Wands and Fireguns

Wool's orphanage- the blasted end of the skrewt. A world set in 1938, where there's a big chance you'll die of chickenpox, end up without a career or join the military forces! But that doesn't count for our female protagonist, Patsy Walters. Stuck in a house of misfits, life full ahead of her, what could possibly go wrong?

I'll give you a hint:

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Warning: use of sailor mouths (Pat)

All rights reserved 24.04.2017.


6. 06. Ominous Demise

Afraid of the storm that would escape from the mouth of my matron, I clutched the hems of my skirt a little tighter as I slowly walked up the steps towards the doorway. The icy glare that the hawk shoot at me could pin me down and freeze me into an ice sculpture, however I was Patsy Walters. I could just deny I was- Nah that’s not a good idea, they saw the car. Maybe with a lot of made up excuses, the future would be brighter than it seemed. Yes, that’s what I was going to do.

‘Young lady, you come inside right now! I wish to speak to you- privately.’ Or perhaps not.

Desperately I cracked my brain for any excuses that could save me out of this situation. Going to the office of Mrs Cole was the last place where you wanted to be- she only invited children inside when she found them adoptive parents or when she wanted to crack their skulls open and dig out the last residue of whatever was left after the heavy blow from the lecture she’d usually send their way. And yes, I might’ve sneaked inside once but no one else from the oprhanage had seen her nest other than- yes, him.

Out of instinct, I glanced up towards the windows of the second floor, feeling the penetrating gaze of the boy that stood infront of the window from metres down already. Tom averted his eyes as I looked up, moving away from the window as fast as you could say flibberty jibbit. A source of victory grew into my stomach as I proudly averted my eyes back to the blonde gargoyle. Oh, almost forgot.

‘Inside.’ She hissed quickly through her teeth, glancing around the street if anyone saw her or the entire scene that had unfolded. Of course no one could see her shout at a child! She had her reputation to think of! Dropping my shoulders, I pushed past her inside of the cold building and walked to open the door to the nest she called her office.

The first thing I noticed when I walked inside was the musty smell of the place and the dim lightning due to darkening drapes that halfly hung above the windowsill. The empty bottles were scattered around the room like they were accessoirising the office, a nice touch I might add. Frowning at a large portrait of an old man with a shabby beard that hung behind the desk, I contemplated if that was her dead husband- only the date of the portait would’ve made Mrs Cole at least 105 years old to have been his wife. I snickered at the thought. Hearing voices nearing the office, I ceased my little amusement when the wooden door slammed behind me with a considerate amount of force.

‘Mrs Cole, I-‘

‘Where were you?’ she demanded, the beady little eyes in her vulture-like face narrowing with suspicion. ‘And be warned- I will brook no evasions this time!’ Her thin arms folded in fornt of her chest, the glower of her narrow eyes directed at me like that of the ancient roman god Jupiter at some poor wrongdoer he was just about to smite with a thunderbolt. All she was missing was the toga and the long white beard.

‘Oh, me?’ I said innocently. ‘I was getting the bars of soap you told me to get. Don’t you remember? I told you the day before yesterday that I would be buying them on sale- fifty per cent off on Saturdays.’

Keep it simple. Mrs Cole likes cheap. Don’t say anything else. Just keep it simple and for God’s sake, don’t blink.

My matron’s glower flickered. I waited, holding my breath. I had gambled on her nature: dear Mrs Cole was suspicious to the bone, but she also didn’t actually care tuppence about how I spent my time, as long as it didn’t threaten her expenses or costed the orphanges’ supposedly ‘good’ name. If I had gotten myself shipped off she wouldn’t have cared, if I had done it in a nice, inexpensive manner. I saw the suspicion gradually lift from her face, only to be replaced by her common expression of distate. ‘Err… yes, now that you mention it I do recall something of the kind,’ she said slowly.

Sweet Jezus

‘However, that doesn’t explain why you were dropped off in a police car in front of my orphanage!’ she retorted, using the last remains of power of her brains that were still present. ‘And where exactly are those soap bars? I don’t you see carrying them around? Did you loose them…’ Her eyes grew icier as she imagined that I would’ve been robbed from soap- or probably have thrown them at the police as a form of rebellion. Well blast. I bit my lip. You didn’t think this through, did you know? Said a little annoying voice in the back of my head. Maybe you’re the one who needs a serious brain check-up.

‘Well, I…’ Desperately I wracked my brain for some legitimate reason why an eleven year old girl would be escorted home in a black and white Wolseley with two bobbies.


‘I…I was carrying the soap bars all the way back to the orphange,’ I fibbed. ‘And you know… they were quite heavy, and the policemen happend to see me struggling with the bag of…soap bars.’ Why couldn’t I have said I was getting potatoes for the kitchen maid? I was afraid she might see through the act and dispose of me right away- it was a real crime to be seen publicly inside of a policecar. I could’ve been asking gents on the streets for a little money for all she knew.

‘And I know not to accept help from strangers, however these were men in duty for their country. So they offered to bring me back here, and I thought it would be okay since they were men in uniform and all… And so, they did. However, we were getting attacked by angry factory workers during the trip and well, we had to defend ourselves because I was getting glass splinters all over me! Look- I have the bruises to prove it,’ Convincingly I lifted up my dress over my knees to show her te bruises I had made whilst running for my life.

‘Oh dear,’ Mrs Cole looked at the blood and dirt, tilting her head in an actual sign of believability. Dear Lord, she had actually swallowed it!

‘Exactly,’ I confirmed, nodding with empathy towards myself? I stopped and looked down with my interpretation of what would be seen as demure. ‘I didn’t think about retrieving the soap bars, they seemed quite livid. You know how those factory workers are-‘

To my surprise, Mrs Cole actually agreed for once and nodded her head slowly, growing another expression of disgust. This time however, it had been directed towards the false wrongdoers. Poor blokes. ‘Yes, those measly people always try to rob me from my pennies-‘ she spat.

Growing a tiny little smile, I was honestly proud of lying myself out of this whole shebang. ‘My apologies for making a scene-, I could’ve been arrested for all you knew.’

Her mouth thinned. ‘Patricia! Don’t even joke about such a thing! It is unbecoming of a young lady.’

‘Of course, I am sorry.’

Behind me, I heard the door crack open. Turning around, I looked at Martha who obviously had listened and knew that the danger of actual bloodshed had passed.

‘Shuid ah bring her tae her room, Mrs Cole?’ She suggested. ‘Th’ bairns ur a’ asleep.’

Nodding, and frowning slighty, the matron finally allowed me to leave her clutches. I understood, sometimes it was difficult for me as well to understand Martha’s wildy accent. Turning around, I followed the scotttish help out towards the corridor. Walking behind her, I let out a deep breath. Thank the lord for uncaring people.


As I was lying in my bed, I stared up at the moon that formed a beautiful crescent. I couldn’t sleep, I had tried to sleep multiple times however Eric seemed to have nightmares again that kept me awake due to the neverending slapping off the wall between us. You could say the walls weren’t exactly thick. I once tried to communicate with him by slapping the wall in response. He got scared and started yelling for the matron, saying his room was haunted. Since then I just let him interfere with my biorhythm, he was only eight years old after all. Eric Whalley was one of the HOC’s, and even though us orphans hadn’t had clues about what it felt like to have siblings, we HOC’s had to stick together. And if that meant ignoring someone’s cries during nightmares, i’d plug my fingers into my ears and act like they didn’t even step foot onto this planet at all.

I listened to the rhythm in the walls. Tap tap, slap. Tap, slap slap. And so it continued everlessly. Tap. Tap. Tap. Gdunk. Slap.

Frowning, I noticed the sudden error in the melodious free orchestra of ‘Eric the hunchback and the airrats.’. Another slap of a door in the corridor shot me upright in my bed. My eyes reached the clock on my nightstand, something I had gotten from Martha because she didn’t want me ‘mistaking’ 4 am for 7 am anymore. It wasn’t even on the brink of dawn yet! Who in God’s name had to make so much noise?

Deciding that I wouldn’t get any answers on my own, I slipped into my shoes and slowly opened the door to peek out for any disalarming friolovities such as Martha’s lover, whom I found out was called Dick Callister. I had imagined any name; like Eddard or John or even Finkle, but Dick? The chances of Marta’s lover being called Dick was as low as my chance of being crowned queen. Not so much.

In the corridor, a faint figure was standing with their back held towards me. I held my breath as I watched them looking down at something what seemed to be a shoebox. Frowning I edged closer past the walls, who would be out in the middle of the night to stare at a piece of carton? Coming closer, I recognised the head of dark hair like any other- What in the world was he doing out here?

‘Excuse me- Tom? Some people are trying to sleep, Including me… What are yo-‘ My eyes grew wider as the noirette turned around 90 degrees. My head tolled, I couldn’t quite remember the last time I was this shocked out of my wits. First I noticed the bloodied knife he held in his hands…as my eyes travelled further down to the box on the floor, I finally understood why he had been hunched over a piece of cartboard. It was a dead rat. Reaching up to meet his gaze, I recoiled my steps slowly as his sinister stare bored into my soul.

‘Hello Patricia.’


My dear Witches and Wizards,

What a melodious night…

Have you enjoyed ‘Wands and Fireguns’ so far? I'm sorry for uploading on a weird schedule- however, I have multiple platforms for my story to upload, and it gets a little confusing sometimes ;-)

It’s a very hot day today, thus I hope everyone is not melting away.

Yours truly,

Lady Dominique.





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