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Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd - Rachael Shaw

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93 pages

English

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Adalyn returns once again to Tandalet on mission to return someone who has been lost for a very long time but her mission isn't as smooth or as enjoyable as she would have liked it to be, when she finds out the land is quite literally falling to bits and time is no longer turning, creating chaos, heartbreak and loss for the residents of Tandalet. With Gertie no longer by her side, is Adalyn in over her head even attempting to find a fix or will new and old friends be able to help her save the land once again? Or is this one challenge too far, especially when Adalyn's unimaginable decisions cause upset to those who have come to care for her?When one door opens, it has to close somehow but the question is how and who will be the one to do so?Could this chilling timeless return be Adalyn's last visit?

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
Date de parution	06 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781398493889
Langue	English

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S omething B eyond the P ages: A C hilling T imeless R eturn
Rachael Shaw
Austin Macauley Publishers
2021-10-29
Something Beyond the Pages: A Chilling Timeless Return About the Author Dedication Acknowledgement Copyright Information © Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three: Ten Months Earlier Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty: Mrs Read’s POV
About the Author
Rachael Shaw was born and raised in Sheffield. She is the 3 rd of 4 daughters and has a west highland terrier named Lola.
Rachael took up writing just as a hobby to help with personal struggles and it soon became her passion. Her stories developed as part of a method to help her sleep at night.
Something Beyond the Pages – a world that is hidden, is her debut novel.
Dedication
To Millie for always helping me and being the person behind Adalyn.
Acknowledgement
I couldn’t do any of this without my Mum, Dad, my sisters and Lola my beautiful doggie. They are my inspirations and I love them dearly.
Copyright Information ©
Rachael Shaw 2023
The right of Rachael Shaw to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398493872 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398493889 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ®
1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
I prayed to be different and I got it. I’m not the same person I was the year before, although, to others, I am. No one knows the adventure I took; no one knows how it plays on my mind day and night, how it keeps me awake. I haven’t told anyone. How can you tell someone that all those things that were considered false are real, they are just hidden away? Left unknown so they can’t be touched and probed like a science experiment. You have no idea they are right under your nose and it’s going to stay like that.
You could have sat next to a witch, wizard, the greatest potion maker in the world, the man and woman who knows all and you would never know. How does it feel to know there could be a whole new world out there that consists of magic and creatures?
My life changed and I have had to pretend nothing happened. But I am different now whether it is noticed by many, disliked by some, ignored by others, it won’t change. Magic is real, the weird and wonderful are real, you just have to stay open minded and believe in it.
Chapter One
It’s late-ish; it’s the time of the day when my parents have nodded off on the sofa, midway through a tv show that they claim to be interested in but missed almost all the show, due to their eyes being closed. I can hear their snores faintly through the floorboards, annoying? Yes. I can hear Dad snoring more than Mum; he is like a foghorn, but you cannot tell him he snores because he will deny it and claim ‘I wasn’t even asleep, I just closed my eyes for a second’. You have to find the funny side or else you’ll scream.
It is a starless night. The stars have made way for the torrential downpour that has been the thing for the past week, ruining plans, hairstyles and nice outfit choices. Not that I have had any plans other than home schooling and work, but if I were to have plans, the rain would have put a dampener on it (excuse the pun, I have been around my dad for too long). Do work and school count as plans or just inconvenient events?
My thoughts had drowned out the snoring, until I just thought about it. Now snoring is all I can hear, even though I have two pillows pressed hard against my ears; I hate when that happens, when your brain just latches on to one noise and it dominates your mind.
Through the noises of my mind, snores, and the (not so) sound-cancelling pillows, I hear the doorbell. No chance I am going to the door; I have a feeling it is our new neighbours, the Pickleys. ‘Call Me Elizabeth’ Pickley plays the violin loudly in her back garden to show off. Unfortunately, everyone on this street is too polite to tell her to kindly smash her violin up and never pick another one up again. Although, I have been to the bathroom window a few times over the past few days to inform her that I do in fact like to sleep and playing a violin at 8 am is cruel and unfair. Obviously, I didn’t actually say it like that; it went more like: “Erm, Mrs Pickley, is it okay if you wait till the afternoon…no? Okay.” She comes around more or less every day to show Mum and Dad a new song she learnt that day and believes it is a treat; she may as well move in. I see her more than I see my own parents. She is awful at playing as well and that is the nicest way to say it. I’d much rather listen to someone scratch their nails down a chalkboard; it would probably sound more in tune and more pleasant; I just got a shiver in my spine at the thought about nails down a chalkboard. Anyway, she turns up at the door and offers to play them a tune or two (always ends up being like ten).
“You wouldn’t get songs played to you by any other neighbour,” she constantly reminds them; surely when Dad scrunches up his nose and looks like he just ate a sour lemon, Call Me Elizabeth would realise they don’t like her loud screeching noises. Her husband Rodney is actually decent though; I do not know how he copes; I’ve seen him leave the garden when she starts playing. I do have to admit though even this time is late for her to visit.
“Adalyn, it’s for you!” Dad shouts, a tinge of annoyance hanging on his tone due to an unexpected guest of mine waking him from his sofa nap at the late time of 9 pm.
“Who is it?” I reply. I want to know who it is, however at the same time, I cannot be bothered.
“How about you come downstairs and look for yourself? Honestly, she is so lazy, I don’t know where she gets it from.”
“You do know I can still hear you,” I say dragging myself out of bed to prove I am not lazy to the guest.
“You were meant to,” he answers.
When I approach the bottom of the stairs, Dad is stood laughing at the door, and given I don’t hear the guest laughing along as well, I am going to take it that Dad just said one of his highly unfunny jokes that only he finds funny.
“Tough crowd,” he whispers, pulling at his collar.
“You’re not funny,” I remind him.
I pull open the door to see a lady with mismatched clothes, a moth-bitten olive-green cardigan and an ankle-length purple summer dress. She must be freezing! The strands of her hair that have escaped from her loose bun are dripping wet, although crouched under an umbrella. It struggles to be a rain protector with the amount of holes dotted around it; she doesn’t look fazed being soaked but instead looks unnerved by something that I am guessing isn’t due to the weather.
“Mrs Read. Hello, wow, this is a shock. I haven’t seen you in…” The rain is pouring heavily; I feel like I am in a scene from a movie. The old films in black and white that my dad likes to watch. A lady is getting on a train, the rain is falling ruthlessly; although the lady doesn’t care, she waves goodbye to the place she once loved but can no longer live in. Then next second, a man runs through the rain and begs the lady to stay. She tells him why she can’t; he tells her why she should; she stays, and they all live happily ever after. Okay, maybe this isn’t exactly like that, only the rain part.
“It’s been a while.” Her eyes flicker towards Dad.
Dad’s definitely trying to linger around; he is dawdling by running his finger along old baby pictures of me that I beg them to take down (no one wants to see my chubby cheeks and food-stained mouth; it’s embarrassing. Baby pictures should be banned), clearly pretending to be checking for dust just so he can get an earful of what Mrs Read has to say.
“Dad, how about you go in the living room?” I suggest, which fell on deaf ears.
“I’m just checking for dust.” He monitors his finger and moves on to the next frame.
“Please.” I open my eyes wide to show him I am not falling for his dust checking.
“I won’t listen, you know me, always fully absorbed in what I am doing. You won’t hear a peep out of me.” He begins to hum. I just stand there with my arms folded. “Pfft…fine, I’ll have to check for dust another time.” He doesn’t move, he has sort of moved closer to the corner like he is all of a sudden hidden.
He finally leaves after he realises I’m not going to start talking till he has gone in another room. He closes the door behind him; I have no doubt in my mind that he or Mother or both are leaning against the door, ear to the wood.
“Come in. You’re not really prepared for this weather, are you?” I comment on her lack of coat and flimsy umbrella.
“I’m fine here, thank you; I’m not going to be long. I haven’t just come here for a chat today, it’s something important.” She grinds her teeth nervously. “It’s about Tandalet.” That name being said creates a twisting affect in my stomach.
She proceeds lowering her voice to a whisper, her eyes constantly flickering towards the living room just as mine are. “Something is not right. I