Missing Marcy


Mum got me out of bed in the middle of the night, saying “A policewoman’s here. Just answer her questions,” and she squeezed my arm hard.

In the sitting room, there was a woman on our settee. She didn’t look like the police; she wasn’t wearing a uniform and she didn’t have a crackly radio.

The lady said her name was Vicky. She apologised for getting me out of bed. “You know Marcy Mitchell?” she asked.

I looked across at mum who was standing by the sitting room door. Her arms were folded in front of her chest and her face had that stony look on it. I looked back at Vicky and nodded.

“I don’t want you to worry but Marcy didn’t come home today. We’re looking for her and asking her friends if they can help by answering our questions. Okay?”

I tried hard but couldn’t help bursting into tears. I loved Marcy. She might have been naughty sometimes but she was so clever, brave and funny. What if she had been taken away by one of the bad people?





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)