Finn and the Pen E-Book

David Lawrence

• Herausgeber: Exisle Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Pen Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 155

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When Finn buys a magic pen at a market stall, it seems like all his problems are solved… but the good times don’t last in this action-packed adventure featuring life on the run, basketball battles, family secrets and more moral conundrums than you could shake a pen at.

Eleven-year-old Finn lives with his four foster siblings and the TERRIBLE Mr and Mrs Grimshaw. Everything might look okay from the outside, but at home the Grimshaws lock Finn in the basement, and reign terror over his little brothers and sisters. Will the power of a magic pen help Finn save himself and his siblings from their nightmare foster parents, and find out the truth about his past?

Join Finn on an adventure beyond his wildest dreams, armed with a pen that makes everything he draws come true. From defeating a bully in a basketball match, to stealing the limelight and serenading the guests at his fancy hotel, Finn discovers he has the power to do anything! But soon, the consequences to his actions start to mount up.

Can Finn resist the temptation of an easy fix and save the day without the increasingly dangerous help of the pen? Find out in this fast-paced, engaging story about family, jealousy, morals, and the importance of being kind to others.

Leseprobe

To my wonderful writing assistants: Tarkyn, Jarrah, Rose, Edie, Zoe, Henry, Ella, Eliza, Colton, TJ and Cassidy.

The sound of stomping feet coming down the stairs caused Finn to panic.

He quickly removed his earplugs and hit the stop button on the old mini CD player sitting on his pillow. The blistering guitar chords of his favourite band, Cleft Field, instantly disappeared, replaced by the sound of a key being inserted into a lock and a large bolt sliding back.

CLUNK!

Finn stuffed his tiny music machine under the lumpy mattress and sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look as innocent as possible.

The thick metal door burst open and Mrs Grimshaw entered with the facial expression of a deranged zombie. The short, wiry, fair-haired woman placed her hands on her hips and her right eye began twitching uncontrollably. She reminded Finn of a creature he’d once read about — the Colombian Golden Dart Frog. It was the most poisonous animal on the planet.

There was no power connected to the basement, so the only light in the room came from a nailed-up window just above ground level. The window was reinforced with six metal bars whose shadows lined Mrs Grimshaw’s spiteful face, making her look even more fearsome.

‘What have you done?’ she fumed.

Finn stared at her blankly with his bright green eyes.

‘Don’t even … get your backside up to the lounge room … NOW!’

The gangly, red-haired boy walked past his foster mother without making eye contact, and hastily climbed the steep stairs. He tripped on the final step before turning into a broad corridor lined with dozens of framed photos of Mr and Mrs Grimshaw standing next to politicians, celebrities and smiling children.

Finn’s eyes darted left to his favourite photo. It featured him and his foster brothers and sisters being home-schooled by Mrs Grimshaw. On the whiteboard in the photo she had written the word inteligence, ensuring her own lack of intelligence was forever displayed on the wall.

A few seconds later Finn entered a stylishly decorated lounge room near the front of the house. Next to the rarely used piano, he spotted the massive frame of Mr Grimshaw squeezing into an endangered antique armchair.

Whereas Mrs Grimshaw resembled an angry squirrel, her husband looked like an alarmed puffer fish. It was as if someone had attached an air pump to his backside and overinflated him.

The shiny silver buttons on Mr Grimshaw’s expensivelooking shirt strained to hold back the mass of blubber underneath. Finn adjusted his glasses and prayed their thick lenses would protect his eyes in case one of those silver buttons suddenly burst free.

‘Stand on the Circle of Truth!’ commanded Mr Grimshaw, pointing to a round piece of carpet on the floor in front of him.

As always, Finn fought off the urge to laugh as he approached Mr Grimshaw’s lie detector mat. He had told more fibs standing on that patch of carpet than any other place on Earth … not that he’d been to many other places on Earth.

‘And you know what happens if you’re dishonest when standing on the Circle of Truth?’ boomed Mr Grimshaw.

Finn nodded. ‘I get hit by a lightning bolt.’

‘Exactly! So—’

‘But Mr Grimshaw, wouldn’t the lightning bolt destroy the house and injure you and Mrs Grimshaw too?’ asked Finn innocently.

Mr Grimshaw shifted awkwardly in his chair, creating a loud creaking noise. It sounded to Finn like the chair was pleading for mercy.

‘Well, um, I suppose … Hey! I’m asking the questions!’

The huge man’s eyes narrowed into spongy slits as he held up a piece of paper in his giant sausage-like fingers.

‘ This arrived in the mail today,’ he roared.

Mrs Grimshaw folded her arms and her right eye started twitching again.

‘Wh-what is it?’ asked Finn.

‘It seems congratulations are in order — you won a story competition,’ replied Mr Grimshaw.

Finn smiled. It was a reflex response, but one he immediately regretted.

‘Wipe that grin off your face!’ screamed Mrs Grimshaw. ‘You’re in so much trouble for going behind our backs …’

A ringing sound interrupted Mrs Grimshaw’s lecture, and as she answered her mobile phone, an amazing transformation took place.

Her frown became a smile and her voice was suddenly soft and caring.

‘Hello, Theresa speaking … Yes, we were just reading the lovely letter with Finnian now … very proud … The mayor? Really? … I’m sure that will be fine … why thank you … you have a wonderful day too!’

As soon as Mrs Grimshaw ended the call her friendly tone vanished.

‘The mayor wants to give Finnian a prize for his stupid story at the market on Saturday,’ she explained.

‘Why didn’t you say no?’ demanded Mr Grimshaw. ‘This boy can’t be trusted. You know what he did last time we let him near a journalist …’

Finn nearly made the mistake of looking happy again. He thought back to the newspaper interview two years ago, just after the Grimshaws had received dozens of toys from a local charity. Mrs Grimshaw had given Finn strict instructions: ‘Sit on the couch, smile and DO NOT say a word while the grown-ups talk!’

But during the interview, the journalist had turned to Finn and asked, ‘Which toy are you looking forward to playing with?’

Finn had replied, ‘Oh, we never get to play with the toys — Mrs Grimshaw always sells them on eBay.’

Mrs Grimshaw had laughed this off in front of the reporter, but from then on Finn was made to sleep in the locked-up room in the basement, away from his younger brothers and sisters.

Finn’s thoughts were brought back to the present by Mrs Grimshaw’s piercing voice.

‘Don’t you see, Burt? It’s an opportunity to sell more of these!’ She picked up a book with her expensively manicured fingers, called Raising Children: The Grimshaw way.

‘Mmm, I suppose we could set up a table by the stage,’ said Mr Grimshaw.

‘And standing next to the mayor makes us look important!’

‘As long as Finn can keep his mouth shut.’

An evil grin broke out on Mrs Grimshaw’s face.

‘Don’t worry — I’ll make sure he doesn’t say a word.’

Finn could feel his foster parents’ eyes boring into him, causing his face to blush and his glasses to fog up.

‘Tell us how you entered the competition, Finnian. And if you lie, you’ll be living on bread and water for a week,’ threatened Mr Grimshaw.

Finn took a deep breath.

‘I-I d-did write a story… but I didn’t enter it into any competition. It disappeared from my desk in the classroom a few weeks ago, so when you told me it won, I just assumed—’

‘Assumed what?’ demanded Mrs Grimshaw.

‘That one of you must have secretly entered it for me.’

Mr Grimshaw slowly turned his head and glared at his wife.

‘Did you?’ he growled.

‘No! Why would I?’

‘Maybe to make yourself look like an amazing homeschool teacher!’

‘How dare you?’

Mr Grimshaw glanced over at Finn and held up his hands.

‘Now, now Theresa, let’s discuss this privately,’ he said. ‘Finnian, as the eldest you’re supposed to set a good example for your brothers and sisters. I don’t know how your story won, but Mrs Grimshaw and I are very disappointed in you.’

Finn did his best to avoid rolling his eyes. Disappointing the Grimshaws was like getting wet while taking a bath: unavoidable.

‘You may go,’ snarled Mrs Grimshaw.

Finn turned and left the lounge room, shutting the door gently behind him. He stopped to briefly listen as his foster parents resumed their argument.

‘Well, there’s no way Finn could have done it; he doesn’t have access to a computer,’ said Mr Grimshaw.

‘So you still think I entered the story?’ snapped Mrs Grimshaw.

‘What am I supposed to think? I know it wasn’t me!’

‘Well I know it wasn’t me!’

Finn smiled, and as he began walking down the corridor a small head appeared from a room on the left. It was a sevenyear-old boy with a bowl-shaped haircut similar to his own.

‘Are you in trouble again Finny?’ whispered the boy.

‘No Gus, but you will be if Mrs Grimshaw catches you with your hair sticking up all over the place!’

Gus touched his head and raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh yeah, I forgot to brush.’

Finn walked over and gave Gus a high five. He peered into the tiny bedroom, where two sets of wooden bunks took up most of the space, and waved.

‘Hey you three!’ Finn said to Li, Macie and Malosi, his three other foster siblings.

‘Hey Finny!’ they chorused back.

Like him, they were all dressed in khaki tops and shorts. They all had bowl-shaped haircuts too. To save paying for a hairdresser, Mr Grimshaw would take a cereal bowl from the kitchen, place it on the children’s heads, and cut their hair around it. Sometimes with the cereal still in it!

‘Can you please tell us a story, Finny?’ begged Gus.

‘Yeah!’ shrieked the other kids.

Finn looked back down the corridor.

‘Maybe a quick one,’ he said.

He sat down on the nearest bunk bed and the four younger children swarmed around him like friendly bees. As soon as he started to speak, they fell silent.

‘This story’s called ‘Scrappy the Monkey’…’

After dinner that evening, Mrs Grimshaw walked Finn down to the basement, and shoved him inside. She narrowed her eyes then leapt onto the bed and vigorously attempted to open the window. It didn’t budge.

‘I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did it,’ she spat.

The angry foster mother jumped down and looked Finn directly in the eye.

‘Don’t get any ideas about Saturday. I’ll be making sure NO ONE goes near you.’ Mrs Grimshaw smiled unpleasantly before storming out of the room.

As soon as Finn heard the door being locked and bolted, he rushed over to a giant bookshelf that completely covered one of the basement’s walls. It had five shelves filled with books of all shapes and sizes. Fiction, biographies, autobiographies, books about history, geography, science, nature, music, computers, motor mechanics … and over the past two years, Finn had read them all. Several times.

He bent down and selected a thick book from the lowest shelf called Computer Programmers Guide 1982. It was such a boring, outdated book he was sure no one would ever look at it.

Finn opened the cover to reveal it had been hollowed out and now contained several prized possessions that he didn’t want the Grimshaws to know about. He pulled out a small torch then flicked it on and off to make sure it was working. He’d discovered the torch and the mini CD player in a box under the bed when he’d first moved into the basement. They had both been broken, but Finn was amazed at how easy they’d been to fix. And fortunately, their batteries were the same ones used in the Grimshaws’ TV remote control, so he could sneakily swap them over whenever they began to go flat.

Finn glanced up at the window. It was starting to get dark outside, and a sly grin appeared on his face.

About a year ago, Finn had discovered a book called Spy Codes and Secret Messages that had a chapter devoted to Morse Code. He had immediately started using the torch to practise sending messages, and was surprised one day when someone responded! Since then he had been communicating with them every night.

Finn climbed onto his bed, stood up and pointed his flashlight at a second-storey window of the house next door. He started clicking the torch on and off, sometimes quickly and sometimes slowly. And then he waited.

Less than ten seconds later a beam of light from the neighbour’s house replied in a similar manner. Straight away he started clicking back.

Thanks heaps for entering my story Riya — it won. Over.

Knew it would Finny — everyone loves a good monkey story. Over.

How was school today? Over.

Not bad — I put some maths questions down the vent while you were having dinner. Over.

Finn took out a small screwdriver from under his mattress and rushed over to a rectangular air vent high up on the wall. Standing on a strategically placed chair, he unscrewed the cover and took out four rolled-up pieces of paper bound together in an elastic band.

Thanks Riya — you are the best. Over.

Hey, big news. Cleft Field have a new release! Over.

Cool! Can you please make a copy with your dad’s old CD recorder? Over.

Of course! Lucky my dad’s into old tech! Will drop the CD in next weekend. Over.

You are better than the best. Thanks. Over.

Talk tomorrow Finny. Over.

Goodnight Riya. Over.

Finn lay down on the bed and shone the torch onto the maths questions Riya had delivered. A note from the teacher said they should take at least forty-five minutes to complete. He took a pencil out from under his lumpy pillow and finished answering them in less than ten.

After returning the homework to the vent he lay down on his bed, and his mind soon wandered to his foster parents. Finn had once read that the overwhelming majority of foster parents were kind, caring people who did an amazing job looking after kids when their biological parents couldn’t. Yet he had ended up with the Grimshaws!

Finn racked his brains to work out how he could escape with his brothers and sisters, then somehow take care of them. But he arrived at the same conclusion he did every night: there was nothing an eleven-year-old kid could do.

He reached under his mattress and pulled out a piece of paper with one of his drawings on it. Under the heading ‘My parents’ was an illustration of Finn standing between two adults who were holding his hands. Where the grown-ups’ faces should have been were question marks.

For as long as he could remember, Finn had dreamed about finding out who his parents were, and what had become of them. But being locked up by the Grimshaws made it impossible to even start trying to find out.

He let out a small sigh, switched off the torch and was immediately enveloped in darkness.

On Saturday morning, a cloudless blue sky greeted Finn after Mrs Grimshaw ushered him out the front door.

As he protected his eyes from the sun’s glare, he heard his foster siblings yelling out ‘Goodbye!’ Their comforting voices were instantly dulled when their bedroom door was slammed shut and locked by Mr Grimshaw.

Finn shook his head. He knew that caring parents would never leave young children on their own … but the Grimshaws did it all the time!

Today, Finn was dressed in his good clothes. He only wore them when there were visitors or on the rare occasions he left the house. There was a book in the basement called Kids’ Fashion in the 1970s, and Finn’s outfit looked like it was lifted directly from its pages. He wore a light yellow shirt with a large collar, blue pants with a matching waistcoat, and enormous brown loafers that resembled clown shoes. His feet were constantly growing, so to save money Mr Grimshaw bought him an adult-sized pair of shoes to ‘grow into’.

Mrs Grimshaw slid back the passenger door of a gleaming grey people-mover vehicle and motioned for Finn to climb inside. The sparkling van had been donated by a local car dealer named ‘Honest’ John McHenry, and a blown-up photo of the foster family waving from inside the van was on his office wall. Everyone in the photo was smiling, except for Finn who had waited until the photographer said ‘One, two, three!’ then stuck a finger up his nose.

Mr Grimshaw groaned as he slowly squeezed in behind the steering wheel, then glanced over at his wife.

‘Can you remind me to drop into the newsagency later?’

‘How come?’

‘I need some new batteries for the TV remote control.’

‘Again?’

‘They don’t make batteries like they used to,’ replied Mr Grimshaw with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Finn smiled to himself in the back seat and looked out the window. It had been six months since his last trip outside, and as they zipped down Cranford’s main street he noted several changes. An old hardware store had been replaced by a fast food restaurant, and a children’s clothing store had been replaced by … another fast food restaurant. It appeared that many of the shops now offered exactly the same Services.

Finn figured that if you were desperate for a hamburger, a foot massage or a frothy cappuccino, then Cranford’s main street was the place to be.

His thoughts were interrupted when the speeding van hit a pothole in the road, and Mrs Grimshaw’s head almost hit the roof.

‘Slow down!’ she screeched.

‘It’s not my fault!’ shouted Mr Grimshaw. ‘Stupid pothole. I’ll be letting the mayor know all about it when I see him.’

Despite Mr Grimshaw’s refusal to accept responsibility for his driving mishap, Finn noticed he reduced the car’s speed for the rest of the journey.

Cranford’s annual market was set up on the Derry-Dacker Oval, which was named after the town’s best known footballer, Clyde Derry-Dacker. Clyde had famously refused to leave the field after breaking both his legs during the Cranford Cannons only winning grand final in 1979. After the game, coach ‘Moose’ McGinty had declared that Clyde was ‘an absolute legend!’ Later at the hospital, surgeon Julia Chang had declared that Clyde was ‘an absolute idiot!’

As Mr Grimshaw steered the sleek van through the gates of the football ground, Finn stared at a huge red, white and blue sign that said: Home of the Mighty Cranford Cannons! The team’s logo was a menacing-looking cartoon cannon with a muscly arm extending from either side of the barrel. Finn shook his head and wondered why anyone would name a team after such an old weapon. The Lasers would have been so much cooler, he thought.

As Mr Grimshaw pulled into a parking spot right next to the entrance of the marketplace, his wife took a disabled sticker from the glovebox and placed it on the windscreen. Finn raised his eyebrows and was spotted by his foster father in the rearview mirror.

‘For your information, I have serious lower-back issues,’ he said.