We are sharing the next story in our series, Featured Short Stories, written by students in the Creative Writing Club.
Every week, the students in the club work on writing short stories, sometimes from their own ideas, and sometimes from story prompts. This week’s prompt was – write a story about a stranger who arrived in a town looking for an ancient artefact.
This week’s story was written by Serena, aged 13. Enjoy!
The Mysterious Stranger
The town of Preston had always been quiet. Nestled between dense woods and rolling fields, it was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and nothing much ever happened. That was, until the day the stranger arrived.
It was an autumn morning, and the marketplace was bustling with activity. Farmers exchanged their products, children ran between the stalls, and towns people exchanged the latest gossip. Among them was Eleanor, a sharp-eyed journalist.
Eleanor was sipping her coffee when she noticed him, a tall, cloaked figure moving through the crowd. He carried a battered leather bag which he wore over one shoulder and walked with poise, yet no one seemed to know who he was or where he came from.
Curiosity sparked, Eleanor followed him at a distance. He stopped at a stall selling old maps and documents, his gloved hands going through the information with ease. After a brief exchange with the vendor, he slipped a rolled-up map into his bag and disappeared down a side street.
Eleanor wasn’t one to let a mystery go unsolved. She hurried after him, rushing through and pushing everyone who was in her way. The man led her to the edge of town, where the forest looked like a shadowy curtain. Without hesitation, he stepped into the woods.
“What is he up to?” Eleanor muttered under her breath.
She hesitated for only a moment before following him into the trees.
The forest was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of earth and pine. Eleanor kept a safe distance, her footsteps muffled by fallen leaves. The man moved quickly, he looked like he knew exactly where he was going.
After what felt like hours, he stopped in a statue. At its centre stood a stone structure, “looks ancient,” she thought.
The man approached the ruins and began unpacking his bag.
Eleanor crouched behind a tree, watching as he spread out the map on the ground. He studied it carefully, then began to dig.
“What could he possibly be looking for?” she wondered.
The sound of his spade striking metal frightened her. He knelt and pulled something from the ground, a small, dusty chest. Its surface was covered with strange symbols that shone in the sunlight.
Eleanor’s journalistic instincts overrode her caution. She stepped into the place. “Excuse me!”
The man spun around, startled. His face was shadowed by the hood of his cloak, but his eyes locked onto hers.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice low.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Eleanor shot back, crossing her arms. “What are you doing out here? And what’s in that chest?”
The man hesitated, his gaze back to the chest. “This is none of your concern.”
“It became my concern the moment you started digging up ancient artifacts in my town,” she said, stepping closer. “Now, either you explain what’s going on, or I call the police.”
“You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”
He sighed and removed his hood, revealing a face that was both weathered and ageless. “My name is Marcus. I’m a historian, or at least, that’s what I tell people. The truth is… more complicated.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
Marcus glanced at the chest, then back at her. “Inside this chest is an Obsidian Key. It’s said to unlock something ancient and powerful, something that should never be found.”
Eleanor scoffed. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Does it?” Marcus asked, his tone serious. “Do you think those statues behind me are just a coincidence? This forest is full of secrets, you should know, it’s your town.”
Despite her scepticism, Eleanor carried on the conversation. “If it’s so dangerous, why dig it up?”
“Because others are looking for it,” Marcus said. “People who would use its power for all the wrong reasons. I intend to keep it out of their hands.”
Before Eleanor could respond, a low growl echoed through the forest. The air grew colder.
“They’re here,” he said, his hand moving to a dagger at his side.
“Who’s here?” Eleanor asked.
Marcus didn’t answer. Instead, he stood in front of the chest as figures came from the trees. They were covered from head to toe just like him but had a different energy. Their eyes glowed, and their movements were inhumane.
“Hand over the chest, Marcus,” one of them hissed.
“You know I can’t do that,” Marcus replied, his grip tightening on the dagger.
Eleanor’s mind raced. She didn’t know what she had stumbled into, but she wasn’t about to stand by. Grabbing a fallen branch, she swung it at one of the figures, surprising both the intruder and herself.
The fight that followed was chaotic. Marcus moved with precision, his dagger flashing as he hit off the attackers. Eleanor did her best to stay out of their way, using her makeshift weapon to distract when she could.
Eventually, the intruders took the hint and left, melting back into the shadows.
Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Eleanor, a mix of gratitude and annoyance in his eyes. “You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.”
“Maybe both,” she admitted.
Marcus nodded. “You shouldn’t be involved in this, but… thank you.”
As the sun began to set, he picked up the chest and grabbed his bag, putting it over his shoulder again.
“Where are you going now?” Eleanor asked.
“To make sure this stays hidden,” he said. “Goodbye, Eleanor. Stay safe.”
With that, he vanished into the forest, leaving her alone with more questions than answers.
The End
If you have a child who loves writing stories and you want to encourage them to explore their creativity and their imagination, then we would love to have them join our writing club! Just click on the link to register, and we will be in touch. Creative Writing Club – Registration Form.
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