Youth Award
Caitlyn Dixon is a 15 year old up-and-coming author from the Central Coast, NSW. She has won three poetry prizes for her poems Here Comes the Flood, “How I Wish” and Welcome to the World, her style being likened to that of Henry Lawson. She didn’t start seriously writing until 2017, when she had an idea for a crime novel. Since then, she has been squeezing in writing time between school, dance and the rest of her life. Her crime stories have been praised by readers and use a different school of thinking when choosing the villain.
Judge’s comment:
Darkness has a Voice is a gripping story, tightly-plotted and sharply-written, centred around two teenage thieves, Noah and Viv, who have been hired over the phone for a mysterious job which turns out to be rather more than they bargained for. Pace and characterisation are excellent, description is vivid, the atmosphere is both intriguing and full of dread, and the ending has a real twist.
Judge’s comment:
Darkness has a Voice is a gripping story, tightly-plotted and sharply-written, centred around two teenage thieves, Noah and Viv, who have been hired over the phone for a mysterious job which turns out to be rather more than they bargained for. Pace and characterisation are excellent, description is vivid, the atmosphere is both intriguing and full of dread, and the ending has a real twist.
Darkness has a Voice
“Shh!”
Our bodies press against the tree trunk. The thumping in my heart frightens me, but not so much as the presence of the people following us.
The pounding, rumbling sound of footsteps fills the air. The sound of voices calling to each other sends fear rolling down my spine.
“They can’t have gone far.” A booming voice calls in the clearing.
A shadow approaches the tree. Noah and I hold our breaths, hands clenched together until our knuckles go white. The weight in my pocket is constantly on my mind, ever present like a blaring siren about to go off and tell everyone where we are.
The police march around the clearing, torches surveying the grey-green undergrowth. I flatten myself against the tree.
Their footsteps slowly fade away, and we both exhale. I slide down to sit in the shelter of the massive roots of the tree.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?”
Noah gives me a look as he collapses beside me. I smile weakly at him. The circumstances of our life do not need to be reviewed. The emaciated bodies of our families will be forever ingrained in our minds.
The breathing of the wind masks my own panting breath. The forest around us is like a cloak. If worn right, we’ll blend right in.
Good thing Noah and I are experts.
We sit in the cover of the tree roots for another couple of minutes. The forest rustles quietly around us. Paranoia writhes in my veins, a fear that the cops hunting us will turn back and discover us.
I feel like this every time I steal something. It starts as the simple pulse of adrenalin, and the weightless feeling in my heart after I steal my target. As my feet carry me away, the nervousness creeps through every vein, every muscle, every cell. My ears become hypersensitive to any noise made. My hands clench the stolen item and I walk swiftly and inconspicuously towards Noah’s waiting car.
Tonight is different. On the streets of Sydney, you can escape without a sound emerging. There are so many places to slot yourself in and hide. Bathrooms, clothing stores, alleyways, cars.
Out here, in the middle of nowhere, you can’t get away with anything.
I shouldn’t be so nervous. We steal regularly. But this job has us right out of our element.
The wind picks up, whistling through the trees. A shiver races down my body. I wrap my black, cotton jacket closer around me. Noah pulls his hood over his head, hiding his wild, stormy eyes.
He gestures with his pale fingers for me to show him what I’ve got in my pocket. I shove my hand into my pocket, and pull out a small parcel. It fits in the palm of my hand, a small box wrapped in butcher’s paper.
“It’s so small.” I whisper.
Noah nods, staring at the box. “Why would anyone pay to have this stolen?”
I shrug, and tuck it back in my pocket. It doesn’t matter, the reward will be substantial, enough to set us up for a long time.
“We better get going.” He shivers, pulling himself up.
He reaches out and pulls me up. His hands are warm in mine, but ghostly pale in the moonlight.
We peer out from behind the tree, and begin walking back the way we came. It’s a strategy of ours. Run in one direction, confuse the cops and then go back the way we came. They never expect us to double back, they seem to think we’ll just run until we drop. They wish we would.
Noah and I creep through the forest, each step cautious and timid. Our client will be waiting for us outside a coffee shop on the main road of the town.
We just need to get there without being caught.
The forest seems to be filled with eyes, watching our every move. Adrenalin pulses through me with every sound. An owl call. The rustle of leaves. It all makes me shudder and jump within my skin.
I’d love to talk to Noah, to ease the tension. But that means being caught. And being caught is something our families cannot afford.
So we walk in silence, guiding each other through the beaten up undergrowth.
Noah and I live in one apartment we share with both of our families. Our parents have been jobless for ages, barely keeping all of us alive. Noah’s Dad goes out each night, gambling away the pension money, while his mother wheezes and coughs from bed. My Dad goes away for weeks on end, comes home and drinks until he’s unconscious. Mum’s death rattled him to the core.
So Noah and I assumed the role of providers for our three emaciated parents and the five children under their care. We provide for them the only way we can.
We creep through the forest, the palm branches and finger-like branches
scraping against our skin. The forest thins out quickly, and we emerge beside a creek, a little way from the train station.
A car speeds past along the nearby road and I squeak. Noah looks at me, but there’s no teasing expression in his eyes. He’s scared too.
It’s so out of character for Noah to be scared. But everything about tonight is different, including the menacing, shadowy voice that gave us the job.
A few lamps illuminate the platforms and the bridge to either side. We’ve timed everything down to the second. Break into the Museum of Dangerous Australian Artefacts, steal the box in volt three and get to the coffee shop. But the skirmish with the police set us back about half an hour. We have to get past the train station before the next train comes through, or we’ll be seen.
The next train comes in two minutes. Noah grabs my hand. “Come on Viv.”
We bolt towards the stairs. Noah takes them three at a time and I jog to keep up with his long legs. We push up the flights of stairs and reach the top when I hear an electrical, whistling noise. The tracks vibrate in their bed, and the sound of a moving force whips in my ears.
“Run.”
We bolt across the top and speed down the stairs. I cling to the rail, trying desperately not to fall over. Noah reaches the bottom before me and drags me down the last few stairs. We rush out the other side, my heart pounding in my chest.
The lights on his car flash and he throws the driver’s door open. I swing around and pull open the door, throwing myself inside.
Noah revs the vehicle and we drive away. Just as the train rolls in.
We both release a sigh of relief. I chuckle, then laugh. Noah laughs too. It’s that coping mechanism laugh. Where if you don’t laugh, you’re probably going to break down sobbing.
“That was a close one.” I gasp.
A siren wails. Our bodies tense up. I look in the side mirror and see a police car coming up behind us. Noah looks like he’s ready to book it but I lay a hand on his arm.
“Hold on.”
We slow down, drifting into the far left lane like any upstanding citizen should. The flashing lights of the polished car approach us at a heightened speed. The police car approaches and...speeds past, the red and blue lights flashing in our eyes.
I gasp, smiling. “Idiots.”
Noah gasps in relief and pushes on.
We drive into the town, grinning helplessly in relief. We’re going to make it. The money we’ll earn will be of unfathomable value to us.
The sign for the coffee shop approaches. Noah turns off the headlights and slides the car into a parking spot two buildings away. The street lamps glow gold. There are no cars on the road this late at night. I mentioned the weird timing to meet at a coffee shop, but Noah just shrugged at me.
“They’re paying us to steal something, they can probably keep a coffee shop open a bit later than closing time.”
We both step out of the car, hoods pulled over our faces. We haven’t actually met our employer, just heard him over the phone.
Twice.
Noah and I were at home, sorting through the day’s conquests when an envelope slid under the door. It just had a phone number scribbled down.
When we called him, I was certain he was about to blackmail us. His voice sounded like what you’d expect shadows to sound like. If shadows could talk, that is. I hate the idea. They’d tell everyone all the things I do out of sight.
“I want to hire you two.” The deep, rumbling voice said. “We’re not thieves for hire. Sorry.”
The voice laughed. “You won’t want to turn this offer down.”
He offered us a job to steal something for him. He said he would pay us so well, it would set us and our families up for life. How could we say no?
We walk towards the coffee shop. Umber, timber panels give it a dark, haunted appearance. The shop sign swings, creaking in the breezy night. There’s an alleyway next door, with no lights illuminating it. As I glance in, motion inside makes me do a double take.
It might just be me, but a black figure seems to be watching us from the shadows. I could swear the darkness has a voice, talking in hushed tones. My heart begins thumping and I bite my lower lip. Noah wraps his hand around mine.
“Don’t show emotion.” He whispers. “You’re the one holding my hand.”
He drops my hand like it’s a hot coal. My heart twinges but I keep my face neutral.
There’s only two tables set up outside. There’s a man siting at the table closest to the door. His blond hair glistens in the moonlight, his skin ghostly. There is a laptop bag on the table, and he has a cup of coffee sitting beside it.
The coffee’s cold. “You’re late.”
His voice is as cold and bitter as his coffee.
Noah and I approach. He doesn’t offer a seat, so we both remain standing, our eyes covered by our hoods.
He looks just as nervous as I feel. Something’s off. This guy has the upper hand.
Why is he scared?
“You have what I asked for?”
His voice is neutral, but yet unsure of himself. There’s a shinning, black earpiece in his ear. I glance at Noah and I can tell he’s thinking what I am.
“We’re not alone, are we?” I say.
The man glances nervously at the alleyway. I catch his split second of fear and look.
A man emerges from the shadows, dressed in an entirely black suit, his coal black hair impeccably styled. He gives me a sly grin.
“You must be our employer.”
The young man nods, standing comfortably with his hands in his coat pockets, leaning on his right leg.
“I was told you were good.”
His voice sounds dark and murky. Like shadows. Noah eyes him suspiciously. “Why hide?”
The man shrugs. “Makes things more interesting.”
The door to the coffee shop swings open and two burly men in black step out.
They have bandit masks on their faces. And guns on their belts.
I swallow, subconsciously wrapping my hand around the box in my pocket. Rookie mistake.
He sees my foolish moment and approaches. “Give it to me.”
I take a step back. “Payment first.” He grins. “What payment?”
Noah’s hands curl into fists. “You said what you’d pay us would-”
“-set you two up for life.” He smirks, shaking his head.
Noah and I step close together. “Payment or no prize.” He growls.
The two burly men approach us, hands resting on their guns. Their muscles twitch, and adrenalin simmers in my veins. The man moves closer to me, his hand outstretched.
“Hand it over.”
I shake my head, standing stock still. Noah stands beside me, his breath coming in fast paced huffs. We both know they’re not going to pay us.
The man is starting to loose patience.
“The police’ll be here soon. If you wanna stay out of gaol, you better make this quick.”
On cue, sirens start getting closer. The man is right up in my face. So I make a split second decision.
“Okay.”
My fist slams into his nose and he reels back, clutching his face. Noah turns around and slams a punch into one of the men. The other goes to punch Noah but I block it and knock him over.
Noah grabs my hand and we bolt towards the car.
“AFTER THEM!” The shadowy man screams in his dark voice.
We climb into the car and speed off, just as the police cars coming flying towards the shop. Noah guns the accelerator and we speed away. I turn around in the front seat and look back. The police have stopped and are talking to the men.
I whirl back around and pull out the small box that’s caused us so much trouble. I rip off the butchers’ paper to reveal a leather jewellery box. I flip open the lid and stare at it.
“What’s in there?” Noah asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
I pull out a simple, gold, wedding ring. Noah glances at it and scoffs. “That’s what we’re risking our necks over?”
Another look in the box adds more mystery. Tucked into the padding is a piece of paper.
I pull it out, unfolding the paper. It’s old and creased. I gape at the writing. My whole body goes cold with fear. As I read it to Noah, the car falls into a deathly silence.
Dear finder, congratulations. You’ve found the first key to the nation’s undoing.
Our bodies press against the tree trunk. The thumping in my heart frightens me, but not so much as the presence of the people following us.
The pounding, rumbling sound of footsteps fills the air. The sound of voices calling to each other sends fear rolling down my spine.
“They can’t have gone far.” A booming voice calls in the clearing.
A shadow approaches the tree. Noah and I hold our breaths, hands clenched together until our knuckles go white. The weight in my pocket is constantly on my mind, ever present like a blaring siren about to go off and tell everyone where we are.
The police march around the clearing, torches surveying the grey-green undergrowth. I flatten myself against the tree.
Their footsteps slowly fade away, and we both exhale. I slide down to sit in the shelter of the massive roots of the tree.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?”
Noah gives me a look as he collapses beside me. I smile weakly at him. The circumstances of our life do not need to be reviewed. The emaciated bodies of our families will be forever ingrained in our minds.
The breathing of the wind masks my own panting breath. The forest around us is like a cloak. If worn right, we’ll blend right in.
Good thing Noah and I are experts.
We sit in the cover of the tree roots for another couple of minutes. The forest rustles quietly around us. Paranoia writhes in my veins, a fear that the cops hunting us will turn back and discover us.
I feel like this every time I steal something. It starts as the simple pulse of adrenalin, and the weightless feeling in my heart after I steal my target. As my feet carry me away, the nervousness creeps through every vein, every muscle, every cell. My ears become hypersensitive to any noise made. My hands clench the stolen item and I walk swiftly and inconspicuously towards Noah’s waiting car.
Tonight is different. On the streets of Sydney, you can escape without a sound emerging. There are so many places to slot yourself in and hide. Bathrooms, clothing stores, alleyways, cars.
Out here, in the middle of nowhere, you can’t get away with anything.
I shouldn’t be so nervous. We steal regularly. But this job has us right out of our element.
The wind picks up, whistling through the trees. A shiver races down my body. I wrap my black, cotton jacket closer around me. Noah pulls his hood over his head, hiding his wild, stormy eyes.
He gestures with his pale fingers for me to show him what I’ve got in my pocket. I shove my hand into my pocket, and pull out a small parcel. It fits in the palm of my hand, a small box wrapped in butcher’s paper.
“It’s so small.” I whisper.
Noah nods, staring at the box. “Why would anyone pay to have this stolen?”
I shrug, and tuck it back in my pocket. It doesn’t matter, the reward will be substantial, enough to set us up for a long time.
“We better get going.” He shivers, pulling himself up.
He reaches out and pulls me up. His hands are warm in mine, but ghostly pale in the moonlight.
We peer out from behind the tree, and begin walking back the way we came. It’s a strategy of ours. Run in one direction, confuse the cops and then go back the way we came. They never expect us to double back, they seem to think we’ll just run until we drop. They wish we would.
Noah and I creep through the forest, each step cautious and timid. Our client will be waiting for us outside a coffee shop on the main road of the town.
We just need to get there without being caught.
The forest seems to be filled with eyes, watching our every move. Adrenalin pulses through me with every sound. An owl call. The rustle of leaves. It all makes me shudder and jump within my skin.
I’d love to talk to Noah, to ease the tension. But that means being caught. And being caught is something our families cannot afford.
So we walk in silence, guiding each other through the beaten up undergrowth.
Noah and I live in one apartment we share with both of our families. Our parents have been jobless for ages, barely keeping all of us alive. Noah’s Dad goes out each night, gambling away the pension money, while his mother wheezes and coughs from bed. My Dad goes away for weeks on end, comes home and drinks until he’s unconscious. Mum’s death rattled him to the core.
So Noah and I assumed the role of providers for our three emaciated parents and the five children under their care. We provide for them the only way we can.
We creep through the forest, the palm branches and finger-like branches
scraping against our skin. The forest thins out quickly, and we emerge beside a creek, a little way from the train station.
A car speeds past along the nearby road and I squeak. Noah looks at me, but there’s no teasing expression in his eyes. He’s scared too.
It’s so out of character for Noah to be scared. But everything about tonight is different, including the menacing, shadowy voice that gave us the job.
A few lamps illuminate the platforms and the bridge to either side. We’ve timed everything down to the second. Break into the Museum of Dangerous Australian Artefacts, steal the box in volt three and get to the coffee shop. But the skirmish with the police set us back about half an hour. We have to get past the train station before the next train comes through, or we’ll be seen.
The next train comes in two minutes. Noah grabs my hand. “Come on Viv.”
We bolt towards the stairs. Noah takes them three at a time and I jog to keep up with his long legs. We push up the flights of stairs and reach the top when I hear an electrical, whistling noise. The tracks vibrate in their bed, and the sound of a moving force whips in my ears.
“Run.”
We bolt across the top and speed down the stairs. I cling to the rail, trying desperately not to fall over. Noah reaches the bottom before me and drags me down the last few stairs. We rush out the other side, my heart pounding in my chest.
The lights on his car flash and he throws the driver’s door open. I swing around and pull open the door, throwing myself inside.
Noah revs the vehicle and we drive away. Just as the train rolls in.
We both release a sigh of relief. I chuckle, then laugh. Noah laughs too. It’s that coping mechanism laugh. Where if you don’t laugh, you’re probably going to break down sobbing.
“That was a close one.” I gasp.
A siren wails. Our bodies tense up. I look in the side mirror and see a police car coming up behind us. Noah looks like he’s ready to book it but I lay a hand on his arm.
“Hold on.”
We slow down, drifting into the far left lane like any upstanding citizen should. The flashing lights of the polished car approach us at a heightened speed. The police car approaches and...speeds past, the red and blue lights flashing in our eyes.
I gasp, smiling. “Idiots.”
Noah gasps in relief and pushes on.
We drive into the town, grinning helplessly in relief. We’re going to make it. The money we’ll earn will be of unfathomable value to us.
The sign for the coffee shop approaches. Noah turns off the headlights and slides the car into a parking spot two buildings away. The street lamps glow gold. There are no cars on the road this late at night. I mentioned the weird timing to meet at a coffee shop, but Noah just shrugged at me.
“They’re paying us to steal something, they can probably keep a coffee shop open a bit later than closing time.”
We both step out of the car, hoods pulled over our faces. We haven’t actually met our employer, just heard him over the phone.
Twice.
Noah and I were at home, sorting through the day’s conquests when an envelope slid under the door. It just had a phone number scribbled down.
When we called him, I was certain he was about to blackmail us. His voice sounded like what you’d expect shadows to sound like. If shadows could talk, that is. I hate the idea. They’d tell everyone all the things I do out of sight.
“I want to hire you two.” The deep, rumbling voice said. “We’re not thieves for hire. Sorry.”
The voice laughed. “You won’t want to turn this offer down.”
He offered us a job to steal something for him. He said he would pay us so well, it would set us and our families up for life. How could we say no?
We walk towards the coffee shop. Umber, timber panels give it a dark, haunted appearance. The shop sign swings, creaking in the breezy night. There’s an alleyway next door, with no lights illuminating it. As I glance in, motion inside makes me do a double take.
It might just be me, but a black figure seems to be watching us from the shadows. I could swear the darkness has a voice, talking in hushed tones. My heart begins thumping and I bite my lower lip. Noah wraps his hand around mine.
“Don’t show emotion.” He whispers. “You’re the one holding my hand.”
He drops my hand like it’s a hot coal. My heart twinges but I keep my face neutral.
There’s only two tables set up outside. There’s a man siting at the table closest to the door. His blond hair glistens in the moonlight, his skin ghostly. There is a laptop bag on the table, and he has a cup of coffee sitting beside it.
The coffee’s cold. “You’re late.”
His voice is as cold and bitter as his coffee.
Noah and I approach. He doesn’t offer a seat, so we both remain standing, our eyes covered by our hoods.
He looks just as nervous as I feel. Something’s off. This guy has the upper hand.
Why is he scared?
“You have what I asked for?”
His voice is neutral, but yet unsure of himself. There’s a shinning, black earpiece in his ear. I glance at Noah and I can tell he’s thinking what I am.
“We’re not alone, are we?” I say.
The man glances nervously at the alleyway. I catch his split second of fear and look.
A man emerges from the shadows, dressed in an entirely black suit, his coal black hair impeccably styled. He gives me a sly grin.
“You must be our employer.”
The young man nods, standing comfortably with his hands in his coat pockets, leaning on his right leg.
“I was told you were good.”
His voice sounds dark and murky. Like shadows. Noah eyes him suspiciously. “Why hide?”
The man shrugs. “Makes things more interesting.”
The door to the coffee shop swings open and two burly men in black step out.
They have bandit masks on their faces. And guns on their belts.
I swallow, subconsciously wrapping my hand around the box in my pocket. Rookie mistake.
He sees my foolish moment and approaches. “Give it to me.”
I take a step back. “Payment first.” He grins. “What payment?”
Noah’s hands curl into fists. “You said what you’d pay us would-”
“-set you two up for life.” He smirks, shaking his head.
Noah and I step close together. “Payment or no prize.” He growls.
The two burly men approach us, hands resting on their guns. Their muscles twitch, and adrenalin simmers in my veins. The man moves closer to me, his hand outstretched.
“Hand it over.”
I shake my head, standing stock still. Noah stands beside me, his breath coming in fast paced huffs. We both know they’re not going to pay us.
The man is starting to loose patience.
“The police’ll be here soon. If you wanna stay out of gaol, you better make this quick.”
On cue, sirens start getting closer. The man is right up in my face. So I make a split second decision.
“Okay.”
My fist slams into his nose and he reels back, clutching his face. Noah turns around and slams a punch into one of the men. The other goes to punch Noah but I block it and knock him over.
Noah grabs my hand and we bolt towards the car.
“AFTER THEM!” The shadowy man screams in his dark voice.
We climb into the car and speed off, just as the police cars coming flying towards the shop. Noah guns the accelerator and we speed away. I turn around in the front seat and look back. The police have stopped and are talking to the men.
I whirl back around and pull out the small box that’s caused us so much trouble. I rip off the butchers’ paper to reveal a leather jewellery box. I flip open the lid and stare at it.
“What’s in there?” Noah asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
I pull out a simple, gold, wedding ring. Noah glances at it and scoffs. “That’s what we’re risking our necks over?”
Another look in the box adds more mystery. Tucked into the padding is a piece of paper.
I pull it out, unfolding the paper. It’s old and creased. I gape at the writing. My whole body goes cold with fear. As I read it to Noah, the car falls into a deathly silence.
Dear finder, congratulations. You’ve found the first key to the nation’s undoing.
