Wattpad Malaysia genially presents ShaunAllan, a Wattys winner, a Featured Author, a Wattpad Star, a successful published writer and he is best known for his horror story 'Sin'. He is coming here all the way from a land where snowflakes fall from the sky to share exclusive first three chapters of his forthcoming book Norman the Spellcatcher, Book Two of the Shadowmoss Chronicles. Give him a warm welcome folks.

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Shaun Allan is a Wattpad Star, featured author and Wattys winner. Having appeared on Sky TV to debate traditional vs electronic publishing against a major literary agent, he writes multiple genres, including young adult and childrens', but mainly delves into his Dark Half to produce psychological horror. He has worked with Universal, Warner Bros, Blumhouse Tilt, Goosebumps and DC Comics and regularly holds writing workshops at local schools. Many of his personal experiences and memories are woven into the point of view and sense of humour of Sin, the main character in his best-selling novel of the same name, although he can't, at this point, teleport.

Shaun lives with his daughters and a manic dog called Ripley (believe it or not). He works full time, co-owns a barbers salon and writes in that breath between his heartbeats. Though his life might, at times, seem crazy, he is not.

Honest.

...

Norman the Spellcatcher

Chapter One

It was still light when Norman woke up.

This wasn't unusual. In the dank cellars that he and his friends used for sleeping (and eating and, basically, everything else to do with living) very little light managed to seep its way through the heavy wooden doors. Admittedly, windows lined the walls high up near the beamed ceiling, but the glass in them was long smeared and stained with who-knew-what, and they could well have been made from brick for all the light they allowed through. The snakes usually slept during the day, only stirring at night for Spellcatching, so they were used to living in a permanent dusk. Norman, however, was more of a get-up-and-slither sort of snake, and hadn't yet lost his enthusiasm for his job as the others had. He regularly awoke before his friends, the excitement of the forthcoming nightly mission making his scales tingle.

Norman stretched, yawning widely, his tail sticking out, ramrod straight. He groaned as his tail cracked, the result of it being curled awkwardly under him while he slept. Looking around the cellar, he saw he was the first to wake, the others of his nest still quietly snoring (expect in the case of 'Arry, a huge boa who could snore in the County Snoring Championships, if there was such a thing).

He licked his lips, his forked tongue flicking over them lightly. He could still taste last night's meal, a mouldy concoction of left over bread and rat that had been thrown down to them by Janice's henchmen. It wasn't a pleasant taste. He needed a drink. A few feet away from his bed was a puddle, one of the many formed by the constant drips from the ceiling. Janice's cooks, in the kitchen above the cellar, were not too fussy about cleaning up spillages or even the odd flood and this meant the kitchen floor was usually sodden. Even though the witch's house was solidly built, the walls and floors being made from the solid trunks of oak trees, the kitchen quagmire easily managed to ooze through to the cellar below. Luckily for him and the rest of the snakes, the cellar floor was mostly mud and drained off the mix of stagnant water, grease and other, less-appetising fluids, without difficulty.

Norman slithered off his bed, a scramble of damp straw that he'd scavenged, like his friends, while out on Spellcatching missions, and brushed it together so it had a meagre sense of neatness and moved to the puddle. It smelled of old vegetables and rotting wood, with a fetid scent of cat thrown in for good measure. He dunked his whole head in the mixture, taking the opportunity to wash as well as drink. It had only been a few weeks since he had last shed his skin, and he still itched, so the snake doused the rest of his body in the puddle too. Once done, he slid across to the remnants of the stew. A half-chewed rat's foot stuck out from the gloop so he wrapped his tongue around it, pulled it into his mouth and swallowed it whole. He smacked his lips together satisfactorily and belched. The snakes closest to him mumbled in their sleep but didn't wake. Norman smiled to himself.

All in all, he thought, life couldn't be better!

Suddenly there was a crashing from beyond the door to the house. A stream of guttural curses followed, chased quickly by a heavy slap and some muffled whimpering. Norman knew what to expect next, and pitied the poor kitchen hand or dogsbody that had inadvertently incurred the wrath of Janice the Witch's right hand thug. The anticipated scream didn't come and Norman was left wondering how the poor whelp had escaped the anger of...

The door at the top of the cellar stairs, which led into the main body of Janice's house, crashed open. Though it wasn't quite as thick as the doors to the outside, which were carved whole out of some ancient tree that was even older than Janice herself, it was still more than substantial. A body flew through the opening and smashed into one of the high windows, shattering the filthy glass and letting in the early evening's light. The living missile then landed with a limp crunch by the decaying supper that Norman had just snacked on. A couple of snakes were caught beneath it and hissed angrily as they tried vainly to crawl out. One of them (called Sorry due to the fact that, if something was going to break or fall or smash, Sorry would probably be the snake who caused it) was injured and bleated lamely until he saw who stood at the ruined doorway. Big 'Arry, the boa, simply slept on, oblivious to the disturbance about him. Practically every snake was now awake, slithering and hissing noisily at whatever insolent idiot had dragged them from their sleep. When they saw who that idiot was, they, too, quickly went quiet.

The light from the house beyond masked the hulk at the top of the stairs in silhouette, but there was no mistaking him. The immense size, the rasping breath, the tangible aura of menace.

Blot.

The entire nest of snakes, almost all awake and each one completely silent, stared apprehensively at the huge creature. Some visibly shook.

No one knew where he came from, not even Janice herself. It was said that he was once a troll, though he shared only a passing resemblance with the brutish creatures now. An unfortunate encounter with a trio of Fell Witches had altered his appearance and almost doubled his already immense bulk. It had also done nothing to improve the troll's infamous temperament – quite the opposite, in fact. He wasn't simply mean, he was downright nasty.

Norman slid carefully over to 'Arry and nudged him. The boa grumbled something about 'fried egg and hedgehog on toast, please' and turned over, still asleep. At least he had stopped snoring.

The poor wretch lying crumpled on Sorry's rattle (Sorry was a rattlesnake, but had none of their infamous arrogance – he could be overwhelmed by the ferocity of a mere grass snake) groaned and struggled to stand. It was Fred the Kitchen Underhand. His back was bent at an unfortunate angle and his arm was somewhat wilted, but he knew better than to complain. He limped over to the bottom of the stairs and struggled back up to face his tormentor.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry, Mr. Blot," he whimpered, not daring to look the troll in the eyes. He was visibly shaking.

Blot smiled, an expression which served not to lighten his features but to make them even more thunderous. Fred's body stopped shaking and began twitching rhythmically in nervous terror.

"I'm sure you are, Fraud," he growled. The Underhand almost made the mistake of correcting his name, but fortunately decided against it. He didn't want to not live to regret it. Blot raised his enormous hand and grabbed Fred's hair, lifting him off the steps. Fred hung there, gritting the few teeth he still had. He managed to gasp only once, rather than cry out, but it was still too much. Blot flung him back into the cellar.

"Never answer me back again," he said in a voice that was completely level. Blot very rarely raised his voice – he didn't need to. If he spoke to you, you stood up (figuratively speaking in the case of the snakes) and took notice. Usually, if he was speaking to you, you were in trouble anyway, so it was more than your life was worth not to listen. Blot tossed the clump of Fred's hair that was still in his hand after its owner and turned to leave. He paused before stepping back through the broken doorway. "You lot get moving," he rumbled.

Then he was gone and the snakes heaved a collective sigh of relief.

Norman nudged Fred with the tip of his tail. The Underhand didn't move but was still breathing, which was something. It was unlike Blot to be so merciful. Perhaps he was in a good mood, though that was somewhat doubtful. The troll only had two moods – miserable and downright miserable. The snake gathered the hair from around Fred's feet and put it gently back on his head, the drying blood from where it had been torn out serving as glue. He then joined the queue behind 'Arry at the outside doors.

The vast doors wouldn't be opened for a good while yet. The Spellcatchers were almost never allowed out until after dark and that wouldn't be for another hour or so. The snakes knew this, but they also knew that, should Blot return and find them not ready, Janice would no doubt be looking for new Spellcatchers within the hour.

Blot's reprimands were well known to be final. They slid into line without a murmur.

"Looks like it'll be a good one tonight," said 'Arry in his deep-in-the-bowels-of-his-belly voice. Norman was sure that, if he listened at the end of the boa's tail, which was a fair distance from the large head, his friend's voice would sound just the same. It was as if 'Arry's whole body spoke sometimes.

"Oh?" said Norman. His voice was much lighter and softer than the boa's. Norman was only a youngster and, as a keelback, didn't have the size to match his friend. He was easily dwarfed by the other's bulk, but didn't feel even slightly threatened. 'Arry was as soft as he was big. "What makes you say that?" he asked.

"'Cos," 'Arry said.

Norman waited for something more, but 'Arry wasn't forthcoming. He was like that though – he'd either be the most talkative snake in the cellar, or his version of an entire conversation would be two words. Of course, that was when you could get him to stay awake. Norman smiled and nodded. There was no point in pushing 'Arry, who could be quite deaf when he wanted to be. Accept what he said and don't argue, that was the best way.

Chapter Two

The nest was boisterous tonight. Perhaps it was due to the extended wait before they could leave, but Norman felt it was something more. Usually, they were woken only minutes before the start of the mission and didn't have time to sit and chat. Tonight allowed them the chance to mutter and mumble, particularly about Blot and his run in with Fred, or was that the other way round? Their eagerness was getting the better of them. They wanted to be off catching spells, not cooped up in the cellar.

"Who do you think will win?" said a voice behind Norman. He turned to see Kip, the grass snake that had so alarmed Sorry. To be more than honest, Sorry was pretty much completely to blame for slithering headlong into Kip just as the grass snake was about to catch a spell. Kip had fumbled and dropped the star and couldn't reach it before it touched the ground, rendering it useless. It meant he'd finished under his quota and had taken him about three weeks to unravel the knot which Blot had tied him into. Grass snakes are notoriously bad-tempered and Kip took great advantage of that fact to make Sorry feel very sorry indeed.

"What do you mean?" Norman asked.

"The competition!" Kip almost shouted. A few of the nearer snakes hushed him. He was well known to be a touch volatile and could flip from being very friendly to biting your tail in the flick of a tongue. They didn't want him to suddenly go off on one of his little rampages and attract the unwanted attention of Blot.

"Oh," said Norman, not knowing what he was talking about. "I don't know. Could be anyone."

Kip seemed to accept the answer and began hissing tunelessly to himself. Norman frowned. He wanted to know about this competition, but didn't want to reveal his ignorance. If he had asked Big 'Arry, the grass snake would no doubt hear and could easily start a brawl – he had done so on many occasions for far less. He decided to wait a while. No doubt he'd find out soon enough. Perhaps there was a prize for the most spells caught or something similar.

Norman realised, suddenly, that he didn't have his gear on. He had forgotten it once before, and the resulting burns, along with assorted bruises and scrapes, ensured that he never forgot again. He hurriedly asked 'Arry to keep his place in the line and skittered back to his bed. The 'gear' was very much like a long sock. It was usually a 'one size fits all' outfit, which was why some of the larger snakes had needed to scrounge extra kits and some of the smaller had knots tied into the ends. Norman's fitted him quite well, by sheer accident, and apart from the cap being just a little too big and having an awkward habit of slipping over his eyes occasionally, he quite liked it. He'd managed to paint it with markings similar to his own keelback designs and could usually ignore the problematic hood. Perhaps paint was too strong a word – he had asked Sorry to scratch the sock with his rattle after soaking it in wet mud, then had allowed it to dry. The resulting stains bore a coincidental likeness to Norman's patterns, but it was enough for Sorry to pretend he'd intended it that way.

The 'sock' was made from an ordinary cotton material that Janice had casually cast a spell over. The hex wasn't a particularly strong one, and Janice's lack of any real effort meant it had to be reinforced on occasion, but it served its purpose – to afford a meagre protection to the wearer from the potentially harmful effects of Spellcatching. The snake slid backwards into it and then slipped the hood over their heads with a short strap passing under their top jaw to hold the whole thing in place. It took some getting used to – at first the outfit had an annoying fondness of riding back and almost slipping off, if it wasn't for the fact that the strap wanted to snap your jaw! With a little practice, however, it became like a second skin, one that didn't need to be shed. The spell went slightly further than simple protection, and ensured a smooth slither without snagging on undergrowth and such, and most of the nest actually enjoyed wearing them. This became one of the main reasons for continuing with the Spellcatcher missions – you could wear the kit. Of course you also stayed alive and were fed, after a fashion, but that, to some snakes, was secondary.

Norman hadn't quite fallen completely foul of the sock's appeal. He still enjoyed the mission itself, but in this he was in a minority. Even 'Arry was getting fed up recently and occasionally talked about what it would be like to roam free. If they weren't under the threat of the troll he might even have contemplated escape. He would have enjoyed biting Blot's ankles immensely before he left, that was for sure.

Blot was the enforcer. Blot was the menace that kept the unruly and untrustworthy snakes in order. Their fear of the troll ensured their unwavering loyalty and obedience, or that was how Blot and Janice saw it anyway. Janice, as a witch, hated getting her hands dirty with the menial tasks of 'employee relations'. She had Blot for that and he performed his duties admirably. More than that, he avidly enjoyed making any who stood before him quake uncontrollably in fear of their life, or at the very least, dismemberment. That suited the witch – it meant she could get on with the much more important task of Witching.

Besides, she hated snakes! Loathsome, slimy, creepy, nasty little beggars, that's what they were. The lot of 'em. She didn't trust snakes and she certainly didn't like them. Janice only employed them because they were easy to control (if you had the right supervision, which Blot definitely was) and because, for all their horrid appearance, snakes were perfect for Spellcatching. She completely left them under the troll's dominance, trusting him to do his job.

Except, she wasn't that stupid, not by a long way. She didn't actually trust Blot at all, and only feigned her confidence in him. He was a troll, after all.

That was fine, as he didn't even slightly trust her either, and simply pretended to while it suited his desires. She was a witch, after all. He knew her plan, and he was going to have a part of it for himself, if not all of it!

As far as the snakes were concerned, Blot was their tormentor. Janice, they thought, knew nothing of his methods, let alone condoned them, and would have stopped him in an instant if she did. She gave them jobs, food and somewhere warm, if damp, to live in. Her naivete wasn't her fault. They were sure she had more important things to take up her time than worry about them, and the snakes understood that. Some grumbled that Janice was a witch, so she should know what was going on, but others, Norman included, were adamant in their commitment. Janice may well be a witch, but Blot would make sure she didn't see how he treated her workers. Janice was good, Blot was... Blot.

Janice knew of this adoration and thought it might be flattering, if it wasn't so thoroughly disgusting! Snakes! Vile, vile creatures! Saying that though, she used the snakes' affection to her advantage. Blot was, at times, excessive, but he kept them in control. Their love of her ensured Blot wouldn't drive them away. Just how she liked it. On Blot's part, he didn't care what the snakes thought of the witch as long as they cringed when he was near. He didn't have such a low opinion of the Spellcatchers. He thought they were repulsive, but he thought everyone except trolls (and even included some of those) was repulsive, so his loathing wasn't personal. Blot treated everyone with equal contempt, only curbing it slightly for Janice.

Norman slipped his Spellcatcher's outfit on easily and took a brief moment to make sure the strap was comfortable in his mouth. It tasted of lemons at first, then he realised it was actually the fetid water soaking in from the cellar floor. He grimaced a little, then became used to the flavour and found it actually wasn't so bad. He chewed it softly as he hurried back in line behind 'Arry.

"Took your time," the boa rumbled.

Norman shrugged. "Still time yet," he said. He hadn't been that long, but 'Arry had a dry sense of humour which the keelback found disconcerting sometimes. It made him defensive when he didn't always need to be.

"I wouldn't be so sure." 'Arry nodded over to the vast double doors that led to the outside world. They were shimmering.

The time had come. The mission was about to start. Familiar butterflies fluttered in Norman's long belly as he eagerly awaited Blot's bellow. The nest pushed forward excitedly.

"MOVE IT!"

Chapter Three

Blot was at the shattered door to the house. His shout was the snakes' cue. As they slithered forward the great doors blurred and faded to reveal a dark clearing amid a mass of high trees. The nest drove forward through the portal and into the forest beyond. Norman felt the familiar fizz run through his scales as the magical doorway transported him to wherever they were to work this night.

He, and most of the others, turned back the way they had come. They knew the house wasn't there, but still felt the need to check. The trees were slightly foggy as the enchanted threshold they'd passed through slowly disappeared. Norman smiled to himself. Here we go!

He checked to see where the python, Fallow (the only snake near to 'Arry's size), had left the cradle and then moved to take up a position just the other side. Very quickly, he looked around at the clearing. It was large, twice as big as the cellar floor, and was bordered by tall firs with trunks as skinny as a newborn viper. The firs were packed together tightly giving the appearance of giant whippersnips at an arena with the snakes being the main attraction. He just fancied whippersnip actually. The rat's foot hadn't done anything to curb his growing hunger and a couple of bites on one of the rodents would go down so well.

Whippersnips were cunning little animals. They inhabited almost every dark corner they could find, the damper the better, although they weren't that fussy. At first glance they looked like furry snakes, being long and almost as thin, but the 6 tiny feet and mousy face soon dispelled that illusion. They were the preferred snack of most other animals, including troll, goblin and ogre, but that was perhaps due to the rarity of actually finding one on the dinner plate. Whippersnips' feet were small and they were decidedly pack animals, but they were also amazingly fast. A whole wash of them could vanish in less than the flick of a tongue. To catch a whippersnip you had to be faster (unlikely), smarter (ditto), or lucky (yep, that was the one). Hence, they had become practically an infestation. The thing was, no one really had anything against them. Whippersnips were clean animals and hardly ever caused any damage. They were even cute, in their own way. Only trolls actively disliked them, but that was because they were trolls.

Norman, like the others, looked skywards.

A faint breeze rippled through the low grass. The trees seemed to lean in on the clearing, their excitement matching that of the snakes'. The nest collectively held its breath.

The sky was relatively clear. A few clouds clustered in groups as if placing bets on the night's mission. Norman wondered briefly which one would win, a thought that prompted him to remember Kip's earlier question.

"Who do you think will win?"

Win what?

"The competition!"

Norman was about to ask the snake nearest to him (an adder named Wren who was always telling jokes and regularly had the nest in fits of laughter) what competition Kip had been talking about but, just as he went to turn his head, he saw a flash in the night sky.

There was a second, then a third, and then the sky was aflame as the stars began to fall.

In an instant Norman assumed the typical Spellcatcher's position. His head was low to the ground with the majority of his body coiled in a spiral, his tail being the highest point. His whole body was pivoted solely on about an inch of his neck. He knew the other snakes had taken up similar stances about the clearing.

The breeze that had been scampering through the clearing seemed to have stopped and was holding its own breath.

Jeremy, the referee (a grass snake like Kip, but with an easier temperament), whistled, which was a difficult undertaking for someone with a forked tongue. It was the signal, as if one was needed, that the nest should ready itself. They had seen and they were prepared.

A high pitched keening sound filled the air like the sky was screaming. The sound changed swiftly to a lower moaning as the stars fell to the ground.

Except the Spellcatchers were there to prevent that.

Norman heard a whump nearby. It was quickly followed by a low hum as Fallow, the first to catch, tossed his star into the cradle. Suddenly, it was as if Beanie, the beaver at the dip of the Ashen Rush River had decided to put his months of hard work to no use whatsoever, and had broken his dam. Stars were falling everywhere and the snakes were leaping to intercept.

Norman saw a star plummeting to his left. Jess, Sorry's mother, was moving under it, but not fast enough. Well, he thought. All's fair in love and Spellcatching! In an instant his tail had spun out and hit the ground propelling him through the air to a point directly beneath the star. He landed a little too roughly, but hardly noticed, his body whipping back into the spring-like form it had been in only seconds before.

WHUMP!

Norman had judged his leap perfectly. The star hit him knocking the breath out of his lung, the coil of his body combined with Janice's enchanted outfit cushioning the blow. He gritted his teeth and pushed, hurling his prize towards the cradle. The Spellcatchers' clothing wasn't the only item to have been touched by the witch. As expected, the cradle slid smoothly into position and caught the treasure, humming softly as the magic within prevented the star from touching its sides. Norman nodded craftily in answer to Jess's scowl and was away, diving towards the next trophy.

The cradle's hex was much less careless than that of the snakes' outfits. It was valuable – snakes were... snakes. If Janice had her own dictionary, the word 'Snake' would be defined as : expendable, worthless, waste. It wouldn't be far from the word Sinister, defined, probably, by : BLOT. The cradle was the receptacle for the captured stars. It was more than the meagre life of any Spellcatcher might be worth to lose it or forget to bring it back from a mission. One snake, many years before, had done so. The next mission's cradle had markings that bore an uncanny resemblance to his skin. The cradle held the stars and ensured, through its enchantment, that they wouldn't have contact with the ground. It could move about as if it had a will of its own, catching stars as they were thrown by the Spellcatchers, and once within it's bowels, they were safe until it was brought before the witch.

Norman caught another and another. He was a blur as he swept across the clearing, weaving between the other snakes as if they were standing still, star after fallen star following each other into the cradle.

Sorry was the next casualty of his enthusiasm. The rattlesnake was coiled in precise position to catch his star. His eyes were focused directly skywards, the melee around him ignored. Norman leaped above his friend, his body wrapping into a tight ball as he flew through the air. He collided with the star inches from Sorry's bewildered face, knocking it towards the cradle, which easily glided to capture it. Even before he hit the floor, Norman had straightened out, a missile hurtling through the grass.

He saw another star directly in front of him, mere feet from the ground and made for it. Kip saw it too and turned to intercept. He saw Norman heading for the same prize and spurred on. Norman saw the grass snake and feinted to the left. Kip followed, realising too late his mistake.

Whump-unnng!

Lightning fast, Norman had whipped into the coil, caught the star, hurled it towards the cradle and dashed off to the next leaving a baffled Kip skidding to a halt where he had been a fraction of a second before.

On it went. The nest caught almost every star, with only a slack handful being missed and left, discarded, where they had hit the ground. Most snakes were showing obvious signs of fatigue as the night wore on, with only 'Arry remaining unaffected. This wasn't unusual though – the boa hardly moved during a mission. He was big enough that some stars were bound to fall in the area he covered. He could wind his body into three coils simultaneously, catch as many stars and toss all three into the cradle at once. He had, on occasion, even been heard to snore while he did it. Norman, however, hardly faltered. His energy, it seemed, was boundless.

Thank you so much for sharing such marvelous chapters, Shaun. 

Enter Shaun's giveaway to stand a chance to receive an  Ebook, a follow and he will also give a downloadable audiobook of Sin to 2 lucky winners. 

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If you have any questions regarding spellcatchers, vile creatures, boa, horror or anything else, you're welcome to add them in the comment below.