Read The Fallen Parler: Part One (A supernatural mystery thriller) for Free Online Page A

normal school felt like. Ridgewood High was the city’s most renowned private school, reserved for the kin of London’s crème de la crème. St Andrews, however, was a non-exclusive school and it catered to pupils all ages below eighteen. Squeezing through a crowd of hyperactive eleven year olds each morning was not going to be an easy job. With the help of numerous sign boards and arrowheads, Luchia directed the twins to the reception foyer. Here, they were warmly greeted by the deputy head teacher, who was quick to congratulate Junior on his valiant saving of little Maddie Brown. Roberta Quabble was her name, on days when the headmaster was absent she would assume his duties. Meeting and greeting new students was one of these duties. Quabble would explain the school’s health and safety regulations and shortly discuss subjects, before referring new students to their head of year. Today, she conducted these duties in perfect timing. By 8.30, Junior and Charlotte had been educated on all they needed to know about St. Andrew’s college. Afterwards, Mrs. Quabble instructed one of the students on reception duty to escort Charlotte and Allan Junior to the form class 13.4. When they arrived at the classroom, the Roterbee’s were greeted by a group of impassive 17 year olds, who sat, dull and immobile, behind their desks. Junior could tell that half the class were texting away underneath the tattered desks; he could also tell that the female teacher at the front of the class did not have the slightest clue.
    ‘Allan and Charlotte Roterbee, I’ve been expecting you,’ cawed the mousy woman at the front of the class, ‘come on in, and don’t be shy.’
    ‘I’m Mrs. Lee,’ she said, in a feathery voice that matched her pixie features. ‘Let’s give a warm welcome to the newest members of our form.’
    Mrs. Lee began to clap and the class followed languorously.
    ‘Before you take your seats, introduce yourselves, tell us something about yourselves.’
    ‘Err, I’m Charlotte,’ Charlotte began, ‘but you can call me Charley, I prefer Charley and I guess I like...’
    The word ‘chemistry’ appeared in Charlotte’s head, but she was certain it’d be social suicide if she professed her love for chemistry on the first day.
    ‘I like swimming,’ she mumbled.
    The class was as indifferent as a group of people could be, so as soon as Charlotte felt herself getting red, she grabbed the first free seat at the front of the classroom.
    ‘And you, Mr. Roterbee?’
    ‘I’m Allan Junior,’ mumbled Junior, ‘and I-’
    ‘You’re the boy from the paper this morning!’ exclaimed Lena Gwen, from the back of the classroom.
    ‘Um yeah,’ gulped Junior, cursing the Shorebridge telegraph underneath his breath. The young girl’s verbal outpour had now captured the attention of the entire class.
    ‘What do you know…we have a hero in our midst,’ cooed Mrs. Lee.
    Unfortunately for Junior, the last available seat was beside the girl who had, so callously, revealed his heroic episode to the class.
    ‘I’m Lena Gwen,’ she beamed, patting the seat beside her. ‘Now tell me again about how you bolted into the train tracks, not a care in the world but saving that little girl,’ Lena demanded.
    Overwhelmed by the slightly loony Lena, Junior began to recount a forged version of the story (which did not involve freezing time). An eager group of pupils at the back of the class listened in amazement and Lena, especially, cooed and awed as Junior narrated the events of his first day in Shorebridge. Meanwhile, Charlotte made acquaintances with a group of three identically-dressed girls at the front of the class. The leader of the clique, Beau Bennet, commented on how pretty she thought Charlotte’s hair was. Beau’s minions, Delilah and Grace, robotically imitated their leader, paying Charlotte generous complements.
    ‘You’re so pretty,’ fawned Grace, ‘you look so exotic.’
    ‘Have you got anything in you?’ asked