Secrets From an Oak Box. (Working progress)

The bible proclaims: “The wicked one will be no more…But the meek ones themselves will possess the earth, and they will indeed find their exquisite delight in the abundance of peace”
“The righteous themselves will possess the earth, and they will reside forever upon it” – Psalm 37:10, 11 , 29.

Chapter One Discovery
On a terribly cold night in mid-November, a man working very busily in his lamp lit work shed set off to discover something which he would later regret, maybe forever.
Whilst a boy named Gulliver sat and stared off into the distance towards his father, the last shed of the miserable daylight shone through the window glazed with small icicles. The cold from outside was slowly creeping in through the antique frames and set the room temperature to a cool comforting warmth as the radiators pumped heat about the house.
Gulliver was a tall rugby built seventeen years old with wavy brunette hair; his tight curls and often rosy cheeks caught many an eye. He wore a crimson pullover and tattered jeans which barely fit past his ankles, along with his bare feet which he had elevated upon the wooden desk he sat at.
As overwhelming curiosity passed through Gulliver’s large brain, he tried to think as to why his father had spent so much time inside the wondrously old shed at the bottom of the dark dank garden. The weather was horrid and Gulliver couldn’t begin to imagine the temperature inside the small out house. Blaming himself for being a little to inquisitive, he crunch his fist and swatted his knee. A minute or so later, he looked up the desk he sat at, letters from different people were sprawled about the oak, engraved desk.
Skim reading he read several different words; Calvin leachard, parliament, one thousand years, fossils. It was obvious, it all had something to do with his father’s occupation but there was too many letters to read through, each letter was about 8 pages long with diagrams and charts included printed references and clippings. He lent back further on the chair, his head curling backwards to read the time on the grandfather clock behind him. It took about half a minute before his vision adjusted until he eventually read the time; eight fifteen. His father had been alone and working for thirteen hours with only a few short toilet breaks. Gulliver of course thought about what this day really meant to him. That day marked the same day his mother had disappeared.
Gulliver, at that time a small timid six years old, sat upon the staircase caught his mother and fathers arguing.
He remembered his mother’s loud echoing voice, jarring in the emptiness of the house, which differed greatly to her usually caring personality. She was a person who didn’t raise her voice ever, as far back as Gulliver could remember.
‘How dare you! I’ve told you time and time again John, he’s our only son and you are never around to see him grow up!’ and then hearing his fathers voice, deep with guilt and remorse.
‘You know I’ve been busy! My job, it’s demanding, can’t you see that? I’ve been trying to make ends meet for the past year, you should be grateful!’ He shouted at her.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m actually going to believe that?’ She yelled. The rest of the argument is cloudy and hard to remember, or rather his mind was trying to block out all the hurtful memories from his past. His mother soon left and never to be heard of again. He sat solemn for a few minutes before remembering his main worries, his fathers’ obsession and secrecy inside a shed. ‘I need to know what he’s doing in there’ the quick thought passed through Gulliver’s mind like a train. With anxiousness, Gulliver threw himself forward, jolting off his seat, through the dark corridor and to the back door. He grabbed his mackintosh and wrapped it around him, tying it at the waist. Next he forced on his hat which his grandmother had knitted him and finally slid into his soft thin shoes which were not so perfect for the cold weather.
The farm door latch was stiff and cold; it froze to Gulliver’s hand as he pushed it open. The breeze from outside hit his face straight away and quickly claimed his body, nearly paralysing him on the spot within a few seconds. The garden was covered in frost, the days were getting shorter and the nights grew faster, the cold weather was nearly unbearable in the winter months.
Gulliver’s shoes made a crunching sound as he made his way along the garden; it was too dark, Gulliver was only able to see a few inches in front of him. Most of his thick hair was bunched into his hat except from the tuft of hair he had still stuck out of the hat, it blew in the air as Gulliver took two deep breathes and stomped along the garden. He stopped suddenly in the silence.
‘No’ Gulliver whispered, speaking aloud as his thoughts gathered ‘I don’t want him to hear me, I should be quiet’ he thought to himself, he then thought about what his neighbours would think; the sight of him talking to himself and walking around erratically if they had looked out their window that very second. He tip toed taking long strides through the garden, laying his foot carefully onto the grass. After a few minutes of careful stepping he made it to the shed door.
The snaking breeze of the air blew onto the nape of his masculine neck sending shivers down his spine, as silent wind blew around him creating small creaks from the shed and slight whistling through the tree’s. Straight in front of Gulliver there were two things: To the left, the crooked shed; old with spider webs and moss embedded in the nooks and crannies, and to the right; the darkness wallowing at the back of the garden, almost deadly, waiting for an unsuspecting victim to take a visit there so it could fully consume them. A crash came from the shed, stabbing the silence. Gulliver’s head swung around instantly, his eyes met the shed door. The slight outline in the gloom of the winter moonlight made the door look almost as thought it were a portal to another world; Gulliver rubbed his cold aching eyes as he pressed on. The light from a desk lamp was leaking out of the shed holes, lighting up parts of the shrubbery opposite in the garden. Gulliver moved closer towards the shed. A pavement slab was placed in the mud right in front of the shed door like a welcome mat, he stepped either side so the uneven surface wouldn’t wobble and alert his father he was just outside lurking like an attacker. The sodden ground meant he stood sinking into the dirt, as he quietly tried to find the key hole to look through; he lent forward panting, covering his mouth with his hand. He always kept his breathe longer than he should when concentrating hard, it made him dizzy. He peered into the lit shed through the small key hole in the door.
The shed was rather grander than a normal garden shed; in fact it hardly looked like a shed from the inside. It was filled with old antique treasures from old Victorian bikes to old oily car engines, but presently it was used for such things as old sofas, unwanted objects like chalk boards, telescopes, nuts, bolts, suitcases, several boxes of different genre magazines the list went on and on. Gulliver thought when he first moved in that the house belonged to a old professor which suited his fathers needs greatly as Gulliver clearly thought his dad was some kind of mad scientist, the shed was big enough for two large vintage cars so clearly it was used for something magnificent. Gulliver studied the shed, he saw the walls were plastered with different white pieces of thick paper each telling a different instruction filled with various notes and photos from excavations. Sculptures lay on his desk, small clay creatures which were smaller than a hand. The armchair, where he could see where his father was sitting, was placed in front of a small desk filled with file boxes, books, stained mugs and pencil pots, a strong smell of coffee came from the shed, like the scent of a teacher’s staffroom. On the right side of the shed were the windows looking out into the garden, blinds were used to cover the windows for complete privacy. Underneath the windows was an old sofa, it was cluttered with more piles of documents, held together by string or piled up and separated by the brown paper wrapping. Gulliver looked patiently and saw the note on top of the pile read: Log of sightings. He stood back slowly, looking down he removed his foot from the mud which felt like a cement hold ‘ugh’ he said aloud. Foot steps came walloping down the wooden shed floor, but before Gulliver could do anything the door swung open and thrashed against the sheds walls sending him tumbling backwards onto the hard earth.
‘Father,’ it took a few seconds or so to realise what had happened
‘I was coming to see if you were alright? It’s been hours since…’
‘Yes yes Gull, I’m alright. I’m finished here now, you better hurry inside or you’ll catch a chill.’ His father announced as he stood at the doorway rubbing what looked like a spade with a cloth. Gulliver tried to catch a full view of the shed but couldn’t because of his dad’s jacket which seems to take up the whole doorway.
‘Yes dad but…’ he tried arguing so he could have a look inside.
‘Gull, go! I’ll be there in a second’ His father exclaimed, stepping forward to make him move which forced Gulliver back. He frowned and stride towards the house, this time without having to be careful, quickly looking back as his dad watched him hop, skip and jump through the dark to the back door once more.
Gulliver sat in the living room where he could see the kitchen door perfectly. The armchair he sat in may have been as old as his dad; he could smell his fathers scent on the place where he rested his head for many of years. Fifteen minutes passed before the latch lifted once more and his father walked in. First, he didn’t lift his head to look at Gulliver; he merely glanced at him over his glasses. The clanging and crashing of dishes were heard, he was keeping clear of Gulliver’s awkward conversations and interrogations.
‘Father’ He sighed, glancing over at the half of his father body which he could see through the kitchen door, Gulliver sat shrouded in the night’s cloak.
‘Are you going back into that rancid shed again tomorrow, or are you staying inside from now on?’ Of course Gulliver didn’t think the shed was rancid, but he wanted he father feel threatened so he wouldn’t leave him alone in the house again.
‘Aren’t you old enough to look after yourself even if I do decide to go back in there?’ He replied, rather bitterly. Gulliver grimaced.
‘Yes but I’d prefer you not to, I wanted to talk to you.’ Temper flared up in Gulliver’s body as he answered his father’s question. Why didn’t his father want to speak to him? What he such a nuisance that he kept a distance?
‘Well we’re talking now aren’t we?’ The falseness in his voice rose up, he clearly didn’t want to be having such a long conversation with his son.
‘No, I meant conversing dad, I miss your company, I haven’t seen anyone since school broke up for the holidays and wouldn’t have minded talking you about things.’ Gulliver replied back, his father smirked.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what, we’ll go out and take some photos tomorrow of in and around the town; and maybe we could have some lunch out as well?’ The thought of father/son time seemed to create a funny feeling inside of his tummy, his mind raced as to what they could talk about whilst spending time with each other.
‘Okay then, I actually do need to practice a little more with the new camera’ He suggested. If he took his camera then maybe that would consume the time and the silence between them.
‘Brilliant idea!’ His father said as he threw the last of the culinary into its place before walking into the living room.
‘Well I’m off to bed, night’ His father said passing him, patting Gulliver on the shoulder before tip toeing up the stairs.
That evening, Gulliver sat in bed looking up at the beams on his bedroom ceiling, imagining the tree it was in the life before. It must of saw millions of things; arguments between people to a number of other interesting situations. He wished he had the courage to ask his father just what he was doing in that shed, just like a tree, big and strong but clearly he couldn’t do that with his dad, anyone else he would have no problem asking those awkward questions or standing up for himself but talking to his dad was different. He wanted answers. It was a number of days ago he had first noticed that his father was spending to much time out in the garden and alone by himself. He looked forward to the next morning, so that he and his father could forget about this problem and go in to the village, where he may see Mr. Lonsdale the butcher and the number of nice people around the area who he could strike up a conversation with. Gulliver was pleased to busy himself and have a goal, something to do instead of moping around all day, everyday. Maybe tomorrow would be his chance to change the bad routine and ask his father about his strange habit.

Chapter Two Nightmare
The room was dark and dull that day, a gloomy storm was brewing above in the sky which didn’t heighten Thomas’ mood, the weather was beginning to get annoyingly repetitive. The frost stuck to the window creating a letter ‘U’ and clinical smell of the hospital had dried up Thomas’ throat as he uncomfortably sat on a grey chair at the side of the huge bed which his grandmother lay in.
She was clothed in a hospital gown which went down to her knees, and wrapped in the small blanket Thomas had brung from home, it gave him some satisfaction that she would be reminded of home in such a impersonal room, he guessed she would feel happier with it. Before long his eyes were droopy and could feel himself beginning to fall asleep, the hypnotic sound of the machinery which lay beside his Gran’s bed slowly beat a rhythm enough to send him to sleep. His head bobbed downward into a deep sleep. Before Thomas knew he had fallen asleep, he jolted forward at the sound of his grandmother.
‘Get me a drink won’t you dear?’ spoke a thick broad Scottish accent of an old woman. He rose from his seat and poured her a drink from a jug into a plastic cup, the splashing of the water was as loud as ever, that and the machines were the only things which broke the deadly silence of the room which they were in. He blinked his eyes to unloosen them.
‘How’re you feeling Gran?’ He asked, rubbing her cold hand with his warm fingers.
‘Much better thank you’ She blinked, slowly moving herself up the bed and clacking her moist lips after her sip of water. She looked over at Thomas and smiled, once again blinking slowly as she looked at him.
‘You look tired sweetheart’ She remarked.
‘I’m doing fine Gran, you should be resting’ He replied with a smile, he then got to his feet and pulled the pillow out from underneath her to she could prop herself more and could get more comfortable.
‘Don’t worry about me dear, I’m fine’ But Thomas knew fine well that his grandmother was far from “fine”, her heart was weak and although she was recovering, the state she was in at that time just made Thomas feel pessimistic about the future.
‘I can’t help but make a fuss over you Gran, you’ve done so much for me these past few years’ He finished plumping her pillow and sorting out her bed side cabinet before sitting back down on the uncomfortable rubber visitors chair.
‘Gran, you better lay back and take it easy, you don’t want to strain yourself do you.’ She laid back, looking rather pleased being more comfortable and having somewhere to lean her head.
Thomas thought she was about to fall asleep once more before she took a deep breathe and opened her mouth.
‘Listen.’ Her eyes were deep blue, the colour of a raging ocean, and the whites of her eyes were most pure, completely untouched of tears and mayhem; rather contradicting her busy and sad life. She would tell stories to Thomas when he was a young boy, the pure enthusiasm in her voice and her bold eyes would always seem to make the words jump from the page and become reality as though the adventures they had in books were real.
‘As you know, I’m dying’ she began. Thomas’ heart dropped every time she brung up the subject of death.
‘And, I want to know you’ll be fine without me.’ She croaked before clearing her throat, her face grimaced as she barked out a cough. Yet her smile remained.
‘Gran, stop it, I don’t like you speaking about that. Your heart is getting better, even the doctor said it would’ He exclaimed, patting her vein ridden hand to reassure her.
‘Oh shush, I’m old.’ She began. ‘Look, I have something for you.’ She glanced around the room, checking to see if there was anyone else was ease dropping in there conversation. She opened the hospital bedside cabinet and brung out a bag which looked as though it was about to rip any second. She brung a box from out of the bag, it was made from dark oak, and oval shaped with three thin layers with small carvings all over.
‘I want you to have this’ She slid the box along table as she grinned from cheek to cheek.
‘But Gran’ He didn’t want or need anything off her and he felt she gave too much, after all, she had gave up most of her life to look after him and care for him greatly.
‘No buts, I need you to have this; I’m too old to have this box in my possession. It’s special’ she rubbed her fingers of the top and brushed the sides with her baby like fingers.
‘Gran’ Thomas twisted his face as he looked down at the box, slowly gazing at the intricate patterns on the lid and sides, slowly falling under its amazing natural spell and the smell of the wood slowly flouting up into his nostrils. It almost made him feel slightly intoxicated.
‘This box has belonged to the Potts family for centuries, and probably the only thing past down from generation to generation, it’s full of secrets’ She took a deep breathe in and smiled smugly, almost boasting about it.
‘Secrets? Gran, what’s inside?’ She baffled him with her riddles.
‘You know, I’m not sure. My mother gave me this box at your age and told me the story behind it, but the problem is, I can’t recall how it goes’ Folding her arms up in her hospital bed sheets, her eyes glistened as she looked out towards the window. She was lost in her own little world, content and gracious, Thomas felt as though she was ready to go if she wanted too. She had seen all over the world and been through a lot.
‘G..Gran?’ Thomas’ left eye brow seemed to race as he said this; he had a tendency to do this when he didn’t understand what was happening. Her finger rose into the air, giving a clear indication she was listening out for something. A whistle of wind blew in through the open window, it blew the partition curtain which floated in the air like a large white dove then grounded slowly as the breeze drifted off into somewhere else.
Her hand fell onto her chest as she took several deep breathes before uttering from her dry lips.
‘Thomas please, look after yourself.’ Her eyes slowly closed as she sunk into her soft pillow.
Panic struck Thomas in the heart like a dart. He pressed the red button beside the drip and several wires which hung up beside her bed, which glowed red as he pressed it. Thomas ran out into the corridor and yelled from the top off his voice it was nearly a squawk.
‘Someone help quickly! Quick!’ Panic rushed through him like a train on a track as time seemed to speed, these were the moment Thomas tried to look back on but couldn’t remember like it was all a blur.
A nurse and doctor scrambled into the room as she closed the door behind them, casting Thomas out into the corridor. Thomas could only see through the white striped window in the ward door as he tried to keep the tears back. He was on edge, every sound and every movement he monitored through the thick door and out into the small white washed dimly lit corridors.

With the events that had just occurred looming over him, Thomas sat in the corridor anxious for an explanation of what had happened. He glanced down the corridor and noticed a man, sitting mysteriously. Thomas lifted his wrist and looked at his leather strapped watch, it read; two thirty five. Surely they wouldn’t keep him waiting? Half an hour had passed as the mumbling from inside the room tickled Thomas’ ear lobe, tempting him to have another look into the room. But he couldn’t look in there, he didn’t want to see the sight he was dreading, his grandmother motionless, dead. He loved her so much he didn’t want that image to be the image he saw when he thought about her last moments. The corridor was loud, louder than the room which she was in, the place of happiness, somewhere Thomas new he could trust what his grandmother was saying, somewhere were everything he said, she would take into consideration, the bubble of calmness and relief was gone and he was thrust out into the real isolated world which was loud and busy and he was forced to face it by himself with no one beside him.
A loud crash came from along the corridor, Thomas’ head nearly spun off his shoulders as he turned to look at where it came from; a hooded man glared at him. The man with piercing eyes sat hunched, before bending to retrieve his fallen mobile phone, he grabbed it quickly and faced the wall once more . His heart beat fast as he heard the hospital door slowly open behind him, making an almightily creaking sound. He was close to breaking down, he stood but his knees began to tremble. He turned to look at the nurse, she was in her early twenties with blonde hair which went past her shoulders, and her fringe swept to the side so Thomas could clearly see her eyes glistening. She gave him a sympathetic look and quietly lowered her voice and whispered;
‘Come on, sit down.’ Sadness flooded his body, his jaw vibrated as he shivered; all the emotion was ready to burst out of him. Nurse Valentine glanced at the boy, his arms wrapped around himself and puffy red eyes streaming with tears. The boy looked around fourteen and casual looking. She grimaced at the thought of telling him the bad news.
‘Your Gran was very ill.’ The nurse stuttered. Her lowered voice was verging on patronising thought Thomas.
‘Oh please, just tell me what’s happened, I want to know’ Thomas blurted out, glaring at her with the mostly serious look he has ever gave anyone, he needed t be told.
‘She had a heart attack, and past away only a few minutes ago.’ She looked down, she felt sorry for him.
‘But she left you something’ Gracefully she stood up and walked into the room, a second later she returned with the wooden box Thomas had seen only before.
‘Thank you’ Thomas said.
‘For looking after her’ He took the box off of her and read the note placed o top which was placed inside the velvet navy bag. It read; “You’re ready Thomas, follow your heart and be strong. We were chosen for a reason.” He then wrapped it back into the bag and shoved it into his rucksack. Thomas couldn’t help but feel he was being watched as he did so.
‘If you don’t mind, I’m just going to go out and get some air’.

Chapter Three New beginnings.
Dazed and a little confused, Thomas walked along the long corridors the hospital. His dry throat became even tighter as he began to panic, not knowing where to go, he looked up into the air for instructions. Glancing around he finally saw the small exit sign with great relief. The radiant sun shone; finally he was in a place he could think without the sound of the hospital, only the sound of the cars passing by like a trickling river of tranquillity. Thomas closed his eyes and flared his nostrils, opening up after the poisoning sterile smell of the clean hospital, he laid his head back as his eyes stung from the dried tears he had drawn. He was solemn as his thoughts went back to what he was going to do now.
He partially lived with his grandmother because she was ill, he looked after her and cared for her, but a lot of the time he had to go back home where his mother and step dad would be. Abused and shouted at, his mother never cared about how her boyfriend treated him, she never talked to him or acted like she cared. All this resulted in Thomas becoming more independent and self taught at certain things, and looking after his grandmother meant he could stay away from home most of the time and be in a safe place once in a while for most of the time.
So now what should he do? Pretend she wasn’t gone and go back home? Run away to London and begin a career in pick pocketing like in the movies?
Thomas’ thinking was interrupted by movement on the bench he sat on, his eyes suddenly opened and Thomas found himself hunching over to hide his face, a little embarrassed from his puffed eyes and twitching face from the sun in his face. He squinted out of slits for eyes and saw it was the sitting man in the corridor before, still looking as sheepish as before.
‘Here, mate, do you have a light?’ A low deep voice grumbled at Thomas.
‘No, I don’t smoke.’ Thomas said, looking at the man. He was a clean shaven, white pale skin and had small thin moustache above his top lip, he looked like a over confident twit in Thomas’ opinion.
‘Too bad mate, too bad’ He replied. ‘You got the time?’
‘No, I haven’t.’ Thomas sat half listening to him as he stared at the car park in front of him trying to ignore the irritating stranger.
‘Ur… yes you have mate, you have a watch on your wrist, nice one n’ all’ Thomas looked at his watch only to make him go away.
‘Nearly half past two’ Thomas could see the man staring at him out the corner of his eye.
“Thanks mate, what’s that?” His head bobbed in the direction of his bag.
“My school bag” Thomas replied, looking at the man then resumed his concentration on the spot he sat staring at.
“Must be hard carrying that around all the time, looks heavy” He remarked, waddling in the one spot like the floor was on fire.
“Ur, yes, it is” Thomas replied, his eyebrows raised a little at the stupid conversation this man was trying to have and where it was going.
“Can I ur, have a try at lifting it?” Thomas’ face began to gradually become red, getting more annoyed by the second.
“I’m sorry I’d rather you not, could you please me alone” Thomas thought this was fair, it was polite and a subtle way of telling him to get lost, or he’ll punch him in the head so hard he wont be able to remember his own name.
“Look mate” Within a few milliseconds, he was in Thomas’ personal space. He reached out for the bag. Thomas reacted and grabbed onto the strap, pulling it back towards him “Get off my bag!” Thomas shouted.

THWACK! His fist hit Thomas’ lip, the only sound Thomas could hear was his beating heart, the adrenaline pumped more and more. WHACK! Thomas fell back, looked around and threw his own punch; the guy twisted and turned from a punch in the stomach, he curled downwards to recover. ‘Go! Go!’ Thomas said to himself, but before he could even think about it, his legs were carrying him across the car park.
‘Oi! Come back you!” The dark haired man shouted from behind him. Looking around there was nothing but cars in sight, the sun glazed down as he ran a little further left where large bushes were planted. Without thinking Thomas hopped on to a bike. Foot connected with pedal, he stormed along the pavement and through the aisles of cars, almost falling off as he zoomed past them.
The relief Thomas felt was enormous as soon as he got past the sign which welcomed visitors into the hospital but a engine roared behind him, he quickly peddled across the road. He pushed his legs further into the handle bars of the silver bike, a slim sports car flew past, reversing at the bottom of the road and straight towards him. Thomas pedalled until his calves in his legs went numb from the power he was putting into moving the bike. Turning left Thomas bumped up the curb and through the large gothic gates, the entrance to the local park, somewhere which would hold summer festival and a lake which you could sail your toy boat upon, and the sheer size of it would hide him from the psychotic man chasing him and would put him off his tracks for a while. Slowly he turned into the grassy section off the cement pavement and into the covered hedge of leaves and mud, he pushed on. He turned at the bottom of the park where he was still hidden; the mud sunk into his running shoe’s which were tattered and old, squelching as he plodded through.
A few minutes in the cold shaded wooded area made Thomas feel like he wanted to go home, except he couldn’t go home without his Gran. He took a deep sigh in at the thought of his loneliness and looked ahead, in front he saw the opening in the tree’s up ahead. It signalled he was at the opposite corner of the public park giving him a chance to get out and onto a road. The breeze was cold but not as cold as the night before; Thomas would sometimes catch the news and weather forecast whilst watching TV as his Gran’s, ‘Sunny with a slight chance of drizzle and wind’, Oh how they were wrong, the summer had been awful. Looking back, Thomas remembered how there was a huge storm down south, a million trees blown down, and windows smashed by golf ball sized hale stones. Along through the damp muddy track, Thomas gave up and hopped off of the bike, pushing it along side him because of the terrible sound it made, if anything, the chaser would have been listening out for bikes.
Huffing and puffing, Thomas got to the end of the track, covered in rain and mud since the canope of leaves failed to cover him. He hopped onto the bike with such oomph it sank more into the mud which had now become more like clay. He sat and regained his strength, breathing in through the nose and out of his mouth, rubbing his hands together. He was ready to set off, to get back to the hospital to settle things. Zooming downhill, Thomas picked up speed on the pathway which throttled him towards the great gates which he saw as a sign of freedom, Thomas felt his mood lift as he began to peddle.
Blinking once, Thomas saw nothing. Blinking twice, Thomas saw him. Riding his bike as if he were a jockey on a horse, Thomas saw the man who had chased him. The injured, evil looking man lent against his car smiling from cheek to cheek, he’d caught up with him. “You little…” The man bellowed at the top of his voice. Hurtling towards him, Thomas’ wheels slid on the icy path towards the man at 100mph. Thinking fast he lifted his arm to his face, whacking the man in the nose sending blood spilling out down his face. Thomas was lucky, the man shouted in pain as he peddled away from the scene as fast as he could.
The breeze became urgent, gushing through the streets and wading through Thomas’ choppy hair. Pacing on his bike, Thomas arrived at a small village closest to the town after at least ten minutes peddling, full of pampered lawns and thatched cottages. The frost from the morning was sat upon the roofs still frozen from the cold breeze of the day. Yet it had already begun melting, the view couldn’t have been more picturesque. Becoming more relaxed, Thomas heart slowed and he began breathing normally. It seemed to him as though he was on the highest part of the cosy village, so riding his bike downwards towards the village would require less energy than he had expected. He began first down the small stone built bridge then onto the couple of houses welcoming visitors, they were faded in blue and white from the cold weather. Thomas enjoyed the quiet towns and small rural villages on the outskirts of the town. Onwards he went through the city centre with a small monument and reef of flows lay on the floor, he peddled past the post office and back into a small residential area full of small miners villages, his hands groped the handle bar grips as his bobbed up and down on the cobbled streets, he nearly smiled to himself from the love of the silence, but his bliss was disturbed with the car growling to a halt as the man pulled up covering one of the exits out of the alley he had caught himself in between,
‘Come here you little runt! You shouldn’t have nipped me back there!’ He hopped out of his racing car and slapped a baseball bat into his red stained palms; Thomas felt his own heart beat as fast as a cheetah could run. Thomas carefully stepped back and leant against a dark fence covered in growing weeds and ivy twisted around its old rotten wood. His mind blanked and raced as he tried to regain control and trying to think sensibly. What did this man want?
Thomas jumped as another car came screeching around the corner, closing him off with no way of getting out. “I’m dead” these two words which came to mind as he stared at both of the men.
‘Look! I don’t know what I’ve done or why you’ve been chasing me but...’ He shouted trying to clear his case.
‘Get in’ The second man whispered to Thomas as he climbed out of the slick Triumph GT6 Coupé, and then turning to address the other man. Thomas tumbled through small space of the car doorway, his damp clothes squelched on the leather interior whilst he sat peering out of the frosted glass windscreen at the two men arguing. It was near silence, through the glass of the car all Thomas could hear were the muffled voices of the two men shouting at each other, pointing and looking as though they were having a huge argument. Was the man chasing Thomas sent to kidnap him? Or even worse…
Thomas sat and watched the argument unfold out in front of his eyes, the chaser has flung his baseball bat at the second man but missed, he grabbed the bat and turned against the chaser with it. Thomas turned away when the second man glanced at him through the window, he heard a agonising cry. Thomas turned to look and saw the chaser on the floor, the second man hadn’t hit the first man, but had wrestled him to the ground then threatened him, hr shouted at him as he walked away. Maybe the second man wasn’t bad enough to hurt someone in broad daylight. Thomas’ glare was fixated on the man lying on the floor that his depth of focus had blackened out his surrounding and he was the only thing he could see, walking towards him as he glanced at the floor.
Thomas’ vision snapped back to normal as he twisted his head to look at the man as he got back into the car.
‘And if you dare hurt a innocent child once more, I’ll find you again Maconochie, I’ll find you again. I’ve had enough of your bullying around here!’ Shouted the man as he flew into the drivers seats with a squeak.
‘Are you okay?’ He said turning to Thomas. He was wearing tweed jacket with a navy pullover underneath, tailored corduroy beige pants with walking boots which came to his ankles. Thomas shook his head, still a little hesitant. He took off his jacket and handed it to Thomas.
‘Here, keep yourself warm.’ Thomas took it and wrapped it around him.
‘My name is Gulliver, I saw you riding past on the road about a mile back and Maconochie speeding after you, I figured he was up to no good.’ Thomas shook his head confused. ‘You mean?’ blurted out Thomas.
‘What? You didn’t actually think I was going to hurt you?’ Gulliver blurted out a huge laugh before twisting the key in the ignition it roared back to life. They pulled out onto the road and down towards the city again.
‘Sorry I forgot to ask you’re name?’ Gulliver broke the awkward silence with a question.
‘ Thomas.’ Looking distantly through the window out at the frosted fields and the sky scrapers on the horizon, Thomas had ridden fast and far whilst being chased on his flimsy stolen bicycle.
‘What did you do then? Bump his car with your bicycle? Look at him in the eyes?’ Asked Gulliver with a growing crescendo in his voice, mocking Thomas. Gulliver exchanged a few glances at Thomas whilst keeping an eye on the road. ‘No, I have no idea why. He chased me from the hospital to where you found us.’ Mumbled Thomas, knowing he shouldn’t be speaking to strangers.
The two boys sat in the car, Gulliver driving and Thomas sitting in silence. Gulliver was seventeen and had just passed his driving test a few weeks before, although he was a very confident driver as he’d had a lot of practice whilst driving rally cars as a hobby when he was younger.
‘Seriously, there must have been something. I know Maconochie well enough to know he won’t go chasing people unless he wants something.’ Gulliver’s tone of voice told Thomas he was speaking the truth, and that he fully understand what had happened.
‘Nah, nothing. I didn’t do anything. Accept from telling him I didn’t have the time’ Gulliver let out a giant “hmm” before checking the time on his watch after Thomas had mentioned it.
‘Are you hungry?’ Asked Gulliver.
‘A little.’ Thomas picked up his bag which he had put in front of him leaning against his legs; they were keeping him warm since the heaters in the car didn’t work.
‘I’m a little peckish as well, lets go to café along Ducklane, I have money so don’t worry, and then I’ll take you, and your bicycle home okay?’ Offered Gulliver.
‘Oh, you don’t have too, I could just ride back from here, I really don’t mind.’ Thomas wasn’t very good at accepting offers. Another of Thomas bad habits was if someone were to ask Thomas if he would like a drink, he would reply ‘whatever’ making him seem very indecisive and shy.
‘Don’t be silly, I insist.’ Replied Gulliver. ‘Okay then. Thanks.’ Gulliver carried on throwing ideas at Thomas about why Maconochie had chased Thomas, before long Thomas had to explain his Grandmothers death and then a somewhat less awkward conversation ensued until they arrived at the café.
Chapter Four The quest is announced.
The rumbling of the loud train passed through the small café which sat underneath the bridge it ran on. The two teen boys sat at a window seat in silence before the room was peaceful once more, only the sound of the soothing French singing lady on the radio could be heard. The overwhelming sense of awkwardness came over Thomas as he sat hunched, looking down at the carved and vandalised table, murmuring different sounds through his overly chapped lips out of having complete mind blanks and little conversational skills.
‘Terrible weather isn’t it?’ muttered Gulliver, slogging on a mug of coffee before burning his lip and letting out a yelp. Thomas grinned ‘Yes, I was soaked right through from riding in the rain; I haven’t seen the rain that hard for ages.’ Thomas lifted up his leg to unstuck his pants from the chair and rubbed his drying hoody with his hand.
‘My father and I were going to have a day out today but he got called away to work again and the weather was too cold to sit around outside, it’s a good job he cancelled or I wouldn’t have been able to help you’ Glances were exchanged before Thomas blurted out another ‘thanks’, although it was so breathless that Gulliver didn’t seem to hear.
It was a few minutes past four when Thomas had finished eating, Gulliver had sat watching Thomas eating, smiling at him as though he was going to keep him as his prize after winning him at a game of finders keepers.
‘I’m sorry, you look like someone I’ve seen before’ declared Gulliver. Thomas nodded and looked away towards the interior of the Café. It was dark and dingy with cream walls and silver furnishings, the salt and pepper shakers were neatly placed on the table tops and a small menu alongside them.
Thomas took off his rucksack, and flung it on the floor, he thought keeping it on his back would mean his soaking hoody wouldn’t dry properly.
‘What’s in there?’ Gulliver inquired. The old rucksack lay on the floor, his muddy fingers opened it up and revealed a jacket, some toothpaste and an old box.
‘That looks like an antique, where did you get that?’ remarked Gulliver as Thomas lifted it out of the rucksack and onto the table.
‘It’s my Grandmothers’ but as he said these three words he had the dawning realisation that in fact the box was not his Grandmothers, but his. Should he take it back? Or were her last moments before her death, the special moments in which she should reveal her deepest darkest secrets or share her last story, used to give Thomas this small oak box?
‘But she gave it too me’ He then realised it doesn’t matter, it could be took back to her house anytime, anyway if Thomas kept it in his possession for a while he knew it would be kept safer than in the hands of his vicious and money seeking family.
Thomas passed the box over to Gulliver for a closer inspection of the small object, he guessed Gulliver was the sort of person to collect foreign items and go to auctions casually for nick knacks which would be worth something within a few years.
‘I have never seen anything like this before’ He said as he smirked, finding it more and more intriguing as he held it in his hands. Not a single word was spoken whilst Gulliver peered and prodded the box. The small oak box was hexagon shaped yet its scuffs made it look more oddly shaped. It had two layers, one base and another small hexagon shape sat on top. The images upon the box were carved so well they looked very real to Thomas and Gulliver, each side of the hexagon had a different scene depicted upon it telling a different story of heroes and people who have fought in battles to win the ultimate and amazing prize, the glistening box. Although the scenes were made to look so real, neither Gulliver nor Thomas could guess as to what battles throughout time they actually were. The second layer has a pattern repeated on each sides of its small surface, all designed so it fit perfectly together and met in the middle at the top.
‘Do you think the top of this opens? Sort of like a puzzle box, I’ve saw many boxes but none like this’ Asked Gulliver. Thomas shook his head indecisively, Gulliver picked at the small part of the box, which looked to him as though it could be opened, but it would not yield and release. He tried again and again but his long thick fingers would not latch open the small hinges.
‘Why don’t you try and open it Thomas’ Gulliver demanded, rather frustrated and worn from trying his best to open it. Thomas wanted to decline, after all, the box belonged to his late grandmother and he didn’t want to break it.
Gulliver pushed the box long the newly wiped table and looked at it in embarrassment, surely someone younger wouldn’t be able to open it if he couldn’t. Thomas’ leant over the box and let his nimble and muddy fingers brush along the sides, feeling its small metal pieces and intricate designs. The design upon the very top of the box began to move, the waves and gushing ocean pattern moved like clockwork and became something different, a dog like creature which had a larger face than a normal dog, like a humans with a slight look of a goat.
‘Look!’ Gulliver shouted in excitement as the second layer began to twist and turn around; spurting out chimes like a thousand small chirrup birds engulfing the countryside trees on a summers morning.
‘How did you do that?’ Gulliver questioned.
But Thomas did not answer, with all his might he stared at the spinning box top. The box played for the teenage boys and the rain outside began to throttle the windows like machine guns. The radio was drowned out, and what looked like small rivers began to form outside. The door swung open so fast it knocked them both out of their trance. The normally perky looking waitress, who now looked worried and little grey, came whooshing over. She used all her strength and finally pushed the metal door shut. The air seemed to vanish away as the door shut sucking the air from each of their lungs as thought they had been throttled into space with no oxygen. With three popping clicks the second layer of the box twisted into place and went silent. The room grew cold as the only thing moving was the rain outside and the shadows of the droplets shimmering onto the café floor.
‘Goodness, I’ve never seen weather like this before’ She remarked as she returned back to her stool behind the counter and sighing with relief.
‘It’s a little strange don’t you think? It is November, I wouldn’t be expecting cold weather until a few weeks, but not like this, this is horrendous.’ Said Gulliver, slumping back into his chair.
‘I’m worried’ she sighed ‘Storms don’t happen like this, ever. I wonder if we’re waiting for an even bigger storm.’ Her worried voice spoke and carried to them on the other side of the room.
‘I wouldn’t worry Mabel, it’ll all blow over soon.’ Gulliver said. His eyes still locked on the still box. Mabel, the waitress, let out an ear piercing scream but Gulliver did not understand as to why she did so. But glancing away for a second from the box, he then fully understood.
The café was a quilted in black shadows cast upon each wall of the small room as the high beat down in the sky, but nothing but rain and wind blew around the small town that day. A gloomy hunched silhouette sat on the chequered floor, with a racing heart which beat through its fur clad body.
‘How did the-‘ Began Thomas, surprised.
‘The box!’ Horror struck each of their hearts at the sound of the breathy gruff voice spoke out; it bounced and echoed around the walls. It spoke again ‘How are in possession of the sacred box’
Howling, with protruding teeth and glowing red eyed the dog threw itself onto the unbalanced table of which Thomas and Gulliver sat at.
‘Tell me your name child’ He hissed through his large yellow k-9’s. Thomas felt confused and had the sudden urge to vomit if he spoken another word.
‘T-T-Thomas, Thomas Potts’ He stuttered, he felt his jaw ache with pure fear.
‘If you speak the truth then you should hold the mark of a Potts’ He screeched. ‘Hold our your hand’ The dog spoke to him as though he were a lieutenant and Thomas were a solider. His body convoluted and his arms rose in the air without Thomas willing them too and his hands spun so his palms faced the roof.
‘Does he speak truthfully, is he the forth, Thomas Potts?’ The dog breathed onto Thomas’ shaking fingers. At first Thomas could not feel the icy breathe on his hands, but then a sudden pain grew in the middle of his palms, his back twisted and his head was thrown back. ‘Pain!’ is all Thomas could think of ‘Stop! Stop!’ he was shouting to himself. His nails dug deep into his fists as he squeezed them tight. ‘STOP IT!’ he pleaded with the dog but the pain didn’t release from his body. The pain soared and grew like a balloon blowing up inside of him. Before Thomas couldn’t take anymore, before he lost complete consciousness from his body being too week to fight off pain, the sensation changed. It was light and soft, like he was floating in water or gliding through fluffy clouds on a wonderful day.
Thomas rubbed his hands together, still stinging from the pain then looked down at them. Curious shapes appeared on both of Thomas’ hands, like birthmarks or faded scars. They were shaped like crescent moon, with a one vertical line through them.
‘The mark of a Potts, I am truly sorry if I startled you! I needed to be absolute sure. You are the true possessor of the sacred box.’

Source: http://rolacolaandalex.blogspot.com/2010/08/secrets-from-oak-box-working-progress.html