Jar that Holds the Universe - C.S. Tjandra

Jar that Holds the Universe (eBook)

C.S. Tjandra (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
324 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-2066-6 (ISBN)

'The Jar that Holds the Universe' captures the unforgettable quirks and adventures of Quinn Parker, an eleven-year-old girl who was sent as a newborn to Earth from a hyperspace called Alkaa. Exactly three days before her twelfth birthday, Quinn begins to experience strange incidents which lead her to a thrilling journey back to Alkaa. She quickly learns that the universe as we know it is contained in a jar and is kept as an important mystical artifact that keeps the land of Alkaa alive. The problems begin when the jar is stolen by Vrad the Dark Lord and is at risk to be destroyed in the Dark Forest. With time running out, the fate of our universe and Alkaa is in Quinn's hands, as only she is welcome to enter the forest. An adventure is about to begin!

"e;The Jar That Holds the Universe"e; captures the unforgettable quirks and adventures of Quinn Parker, an eleven-year-old girl who was sent as a newborn to Earth from a hyperspace called Alkaa. Growing up as an Earthling in Toronto, Quinn has never known where she is really from, why she looks strikingly different from everyone else, and why she has a unique red marking on her left arm. Exactly three days before her twelfth birthday, Quinn begins to experience strange incidents which lead her to a thrilling journey back to Alkaa. She quickly learns that the universe as we know it is contained in a jar and is kept as an important mystical artifact that keeps the land of Alkaa alive. The problems begin when the jar is stolen by Vrad the Dark Lord and is at risk to be destroyed in the Dark Forest. With time running out, the fate of our universe and Alkaa is in Quinn's hands, as only she is welcome to enter the forest. Will the Alkaanians accept Quinn as one of their own? Can she locate the jar and save us all? An adventure is about to begin!

FIRE ON QUEEN STREET

It was a cold and wet Friday in September, three days before my twelfth birthday.

I was raised by the Parkers, and they decided that September 15th was the day I was born. It’s the day you came to our hearts—that’s what my mom always says. Let’s be frank, at that point in my life, nobody knew when I was born, where I was from, or why I looked so uniquely different: black jet hair, dark green feline-like eyes, full pillowy lips, sharp jawline, and an unusually shaped nose—narrow with a pointed tip accompanied with an exceptionally thick nose root—that set my eyebrows wildly apart. I also have a red linear birthmark that runs from my left elbow crease, down to the tip of my ring finger. In school I stand out like a sore thumb.

Carrying my navy-blue backpack, I walked swiftly through the park that separates my school and home. The ground was muddy, and the occasional potholes were filled with standing water. It had been raining heavily throughout the day and we had to stay inside for both recesses, but I didn’t mind. I like being inside because I can spend time drawing or reading at the comfort of my own desk, minding my own business without having to worry about making any small talk. When I must go outside for recess, I feel differently: lonely, overwhelmed, and confused. I usually sit at the far end of the soccer field where it is quiet and I can observe others playing. I am not particularly good at making friends nor having social conversations; I’d rather be by myself. The world tends to be less confusing.

I finally reached Queen Street, a relatively busy street filled with shops and heavy pedestrian traffic. I crossed the street and walked toward the teal building. Above the street level entrance is a big, yellow sign that spells Pages. Pages is a second-hand bookstore owned by my dad, Benjamin Parker. We live above the store, on the second and third floor. Before Pages was run by my dad, it was owned by my grandpa, Arthur. He ran the store pretty much until the day he went missing, about three years before I was adopted by the Parkers. Accounts said he was last seen while closing the store on an evening Toronto was hit with a terrible snowstorm. He was jolly and cheerful, as he had always been. Grandpa Arthur went missing with no trace; for many detectives, it’s still a big mystery waiting to be solved.

I guess there have always been mysteries that have been taking place in Pages. About twelve years ago, at around three o’clock in the morning, my dad found me wrapped in a cloth by the cash register. He brought me to my mom before I was eventually taken away by a fireman. I guess in that split second when our eyes met was the day I came to their hearts. From the hands of the fireman, I was quickly handed over to the paramedics because they thought I had poor lungs. Turned out, I had a very strong set of lungs, better than average. I circled through the police officers as they did some detective work to figure out who I was. Unfortunately, nobody could figure out my past, and so I was fostered and adopted by the Parkers. They thought I was mysteriously sent specifically for them to raise. As they explained to me, after a decade of trying to have a child of their own, there I was, presented to them wrapped like a present.

I pushed open the entrance door of the store. The bell jingled.

“Oh, there you are! How was your day?” my dad greeted me while placing a stack of books down on a table.

“As usual, but I really enjoyed my time inside all day!” I walked behind the cash register and dropped my backpack down, sitting sloppily on the floor and stretching out my legs. Exhausted.

“Ha! I knew you’d like that! By the way, it’s Friday. Scrabble night tonight,” reminded my dad as he was making his way down to the basement.

I like Scrabble. It makes me think. It’s good for my brain. And I am actually pretty good at it.

“Honey, is that you?” said my mom as she walked toward the storefront. “There you are!” She peered at me from the other side of the cash register.

I gave her a smile, took a book out from my backpack, and started reading where I left off before leaving school.

My mom doesn’t actually work in the store like my dad. She is an artist, usually spending most of the day in her painting studio up on the third floor. However, on busy days, she helps out.

“It’s Scrabble night! Don’t forget. Make sure you bring your juicy brain to the game tonight.” Mom walked around the cash register, crouched down, and gave me kisses on my left cheek.

THUMP! A loud fall echoed from the basement, followed by my dad sighing. “Quinn, could you come down and help me out? I dropped all these books.”

“Okay, I think your dad needs you,” said my mom, letting go of my face.

I stood up reluctantly.

The basement was the one place I avoided going. It was not very well-lit, messy, and I often heard unsettling noises and creaks that I couldn’t explain. And don’t get me started with the sprinting little shadows that always caught the corner of my eyes! I made my way down slowly, as if I was entering a cursed dungeon.

I found my dad kneeling on the concrete ground picking up books scattered across the floor.

“Could you give me a hand with these books, please? I need to take them upstairs.”

I walked toward him and helped him place the books in the overflowing box.

“Thank you,” said my dad while propping himself up. “Here, how about you take these five books upstairs. I’ll take this heavy box.” He handed me a stack of thick books and firmly held the box in his arms and walked to the stairs. “I’ll meet you up there!”

I stood still.

At the back corner of the basement is my dad’s little office. Through its glass wall I saw framed newspaper clippings nailed to one side of the brick wall. I placed the stacks of books down on the table and walked to his office to give them a closer look.

As I said, I did not like the basement, but that room is special. It carries memories and writings documenting my arrival. I ran my eyes through the newspaper clippings headlines hanging in a chronological order:

‘FIRE DESTROYS QUEEN STREET
NEIGHBOURHOOD BOOKSTORE’

‘MISSING MAN ARTHUR PARKER’S BOOKSTORE
CAUGHT IN FIRE.’

‘DETECTIVES ARE INVESTIGATING THE FIRE ORIGIN’

‘MYSTERY BABY FOUND IN TORONTO
BOOKSTORE FIRE’

‘QUEEN STREET FIRE MYSTERY BABY: WHO IS SHE?’

‘KEEPING OUR HOPES UP: PARKER FAMILY IS
REBUILDING PAGES’

‘PARKER FAMILY CONTINUES FIGHT TO KEEP
MYSTERY BABY’

‘PARKER FAMILY: “SHE’S HOME!”’

I threw myself into the leather office chair and let the wheels take me to the other end of the wall passing my dad’s messy desk. I kept my eyes on the framed news and sighed.

My birthdate is the day I was found in the fire in Pages, next to the cash register, on a big pile of books. How did I get there? No one knows. Putting the mystery aside, I must say that my birth was quite extravagant: fire trucks, ambulances, police cars, reporters, people in uniforms rushing in and out of Pages, many neighbours out on the street in their pajamas and robes observing as the story unfolded in the wee hours.

The police department reported that the fire started in the middle aisle facing the front of the store. A large, round burn mark was found on the wood flooring and on the tin ceiling. The surrounding shelves were engulfed in fire, eaten away, leaving a big round emptiness in the middle of the store.

The detectives had several suspicions. At first, they thought it was some type of electrical issue because my dad had rather old string lights running above the bookshelves. But they dismissed that suspicion quickly; low voltage string lights do not cause a fireball, and besides, it’s my dad’s habit to turn off all the lights at the end of the day. Second, the detectives suspected that my parents played some sort of trick, ranging from stealing a baby to burning their own store. And third, they suspected Mr. Wong, the owner of the antique shop two doors down from Pages, as someone behind the trouble. He was a suspect because the street camera captured him walking his puppy, Pilot, at 2:57 in the morning, three minutes before the fire started. He was seen standing in front of the store and peeping through the glass before walking away. However, all the detectives’ suspicions were inconclusive. In the end, they decided it was something done out of mischief by whomever left me in the store. Twelve years later, the whomever is still an open investigation.

I scanned my dad’s desk. Under the pile of papers and folders, I saw a silver metal box labelled QUINN,...

Erscheint lt. Verlag	29.8.2023
Sprache	englisch
Themenwelt	Kinder- / Jugendbuch
ISBN-13	979-8-3509-2066-6 / 9798350920666

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