, the other youthful faces around me stare at each other silently; some laugh, some smile, but most are silent. The silent ones among us are often drawn short for words because we aren't naive to reality, for the crown court decrees it in some psychopathic attempt to keep our population from waning in the years to come.

But we are children; we may not be blind to the truth, but we are children.

*************

Runners Up

Ruby Simpson, Chichester High School

UNTITLED

With each step a young Samantha Blackwood took, she flinched as the Autumn crisp leaves crunched beneath her worn down converse shoes. Her hands trembled, although maintained a tight grip on her emergency flashlight, trickles of beaded sweat running down her pale forehead. Her lips quivered as the persistent, lingering fog travelled through the winding pathway ahead. That was the reason a girl so young was out so late. One minute, the sun had been blazing on Samantha and her best friends, Allison and Chris, laughing and chattering about how the evening might unfold, but the next was dark and gloomy when a mysterious fog insisted on turning the night into an anxious, apprehensive nightmare. She had been looking for her friends for what felt like days, but instead an interminable two hours of squinting through the relentless haze that refused to dimmer down.

Samantha coughed through the mist, the feeling overwhelming as it felt like walls were closing in to crush her. It was strange to feel so claustrophobic in a place so spacious. She shakily retrieved her phone from her pocket, however like the many other times she had remained determined for a signal, nothing gave way. Her hope was flickering by the minute, but she knew she had to find her friends. Besides, she didn't even know where she was herself.

Without warning, somewhere from the right, a low creaking sound increased as if somebody were slapping a ruler to their hand. Samantha's phone and torch plummeted to the ground, and she let out a trepidatious swear, backing away, however there was nothing to hold onto. In her shaken state, she tumbled to the ground with a slam, groaning as a jolt of pain rushed through her body, her wrist slashed.

The unsettling noise had stopped as quickly as it had started, leaving nothing but the night's ambience to fill the silence, cars in the far, far distance zooming by. She grimaced as her body and bleeding wrist ached, but managed to grab the flashlight due to its projecting glow. Only the sides were scraped, the end chipped off completely. But her phone... she couldn't find. She exhibited the light from the flashlight around the ground in hopes of finding her phone, however when she directed her flashlight to the gloomy, dull water, she had an idea of where it could be.

Perhaps, Samantha thought, that she should turn back and give up while she tries to make her way through the obscurity, and to the safety of a passing driver. And perhaps maybe there was a chance she could fish her phone out. However, as she crawled closer to the reflective water, the fog abnormally created a spotlight somewhere far into the lake. Samantha gazed intently before letting out a scream of frail anguish. Right in front of her... right there... two familiar bodies belonging to her best friends floated around the lake like passing ducks. They weren't along the path. They were in the lake.

*************

Phoebe Pledger, The Academy Selsey

UNTITLED

She had been told the forest was cursed- but she stepped past the branches anyway. They pulled and tugged at her luscious red hair trying,as though an invisible force were trying to warn her away.

Ancient trees closed in above her.She traced her fingers along the rough bark as she felt her way forward. The sunlight vanished as the trees grew denser. Thorns tugged her white dress leaving fabric clinging to their sharp barbs. Soon,it was frayed and torn as she ventured deeper into the maze. She tripped over a root and tumbled into a darkness that whispered her name. “Scarlett Silvestri”

Gasping for air, she was overwhelmed by a metallic smell. Something dripped from her hands.Desperate for something to hold she reached around and gripped a solid object. Tracing its shape, she realised it was a skull- not an animal skull.

A human skull.

Scarlett shrieked, flinging the skull into the unknown. She clambered to her feet, and ran north towards the city. Light glimmered in the distance. Panting, she raced towards it. Her white dress had turned red. She trudged towards her horse untying the leather coat from the saddle. Hiding behind the trees, tears ran down her cheeks as she tore off her dress replacing it with her uncomfortable coat. Abandoning her dress she gagged and vomited up her lunch. Then she mounted her horse and headed for the palace.

The Royal Palace belonged to the Silvestri family for over three centuries. Its Ballroom was renowned throughout the world for its beauty. Fallen angels decorated the painted ceilings, believed to be the most beautiful beings on Earth and capable of healing people from any traumatic events.Gold and marble columns supported the room, while the floors were made from rare wood known as Faustus.

Scarlett entered the ballroom in an off- the- shoulder, deep wine, beaded ball gown and the Queen's tiara rested over her red hair which was pulled into an elegant bun. Her black heels tapped loudly against the floor. Her hands were finally clean after an hour of crying and scrubbing every inch of her body clean. She bumped into the crown prince of the second most powerful country, courtseyed. He ran a hand through his brown hair, Ignoring his face, William noticed that his hands were covered in a red stain. A splotch of red, awfully close to blood, marked his white shirt. He pulled his blazer over the mark.

Her smile dropped. Her heart pounded harder.

*************

Scarlett Yip, Warblington School

UNTITLED

Astraeus was about to die.

Panting, he ran with all his might. He could feel the acid seeping into his muscles, draining him of his diminishing willpower to survive. What once was his world became nothing but ruins. The familiar people, shops, streets, all stolen from his own grasp. They’ve all been infested by zombies. An empty shell of what they were in the past. And it won’t be long before he becomes a part of them too.

Astraeus turned his head. It’s all zombies. Zombies of the people he knew before all rushing to get him for good. There was nobody to save him, for all he had known, he was the sole survivor in his area. Even with how tired he was, he continued running. An empty street. Another empty street. And a dead end.

His heart sank. The sound of groaning was getting closer. In no way he was going to make it out at this point. He was going to die.

It wasn’t like he had anything to return to either. His world was unrecognisable now, buried in thousands, and thousands of zombies. He might as well accept the invitation, and join everybody in their own new world.

So he closed his eyes, his knees sinking to the floor, and awaited his demise.

…

Nothing happened.

“Huh?”

Reluctantly, Astraeus opened his eyes, only to realise that he hadn’t died yet. Not a single scratch on this body. He turned to his back. The mob of zombies were no longer targeting him, but merely one young woman standing behind them. She pressed onto their assault rifle, firing continuously at the zombies. Her short, white hair swayed from the impact, but her movement remained still and confident. One by one, the zombies fell down with a groan, their insides sputtering out like fireworks.

Hope. A new start.

Astraeus was bewildered, and had completely missed the fact that the path had been cleared for him.

“Why are you still here?” The young woman turned to him now, her eyebrows furrowed in irritation.

“I—“

Astraeus stuttered, eyes widened at the sight. And without much hesitation, he decided to make a run for it.

*************

Skylar Wilson, home-educated

UNTITLED

Ding. Ding. Dong. Dong.

One o’clock.

Rain came down hard, thunder rolling low behind it. NYC at this hour should’ve been empty. It wasn’t. My hair dripped down my back. My jeans clung to me, and my army-green top hung heavy and soaked.

The church clock finally stopped. Down the street, a pub roared. Men cheering for the 2026 FIFA World Cup like the world wasn’t already falling apart.

I remembered my twenty-eighth birthday. Four years ago. My husband had bought us football tickets. Said it was for both of us. It wasn’t. I never cared about football.

Goosebumps crawled over my skin. “What went wrong?” I whispered.

People passed and stared. I didn’t blame them. I caught myself in a rain puddle. Pale face. Freckles gone. A split lip with dried blood like bad lipstick. Dirt smeared across my forehead and hands. I laughed. It came out sad.

I sighed. Life just wasn’t fair.

A girl and a boy. Early twenties. Laughing like nothing could touch them. He carried her on his back — charcoal suit, and her in a neon-yellow dress with white spots. Barefoot. He had her matching heels in his hand. Her hazelnut hair hung down.

Déjà vu hit like a strike.

That was me.

That rain. That age. My boyfriend then, my husband later, running with me on his back, making jokes till my stomach hurt.

Tears came before I could stop them. I squeezed my eyes shut. Stopped watching the street.

BAM.

I slammed into someone.

“Sorry—” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. He was saying it too. Then we looked up.

And froze.

I knew that face.

I ran.

Ten seconds. That’s how long he just stood there. Jaw dropped. Then he moved.

“Amy! Stop! I won’t hurt you! I just need to know what happened to my brother!”

I wouldn’t outrun him.

And I couldn’t trust him.

He caught my arm. I jerked away.

A crack. A bang.

He dropped.

A bullet in his chest…

*************

Oscar Stephens, Bishop Luffa School

BURNING SHORES

The sirens had been sounding for a week. The roads were a constant river of people heading for one place only. The docks; ships had been leaving for days. We had no idea why we had to leave. Everything seemed normal besides a few power cuts; the shops were open, though slightly less stocked than usual, school was still on, though now, no one was there. But twelve floors down, people rushed, not just on our street, but through the whole city. Even at midnight, you could hear the shouts of families below.

That evening, I stood on the balcony, a cold wind clung to my face bitterly. My head was foggy, confused, what was happening?

“You’re crazy, boy, I tell you, you’re crazy,” I looked to my left, Mr Harris stood there, leaning over the edge of his balcony, staring at me. I rolled my eyes at him, Mr Harris was that annoying neighbour that complains about absolutely everything. Mr Harris scoffed and waddled inside. I looked inside and saw dad looking at me, concerned.

I took a seat inside.

“We need to talk, as a family,” He said. Mum sat down.

“I don’t see any point in leaving yet, the streets are carnage, we’d definitely get separated,” Dad spoke slowly but with some seriousness in his voice, kind of like when you get told off in your first year at school. Mum opened her mouth to speak but there was a knock on the door. I walked over and opened it, Mr Harris barged his way in.

“I’m leaving, and I strongly recommend you do too!” He fumed, his face almost purple, though this was not uncommon.

“You’re overthinking this Frank, you go out there and you’ll get crushed, you probably won’t even make it onto a boat,” Dad said, defiantly whilst also trying to deescalate the situation.

“I’d rather get crushed than risk looking like a fool, unlike some people.” A series of horns broke the silence, the next round of ships was leaving.

“I’ll be long gone by this time tomorrow,” Mr Harris said, and walked out of the door, slamming it behind him.

“He’s mad!” Dad said, locking the door and returning to his seat. Mum put on a flash of a false smile and looked out of the window.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Lily,” She said,her voice cracking nervously as she gestured to my younger sister. Lily got up and slowly walked to her bedroom. We sat in silence, until we were sure that she was asleep.

“Veronica, I know you’re thinking about something, what is it?” Dad said, addressing Mum.

“Maybe Frank was right, this might be our only chance to escape,” She sighed shakily.

“Hey Noah, go to your room will you,” Dad said.

“No! I’m seventeen, Dad, this impacts my life too!” I yelled.

“SHUSH!” Mum hissed.

“It’s not safe here,” Mum whispered, leaning in towards the middle of the table.

*************

Cecily Clough, Bedales School

THE SHADOWS

Blood oozes out of the boy’s tormented face, meandering down the gory appearance of his cheeks. Even the shadows seem repulsed by his demeanour, but still wrap their devious tentacles around him like a veil, engulfing him in the darkness.

“Are you OK?” I stutter. What a ridiculous question… the boy has blood squelching down his face. His legs abruptly give way and he plummets to the granite ground. He makes no attempt to overcome the pressing need to fight the nightmare. I feel a wave of vulnerability drowning me in nausea.

As the anguish of death forces itself on him, he stumbles towards me. “Go!” he says. The boy’s emerald green eyes mitigate the mood, like a light in the darkness. I force myself to turn away from him, lurching forwards to feel the cold brass handle of the aged door. The room is small with murky wallpaper adhering to ramshackle walls that slant awkwardly upwards, minimising the frugal light that seeps in.

Then the groaning behind me stops, and there is silence.

Why am I here? As much as I want to leave, the impulse to stay roots me to the spot. I turn back around slowly and cautiously, trying to keep my footing on the debris-strewn ground. Nobody lies decaying on the floor, no puke now drips down the once elegant banisters. All trace that a boy lay dying on these floors is gone. Where was he, the person who my latent heart had pitied? “Hello?” I call out hopelessly. I can clearly see all four corners of the diminutive room, yet my mind cries out for a response.

“Go, He Hath Warned Thou!” A voice booms out, yet no creature seems to own it, only the shadows now coalescing around me. Blood cascades down my face out of nowhere, and a grievous pain vaults inside me. “You see the Wrath of Mine Power, Leave and Bear No Warning of My Power, or Pain Shall Reverberate in Thy Flesh.” The voice is low and cryptic, urging my legs to move, but my mother always said do what you consider right. I know she wouldn’t have wanted me to chase this enigmatic thing, but no crime should go unpunished, even the torture of an arcane boy.

I understood now, why my people were compelled out of their homes in the dead of night, to escape this tragic end, seeking higher realms. I had been too young at the time, too naïve to understand. I should never have returned.

Who was the boy, why was he on his own? Where have the shadows taken him? Where did he go? Am I dying now? If so, I am told this is the time when memories should rush at me, yet no memories manifest. Still, if I die, I will die happy, because I did not hide. I fought, and as I took my leap of faith, I knew it was right.

Then it all stopped.

*************

Hannah Parry, Chichester High School

THE LAST MESSAGE

As I lay in the dark of my bedroom trying to sleep, my phone lit up with the familiar glow of a message notification, I fumbled to grab it and saw a message from Amy my best friend since we met on the first day of primary school, when the teacher told us to choose a seat and I walked over to a chair near the back and found a brown haired shy girl with glasses trying not to be noticed, I sat down and said “hi, I’m Rose” and we were joined at the hip ever since.

I open the message and read the words “whatcha doing? I can’t sleep, are you ready for geography

tomorrow?” God I hated geography, I never understood how co-ordinates worked and the teacher Ms Walton always looked at me and shook her head.

“No, I hate her, I wish she was sent off to another planet” which made me smile to myself.

I watched for the 3 little dots at the bottom of the app, but nothing, more time passed and still nothing as I stared at the screen, oh well she must have finally fallen asleep, so I placed the phone down on my bedside table and closed my eyes, little did I know that would be the last message I would ever receive from Amy.

*************

Siobhan Lowry, Home-educated

The Mystery of Circus City

Ever since moving to the sleepy seaside town of Seafoam Shores, Ella Banks could tell that all was not as it seemed.

First of all: the neighbours. They were always happy and cheery and loved their lives in Seafoam Shores. But over time, Ella started to notice changes in their behaviour. Mr. Bailey from next door began to ignore her and avoid eye contact when she walked past his house to get to school or the corner shop a few streets away.

Mrs. Andersen across the road wouldn’t let Ella talk to her two children and kept them inside the house most days. At school, she demanded that the teacher move their desks as far away from the “wretched girl” as possible.

Ella couldn’t understand why everyone was acting so strange around her, she didn’t remember doing anything to offend anyone. She felt alone.

Secondly: the unusual noises. There were no cries of the seagulls, no sound of boat horns or any sign of normal noise that any seaside town would ordinarily have.

At night, she could hear strange scuffling sounds drifting through her tiny circular bedroom window. It kept her wide awake through the early hours of the morning, making her have zero concentration at school and her detention hours longer than ever.

Finally (and maybe the most important): the mystery of Circus City.

If you didn’t know, Circus City was Seafoam Shores’ most popular attraction in the 1980’s. The amusement park was famous for its haunted house boat ride, Spooky Shores. Mysteriously, people would vanish from Spooky Shores and were never seen again. The park owner, Mr. Redmond, wanted to prove to everyone that the ride was harmless, so he went on it himself to prove it. That was the last time anyone saw him.

After school had broken up for the summer, Ella had found an old newspaper clipping showing an article about Mr. Redmond and Circus City in one of the lengthy volumes hidden in the back of the local library.

‘Such an interesting mystery…’ she thought.

Ella tried to find out more information, but she couldn’t get a word out of the few neighbours that were still talking to her. There were just so many secrets in this town to be uncovered.

And Ella Banks was determined to uncover all of them.

The next morning, at 4:07 AM precisely, Ella grabbed her old school rucksack and stuffed it full of things she could use on her mission. The old newspaper clipping, torch, map, compass…

A few minutes later she stole the house keys, unlocked the front door and headed out to her destination over the hill.

Ella was going to solve the mystery of Circus City.

*************

Autumn-Rae Carter, Bishop Luffa School

Monsters

The night came sooner than expected, rolling over the hills bringing clouds with it. Something had upset the skies. She woke, sweat and makeup, running down her face.

Had she fallen asleep?

The lightning crashed outside her window, thunder booming so terribly that it burst her ears. She got up in her damp pajamas, went over to the window and closed it, not wanting the rain to flood her bedroom. She sat back into bed as a creeping chill trickled up her spine. The lightning threw shadows around her room; stories of lost nightmares of when she was a kid scattered the floor.

Skeletal fingers swept across her covers, grabbing the hems, attempting to throw them back. The rain pounded on her window, trying to break through. Faces of the dead appeared all over her walls. She scrambled for her lamp switch by her bedside table. Its pink yellow light shone, banishing the shapes and faces from her room. They retreated back out of her room and into the dark streets of 75 Ivy Street.

She breathed a sigh of relief, her heart calming down.

She was safe.

She found her book on the floor half open. It must’ve fallen off of her face. She picked it up and read a little before she fell back into a world of deep sleep.

*************

Sophia Walters, Chichester Free School

The Spring of ’27

During the spring of 27, the screens went blank, dead and still,

No tapping in the midnight hours, no glowing neon thrill.

During the spring of 27, the government’s kingdom turned the key,

And locked the doors to the cyber spaces where most used to flee.

During the spring of 27, for the quiet, neurodivergent minds and queer kids seeking space,

a sudden disconnection stole their safe and sacred place.

During the spring of 27, in a dark room, a heavy silence grew,

As the fragile, anxious minds lost the only friends they knew.

During the spring of 27, the bedroom wall grew quite still, the gaming chats went dead,

A nervous, grey anxiety crept in where the friends once sped.

During the spring of 27, the bullies didn’t disappear,

they simply just changed their hunting ground, they are all still here.

During the spring of 27, they unplugged every teen,

Wiping out the apps and silencing the screen.

During the spring of 27, the endless scrolling died,

And all our favourite feeds and funny videos were instantly denied.

During the spring of 27, the likes and follows faded out, the endless scroll,

Kids were denying their own self and their goal.

During the spring of 27, a generation wandered, abandoned in the dark,

With no one left to listen and no outlet for tears,

They vanished in the silence of their disconnected years.

*************

Gregory Rowe, aged 12.

The BIG RED BUTTON

The clouds loomed threateningly over our line of excited-looking eleven-year-olds as we were shunted down the hill towards the faint shape of a broken rusty coach. Finally, my two best friends and I clambered up the rickety old steps into an aisle of moth‑eaten seats. We slumped down at the back, our small trio starting to talk about what the school trip was going to be like. (Unlike the other two, I wasn’t so optimistic.) Listening to their familiar voices arguing about one thing or another, and the hum of the sketchy bus, sent me into a deep peaceful sleep.

Now is probably a good time to explain everything; maybe I should’ve done this earlier, but now is as good a time as any… probably. I am an eleven‑year‑old boy called Gregory, and the numbskulls sitting next to me are Ayan — a curly‑haired nutter — and Henry, a cat‑obsessed Year Six. Both of them are completely useless, but they’re still my two best friends and I wouldn’t change them for the world. Anyway, back to me having a snooze and graciously dribbling on the window.

As my slumber continued, I drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreams filled with red blobs, white shapes in army uniforms, and a continuous booming — never stopping, never resting, always there. Sometimes quiet in the background, sometimes relentless, louder than a thunder crack. BOOM‑BOOM, BOOM‑BOOM, BOOM‑BOOM. As the dream went on, the boom changed and distorted until it was less of a boom and more of a “Grerg” noise. I started to stir from my unrestful slumber; my eyes fluttered and I jerked my head. The boom was no longer a noise — it was a word.

“Gregory!” the noise said… hang on? Said?

“Greg!” It came again. Greg? I knew that voice. Only friends call me Greg… wait a minute? Them! Hmm. A lot of assumptions here.

The final jolt came when something — I later learned it was Ayan’s ‘calm’ method of waking me up — rattled me to and fro like a rag doll. Jumping up, a rush of blood pumped to my head, making me dizzy. Head spinning, I listened to the others. They seemed to be talking about Miss Flufe, being late, and lots of trouble. Just about recovered from sleep, I held up a hand to slow them down.

“What?” I slurred, my mouth slower than my brain.

“Greg!” Ayan’s familiar voice snapped. “Weren’t you listening?”

“You were asleep so we stayed to wake you up, but then everyone else left!” Henry butted in. “Oh no, Miss Flufe is going to kill us!” He slumped to the floor in despair, hand on his heart, sobbing and crying, “NOOOOOOOO!”

Did I mention Henry is also head of pupil drama at school? Me and Ayan gave him the look.

“What are we doing standing around here for then?” And with that, I hurtled off the coach — but not before I realised I was now the next victim of the look.

The other two sprinted behind me as we raced up the steps of the impressive building in front of us, throwing ourselves up the impossibly clean stone steps where our school trip was taking place. Something I should’ve mentioned earlier: the whole year was visiting the renowned Alexandrof Science Laboratory, the self‑proclaimed leading “sciency” place in the world, to look at all the inventy thingys they’d made. I think they’re called inventions?

Barging through the doors, we pushed and shoved our way through a mass of people towards a messy desk labelled Reception. After a flustered conversation, the receptionist pointed us toward a thick golden door. Hurrying through it, we stopped in front of an infuriated Miss Flufe.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her booming French accent hit us as we tried to scuttle to the back unnoticed. I winced. Turning slowly to face her, I swear I saw smoke coming from her ears.

“Sorry, Miss,” all three of us said at once.

Four minutes later, still feeling the whack to my head, we were shunted through yet another golden door. Everyone gasped in awe at the next room. The stained‑glass dome ceiling stretched miles high, with quartz pillars reaching up to it, and dotted around the floor were pedestals with strange machines on top.

Immediately, everyone scrambled off to look at various inventions, but I wasn’t interested. I wandered aimlessly until a small sign caught my eye. It read Failed Inventions Bin. Walking over, I thought there might be something worth a bit in there. While I was rummaging around inside, a voice caught me by surprise.

“Greg?”

Jumping to my feet, I stumbled and stuttered, “What? Um… I… err—” Then I sighed in relief. It was Ayan. After I explained what I was doing, he helped — and boy, am I glad he did, because he struck gold.

In his hands he held a ruby model of a human heart embedded in a diamond outline. Inside it was a button. A BIG RED BUTTON. And as any movie fan knows: NEVER PRESS A BIG RED BUTTON.

Ayan, being Ayan, pressed it.

Nothing happened.

Then, faster than you could blink, sparks ran down cables leading into the bin. For a moment, nothing happened. I let go of the breath I was hold—

KABOOM!