Francis by Patrick

There is a park in Canada called Quetico Park, it is known for its lovely lakes, for family holidays, great  hiking, camping, tall trees and acres of land. The water was crystal clear you could drink the water straight from the lakes .But I wont be going there anytime soon. There once was a girl called Francis Brandywine. She is 17 years old and she has black hair like coal. She has a daring attitude, and her choices were usually questioned by her friends and family.

One night Francis waited until her mum and dad were fully asleep. It was dark but not to dark, you could hear a whisper on the other side of the park. So she snuck out of the tent very quietly. It was a bit of a walk to get to the lake through bushes, over fallen trees but she got there in the end. She hoped in the boat and rowed over the pitch black lake for about 20 minutes till she thought she was at the deepest part of the clear lake which was  rumored to be 300 ft deep.

She stopped and she lay down on the boat looking up at the stars illuminating the sky above her. She wrote in her diary a bit. Then there were three knocks on the bottom of the boat. She looked around the boat thinking that she hit shore but she was still half a mile away from shore. Francis might of hit a turtle or a log. Just when she thought she imagined it there were three crisp louder knocks on the bottom of the boat. The silence stretched out, now she had to row to shore, she was on the verge of tears. She stopped with exhaustion and out of breath, she looked around but she didn't move. Something must of held her back. She waited for about 20 minutes writing and drawing in her journal. Just when she calmed down and thought she imagined it, the knocks came again, rocking the boat as loud as a base drum. She had questionable thoughts like to stick the oar in the water and when the tip hit the water there was a silent tug at the other end. She jumped back and she knocked the other oar in th the water. It floated away. She was stuck out on the lake, waiting all night long for the knockings, to come again.

Her boat drifted ashore the next morning. Her doodles and drawings are the only way we know what happened to her. On the last page written with a muddy finger were the words, “I did knock first.”