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Amici get stor

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Need shorter sentences

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Very good vocabulary

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Could it be I will find you?

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Could it be even more suspenseful?

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Amazing setting

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Brilliant story🙀

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Good story

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Good vocabulary.😀

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Please write a 2nd part don't leave us on a coathanger lol

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Good vocabulary

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Jessica Could they be I

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Great vocabulary and good description 🤓😉😏😎

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Nice bit of suspense added at the end

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could you add more rhetorical questions? Other than that well done it was a very well written story.

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Good story

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Great atmosphere and setting the character.

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Great description

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Great vocabulary

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A great short snappy sentence

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What could the four words be?

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A very good book sir

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Great voca and description

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Great story so far

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Good description

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Could it be on of her family members ??? 🤔

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Good formal language and description

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Could it be one of her family

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Great VOCAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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How did she no option

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Could it be one of here familly

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Four words:
Ha ha ha ha!
I'm coming for you!
Can you help me?
I am at ....
Do you want Francis?

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Where were the family? Do we know who's telling the story of Francis, could it be one of her family?

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Who left the muddy writing?
Where is Francis?
Was the boat different when it was found?

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The four words could be "Send help please ASAP!!!!!"

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What could the four words be?

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1) Read the story.
2) Double click around the edge of the story to add your own comments / reactions.

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Francis.

When I was a kid in the backstreets of Gateshead, adventure meant a trip to Brockwell Woods – up on the banks of the Tyne.  The name suggests that the place was small, but Brockwell was a huge nature reserve, so big that you could go days and days without seeing another soul.  We would go on camping trips up there: weeks of canoeing and climbing; seeing deer and owls; sleeping under star-soaked skies. The woods were isolated and so perfect, that you could actually drink the water straight from the lakes.

But I won’t be going back to Brockwell anytime soon… Not after what happened to a girl named Francis Brandywine.

Francis was seventeen at the time, black-haired and with a reckless nature. She dreamed always of leaving the well-trod path – to break new ground and be alone. A few years ago, Francis was up in Brockwell Woods with her family. They were in a remote part of the park, camped on the shore of one of the deeper lakes: A lonely body of water carved millions of years ago by a passing glacier. The deepest part of this particular lake was rumoured to be about three-hundred feet deep.

One night, after her family had went to bed, Francis took the rowing boat out, planning to find a quiet spot in the middle of the lake to lay on the bench of the boat, look up at the sky and maybe write in her journal.  She left the shore and rowed for about twenty minutes, and when she felt satisfied that she was over the lake’s deepest spot, she lay down on the bench and looked up at the night sky. The stars were very bright, and the aurora borealis was shimmering like a neon lasso. She was feeling very peaceful.

Then she heard something strange.  It was like a knock.

Knock-knock.

She sat up, guessing that the boat had drifted to shore and hit the ground.  But she looked around and saw that she was still half a mile from shore.  She leaned over the side to see if she had hit anything, but she saw nothing. No log, no rocks.  She lay back down. She told herself that it could be any number of things: a passing fish; a playful otter; a stick that had drifted under the boat.  She relaxed again and soon fell into a contented rest.

Francis had just closed her eyes when she heard another knock.  This time it was louder and crisper.

Knock-knock-knock.

It was like the sound of someone knocking loud on a wooden door… except this knocking was coming from the bottom of the boat!  Now she was scared.  She leaned over the side again.  It had to be an animal. But what kind of animal would knock like that – three loud knocks in rapid succession?  Her mouth went dry.  She held on to each side of the boat.  Now she could only wait to see if it happened again…

The silence stretched out.  A few minutes passed. Just as she had begun to think that she had imagined it all… the knocks came again. But this time louder.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!

She had to leave!  She lunged for the oars. She got them in place and began rowing. The water was very calm so she should have made quick progress.  She pulled and she pulled on the oars with all her might.  But after rowing feverishly she looked around and she realised that she wasn’t moving at all.  Something was keeping her exactly where she was!  Again, she tried rowing.  She rowed and rowed on the verge of tears, but she went nowhere. She stopped – she was exhausted. Her heavy breathing filled the air.  She cried.  She sobbed.

Soon, she calmed herself again. The boat was silent for ten minutes.  Then twenty. Again, she tricked herself into thinking that she had imagined it all. But, like before, just when she was beginning to get a grip on herself, they came again!  This time, as loud as a bass drum.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!!!

The floorboards of the boat shook with each knock. Now she was so shaken that she started making questionable decisions.  The first was to lower one of the oars into the black water trying to feel if there was something there, even some creature she could touch.  As soon as the oar broke the water’s surface, she felt a strong silent tug at the other end… and the oar was pulled under!  She screamed.  She jumped back, knocking the other oar into the water - and now she had no options.

All she could do was sit. And hope. And wait. Wait for the morning to come. Wait for whatever was going to happen, to happen.  The knocking went on through the night. She passed the time writing in her notebook, and it is only because of this notebook that we now know what happened that night. Francis can’t tell us – she was never seen again. The boat was found on the shore the next day, empty except from the journal.  On those pages were her frantic jottings, all written her her distinctive handwriting… except for the last page.  When the journal was found, that page was still wet, and on it were four words looking as if they had been written quickly with a muddy finger. They said… <FIND OUT IN OUR WRITING LESSON ON WEDNESDAY>