The Abominable Snowman

The Abominable Snowman: written for a Grade 5 English assignment

Final grade: A+


Part One, In which the Tale is introduced

A tall elegant girl watched Vancouver, her hometown, disappear in the misty fog. The girl, Camille Fitzwilliam, sighed reluctantly and finished her lunch. The airplane which she was in, had ascended a long twenty- two minutes ago and Camille still hadn’t settled in. A few days ago her parents had announced somewhat happily, “Camille! We’ve decided to move to a PERMANENT home, where your father can do his research on the place, so can you guess where we’re going?”

And Camille had answered somewhat hopefully, ”New York? California? Mount Everest? Italy? Hawaii? Regina? Victoria? England????” But the answer she had received was unexpected and shocking.

“We’re moving to Lhasa, Tibet, China!?!” Camille had screamed, yelled, thrown silent tantrums (which you know perfectly well is possible), cried her eyes out, begged her parents. Nothing had worked, unfortunately, and three days later, they loaded onto the plane and left Vancouver forever. Camille watched her quintuplet brother Brendan open his 5999- paged novel and began reading.

“Brendan!” whispered Camille in a hissing sort of way. “What’re you reading?” Brendan blinked and held up a leather- bound book. ”My favorite book! It’s called The Miscellaneous Guide to Thunder Annexes, Dark Suns, and Mitchondrion which is an anecdote of nonsense, by Cluara von Rezturon.” Camille rolled her eyes and adjusted her midnight black glasses. “Here, Cam! Why don’t you read these?” He handed her two books, one thin, big and worn, and one brand new and thick. “Tintin in Tibet? The Legends of Tibet?” Camille hesitated and said in a rather bored voice, ”Sure, why not.” ‘As long as it passes the time,’ she thought to herself. Besides, Brendan’s enormous bookshelf sometimes, and quite often, contained some interesting things. Camille flopped herself back down on her plane seat (which you probably know is stiff and uncomfortable) and grabbed herself a cup of apple cider and began to read Tintin in Tibet. Tintin in Tibet turned out to be a hilariously laughable graphic novel or comic, Camille didn’t know. She found herself laughing out loud whenever Captain Haddock swore and when Thomson and Thompson fell over by accident. At the end of the book, Camille found a green Post- it shaped like an apple. In Brendan’s handwriting it said:

December 29, 2011

Hey, sis! Don’t be glum. I know you wanted to go to Hawaii or New York instead of Tibet but cheer up. P.S. You can keep this book. It’s an early Christmas present! Your brother,

Brendan Fitzwilliam

Camille smiled and playfully ruffled Brendan’s sandy hair. He scowled, obviously annoyed. Camille grinned her crooked petite grin. Brendan’s face broke into an identical smile and for some unknown reason, they both began laughing so hard that Camille developed a stitch in her side and in the corners of Brendan’s eyes swam with tears threatening to spill out. Before they knew it, random people began to gape and stare at them. Their parents (Lucy and Philippe Fitzwilliam) and their quintuplet sister Eloise glared at them, thoroughly disturbed. Soon, their laughter died down and their fellow plane mates resumed their activities (which they were doing before they were very rudely interrupted by strange kids who giggled and guffawed hysterically like donkeys). Brendan reached deep into his pockets and pulled out Captain Underpants. He gurgled down some warm milk and began reading. Camille pulled and poked around, and with some difficulty, took out ‘ The Legends of Tibet’ and sipped her apple cider.  She took a bite out of her untouched dessert, a big slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream.

About twelve hours later, the plane landed, bumping along the port. Camille yawned and stretched and fumbled with her humongous backpack. Trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she was greeted by her quintuplet siblings- actually, there were only three of the five, two had died as infants. Only Camille, Brendan, and Eloise remained. So having waved at them, Camille dragged herself off the backbreaking seat and groggily gripped her backpack and her kitten Snowdrop’s kennel. Camille’s teeth chattered. It was autumn in Lhasa but very chilling. Lucy Fitzwilliam handed her daughter a slice of strawberry shortcake and a mug of piping hot chocolate (everyone in the family had a sweet tooth, partly because their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins had a sweet tooth, too. It was an inheritance thing.) Camille quickly gulped down the hot chocolate (and got a burnt tongue as a result) and wolfed down the shortcake in seconds. Bored, she fished out a slender black pen and began sketching on a clean white napkin. Back in Vancouver, she was one of the top 3 artists in the entire school, and was president of the Drawing Club. But in Tibet, it was now only a memory.

Mr. Philippe Fitzwilliam glared angrily at the house. It was shabby, sloppy, and had a small, shed-like appearance. None of the quintuplets could even get inside through the doorway, more or less Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “Nineteen thousand dollars for this- this-” He couldn’t find an insult fitting enough for the outrageous house. Brendan tapped his father’s shoulder. “Dad, you’re facing the wrong street and the wrong house.” Relieved, Mr. Fitzwilliam swung around and was greeted by a beautiful castle of a house. Its roof was dark and slanted. Two turrents reached to the sky in a dignified manner. But the absurd thing about the house was… the walls and the surface of the house was painted a ridiculous shade of pink. “Awkward…..” muttered Camille, wrinkling her nose. “Have they no taste?” Eloise mumbled back. “Uh, children, we will definitely repaint this wonderful house of ours. Any suggestions on the paint color?” “How about yellow or beige?” answered Camille, trying not to laugh at the hilarious sight. “ I agree with beige but if there’s none I suggest teal or turquoise,” announced Eloise. Brendan shrugged carelessly. “ As long as it doesn’t stay pink I don’t care.” The Fitzwilliam family trudged through the snow in their snow boots to their house.

“Brendan! Take your suitcase off my bed!” Eloise tossed his ski goggles, toothbrush, toboggan, and hand-made compass at Brendan. “Don’t forget your books either!” Brendan grunted at her in response. “And why’d you bring that old basketball? Don’t tell me you brought your sunscreen! BRENDAN!” Camille listened to them grumble at each other as she shivered in her green nightgown.

“Yah, I know, but you brought your orange stuffed dragon and your weirdo invention that beeps ‘Welcome back to Yardun’s Celcius to Fahrenheit Device, which tells the temperature everywhere you go!’ I bet I can knock you down with only one snowball!” Camille stifled a giggle. While Eloise argued that she had returned her book on yetis, Camille tidied her clothes. As Brendan shot back that his old envelope collection included a bright red one, she folded her blue and green patchwork quilt and puffed up her pillows. She heard Eloise call Brendan a pile of lazy slush as she organized her new desk and strung out her Happy New Year banner. Her siblings screamed and yelled at each other and finally Camille went to Brendan’s room to investigate. Brendan’s hair was tousled and his eyes narrowed to amber slits. Eloise was in tears and curls of fierce brown hair stuck out from her neat short hair. “Guys! Seriously! What’s going on? It’s our first day in Tibet and you’re at each others throats already!” Eloise exploded in another fit of tears. Brendan turned red as a beet and tried to step out of the room. “Hey!” Camille shoved him back in and slammed the door. “Now what’s going on?” Brendan stared at the floor, ashamed, and Eloise cried harder than ever. Camille’s eyes flashed with frustration and anger. “Do you want me to call Mom?” No response. Eloise gestured at Camille and pointed at Brendan. She mock- punched herself and Camille then understood. “BRENDAN………” She was interrupted by her mother who came in. “I noticed that it was more quiet….  What’s wrong?” Lucy Fitzwilliam noticed their stony expressions. Without speaking, Camille pointed at Brendan. “Eloise. Did your brother hurt you?” Eloise nodded mournfully. “Come on, Eloise. Young man, I will talk to you later.” After Mrs. Fitzwilliam left, Camille glared at Brendan. “Now will you tell me, or do I have to force it out of Eloise?” Brendan nodded shamefully but didn’t speak. He pointed the camera and Camille picked it gingerly off his table. She turned it on and saw a photo of Eloise yelling at Brendan. Confused, she turned back to Brendan. And finally, Brendan began to speak.      “You know how much I hate it when Eloise yells, right?” Camille nodded, not knowing how that related to Brendan punching Eloise. “She thought I was pathetic for staying inside and reading my eyes out. She kept yelling and yelling and yelling and yelling and yelling and yelling and yelling all over again, telling me how I didn’t accept her having Down syndrome, how she thought that I thought that me having ADHD is better than her having Down, how I told her to shut up so many times when she yelled, how I was a useless pathetic lame brother, how she deserved a better sibling. Well, I got fed up with it.” Camille nodded, not very surprised. “That’s not a good reason to hurt her, though. I know you wanted her to be quiet but you understand her outbursts. Well, she’s got Down and all. It’s hard for her.” Brendan nodded in a guilty way. “You should apologize.”

The next day, the quintuplets woke up and decided to go skiing together. There was a steep hill and Brendan dared Camille to ski down the hill and taunted her when she refused. “Fine! If that’s what you want!” Camille reluctantly skied smoothly down, dodging logs and lumps of frozen snow. She winded between tall trees and stones. Gracefully, she glided down the steep hill, but before she knew it, Camille flew awkwardly like a klutz through the air and landed dizzily in a snowdrift. Panic clouded Camille’s mind. The world spun around and around and then Camille saw black.

Her eyes fluttered open. Light was very dim and Camille could hardly see. She was in a cavern. Whatever light was in the room was getting even dimmer, darker. Soon she couldn’t see anything. Camille felt something similar to a rim of a cup gently touching her mouth. A liquid trickled out of the cup and down her throat. It was sweet and sour with a hint of sadness tucked in neatly, and spurts of bitterness slid smoothly through her coarse throat. It was also slightly salty, as if someone had cried in it. It quenched her longing thirst and Camille fell in a deep, deep sleep.

It was dawn. Lost posters flew everywhere, written in both English and Tibetan. Eloise and Brendan were sleeping fitfully on the porch. Mr. Fitzwilliam had shadows under his eyes and Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s eyes were red from weeping. Screeching police cars were everywhere. Camille was lost. No one knew where she went.               Camille simply wasn’t gone, and someone knew where she was. The police were wrong. But the place Camille was in was far, far beyond the orange-purple horizon.

She sat up and yawned, Light, finally. Then Camille remembered. Her family, quintuplets, the skiing accident. She rushed hurriedly up to go back, but a voice in the gloomy darkness stopped her. It spoke in her mind. Stay. Do not go. Not safe, Stay. Camille gathered up all her remaining courage and said, “Who are you?” Someone. “I have to go home!” All right. Come back. Soon. Camille bid the voice farewell and skied back. It was a long trip. She eventually arrived her coppery brown hair matted and her amber eyes glowing and fierce. When Lucy Fitzwilliam saw her daughter, she began weeping all over again. Camille received hugs and more hugs. Brendan and Eloise stated their concerns. “I thought you were kidnapped by the Abominable Snowman!” exclaimed Brendan. “Even the police say they’ve seen a dark shadow appearing near our area,” whispered Eloise nervously. Camille smiled. She was about to tell them about the mysterious voice but the voice spoke to her again. Do Not. Tell Not Safe. Quiet. It, of course, was the mysterious voice whom she had heard in the darkness. She shuddered slightly. Do not. Scared of Me. “Where were you, anyway?” Quickly, Camille made up a realistic fib. “I crashed into a tree and, um, fainted. Took me a long time to wake up. Have a bruise from it.” Her parents stared at her, not knowing what to say. Eloise kicked the snow and began pacing. The voice spoke once again. Visit. Tomorrow. Two Dawn. Bewildered, Camille walked back into the house, her family trailing after her. Camille silently slid up the stairs. The door to her room was open and presents littered the floor. A tearstained “Happy B-Day” banner flapped in the breeze. On her table lay a delicate cupcake with the number 11 in turquoise icing. She remembered… “Oh yeah, today’s my birthday!” Camille flounced back down the stairs. She tapped Brendan’s shoulder, “Hey, what day’s it?” Brendan mumbled, “our birthday…” Eloise nodded and nearly sat down on Camille’s curled up kitten. It meowed in protest and leaped into Camille’s arms. She tousled Snowdrop’s frosty fur. Snowdrop purred, delighted and relaxed. Snowdrop glided gracefully to the ground and tiptoed away in a ladylike fashion. Eloise snickered and unsuccessfully tried to hide it. Brendan guffawed and snorted. Camille headed back to her room.

“What did the Voice mean?” Mindy Bernice- Beauchampe tapped her voicing- radar device impatiently. Her partner Dale Schummans smiled unpleasantly. “He is on the very borders of Nepal. In a cavern disguised as a forest. We will track him down immediately, well, after a short snack break.” Mindy tried to look unimpressed, “Anyway, you’ve had ten snack breaks since 11:00 o’clock and it’s only 11:30!” Shummans smiled nastily and adjusted his belt.” Let’s have pigeon pot pie with snakeskins.” Mindy grimaced at Schummans’s taste.” I’d rather figgy pudding if you don’t mind. Oh, if you don’t have that I’ll take either flamed pudding or cherry Jell-O.” Once again Schummans smirked, “I have none of those, Beauchamp. I only have worm-in-a bag, slime Jell-O and nightcrawler-and-lizard tongues in mud pudding.” Mindy moaned. Schummans resumed munching on a mottled green snakeskin and Mindy turned as green as the snakeskin itself. Turning away from the disgusting scene, she tapped the space bar of her sleek pink laptop. Mindy felt the ridges and curves of the keys and rearranged her hair. It was curled and half dyed bright purple with streaks of seashell pink. Several strands and locks of hair hung over Mindy’s face and she brushed them away with a spindly finger. A sinister smile found its way to Mindy’s face as she typed in her notes.

Camille rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she fumbled around her room. Grabbing her glasses she swung herself form the queen size bed, she noticed a big- no, humongous pile of books on her desk expectantly, waiting for her to read them. A yellow Post- it cloud was on the very top of the threatening pile and it said in Eloise’s handwriting,

I suppose you’ve noticed this pile of books.

Then in Brendan’s handwriting:

These are books about The Abominable Snowman- observations, fiction, journals, and a blank notebook for your notes.

Then in Eloise’s handwriting again:

These are for the school project. We are doing legendary beings unusually sighted ‘round the world. I am doing fairies and Brendan is doing either phoenixes or dragons or some stuff like that.

And Brendan’s handwriting once more:

Meet us in the basement at 10:00.  We have something to show you. Hurry up! Your quintuplet siblings, Brendan    Eloise

A swift glance at the clock instantly told her it was three minutes to ten. Hurriedly, Camille dressed in an old shirt with a picture of a faded unicorn on it and nearly trampled Snowdrop on the way downstairs. She opened a very small door (which had a green triangle Post- it saying BASEMENT DOOR). Clambering down, she realized there were no stairs. Only a sliding tunnel made of some sort of smooth material. Gliding down as quick as can be, Camille felt like an uncertain skater- she never knew what would happen and when. At last, a light in the distance revealed the way out and shivering, Camille flew out and landed on a snowdrift. Brendan and Eloise were hooting with laughter like hyenas and the bleak sun seemed to mock Camille. Scowling, Camille started to head back to her room to make notes. But then- “Dammit: I missed the first and second day of school!” Brendan bellowed even harder. “Didn’tcha realize that a long time ago?” Eloise stifled a hiccup and sneezed. Back in her room, Camille was still taking important notes when the voice shook through her, echoing in a lonely sort of way, You. Forgot Visit. Dawn. Five. Her heart skipped a beat and her teeth chattered from the sudden coldness filling her. You did. Not. Come. Camille’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the sides of the chair. Littling. Do you know. Who or what I am? Camille sighed. Guessing games were not her best specialty. And she also had very little patience, much less time. You do not. I will. Show myself. When we. Meet.


Part Two, In which the Tale unravels itself?!

Beauchampe studied her work, triumphant. “And what have you done, Schummans?” Schummans stopped chewing on his stick of rat and mouse blood licorice. “What were we supposed to do?” “Yeah, you old goat. All you did the past few days was eat, just like a glutton.” She paused, gloating at her observations. “Which you are, of course.” Schummans stalked away, sulking at his failure. Beauchampe read her report out loud, just to tease Schummans.

The Abominable Snowman Report

By Miranda Bernice- Beauchampe

All this happened Jan/2/12, Saturday

5:00 a.m.- silence

6:00- silence

7:00- silence

8:00- murmurs

9:00- shuffling

10:00- silence

11:00- murmurs

12:00- Telepathic speaking to a human, around 11 years of age. Female. Tall.

1:00- silence

Overall, the Abominable Snowman is communicating with an unknown human, easily tracked down. Will start search soon.

Camille knocked loudly on Uncle Edgar Understar’s door. Uncle Edgar answered the door himself and looked at his favourite niece with pride. “What is it, Camille?” he said in his British accent. “I have a few questions for you, Uncle.” She clasped her folder and bag of books tightly. “Come in first for a cup of tea. Would you like some croissants and Saskatoon jam and margarine?” Camille nodded. Once she was on a stiff armchair draped in white velvet, she began. “Uncle Edgar, I really enjoyed the book you wrote on the Abominable Snowman. It helped me with my school project a lot!” Camille paused. You. Can. Tell. Understar. Friend. “I- I’m hearing a voice in my head a lot. Do you by any chance know what is the source?” Uncle Edgar leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowed. “I see. Carry on?” “ Well, what does it want with me?” Camille saw a spark of interest in Uncle Edgar’s deep brown eyes.  “For Pete’s sake, Camille! Read your notes and tell me what you find.” Camille cleared her throat anxiously and said: “Telepathy communications, shy, gentle, mysterious, said to inhabit Tibet and Nepal, not easily seen…” She glanced at Uncle Edgar in bewilderment. “You’re seriously telling me that the voice belongs to The Abominable Snowman?” Camille wanted to say, “You’ve gone bonkers!” but decided it wasn’t too polite. Uncle Edgar pointed to his field guide, which was on the cherry wood table. “This is my exploration diary. I wrote my various observations about The Abominable Snowman.” He took out a pocket-sized hand-made notebook with a leather cover. The pages were yellow with age and the tips curled. “Camille, I’ve visited The Abominable Snowman countless times. How about I tell your parents we are going to a Tibetan museum and instead lets visit him. And also, if you have time, read this.” Uncle Edgar handed her the notebook.

Schummans sat stonily on his chair. “Beauchampe, what will we do with The Abominable Snowman, his friends, and the girl when we find them?” Beauchampe shrugged. “Killed? Brainwashed? Drowned? Choked? Who in the world cares?” Schummans nodded. “A very fitting ending for a freak like The Abominable Snowman and his friends, Beauchampe.”

A moment later Uncle Edgar and Camille were driving through the snow. Camille felt sick. She always got sick during car rides. Suddenly, the battered car stopped altogether and Camille nearly vomited. They had stopped outside a forest. Uncertainly, Camille stepped into the cloaked shadows followed by Uncle Edgar. Immediately darkness closed around them. You. Here. The Abominable Snowman’s voice was no more than a mere whisper. Understar. Here. Too. Then to Camille. Understar. Told. About. Me. Right? Camille nodded, though not sure who she was nodding to at the moment because the voice was everywhere. Understar. She. Relative. Uncle Edgar translated for Camille. “He’s saying that you are related to him.” Camille was taken by surprise. “How, Uncle Edgar?” “Well, long ago his human form was very similar to yours. Brown hair and amber eyes, he looked so much like you. He might’ve been your great- great- great- uncle.” “What do you mean, his human form?” “Never mind that for now. Anyways, there is a very large team called the Hunt who hunt down legendary beings and prove to the world that these beings actually exist. But unfortunately for our friend, it means murder and being kept in a museum forever. And whoever befriends the legendary being is also placed beside the being. Of course, it’s only their bones but it’s much of a disgrace. But also-” Uncle Edgar was cut off by shrill arguing. And it was no other than Beauchampe and Schummans.

Beauchampe swore angrily at Schummans. “I can’t run! I’m in my favorite pink party dress and my second favorite high heels! You’re joking!” Schummans swung his rifle over his shoulder. “Well, you can stay here if you want,” he sneered, “And get eaten by a bear.” Beauchampe wasn’t sure if there were bears in Tibet but she didn’t want to take any chances and followed him anyway.              Sadly, there was no escape route for Uncle Edgar, Camille, and The Abominable Snowman. They were surrounded. “Is this my end?” thought Camille furiously. “Do I die being shot and hung in a museum? It can’t be!” Tears of anger, frustration, bitterness, and helplessness spilled their way down Camille’s rosy cheeks. Light flooded the dark forest and reached its pale arms toward the trio. “Hurry!” cried Uncle Edgar, pale with fright. “Run for your life!” The Abominable Snowman, Uncle Edgar, and Camille fleed. Camille panted heavily as she gulped air. Her legs burned as if they were on fire. “RUN!” she told herself. “You can do it! You beat all the girls and boys at your old school in a race, even Mikhaela and Sam! Run!” Uncle Edgar whacked her back as they ran. “If the Hunt catch us, we’ll be as good as dead! Come on, you can do it!” They were desperate. “I wonder what Brendan and Eloise and Mom and Dad are doing now,” thought Camille bitterly. “Something not risky, unlike us…..”

Beauchampe’s gangly long legs flopped as she ran, while she clutched her poison arrows. Her high heels dug into her feet as she dashed hurriedly. Blood stained the frosty grass. Schummans lumbered along, not even putting in effort into running. “Mindy, if you fail this mission like you failed the recent one, you will be fired this time for sure!” she told herself grimly. Those words seemed to strengthen her. She ran harder.

Fear gripped Camille as she dashed through the stiffened frost.  She ran faster than ever, alongside the wind. Camille then felt Uncle Edgar collapse on the ground. An arrow had pierced his ankle. He groaned in pain. “Oh heck it all!” She felt miserable. Uncle Edgar stuttered, “Keep running! I’ll be fine!” Camille could not leave her uncle’s side. I. Will help. A shadowy figure carried Uncle Edgar away and Camille caught up with it in no time. She felt herself weakening, though, and knew she wouldn’t be able to run anymore soon. Her shoes and socks had fallen off a long time ago and the frost and snow numbed her feet. Icy winds rustled her hair and made her eyes stream with tears. Something pricked her arm and she collapsed, unable to move. Camille closed her eyes, waiting for anything- a bullet, an arrow, anything- to drive away the life in her. Something was about to happen. She was definitely sure of it. “UNCLE EDGAR!!!!!!!!!” she screamed. A blinding white flash stunned her and her wild eyes closed with uncontrollable pain.

Camille woke up with a start and realized that she was in a hospital bed. Chiming music from speakers filled her ears. Uncle Edgar and a familiar boy leaned over her. Camille smiled weakly then said with a gasp, “Where is the Hunt? I thought I was going to die and surprisingly I did not! What am I doing here? I-” “Whoa there!” exclaimed Uncle Edgar. “The Hunt is spending their Chinese New Year in prison, every single one of them! You have nothing to worry about, Camille. Would you care for some lemonade?” Camille sipped the lemonade cautiously, sucking all the information- and juice- in. “I got my leg amputated, because the doctors believed that if they let the poison spread, I would face certain death,” added Uncle Edgar. He pointed at his leg. The boy, who was the spitting image of Brendan, smiled at Camille. “I don’t suppose you know me. “ Camille shook her head. “I’m your brother, Camille.”  “But how?” Uncle Edgar placed his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “ He was The Abominable Snowman, Camille.  Right after he was born, he was kidnapped by a mad scientist, who raised him up in a laboratory. On his ninth birthday, he was involved in a very dangerous experiment. The scientist fed him a sticky substance, which was made of beryuanderum, etranarium, and chloristophiticalorium. That transformed him into a forever wandering shadow with shape shifting abilities who could only speak in telepathic ways. But somehow he turned back into human after falling over and accidentally swallowing a single spore of dew mushroom and a few speckles of frost. Amazing, isn’t it? The scientist called him Kennett, after his nephew. And that’s what he wants to be called.”

The End of my Tale (ALMOST)

Epilogue, or as known as Part Three: In which the Tale ends (abruptly)

In the end, for all you nosy readers who realize that my almost- ending stinks a ton and I would never end a masterpiece, let me repeat, masterpiece, in such a clumsy way, here is what happened in the end.

 “I watched as Camille twiddled and fiddled with her fingers. Her turn was next. Eloise’s presentation was almost over. “And that is my project on fairies. Thank you, thank you!” Eloise mock- bowed to the class. Eager Tibetan faces shone like the sun as they marveled at Eloise’s casualness. Very few other Canadians clapped loudly for Eloise. Camille took a very deep breath and began.

         Uncle Edgar leaned on his crutches. “Well, that adventure last month wasn’t so bad.” I nodded, slurping on his home- made lemonade. “More lemonade and sugar cubes, Camille?” Camille shook her head. “No more lemonade for me!” Uncle Edgar laughed in a trumpeting sort of way. “Camille, that encounter will remain in our memory for ever. Why don’t you write a story about it?” “Uncle Edgar!” But in the end, Camille wrote a novel about her spellbinding adventure. So you ask where it is? You’ve just finished it!”

By Kennett Fitzwilliam

I hope you’re pleased, everyone, and thank you all for reading!

The End of my Tale (this time for real)


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