Their tombstones looked so bare. Photo / 123RF
NZSA Northland Short Story Competition – High Schools Section
Judges Deborah Jowitt and Sue Barker noted there was an increase in both the number of stories submitted and schools submitting in 2024.
Themes were diverse with friendship, jealousy, loss, illegal immigration and conservation being included. They praised the high level of language used, stating careful editing and polishing of stories was evident.
While over a third of Northland’s secondary schools submitted stories, the judges encourage every Northland school to enter in 2025.
Here are the High School winners:
Gary was the type of person who thrived in the shadows. Not to be mistaken, he still enjoyed a good time with company, it was simply his natural tendency to be forgotten. That’s why Gary liked the graveyard.
It was his job, as caretaker, to look after the nearly immaculate graves on the patch of land. As it turned out, the dead were good listeners. There was nowhere for them to be, no one for them to see. They had finished their journey and could now stop and listen.
On this particular evening, the crisp, autumn air brought a slight breeze that would occasionally whistle through the tombstones. There were minimal trees surrounding the graveyard, so the wind was amplified as it brushed against any surface it came into contact with. Dried leaves crunched under Gary’s feet as he tried to sweep them away with an old mop he’d brought from home. As he walked past Arthur’s grave, he gently swept his mop across the stone. Arthur had been there for quite some time, perhaps five years. For a brief period, they had been friends. Arthur’s rise to success happened not long after and all contact with him ceased. However, his fame had fizzled out the moment he had fallen into that horrible lake. Gary shook his head, such a difficult place to resurface from.
Gary walked past some of the other graves, a nightly routine. Their tombstones looked so bare, not a single petal upon them. Gary understood the feeling. All of their life, their dedication. To be known by so many, only to be forgotten when their time came.
As he finished sweeping, Gary stopped to examine the last grave. This was the oldest one by far. His best friend, Theodore. Gary sat down beside the grave. His pants, covered in stains, succumbed to the dirt. He looked up and examined Theodore’s grave in disdain.
“The tombstone doesn’t do you justice, does it?” He waited a bit as if expecting a reply. The wind intensified, howling in his ear, so he casually zipped up his old grey coat. “The lettering is quite sloppy. Not my finest work. I’d fix it, but I have some new friends coming tonight.”
Gary went on. “Of course, they will never replace you. No one could. Although we had our differences when life moved on for you. That doesn’t matter now. You’ve come back for me, as they all have. And now I am the one who will be remembered, who people will listen to.”
He brushed one last speck of dust off Theodore’s grave, then stood up. As he did so, flashing blue and red lights in the distance grew closer, as did the wails for attention. The cars parked around the little graveyard, the lights becoming blindingly bright.
Gary took one last glance at his friend’s grave and said, “It appears that my new friends are here.” And with that, he put his hands up in surrender.
“Promise, forever and always.” The two boys laughed at their linked fingers. “Always.”
Twenty years later …
The swing set had lost its vibrant colour, the metal now faded rust, and the chains groaned under Peter’s weight as he pushed himself back and forth. The park where he and John had spent countless hours playing had changed little over the years, the same patches of worn grass surrounded by a ring of tall, familiar trees. It was a comforting sight, yet it stung with the sharpness of forgotten memories. Peter had returned to this spot every year for two decades, hoping that one of these times John would be waiting for him, just as they had promised when they were children.
With a sigh, Peter leaned back too far, the swing tilting dangerously before he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. His head hit the hard earth with a thud. For a brief, disorienting moment, he saw a flash of the past, the two of them as kids, racing on their bike, and then it went blank. The world grew fuzzy, a figure emerging from the shadows cast by the setting sun. John! The sight of him made Peter’s heart skip a beat, his throat tightened, and he struggled to stand, his legs wobbly beneath him.
“You came, you came back for me!” Peter’s voice was filled with joy as he stumbled toward John.
John stepped back, his face falling into a look of anguish. “No, Peter, I came to tell you to let me go.”
John’s voice was soft but firm, and it hit Peter like a tonne of bricks. The warmth that had flooded Peter’s chest at the sight of his old friend vanished, replaced by a cold, sinking feeling.
“What do you mean?” Peter’s voice cracked, the words barely audible. The setting sun cast a harsh light on John’s features, highlighting the pain etched into his expression.
John looked down at his hands, which were translucent. “I’m dead, Peter. I was hoping you’d move on. But every time you come here, it’s like you’re trapped in a loop, unable to live your life without me. I can’t bear to see you like this.”
“Dead?” Peter’s voice was hollow. “This isn’t a joke, John. Tell me you’re not serious!” But even as he said it, the reality began to sink in. The way John’s form flickered at the edges, the way his voice seemed to echo in Peter’s mind rather than in his ears.
Peter let out a weak laugh. “So what can I do?”
John looked towards the sun. “What you should have done ages ago, Peter. Let me go.”
Peter let out a choked sob, falling to his knees and putting his face in his hands. “Goodbye, John.”
John gave a small smile as he dissolved into the rustic skies.
“Goodbye, Peter...”
Lily gripped her pencil so hard, her knuckles were whiter than the snow falling outside. Hoping a poem would come to her, she bit her lip and looked around the classroom for inspiration. But nothing stood out to her. Just a loud “thump” from somewhere above her head, she shuddered as she thought about how many rats were in the garret, eating away at the only shelter they had from the cold snow falling outside. The bell rang, awakening her from her thoughts, she gathered her inkwell and heavy books. Clutching them, she knew the brave characters in the adventures were her only friends. She sighed as she stepped into the cramped cloakroom, the other kids had already run to play outside, so all was quiet, except for the schoolhouse groaning under the weight of the thick blanket of snow on the roof.
While she sat down to eat her crisp apple, a small figure climbed out of the hole in the corner, near the ceiling. Lily spotted him and watched silently as he rummaged through her classmates’ bags. He was a strange sight, a skeleton of a boy, wearing muddy, ripped shorts and a too-small yellow stained singlet. Underneath his grubby face, arms and legs he had a dark complexion and freckles dotted all over his skin. His mousey hair was chewed and messily arranged as a mat on his head. He turned around to see Lily crouched in the corner and they both jumped.
“Who are you?” Lily asked.
The boy motioned to his mouth but said nothing, Lily understood.
“You can’t talk?”
He nodded his head slowly, looking at the hole in the wall.
“You’re the one who makes the noise in the garret, not rats?” Lily murmured. He nodded again.
“You must be hungry, here, eat this,” Lily said, as she threw her other apple to the boy. He bit into it and immediately his eyes lit up as he wolfed it down in seconds.
Wiping his mouth and picking up Lily’s notebook, he flicked through the thin pages and, with Lily’s quill, etched “MAX” in big letters and drew a beautiful picture of Lily.
“You are exquisite at drawing, Max.”
The two became friends. Every day Lily would bring food for Max and he would help her to draw. She was getting quite good actually, and Max wasn’t looking quite so thin anymore.
One morning, at the start of spring, the grass was icy and the trees laden with fresh snow, Lily strolled along the trail to school, a skip in her step and the sweet aroma of the apple pie coming from her bag. She stopped to let the smell waft into her nose and have a breath of the cold air that bit at her lungs. She watched her breath glide in front of her and smelt something else in the air, a toxic odour.
Confused, she ran ahead to reach the schoolhouse, and then she saw them:
the exterminators.
About 130,000 water connections in Northland will be affected by new plans.