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.
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!”