1. Mystery Writer Story
Rain. I wake up to hear it bucketing down on the roof. I turn over to
look at my calender. It’s Friday the 13th.
My mate Bob and I have a weekly tradition. Every Friday we take to
the seas in our little red catamaran. Even though it’s pelting down
with rain, the boat is battered and the paint has been abraded by
years of rough weather, Bob and I decide to proceed with our weekly
tradition, as we believe our little red catamaran can battle the rain.
I gather my belongings and trudge along the cobblestone path.
When I arrive at the beach, I am greeted by large, colossal waves
smashing against the nearby dock. I can only just make out our little
red catamaran, getting battered the waves. Bob is frantically trying
to stop the catamaran getting swallowed by the out of control water.
I can see he is already drenched through. I sprint towards him along
the gloopy sand, my shoes sinking. Once we are both safely in the
boat, we crack a drink and set off to sea.
We are now out far enough where the water is calmer and the storm
has eased. We drop the sail and decide to sacrifice our sence and go
for a dive deep down into the ocean. As my body enters the icy cold
water, it sends a shiver up my spine. As I dive deeper something
catches my eye. I swim closer and discover something that is leaving
the sand unsettled. Its silver bolts that have a slight case of rust and
the burnt colour of the chest create something quite out of the
ordinary. A large padlock prevents me from opening the chest there
and then, so Bob and I decide to go back to shore, collect the right
gear and come back later.
Hours later, Bob and I are back in the little red catamaran, bobbing
along the water. It’s hard to believe that just hours ago, the sea was
heaving to and fro, as thought it were trying to imitate a some wild
rocking horse. As we sail through the glass like sea, Bob and I
decide that I will dive down to the chest, place the hook through the
padlock and Bob will reel it up to the catamaran.

2. Thankfully, because the water is so clear, we can see the chest
sitting in the sand below us. As I dive down into the calm water, I
am instantly relaxed.
I hook the chest, give a tug on the rope and it starts to ascend. As
we are now safely in the boat with the chest, we set off towards
home.
We heave the chest through my front door and collapse in the living
room. Bob goes in search for a crow bar, running and jumping at
the same time with happiness. He returns soon enough, bursting
with excitement. We are both grinning with curiosity as we are so
excited to see what is inside. The second we open the chest, our
faces drop with disappointment. All the hard work we put in to
retrieve the chest simply goes down the drain as we discover the
contents. Rocks. Stupid, pointy, worthless, rocks. That is all the
chest contains.
It is now twilight, and Bob and I are laying on our deck chairs
looking out towards the beach. The waves are calm and the sky is a
swirl of abstract colours.
“Man, this day has been full of bad luck, don’t you think Bob?” I
enquire.
“Yes, but after all, it is Friday the 13th. I guess this day had always
been destined for bad luck!”