At Wave MAT, every day is 'Book Day' as we champion and celebrate reading throughout the year in our classrooms and beyond. However to mark 'World Book Day' on March 4th 2021, we ran 3 'Chain Stories' across our schools in Devon and Cornwall. Starting with a picture as a prompt, our schools were challenged with writing a section of the text (opening, development, climax and resolution) before passing it on to the next group of writers and their English teacher. 

We are so proud of our imaginative creative writers at Wave and their teachers. Where the stories began was rarely where we anticipated they would end up! The results are something that all participants involved can be very proud of, as published writers here. We can all be writers. We can all have a voice.

Read 'The Door' here....written by the amazing students at CHES AP, North Cornwall AP, Restormel AP and Shoreline AP and their teachers. We are so proud of you and what you have acheived togther. The Door is published here:

OPENING Gwenvor group at CHES AP

The door stood there, as old as time. Yet it seemed as if it had sprung out of nowhere.  He felt his hair prick up on the back of his neck as an inviting draft of hot air circulated around him. The forest went still.

Beads of perspiration crept down his skin; the product of his labour sticking the heavy garments to his skin like glue. What on earth was it doing here? And would he go through it this time? Should he go through it?

Peering through the opening and out into the dark forest, he saw the  blur of an impenetrable battalion of trunks, stood to solemn attention. As his grip tightened on the freezing metal of the torch, he watched the thick beams cut through the air painted grey with fog. He clasped it in his sweaty palm, thumbing along the jagged grooves of the name embossed in steel. The celestial rays slipping from the crack of the door glinted around him- sending flashes of light like a warning signal across the thick fog- cloaking heavily around him like the lead weight in the pit of his stomach.

I could hear the voices; the individuals who targeted me with their hurtful words. The constant reminder of no one believing me, as if they thought I was crying wolf. Seeing the door felt like a stabbing to the spine, a sudden déjà vu moment, almost as if I was reliving my darkness again. But was this my chance to escape? Should I go through this time? Was this my destiny?

Derek moved closer to the door, turning round as if trying to defend himself from the stalking beast that was his self doubt. His hand clutched frantically against the engraved handle of the torch, the carvings imprinting the soft ends of his fingers. The bulb gleamed in the ever-darkening mist, the light writhing its way through the branches; the fog-piercing rays of light shone as if to ward off any oncoming foes. With a swift movement, Derek crashed back against the door, flailing the blinding torch-beam out into the almost pitch-dark forest, shrouded with such a fog that you wouldn’t have been able to see more that an arm’s length away. Derek’s eyes were overcome with a blinding light, and his weakened body fell frantically through the door with a crash, his sweat-drenched face was encompassed with nothing but a sun-like glow. 

Getting back to his feet, he dusted himself down. He'd done it. He'd stepped out from the light side and into the dark forest...

DEVELOPMENT (Polly & North Cornwall writers)

His nervous eyes slowly adjusted to the vaguely sinister light. Gradually, as if adjusting a broken camera lens, the outline of the battalion of trunks came into a blurred focus. As Derek tightened his grip on the engraved torch, his frozen fingers traced the name on the handle; a name he knew would be dead to him forever. This thought paralysed him and he released his grip, as if releasing the memories.

You are nothing! You have nothing! You will achieve nothing! Why are you here? The voices attacked him incessantly. Was it too late to turn around or was this his moment of clarity, to face the voices haunting him his whole life?

Derek slowly sunk to the ground with his hands covering his ears in a vain attempt to drown them out. How can voices be drowned when they swim simultaneously with your own thoughts?

In the darkness, he blindly traced the gnarled lines in the nearest trunk; the bumps and grooves bringing him back into the present.

A different voice, a familiar voice, carried over to him in waves.

“Derek, you came!” …

CLIMAX (Carole & Restormel AP writers)

Instantly the voice transported him. A memory. That memory. The one that had shadowed his life and sparked such derision since infancy. His eyes clouded as the image materialised before him; this time he stood as witness to the event, confirming its truth.

A child, no older than five, laid curled in slumber against the chest of an ageing man; sleep spoke softly on his dampened brow. The rapid, rhythmic, rasp of laboured breath belied the protective arm that encased the sleeping boy. Rasp, gasp, wheeze. Rasp, gasp, wheeze.

What started as a spec, like a negative dust moat dancing in the light, grew in intensity as the old man’s breathing weakened. It was as if one needed the energy of the other to manifest. As the man’s life-force faded the spec took the form of a door. The opening drew the light, warmth and colour from the room.  The change in atmosphere woke the boy who, bleary-eyed, sought the source of the draught. In terror, the boy jumped from the lap of the, now frozen, man and hid in trembling anguish.

A cloaked figure as black as ink stepped into the frame.

“Come to me!” it bade.

The old man, like a stringed puppet, rose from the chair and moved to the voice. As he rose a metallic thud hit the ground beneath his feet. This did not falter him, he continued, dream-like, towards the door. As the dark figure encompassed the man within her arms, he released a gently sigh:

“Sirenna, I’m here.”

She turned with him and guided him through; the door began to shrink, its mission complete.

“Grandfather!” the boy whimpered, unable to lose his protective shield in this way.

The woman’s head whipped around at the sound of his voice, her hooded cloak falling with the momentum. A deafening silence punctuated the air as one set of eyes connected with another matching pair. This phantom beauty’s dark features mirrored the etchings of the boy’s pale face…

“Derek?” She gasped. “Come to me, quickly!”

The boy, transfixed by his own eyes within another face, pitched forward; the shadowed doorway was receding markedly. Within feet of connection, he tripped on something hard which sent him sprawling sideways. As he looked up the exit winked shut. He was too late. Bewildered, he reached for the object that obstructed his path and found his grandfather’s engraved torch.

Of course, no one believed him. His father was the worst of all, always a malignant man, his hatred now turned to despise and ridicule.


The sound, honey-tongued turned sour, renewed its sweetness in this foreign realm and awoke Derek from his reverie.


Moving with dragon speed Sirenna carved her son to her heart.

“I don’t understand mother, how can I be here now?”

“Why Derek, you’re dead” ...

Caroline and the Shoreline writers: Resolution

“Are you sure?” asked Derek. “I don’t feel dead! What did I die of?”

Sirenna looked at him pityingly. “Of course you are dear! People die of all sorts of things without knowing it. Why last week, someone passed over after a champagne cork exploded in her face! Never knew what hit her!”

“And come to think of it,” said Derek, “You don’t look that much like my mum.”

Sirenna began to get exasperated, “I just take on the characteristics of someone you know who has already passed over – to reassure you when you get here!”

“But my mum isn’t dead! She lives in Bideford and works at Tesco!”

Sirenna looked at him closely, slowly exhaled and turned her attention to her i-pad.

“Remind me of your name.”

“Derek Farquahar,” replied Derek.

Sirenna scrolled down the page to the ‘F’ section.

“Ahh,” she said shortly. “A Derek Farquad was due in tonight not Farquahar.”

Sirenna whipped out her phone, scowled at Derek and turned away to speak to her boss. Derek could hear snatches of angry conversation.

“Someone has really mucked up on this one!.....This is not my problem!........What am I supposed to do with him then?!  This last sentence ended in a shriek as Sirenna clenched her fist and slammed it against the gatepost in frustration. She listened for a while then turned to face Derek with a smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well dear, it’s your lucky day! You are quite right; you are not dead. But somehow, you have appeared here. The boss (Sirenna jerked her head up skywards) thinks it may be because you were knocked unconscious after falling off your bike. Anyway, you are free to go and Derek Farquad will join us soon. They obviously haven’t turned off the life support yet. Hence the confusion!”

Sirenna muttered to herself about the problem of finding efficient staff. Derek sat down and put his spinning head in his hands.

“But how do I get home?” he asked finally.

“You are at home; we are just on the other side of your reality. Ever heard of string theory? Google it and you might have some idea.”

“But this is blowing my mind!” exclaimed Derek. “Is this what happens when you die? How many more people have appeared here by mistake? Why doesn’t anybody tell you about this?”

“Do you really think we could trust humans with this knowledge?” replied Sirenna scornfully. “No. It’s better that you all live out your paltry existences in ignorance of the realities of the Universe.”

She tapped her foot impatiently, indicating that the conversation was over.

“Ok, time to go! When you wake up in your hospital bed, you will have no memory of this.”

“No, wait! I just want to know…”

“Just want to know what Derek?” Derek’s mum looked anxiously at her son as he turned his head towards her. “I’ve been so worried about you!”

Derek looked down at the tube in the back of his hand and felt the unfamiliar bed sheets under his body.

“Where am I, Mum? What happened?”

“You were in an accident and now you’re in hospital,” said his mum with tears in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine!”