The Cornerstone Read Online Free

she was seven and he was thirteen, Monica Bloom – or Moan-ica, as he referred to her – while performing her bestest Britney Spears impression, had stepped on Max’s favourite video game by accident, breaking the disc in two.
    In retribution he’d punched her on the arm hard enough to leave a bruise that lasted three weeks and kicked a hole through the plastering in the hallway.

    Given this, when Max bent down to unlock the bike and discovered that his keys had fallen out of his pocket, his mood could be described as just the other side of apoplectic.
    He let out a howl of rage and started to kick the bike, which was a completely innocent bystander in this escapade and really didn’t deserve the heartless beating it now received.
    This childish display of temper went on for a good couple of minutes before rationality reasserted itself, having initially run away in mortal terror.
    Still incensed, but now in control of his motor functions, Max glared at the bike’s lock as if willing it to pop open by sheer force of will.
    It failed to do so.
    Towering anger gave way to icy panic as he realised he could be in real trouble here. The bike was expensive. He could just imagine his mother’s face when he told her it was now a permanent street ornament outside WH Smiths.
    Max went through the time honoured ritual of patting every pocket twice to check if the keys were there, with no luck.
    He tried to remember where he might have lost them.
    Visions of flopping down into the library chair swam through his mind and he let out a long, low groan.
    Sure… that’s what had happened.
    He’d sat down way too hard and the keys had jumped out of his pocket in a successful bid for freedom.
    He could see them now in his mind’s eye: lying somewhere behind the chair under the book shelf.
    Lacking the ability to telekinetically convey objects across a great distance, Max heaved another leaden sigh and trudged his way back to the library.

- 4 -

    Max walked in, brushing rain from his hair.
    Imelda Warrington hadn’t moved and regarded him once more with a profound look of distrust.
    Still, professionalism and all that: ‘Back so soon, young man? Was there something you needed help with?’
    ‘Er… no, that’s alright. I only came back because I think I dropped my keys over by the B section.’
    Imelda looked disappointed.
    Even though Max was a teenager, it’d been a dull day and she could have done with providing a bit more customer service to break up the monotony. ‘Oh. Well, I hope you find them. If you do need any assistance, don’t hesitate to ask.’
    ‘Thanks, I will.’ Max replied with genuine gratitude.
    With this cordial exchange out the way, he made his way back to the bookshelf with fingers crossed.
    Happily for all concerned, the keys were indeed under the leatherette chair. Max scooped them up with relief and turned to leave the library for the second and final time that day.

    Max wasn’t the type of boy who scared easily, but the sudden loud noise that shattered the library’s silence would have been enough to make anyone recoil in terror and worry for the condition of their underwear.
    The sound was incredible - like a billion people in an enormous celestial choir shouting aaaahhh at an absurdly high volume.
    Max made a strange high pitched eeeep noise at the back of his throat.
    His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor. The noise vibrated through his whole body and seemed to shake the library to its very foundations.
    Tears streamed from Max’s eyes as the choir’s song enveloped him, driving out all coherent thought. It struck his nerve centres in such a profound way that every fibre of his being was paralysed.
    It was like drowning in an ocean of sound.

    Mercifully, the choir stopped as abruptly as it had started.
    Max let out a whimper and sat down heavily on the floor, biting his tongue in the process. The sharp pain helped to clear his head.
    With the unpleasant coppery taste of blood in his