A Way to Pass the Hours

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

"Don't look to hard at the words on the page, you may not like what you see. It's best if you don't think too much about it. In fact Reader, if I were you, I'd get out while I still have a chance."

Chapter 1 (v.1) - This is a Terrible Chapter

Submitted: May 09, 2018

Reads: 522

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Submitted: May 09, 2018



Part One: The Peculiar Child



If you are reading this, I can only assume you have nothing better to do with your time. In that case I would strongly urge you to find anything else to do. If you discover that there is no better way to past the hours,  I would first like to  strongly disagree with you. Cutting out coupons, only to find that they have all expired is a better use of your time. Waiting at a bus stop in the rain, and forgetting to turn on the oven while baking cookies are all better uses of your time. But if you insist on reading this terrible story, I can do nothing to stop you. As we all know, once a person has made up their mind to do something it is positively impossible and not just that, but probably implausible that anyone but them will ever change it. But allow me to state now thatI warned you of the troubling things which you are about to read in this book.


Chapter One: This Chapter is Terrible.


There are many mysteries in the world, such as what you will really find at the end of the rainbow, why the Pacu fish has a better smile than you and why the Bermuda Triangle wasn’t a Bermuda square.

The most important wonder, the one mystery that is so mysterious it required me to write an entirely tragic story about it and the people who were affected by it; The Aurora Jewel. An ancient Jewel filled with knowledge from other worlds. A Jewel so incredibly inconceivable that no one, not even the famous explorer Webb Morgan could understand the full extent of its power.

He had kept a log of his quest in his odd journal. A brown leather book filled with scribbles and codes. Webb’s tragically pathetic life was a series of odd occurrences and unexplainable events. He found himself, many years later on in life, on the run from his rival, Annabelle Rorr, who was also his estranged wife, Annabelle Rorr Morgan. Together, they had a son, who Webb kidnapped as a baby and raised till the tender age of five. You may wonder, how does someone end up married to perhaps the only person on earth who wants to murder them, and how does that same person, after kidnapping their only son could fall off the face of the earth leaving that same boy at an orphanage.

You may also wonder a lot of other things that are completely unrelated to this story. If that is the case I strongly suggest you close this book, and pursue your other questions, perhaps that means googling how many grains of sand are in the Sahara desert. Maybe that means looking up the meaning of Groak, only to find that it applies to your life on levels you don’t care to admit. Regardless of your reason, I say to you, get out while you can.

If you infact want to know how Webb’s horrible life went so wrong, read on, but, I will warn you again that every story, weather you care to admit it or not, ends in death.



In the beginning of April, in the middle of arain storm, at the end of the day, a knock awoke a particular Mr. Puckett.This peculiar person, Mr. Puckett, plays an important role in this chapter because if he had not answered the knock at the door until the next day I dare say the story would have died along with the baby on the doorstep.

So, upon grumbling and groaning, he got up and after slipping one foot into a slipper, and repeating this same tedious feat with the other foot. He stumbled down the stairs and to the door.

To describe Mr. Barnard Weber Puckett, of Puckett-Donnally Orphanage, would be to describe a chubby penguin with no hair, two large spectacles, and thick eyebrows. His eyes were drastically too small for his stretched out face and his nose seemed keep his head from falling off backward.

It might be that the saddest part of this chapter was  that the baby’s first sight here on earth was that of the uncharming face of Mr. Puckett. A sight that would be sure to scar the child for years to come.

He, Mr. Puckett, found himself  peeved at the parent of this child, “Couldn’t they have waited till morning?” He complained, “This will just make my job harder.” He droned on, as no note had been left, and no birth certificate had been pinned to the child, who was sopping wet.

At this point he wasn’t even entirely sure if the baby was a he or she. However it was soon discovered when the house began to stink and the changing of the fraile infant was going to happen weather Mr. Puckett wanted it to or not that the baby was a boy.

At this time, and all other times, there were only a few orphans living in the orphanage, this was mostly because Mr. Puckett could not stand children.

He had awaken the girl, Caprice, and given her the baby. Caprice though she was not older than all the other children, acted as their mother. So it was only natural that upon seeing the baby boy, she had stripped him of he clothes and rushed him into warm attire.

“Caprice, this child is your responsibility,” Mr. Puckett shook his stubby finger at her. “Why, should anything happen to this child, there will be no super for anyone!” He threatened as he thought this was in fact the worst way anyone could pay for their crimes.

After looking around at the two children in the orphanage, he shook his head in resolve and retired to his bed.

The children, who were smart children, waited until he was whistling through his nose until they began to fuss over the baby, “Let me see him Caprice,” The oldest orphan commanded. “You look too Fred,” Caprice said gently to her younger “brother”.

Fred climbed up her lab and peered at the baby boy.

“That’s our new brother Fred,” Alexander explained to him. “Caprice, you’re in charge of him, what will you call him?”

She smiled softly, “I’ll name him after my favorite book.”

Caprice, being a very kind and intelligent girl, who preferred reading over playing “silly games.”

Mr. Puckett, being a very simple man owned only three books: A dictionary, Hamlet, which was a gift from an old friend, and an odd book, a brown leather journal that seemed to be blank, though on many occasions Alexander claimed to have seen words inside of it.

It was these claims that excited Mr. Puckett. When he overheard Alexander whispering to Caprice about what he saw, “Property of Ardia.” Mr. Puckett began to dance around the kitchen, and sang, “Eat up, take more, I need you both strong and well!”

Caprice and Alexander had exchanged glances and better a happy drunk than an angry one, they thought as they assumed Mr. Puckett had gotten in the beer again.  But this was sadly not the case, the fact was Mr. Puckett detested children, and yet, he ran an orphanage. Oddities like this are not merely the cruel hand of irony. No, they are a result of much more devious things.

At this point, I will do what many authors do, and for now I will not give you any more information about  the plans which are to unfold before you in this book. If you find that you are frustrated, I will kindly say this to you, close the book and forget its name. Go about your life, because soon it will be too late to turn back from this story, and your frustration in it will only grow more and more. If you however find that these cruel teasers have only made your desire to read this terrible story stronger, you may want to reconsider who you are as a person. But if you insist, I won’t stop you.

There were many days over the next few years when Caprice’s patience would be tested. Raising Fred had been easy, Fred had been a very dumb baby and often did not find trouble. However Webster, who if you had not put it together was named after a dictionary, was a very intelligent boy. And intelligence often leads to trouble.

Caprice however had an easy time teaching them both to read, Fred, being completely normal compared to Webster, was incredibly fond of Hamlet. Webster on the other hand had a strange habit of sitting for hours on end staring into the blank pages of the brown leather journal. Alexander and Mr. Puckett were fascinated by this. They would ask him subtle questions such as, “How are you finding that book?” or “What was the last thing you read about?” To which he would answer, “I’m finding it quite good,” and when asked about the last thing he read, he would hold up the book as if to show them. To which they would nod and smile and say “Oh that page,” to which Webster would smirk at them from behind his book as if he knew they couldn’t see any words on the page. This habit of his greatly disturbed Caprice, who would as often as she could, try to get the boys to play outside.

Fred was not very fond of playing, and preferred much milder things such as polishing rocks and collecting butterflies.

Webster however played very odd games, that scared Caprice. He would practice running away from imaginary people. He would run through the woods and around the home never pausing for even a moment. He suffered many injuries and even some broken bones, and yet in receiving them he kept on running as if his life depended on it. It was only when he finished the race that he would he burst into tears and limp over to Caprice, who would try to hide her worried expression as best she could.

Caprice seemed to be the only one worried about his “different” behavior. Alexander and Mr. Puckett, who seemed to get along better than ever, found Webster fascinating. They observed him like he was some kind of alien. So when Webster starting telling stories their analytical brains nearly burst.

His stories were odd, and often time consisted of the same three characters. Naturally these fairy tales began to excite Mr. Puckett and puzzle Alexander. Caprice, did not like the stories and wearily observed Mr. Puckett’s unhealthy obsession with him and it had made her increasingly nervous about Puckett.

As the boys grew older, Alexander began to do more work with Mr. Puckett.

Fred was quiet, but enjoyed Webster so much the two would often walk around the town for hours and talk.

Caprice looked older and more angelic than ever, however she had begun to fade in the last year. Being overworked and under feed she seemed feeble. Webster who insisted on acting much older than he was had begun to be more worried about Caprice. He was easily upset by seeing her clean, or do work of any kind. She, had recently taken another job in town to help Webster afford a good education, one which she was insistent that he would get.

Fred himself had no interest in the education that Webster required and instead took to the arts. Since becoming an artist and poet at an early age, and traveling, he had developed the habit of talking to people. He often reminded Caprice of Webster in his younger days as Webster had grown more quiet.

Alexander had already finished his education and was of a fine standing in the town. It seemed that in one way or another life had turned out right.

There were some other children who had come and gone throughout the years. They would always disappear from the house without explanation, and coincidentally  always went missing after they had looked in the brown journal and failed to see words. But this detail couldn’t possibly be important. Could it?


I would advise any reader to not over analyze these words on the page, or think about details too much. If you do, you might not like what you discover.


It was in this year of many good things that Caprice and Webster had saved enough to send him to a very acquired boarding school. Mr. Puckett was infuriated.

“He can’t leave! Not now-- not ever!”

It should be noted here that many things contribute to life changing events. I believe the term for these events is, “the perfect storm” means many different things.. In this instance “the perfect storm” is a storm that consisted of too much beer, desperation, a violent temper, very bad decisions, and fate. After all fate plays a bigger part in this than we will give  him credit for.

“He’s leaving this place, I’m getting him away from you if it’s the last thing I do!” Caprice who would normally never say such a thing, made a very bad decision in doing so.

At this time, Alexander no longer lived at home, Fred was away, and Webster was at work.

It should be noted that there was another person in the house. A boy, who had arrived only four days earlier. His name, was Rai Nolan. His life had been most unfair, and only got worse. But he is not important to anyone, not even his parents, that must be why he was an orphan. Don’t get attached to Rai Nolan, or feel bad for him. He isn’t important, try to remember that, he sure will.  

“He’s mine! I own him, and I say,” Puckett stuttered, as he was more drunk than he would ever admit to being, “I say he stays me with!”

“He’s going!” she argued.

“Little girl,” He stepped toward her, and she nervously glanced behind her at the banister. “You don’t order me,” He moved closer still and began to shake her, “ No one tells me what to do! You hear me, No one!” He shook her harder, and she pulled away from him, and he let her go with an vicious shove.

In even as she fell through the banister she was graceful. But then there was a thud. A heart stopping noise that meant she died or would soon enough.

You see, the perfect storm had been made. Puckett had too much to drink, which only made his violent temper less easy to control. A very bad  decision was made by Caprice when she chose to argue with a madman. And in desperation, Mr. Puckett would do something he would never regret. But something that he would pay for later. He would pay for it all. And Fate, don’t worry, you’ll see him again.

I will spare you the scene and what comes after her fall. But now, here we are, it’s too late for you to get out. I tried to warn you, but at this point you’ve witness too much; I can’t possibly let you leave now, so settle in reader, and get ready to pass the hours with me. Don’t be scared, just remember, no matter how bad it gets, or how hopeless things seem. All stories end in death.


© Copyright 2019 H.C.W. All rights reserved.


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