Day One: Prologue – Chapter 2

So for my first 30 Day Challenge, I am going to write a novel in 30 days. As you saw in the video I posted last week, in order to write a 50,000 word novel, you have to write at least 1,667 words each day. So I am happy to report that today I wrote 2,594.

And here is the best part – I am going to be crowdsourcing this book. If you have any ideas that you want me to incorporate into the book, let me know. Send me an email. Post it on my Facebook Timeline. Whatever. Also, I will be posting some polls now and again that you the readers can vote on to determine the outcome of the book! And BONUS! I will be posting the book here on my blog each day!! You can read the story as it unfolds!

I decided that for my first novel I would write a spoof of young adult fantasy fiction. So my book is going to be a spoof of Harry Potter, Twilight and Hunger Games.

Sit back and enjoy – Terry Copper and the Twilight Games


The fire began to die in the fireplace. Using his silver-tipped cane, he prodded the logs, attempting to stoke the fire. It was a chilly night. His ramshackle cabin did little to keep any bone-biting winds out. The best for which he could hope was that the fire would last all night and that his blankets didn’t catch fire from sleeping so close to the blaze. There wasn’t much firewood left. He would soon have to go in search of more in the nearby woods.


He spoke and when he spoke it sounded like fingernails clawing at a chalkboard. It was the kind of voice that you could never really get used too. It became bearable, but still gave you the chills each time you heard it.


“What do you think of my plan? Not that I truly care what you think, but in case I did, what do you think?”


“I-i-i-t… is… a wa-wa-wonderful p-p-p-plan, Master. Truly in-g-g-genious. Truly d-d-devious, Master,” answered the rat-faced man in the corner. He reached up to his face to whisk away the locks of hair that incessantly fell in front of his eyes. As he did so he touched the scars that marred the right side of his face and shuddered. His black eyes fluttering with the memory of his abuse.


He added, “M-m-m-master, what is it that you wish me to do to aid you in this plan?”


The Master replied, his breath reeking of old copper and garlic, “I will send you instructions once I have arrived. You will carry them out to the letter. Do not fail me again Rooble.”


“N-n-no Master,” he stuttered, his hand reflexively returning to touch his striated skin. He flinched once he realized what he was doing. “When shall you d-d-d-depart, Master?”


“Before the dawn. No more questions please. I must gather my strength for my journey.”


Rooble slinked away to his corner and the Master sat in the battered arm-chair opposite. Its upholstery was torn and its stuffing had long ago lost any fluff. He sighed with exhaustion. The Master wasn’t a large man. His appearance wasn’t altogether frightening so much as was his demeanor. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind by reciting his plan to himself. This only served to build his anxiety even more. He opened his eyes and stared into the fire, its flames once again dying.


Soon, he thought, soon I will have my revenge for what they did to me.


Chapter One –

Pixocero Public School for the Incredibly Gifted and Otherwise

Bacon Cove, Newfoundland, Canada


Professor Seamus Stumblemore sat in his cluttered study reviewing the list of upcoming school year’s new students. These first year students had been selected from all over the world to attend PPS. This selection process in years previous had been highly selective. However, in more recent years, due to struggling economies, enrollment had dropped to an all time low. The school’s operating budget soon became non-operational and PPS was forced to become a public school rather than close its doors permanently.  It was perhaps one of the only public schools to have dormitories for its students. This was necessary since the majority of the students were not Bacon Cove residents and still continued to come from all over the world.


The headmaster stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked over the names. He had a dreadful habit of thinking aloud, whether in public or in private, without realizing he was even doing it.


He said, “I wonder which students this year will be incredibly gifted?”


He continued scanning the pages but none stood out to him until he came across a name near the end of the list, Terry Copper.


“Could it be the same boy? The same boy who lost his parents?”


It wasn’t an altogether common name, so he decided it must be the same.


“This will be a truly eventful year indeed. We will need all professors to be at 100% this year. I am so glad that we hired that new professor this year. Professor Smith will make an excellent addition to the faculty.”


He was staring absentmindedly at the sheaf of papers when a knock came at the door.


Without waiting to be acknowledged the visitor said, “Headmaster, I wish to speak with you about the newest member of the faculty.”


“Yes, Professor Snivly, what is it?”


Professor Snivly entered the room with a very smooth gait. It was so smooth that he almost appeared to be floating over the floor. He was dressed in all black and his jet-black hair hung in greasy strands. He came to stand directly in front of the master. His accent reminded the Headmaster of a British newscaster. “You see, Headmaster, it is my duty,” he emphasized the word ‘duty’ pronouncing it ‘dee-oo-tee’, “to conduct all background checks on prospective employees here. Typically I conduct a preliminary check and then inform you of my findings, which in this case I did. I found no black marks on his record anywhere.”


“Then what is the problem Professor Snivly?”


“You see, Headmaster, after my preliminary investigation, I usually conduct a more thorough investigation of the candidate. It has almost always been the case that nothing new turns up and that is why in the past I have always been able to recommend a candidate based on the preliminary check. However, in the case of Mr. Dave Smith, I have found nothing at all.”


Professor Stumblemore chortled and snorted slightly. “Then what is the problem Snivly. I am growing impatient with your games.”


“That is exactly the problem Headmaster!” He overexaggerated the ‘t’ in ‘exactly.’


“I found absolutely nothing! His record only goes back two years. Before that, it is as if he didn’t exist! I fear this man may be a fraud Headmaster!” He uttered the final sentence in a whisper, even though no one was within earshot. He had merely done it for dramatic effect. Professor Satius Snivly realized that he was somewhat of a drama queen and so he played it up as often as he could.


Professor Stumblemore looked at Professor Snivly and said, “Thank you for bringing this to me. I fear however it is too late. Professor Smith will be arriving this evening and the term begins on Monday. It is much too late to find a replacement. I will speak to him of this and I am sure that will clear things up.”


Professor Snivly began to shriek, “But Sir! What about the safety of the children! That must be our biggest priority!”


The Headmaster grunted and shook his head slowly. “I wish it were that easy Satius. The school board has been on me since the end of last term. They want us to add more classes and more students with an even smaller budget. If we lose the courses that Professor Smith is to teach, the budget will be cut even more. There isn’t much that I can do at this point.”


Professor Snivly was nigh in hysterics, “Sir! The Budget! The Kids!” He couldn’t formulate a proper sentence.


The Headmaster replied, “Yes, Professor I know. We have to get the kids here in order to keep the budget. After last years debacle with that monster in the sewers, we will be lucky if half of the upperclassmen return. Now, if you would please leave me. I must continue my final preparations. I have a speech to prepare for our welcome dinner. Please ensure that the heads of each of the 12 halls are prepared to receive the newest students.”


Professor Snivly bowed his head and shuffled away. His only concern had truly only been his students. He could tell that Professor Stumblemore wasn’t going to take this seriously. He would have to watch this Professor Smith himself.


He was in the hall when he heard Professor Stumblemore shout to him, “And for the last time, please stop speaking with that British accent. You’re Canadian!”



Chapter Two –

Queens, New York




Sixteen year-old Terry Copper pulled the pillow over his head to block out the ranting of his half-demented grandmother. It was Saturday. He didn’t start school until Monday. He would have to get up soon though and begin packing his things. His train would leave Sunday afternoon and he had to be on time. The letter from the school had explicitly stated that the train would not wait for anyone at all. Still, Terry had to wonder how exactly a train was supposed to get to Newfoundland. He didn’t think about it too much though. He was a wizard. He had recently discovered this during the previous school year.
Even though Terry was sixteen, he was rather scrawny. He wasn’t very tall and his sandy hair was always unkempt, no matter how often he combed it. He kind of smelled bad too. No one really knew why, including Terry. He bathed regularly, but could not rid himself of the smell. Until recently that is. As a ninth grader, Terry was already susceptible to getting hazed by upperclassmen. However, once they realized how easy of a target he was, the hazing turned into a semi-permanent ritual.


During a particularly tortuous swirly treatment, Terry found he could not take any more and something snapped inside of him. He mumbled some gibberish and pointed his pinky fingers at the bullies. He unleashed an invisible force that pushed against his antagonizers, throwing them up against the second story restroom wall. Two of them fell into the urinal trough and the third fell unconscious to the side.


Terry looked at his hands wondering what he had done and if he would be able to do it again. He ran from the restroom just as a 12th grade history teacher was walking in. The teacher saw the dazed bullies and called after Terry, but he was already gone.


He ran from the school grounds and kept on running. He felt energized. For the first time in his life he felt alive. Adrenaline was coursing through his body and so he just kept running. As the adrenaline rush began to fade, he began to slow his pace. He looked around and realized that he didn’t know where he was. The buildings surrounding him appeared old and weather-worn. He looked at some of the shops but most appeared to be vacant. He came upon one shop that has an “Open” sign in the door. He pushed the door open and several bells attached to the inside of the door announced his arrival.


The interior of the shop was clutter with random trinkets and chests. There didn’t appear to be any organization whatsoever to the chaos. In case the bells had failed, Terry called out, “Hello? Is anyone here? I just need some directions.”


He saw a door at the back of the shop opening up to a dimly lit room. He approached the door cautiously and peeked inside. It was a cramped office with some open accounting ledgers and a safe under the desk. Other than that it was completely empty. He turned to walk back to the front of the shop, and standing there in front of him was a woman. In spite of her obvious beauty, Terry jumped and cried out nearly falling over backwards in the process. The woman grabbed his hand to steady him and Terry felt something. He felt that same energy that had coursed through his body immediately before his conquest of the bathroom bullies.


He quick pulled his hand back and stared at the woman. She was tall and thin with dark eyes and light brown skin. Her hair was long and raven black, but she had it pulled up tight on top of her head in a bun. It appeared to Terry that she was the shop keeper, but she seemed really out of place in this dusty old shop.


She said, “Allow me to introduce myself child. I am Madame Margaret of the Mysteries. You can call me M.” She had an accent that Terry couldn’t place immediately, but it sounded vaguely Puerto Rican. No matter the origin, her voice was smooth and soft. Terry felt drawn towards this woman. Not in a romantic way, but simply intrigued by her. He wanted to know everything he could about her, because deep down, he knew that she could tell him what had happened to him.


Terry stayed in that shop talking to Madame Margaret for hours. He didn’t even pay attention to the time. She explained to him the changes that he was going through, how the emotional stress he had been going through caused his Magic to come out at that moment when he needed it most. Terry learned that he was a wizard. Terry had more and more questions for the shopkeeper, and each answered spawned even more questions. Madame Margaret at last said to him, “Terry, you must go and rest now. Let your mind absorb what I have taught you. I have been helping new wizards like you for years. You may continue to come visit me anytime you wish and I will answer three questions each day. But no more than three.”


That had been six months ago. Since the incident in the second story restroom (of which the bullies never mentioned to any school administrator) Terry had visited Madame Margaret, or M as he now called her, almost every day. She was the one who had taught him the spell to rid himself of the foul odor. She also taught him that the odor is actually one of the signs of a wizard (or witch) who is about to snap. M had been the one to tell him about Pixocero Public School for the Incredibly Gifted and Otherwise and submitted his application to the school for him. Despite their difference in age, of which hers remained unknown, they became close friends, similar to the relationship of a nephew to a favorite aunt.


Terry had not been close to many people since the death of his parents. He could not relate to his grandmother. He didn’t know if she was really there most of the time, even though her cooking still remained decent. She yelled at him most of the time. Probably due to a hearing impairment, but Terry still thought that she was mean and tried to avoid her as much as possible. He tried to tell her where he was going at all times, but due to her ever-worsening dementia, she would often forget and call the police thinking that he had gone missing. After the third time this happened, he left a piece of paper taped semi-permanently to the phone that read, “Be back in one hour, Terry” and that seemed to stop the 911 calls.


It was due to this that his relationship with M grew and he felt very attached to her. She had taught him so much about himself, that it made it very difficult to say goodbye. She would accompany him to the train station tomorrow of course, so until then, Terry just wouldn’t think of it.


His grandmother yelled out again, “TERRY!” and he decided that he would just have to get up and spend some time with his grandmother before he left. He wasn’t sure if she would even still be around when school let out for the summer. So he rolled out of bed and stretched and headed downstairs.