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A white Christmas

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In the third of a series of short stories by members of South Woodford’s Young Writers Club, A White Christmas is a tale of adventure, an evil king and snow, by 10-year-old Viva Sastry

I had always wanted a white Christmas, ever since Grandma had told me about snow. My mother, too, had never known snow. In fact, she had wanted snow so badly, she made my name Snowdrop. My full name is Snowdrop Winters. I was an only child, but I had a cat called Everest, so I was rarely bored. Not with my Grandma’s stories anyway…

“Snowdrop! There’s two days until Christmas Eve!” a voice shouted. “We need to go and get a tree!” the voice said. “Snowdrop!” my mother yelled again. I was down the stairs like lightning.

I got into the car, begging Grandmother for a story. “Alright, alright, Snowdrop,” she said, her eyes sparkling childishly. “Once upon a time, there was snow…” she began. “The snow all came from one source: the snow jar. One day, an evil king – you know his name – who wanted to harness the powers of snow tried to steal it. But a brave hero hid it. To this day, nobody knows where it is…” As we were both sitting in the back, she passed me a blank map. “Some know…” she whispered.

Later that night, a strange sensation awoke me. A light was coming from somewhere. The map! Everest was curled around it. I knew it was calling me. Quietly, I slid out of bed and got dressed. Putting on my glasses, I could now see that the map was covered in words. Instructions! My heart leaped. It was a three-day walk to get to Mount Crystation, one to climb it. Again, I felt a rush of happiness. I could hire a train to Crystation and speed up the journey!

I packed three days’ worth of food, to go there and come back. I also packed the train fare both ways. I had a funny feeling Everest would be coming. Sure enough, she insisted on coming, so I bundled her inside the cat carrier and caught the night train to Crystation. The rattling of the train soon lulled me into sleep. Little did I know someone was watching me…

The train grinding to a halt woke me. I leapt out of the train and walked the 10 or so minutes to Crystation. The mountain loomed over me. The dark crag had an eerie light on it. Somehow, I knew it was here. Leaping up the rock face, I soon reached the chest. Squeezing inside, I saw the snow jar. Inside was a moonstone set in a pendant. There were four quarters – a topaz, a sapphire, a ruby and a diamond, respectively earth, water, fire and air. Set in the middle was the actual moonstone. Snow. Rain. Things that hadn’t been seen for two generations.

“You think I’ll let you escape?” snarled a menacing voice. “You were watching me!” I cried. “You are Archfang the Mystic, that king!” He lunged for the pendant. Everest bit him, and we both tore out of the cave, dashing down the mountain and back into the train, just as it rattled off.

We were safe, and we had the snow jar – no, the element pendant.

For more information on the Young Writers Club, email youngwritersclub.southwoodford@gmail.com
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Viva Sastry
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