Francis Brandywine By Bailey E

Francis Brandywine

Every year, we go up to Quetico park for a holiday. It used to be my favourite place and then I heard what happened to a girl called Francis Brandywine.

Francis was 17 at the time, dark haired with a reckless nature. She and her family were at Quetico park camping alongside an ancient lake. One silent night, whilst her parents were sleeping, Francis crept out of the tent and grabbed a lantern and her journal. She tiptoed down to the family rowboat and rowed out onto the lake meaning to find a nice quiet spot to sit down look at the night sky and write in her journal.

When Francis was satisfied that she had passed the deepest part of the lake, she lay down and gazed at the stars. As time ticked by, Francis was just drifting off to sleep a knock echoed out from the bottom of the boat. Francis sat up scared and peered out over the sides of the boat. She saw nothing. She lay back down and told herself that she had imagined it. Silence went on for another 10 then 20 minutes. Suddenly, the second series of knocks came.

Francis jumped up and grabbed an oar and adapted a fighting stance, looking anxiously around. She saw nothing. Francis sat down and looked out of the boat. She put a cautious hand into the water and her throat went dry. She had to go. She picked up the oars and began to row dropping her lantern at the same time. After 20 minutes of frantic rowing, she looked around. She should have been back at shore by now. On the verge of tears, she hugged her knees. Something was keeping her in the middle of the lake.

When the third series of knocks came, Francis was thrown around in the boat. She peered out over the sides again but saw nothing except for the dark murky water. Her first thought was to lower one of the oars into the water to see if there was anything that she could touch. As soon as the oar broke the surface, Francis felt a strong tug and the oar was pulled under. Horrified, she jumped backwards, causing the other oar to float out of her reach. All she could do now, was sit and wait until morning. She passed the time by writing in her journal. It was because of this journal that we knew what happened that night. Francis can’t tell us because she was never seen again.

The next morning we found the rowboat containing only the journal. It was filled with Francis’s messy handwriting, all but the last page. Four words were written with what looked like a muddy finger. It held the words, “I did knock first.”

By Bailey Everest