Taking on the Greats - RJ, Conan Doyle & H.G. Wells

Boys in RJ have been imitating great writers of late. Here are some thrilling pieces from Bobby Moss and Oscar Piney in the style of Arthur Conan Doyle and from Geordie Lindsay, Wilf Whitehead and Tiwa Laoye-Abiola in the style of H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds.

Arthur Conan Doyle

‘It’s just as I imagined it,’ said Sir Henry.

All of a sudden, there was an almighty crash at the window, like the sound of a great oak falling onto the Hall. We raced towards the sound, drawn both by a curious fascination and repelled by the fear of what we might behold. Only utter darkness. And an eerie silence. Returning to the front door, which would take us away from the initial din, we cast about for another means of exiting the building.

‘Look! Over here!’ I exclaimed boldly. Although I couldn’t see them, I could hear Sherlock and Sir Henry cautiously approaching me. Once they were standing next to me, I showed them what I had found: a large hole in the wall. I had no idea where it had come from, as I was sure we had passed this wall a few minutes earlier. Sherlock immediately went onto his knees and started investigating. ‘What are you-’ queried Sir Henry, but was cut off by an unforeseen ‘Shush!’ from Sherlock. When he was investigating, only sheer silence would do, and if anyone made a noise, he would go ballistic.

The hole was too large for a rat, yet too small for the so-called ‘Hound of The Baskervilles’. In the legends, it is said that it is larger than a man, however this hole was barely big enough for a labrador. Thunder crackled outside as a sharp bolt of lightning struck a tree only thirty metres from where we were standing. Suddenly, Mr Holmes disappeared. It appeared to me that he had not necessarily fallen, but crawled down into the hole, like a hamster crawls into a tube: quite willingly.

I found, or should I say Sherlock found, that although it was shut off, the mysterious hole didn’t lead to anything exciting, but rather, after around five minutes of claustrophobic crawling, we came upon a slight slant in the tunnel, which led to quite a steep climb. At the top of it, Sherlock opened up a small wooden hatch. After much squeezing, I got through, and there we were, right below the recently struck tree, around thirty metres from the great Hall.

Sir Henry and I followed suit, although we were not as willing as Sherlock. ‘Sherlock?’ I called. ‘Yes. What?’ he replied coldly. I decided that I would stop talking. We could see him, just an outline in our mere candlelight, a few paces ahead. I’m not a detective, but I could tell that this tunnel was quite old, which led me to wander why it was shut off. Maybe there was something down here.

Quite abruptly, we heard a sort of howling and, although no one else saw it, my eyes seemed to have caught a glimpse of a large beast when lightning struck. Oddly, however, when another bolt of lightning struck a few seconds later, it had disappeared. I decided not to tell Mr Holmes and Sir Henry what I saw, because they didn’t need any false alarm of a beast spotting, especially since we had only just arrived.

By Bobby Moss

‘It’s just as I imagined it,’ said Sir Henry.

All of a sudden, there was an almighty crash at the window, like the sound of a great oak falling onto the Hall. We raced towards the sound, drawn both by a curious fascination and repelled by the fear of what we might behold. Only utter darkness. And an eerie silence. Returning to the front door, which would take us away from the initial din, we cast about for another means of exiting the building.

‘Look! Over here!’ exclaimed Dr Watson boldly.

I hurried over to whatever he might have found, almost dreading this unusual discovery. The darkened halls seemed to enclose upon me as I approached the Doctor.

Lying sprawled across the floor, lay the mutilated body of some dark, monstrous hound.

It wasn't like any animal I had seen before. A preternatural hue, almost a colourless black. The celadon eyes rolled lopsidedly, and blood was sleeping through the angled slit of its mouth. I crouched, shivering intensely. This creature was barely out of place in a house such as this, yet it was terrifying to behold. The legs and joints were outstretched in all different directions, horribly disfigured, as if it had fallen from some great height. Upon this thought, I glanced up at the stairway, a twisted, intricate thing. Shadows clouded my view of the top, and I decided it wasn't a worthwhile distraction to search there.

That was when he rolled it over and I saw.

The bites.

The beast's wiry corpse was riddled with huge indents, loose pieces of flesh and dried blood clustering the cavities like flies to a light. Not that there was any light in Baskerville. The clouded white eyes seemed to be set upon me, gazing vaguely as I examined it.

This sight entirely repulsed me, so I drew over to the window, unbelievably panicked. As I watched the faint layers of winter snow descend onto the ground outside, I could only think about the crippled hound and what had happened to it. Where had it come from? What had happened to it? And what kind of animal could have done such a thing?

We then decided to place the body outside, and leave it until the morning. I took this time to search briefly around the house, and examine its interior.

It seemed to have a mind of its own, pulsing and breathing as if a human. Dark swatches of cloth covered all the windows, as if the inside was to be hidden. I walked back over to find the Doctor. Never before had I seen such a secret, nefarious place before.

By Oscar Piney

H.G. Wells

I eventually managed to turn my terrified face from these vile, ponderous creatures, towards the dark trees, only to find them alight with an unearthly green fire. I swerved at the last second towards a carriage, waiting on the side of the blackened road and finding no one inside, snapped the whinnying horses into action with a cruel leather whip and shot off down the now deserted road in any direction but towards the terrible, slimy creature and its abominable machine. A round grey metal sphere fell through the air. It landed on a building beside me with a sound like fifty elephant guns firing at once, reducing it to pitiful rubble, and spraying red hot metal, glass, and other jagged objects all around. Some flew in my direction, like vengeful hornets. Suddenly I was lying on the ruined road, watching in sheer terror as an army of Martians swarmed, slithered, and oozed towards me.

By Geordie Lindsay

I tripped over an outlying root which sent me falling backwards. The lumbering bulks of death started towards me, never losing eye contact. Slowly and painfully they came closer and closer, whilst I was unable to move, locked in a rigour of terror. One of the beasts reached out a short and blunt hand, beckoning me to come closer. A quiver went down my spine. The beasts, with their mouths opened ajar, crooked teeth glaring at me, was set in a grimace; their long, oak-like legs moving mechanically up and down and their hands like a horse’s quarters swatting through the air as if trying to attack an invisible force.

A moment later, the beast stood stark still, swaying in the gentle breeze before thumping down onto the rigid and unmoving ground. Its oily brown skin, slowly becoming a rich, violet colour. A nearby person quickly rushed to my aid, hoisting myself onto their shoulder. No matter how many Martians were felled, more reappeared to join the fight. As I glanced around, a picture of brutality and destruction awaited me. Men ripping women away from their dead children, the Martians cutting a swathe in anyone who dared challenge them. Old oaks that towered above were struck down. Soft, silver streams were turned into everlasting lakes of red. No matter how many cries were cried; or shouts were shouted; the ruthless and barbaric Martians kept on trundling forwards, striking anyone who came within their extraordinarily long and wide reach.

The woods that we had finally reached, me and my heroic savour, to find that the woods had been thinned out. We found refuge among a group of stragglers, thinking that we were beyond the reach of the monsters. Just as I was thinking about what to do next, the woods turned silent. Everyone abandoned their cocoon of nonchalant. Our eyes darted around, looking for a sign of movement, whether it is a twig snapping or low grunt.

By Wilfred Whitehead

I finally made it into the forest, sweat dripping off my face, some caused by my mad dash and some out of sheer fright. The world shook. I saw an enormous webbed foot lay on the ground from the behemoth that lay in front of me. With every step it took the lakes rippled like water in a glass, rocks flew into the air and the screams of those running away became louder. Like a sociopath it swiftly turned its scaled neck and stared at me with a weirdly sadistic look. I stumbled backwards as it galloped towards me.

My heart raced faster than it ever had before, I felt my blood pressure rising and then...

By Tiwa Laoye-Abiola