Chapter One: Chocolates

My school has a fundraiser every year for the year nines. At the end of the year they give you a box of chocolates, and you go out and sell them to everyone. Most people's family's just buy the box, that's the easiest way. My family, however, hates candy. Including me. Well, I don't hate it. Just despise it.

So, I have to go out and sell the boxes to our street. And no one ever wants any.

I knocked on a door, getting my salesperson smile ready. A young man, maybe in his early twenties, opened the door. He looked at me and then at the chocolates, and smiled.

'Hello.' I said brightly. 'I was wondering if you wanted to buy some chocolate.'

'What kind ya got?' He said, leaning on the door frame.

'Chocolate Frogs in all kinds of flavors, Caramello Koalas, Time-Outs, Flakes, Cherry Ripes, umm,'

'I'll take a mint Chocolate Frog.' He interrupted, grinning. I took his dollar and left for the next house.

I'd done most of the street and it was almost dinner time. I'd sold eleven chocolates, mainly Frogs of course.

'I'll do just two more houses.' I told myself, and knocked.

'Hello?' The man said in a Spanish accent.

'Hi, um, I was wondering if you wanted to buy some chocolate!' I said in my bright voice with my bright face. "A smile sells anything," my dad always said, "except government lies."

'Chocolate?' The man said with a confused tone, as if he'd never heard of it before.

'Um, you know. Milk chocolate, candy. Ah..' I said, but he'd turned away from me.

'Jan? JAN!' He yelled. A crotchety old woman's voice answered.

'What? Who's at the door?'

'A girl selling chocolate.'

'Chocolate! Tell her to go away. Blasted American things!'

The man turned back to me, and I renewed the bright smile.

'The chocolate, that's American, isn't it?' He said, smiling for once. I grinned and nodded. Was it? I had no idea.

'Tell her to go away!' Jan's voice called.

'Yes, we don't like American things.' The man said, still smiling. My face fell, I was going for the deserted puppy look. It sold chocolates, sometimes.

'Oh, thanks for your time.' I said, giving him a half-hearted smile.

'We don't like American things.' He repeated, and shut the door firmly.

I scowled at the door's solid surface before sighing and turning away. I heard the pop of a light globe, and then a tinkling of shattered glass. My dad says that they're making light globes cheaper and cheaper lately. Ours are always popping too.

I sighed again and moved on to the last house. Just one more and I could go home.

I knocked, and waited. After a minute I knocked again.

Maybe they'd seen me coming up the drive, and didn't want any chocolate. Please, I begged silently. Please just buy one chocolate. I knew they were home, because the car was in the drive and the lights were on.

I knocked for a final time, and to my surprise the door swung open, and a deep voice said "Come in".

I jumped, there was no one there. How did the door open? Who had spoken?

'Hello?' I called, stepping in hesitantly. 'Would you like to buy some chocolate?'

No one answered. Had I imagined the voice? I shook my head. No I had not.

'I'm in here.' The voice said again, causing me to jump again. I followed the sound of it into what must have been the lounge room.

But again, there was no one there.

'Hello?' I called softly, feeling scared. I shouldn't have come in.

'Yes?' The voice said from beside me, and I leapt away from it, giving a small scream.

There was no one there.

'What's going on?' I whispered.

And this time I saw it when it spoke.

'Did you say you were selling chocolate?'

The small golden kettle on the mantelpiece. The lid moved in time to the voice, all by itself. I took a step away from it. The voice was definitely coming from it.

'Well come on.' The kettle said again. 'What kind have you got?'

'I, I,' I stuttered. What kind of chocolate did kettles like, anyway?

I started towards the hall I'd come from. Maybe the chocolate fumes were getting to me? I was probably overtired.

'Hey! Where're you going?' The kettle called.

At that moment, there was a gunshot. I cried out and leapt away from the hallway, back into the lounge with the kettle. Who was shooting at me?

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' I sobbed, curled up on the floor.

'She knocked three times so I let her in!' The kettle said brightly.

I peeked out of my arms. Standing in the hallway where I'd been a moment before was a man. He was your average-looking man, blue shirt, black pants. Slightly bald. Thankfully, he wasn't holding a gun.

Slowly I got to my feet. He was looking just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Had he come in while I was on the floor? What was the gunshot?

'I, I'm sorry, the kettle let me in.' I said foolishly. Then, now that the situation was somewhat saner, I looked at the kettle curiously. 'And, how do you do that?'

The man gaped from me to the kettle, which was silent now.

'You, you can hear it?' He asked.

He took a step closer, and I recognized him. He was Mr. Murray from the supermarket, I saw him all the time when I was getting food on my shopping days.

'Um, yes?' I said, feeling strange. 'How, how are you doing it? And, what was that bang before?'

He scrutinized me, and then glared at the kettle, which was staying silent.

'You're, you're that Lark girl, from down the road, aren't you?' He said suddenly. I nodded.

'She's selling chocolate.' The kettle said suddenly. 'Please buy me a Cherry Ripe?'

'Shut up.' Mr. Murray snapped at it. 'What did the kettle just say?' He directed the last part at me.

'Um, "Please buy me a Cherry Ripe"?'

He stared at me. Suddenly, there was another gunshot, except this time I didn't cower. And to my surprise, quite as suddenly as Mr. Murray had appeared, there was suddenly a woman standing next to him. She took one look at me and swore.

'The kettle let her in.' Mr. Murray explained. I realized this was probably Mrs. Murray standing next to him. Unfortunately, my brain was too busy trying to figure out how she'd appeared to say anything.

'The kettle..? Oh, you stupid piece of metal. I told you we should have taken the charm off her George.' Mrs. Murray said crossly.

'What!' The kettle cried. 'She knocked three times! So I let her in!'

'She can hear him.' Mr. Murray explained to Mrs. Murray. 'Except, she lives down the road. She's Lark Fissure.'

Mrs. Murray's eyes shot to look at me. 'You're Lark Fissure? And you can hear the kettle?'

I nodded slowly. What was going on?

'How old are you, Lark?' Mr. Murray asked. 'Fourteen?'

'Almost fifteen.' I corrected him.

'Fifteen…' Mrs. Murray mused. 'But didn't Frank say…'

They turned away and talked quietly between themselves. My brain was slowly un-numbing, and I shook my head to clear it further. Frank was my father's name, what was going on…?

Mrs. Murray suddenly straightened up and looked at me apologetically. Then she nodded at Mr. Murray.

Mr. Murray sighed and put his hand into his pocket. Something in me grew frightened, and I jumped as the light globes started popping. And then, my mind went blank.

Author's Notes:

Jan and the strange Spanish man actually exist, and a similar thing happened to me and my friends one haloween.
Anyway, now the story actually starts. Hope it's alright