Note: These short stories are set in The Magical World of Zealandia, offering glimpses into its adventures and mysteries. While they can be enjoyed on their own, reading Zealandia: The Dreadstones Grasp will provide deeper context and enrich your experience!
The sun hung lazily over the townhouse, warming the trusty old roof and filling the windows with late afternoon light.
Tom flopped onto the worn-in library sofa, his hair sticking up like a haystack. Beside him, Victoria sprawled with a colouring book, her glossy black hair sliding over one shoulder, her pale porcelain skin flushed from the heat.
The house was suspiciously quiet.
Until—
CRASH!
Tom jolted upright. "What the heck was that?" He swung his stormy hazel eyes to Victoria with unspoken confusion.
They waited.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just...
CRASH!
Another shattering noise, louder than the first.
"That's definitely the kitchen," Victoria said, dropping her book and hopping off the sofa.
"C'mon," Tom muttered, leading the charge past Victoria and down the hallway. His bare feet slapped against the wooden floor.
They rounded the corner just in time to hear—
CRASH!
Inside the kitchen stood Emily and Alex. Emily, dusted lightly in flour, was grinning like a lunatic, holding the jagged remains of a plate. Beside her, Alex — with his near-white hair sticking up like he'd been struck by lightning — stood frozen, grey eyes horrified.
"Oi!" Tom shouted. "What are you two doing?"
Alex threw his hands up defensively. "I’m not doing anything! It’s her!"
Emily turned, brandishing a broken plate like it was treasure. "Alright, listen, before you get all judgey—"
"This first plate," Emily said very seriously, "screamed."
Tom blinked. "Screamed?"
"Yeah," Emily said, nodding earnestly. "Like an actual proper scream. Like 'AHHH!'"
Victoria folded her arms. "So you decided the logical thing was to break more plates?"
"Exactly!" Emily beamed. "It's called scientific method, Victoria. I had to be sure."
Tom gawped at the pile of shattered crockery already forming on the floor. "You're gonna get us all murdered by Hazel."
At the mere mention of Hazel — the petite, apron-clad bear who ruled the kitchen with an iron paw and could bake scones that could end wars — all of them flinched.
"Or worse," Victoria added, deadpan. "Lord Sitka."
Lord Sitka, sharply dressed and ridiculous, never yelled. He just watched you dig your own grave with that grin.
"Alright," Tom said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "Maybe stop now?"
"One more," Emily said, snatching another plate.
Tom winced. Victoria covered her face with both hands.
Emily dropped the plate deliberately.
CRASH!
There was a split second of silence—
And then—
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The kitchen froze. A high-pitched, bloodcurdling, absolutely sentient scream echoed from the shards.
"Oh my gosh," Tom gasped. "THE PLATE SCREAMED."
Emily’s grin split her face.
From somewhere upstairs came Hazel's deep, shrieking bellow.
"What are you lot doing down there?!"
Alex bolted instantly.
Emily yelped — a real scream this time — and legged it after him, her dark hair flying.
Tom and Victoria stared at the battlefield of plates.
"Run?" Tom suggested.
Victoria nodded solemnly. "Run."