Seen and Not Heard

SEEN AND NOT HEARD.

"Seen and not Heard is one of the more original thrillers I've read. The twists will keep you guessing until the very last page." by Rick Barnes, Author of The Outcast Club series.

"I greatly enjoyed Seen and Not Heard - what a unique and emotional story! Deborah White's skilled storytelling drew me in from the first page!" Amanda Adkins.

REVIEWS ON AMAZON:

"Great to finally see a main character who is dyslexic represented in a book. I enjoyed reading about all her issues and how she overcame them. I would recommend this book." Rachael

"Absolutely loved this book. Well written and I couldn't put it down!! I'd definitely recommend this book!" Mary Thursby

"This had me hooked from page one, wanting to know where we'd end up! There are some really, really lovely images conjured up by the writer through the story which made for a great read. Inventive, creative little take and I'd definitely recommend! I loved it!" Rachel

"Brilliant read...loved the way it jumped from house to Molly. Captavating from beginning to end...especially the end.😯😯😯" Donna Dickson

"If you fancy a psychological thriller, with an element of quirkiness, then check out ‘Seen and Not Heard’ by Deborah Jean White.

Told from two points of view and beginning with Molly. Still a teenager and fresh out of school, Molly falls into a job as a Classroom Assistant and settles in well until the children slowly become absent from her class.

The second point of view is ‘house’. It takes a bit of getting used to, but before long, I can guarantee that you will begin to see things as the house does. It loves children, but isn’t too sure about the adults!

The story had me gripped from the outset and I honestly could not put it down. Yes, it’s slightly strange because I’ve never read a book written as a house before, but weirdly it works. The author brings each character to life, even the house, and we are carried along by memories and present-day as different timelines are visited.

I found the ending surreal, but believable, and I loved the entire book from beginning to end." Sam

"This book had me hooked from page one with lots of twists and turns along the way. The main character, Molly, has a unique voice that easily pulled me in, and seeing the world through the "eyes" of House was a really interesting concept - something I've never seen before. We see Molly dealing with the pains of growing up while trying to solve the mystery of why the children have stopped speaking. Overall, a fantastic and original YA thriller." Amy

A Psychological Suspense Thriller

In Seen And not Heard there are two points of view. One - the figure skating teenager, Molly Jolliff, who was sure she'd finally put the darkness of her childhood issues behind her until she is forced to face the workplace for the first time. But soon after starting work, she realises that Dyslexia is still causing her problems in the classroom, where she is placed within the primary school, and bullying within the workplace nearly sends her over the edge.

The second point of view: House - a red brick terrace with a number fifty-one by his front door, built in 1960 in Belfast. A house who loves children and fails to understand why adults control, discipline and hurt them emotionally and physically.

As the two time lines collide, Molly notices a series of strange developments The pupils start to dwindle in the classroom where she works and children stop speaking right in front of her.

What is going on? Who is to blame? What happens when the children stop speaking in another classroom with the school?

Chapter One: Molly

I grimace at the quivering hammer in my hand and notice on my forearm dripping blood.
It’s done. What should I do next?
To admit remorse would be welcoming the crazy notion: objects can feel. Ridiculous. I refuse to project my emotions onto things that don’t matter. Not anymore.
I turn away in a single spin. It’s so hard to breathe. I lift my head to the sky filled with puffed up, dull-grey clouds. Are they forming the shape of a house? I need to pull myself together. I’m falling apart like the apple crumble I shared an hour ago with Matthew. I should have stayed there with him. What compelled me to leave the welcoming music, comforting gingham cushions and… and… and his wonderful, perfect company?
A crow descends with a hard thud upon the scrutinising school building.
“What the heck are you doing here?”
Grandad used to say, “Crows aren’t a good sign, Molly-Moo. Linked to death, they are. Linked to death. A warning. Best to avoid ‘em like the plague.” I don’t need this right now.
Hopping from one tile to another, the mocking crow mimics the thumping of my beating heart.
Aware of my cold bare feet, I try to stand tall and avoid seeing Grandad’s face raising the alarm in my mind’s eye.
The sky opens. Rain pelts down and down and down. Like the marble paint we used in the classroom; a rivulet of scarlet on my arm fades now to pink. The blood dollops onto the meddling ends of my long hair; the harsh red contrasts dramatically with my natural flecks of golden blonde. Saturated. It dyes my ends and flattens the curls. The crow, with pride, stretches out his perfect ink-coloured wings.
“Bloody show-off.”
I hear the sirens getting closer. I stumble forward leaning on the railing. How the heck would I explain this?
The crow gawks at me, pointing his razor-sharp beak at the weapon still in my hand. I drop it. The crow knows what I did.
“I had to do it… for the children…”
The words plummet like the bricks of a demolished house. I am losing my mind.
The crow cocks his head at me.
“I know they won’t believe me.” With one peck, he agrees. The rain slows down dripping alongside the chip-chop thoughts in my head; full of random, unconnected details. Bible verses, bullying, play-based learning … death.
I try to stay calm.
“If a blue house is made of blue bricks and a red house is made of red bricks. What is a greenhouse made of?” With one piercing alarm call, the crow abandons me. “It’s glass. The answer is glass. Ack, it doesn’t matter… It really doesn’t matter.” I watch him soar away and I wish to follow in his flight path: escape. Deep down I know only houses can make wishes and Harry has gone on without me.
Houses can make wishes? What am I thinking? Houses are like fat, flightless birds: grounded. How the hell can houses make wishes? I shouldn’t swear. I really shouldn’t swear. I’m without a doubt losing my mind.
The darting rain stops.
I stand tall, as if I had just finished a one-foot spin for the clapping spectators down at the ice-rink.
But dizziness surrounds me.
I begin to hiccup. My light dress clings to my shivering body.
I don’t feel good.
Leaning against the cold gable wall, my head continues to whirl.
I contemplate telling them the truth.
Two things are certain: I know I need to get my story straight and a story isn’t a story without a beginning, a middle and an end.
I take a calm deep breath.
When did this craziness start?
To tell the truth, I need to understand where and when. Put together the jigsaw of madness. But I have always been pathetically rubbish at doing puzzles. Do I even have a beginning for this bizarre story?”
Maybe.
I close my eyes and with a brand-new perseverance, I picture myself standing in the fortune-teller’s cul-de-sac.
Falling sideways, I slide down the wall. I feel different. Something inside me has changed.
I am a girl.
I am.
I am.