A Younger Me’s Draft of a Adventures in Odyssey Passages Fanfic

Quite the title, to be sure.
Hello there once again. I’m Gabriel Coats. I know and you know how long it’s been since I’ve posted. However, if we can simply ignore that, (‘cause I don’t have a good excuse except that this blog [and my podcast] suffers from a lack of consistency brought about by yours truly) I have something that perhaps you’ll hopefully be entertained by in the very, very, very broadest use of the term: a draft of a fanfic written by a younger me, after I had read the entire Passages series. It would have been the “seventh” book in the series, and directly correlates to the events of the sixth. Therefore, if you haven’t read the sixth book, and you don’t want to be spoiled or confused, you can save this in your bookmarks and come back once you have read all six books. If you just don’t care, then you can read on, or read on anyway, for I don’t care.

In case you need a refresher, Passages is a collection of six books written by Paul McCusker where kids from Odyssey find themselves in a parallel, fantastical world, and find themselves wrapped up in conflicts surrounding the people of Marus, who serve the Unseen One (sound familiar?). If you as an Odyssey fan haven’t heard of these, and would like to give them a try, Odyssey produced the first book into an audio drama (you can find it here on ChristianBook.com).

What is below would’ve been my younger self’s way to continue the series after the passing of Jack Allen’s actor, Alan Young. Wooton would have joined Whit in Jack’s stead, as I figured he’d be a logical choice. I also decided then—in an attempt of ”method writing,” I suppose—that I would write this in a notebook. Meaning no spellcheck. And I’m not a great speller. Now, I could correct my errors in grammar. However, as a fun archive of my past writing, I have decided to simply copy and paste it straight from that notebook (at my expense). If you get confused on a misspelled word, just sound it out, and you should understand what I meant. Also, the draft does end rather abruptly. Why? Well, because I forgot about it after a while.

If you made it this far, then I hope you enjoy the draft of Passages: Book 7, by Gabriel Coats:

Prologue

”Boom,” clapped the thunder as John Avery Whitaker, or Whit as he was best known, drove in his car to Whit’s End, a ice cream and discovery emporeim.

“I can remember the last time it rained this hard in the summer.” thought Whit. It was unusual for this time of year. Whit saw the few who braved the rain drenched. Water splashed as cars drove over three-inch puddles. Rain drops splattered over the windshield as fast as the wind shield wipers brushed them off. It was to the point where Whit almost didn’t notice the sign that read, “Whit’s End.”

As soon as Whit pulled over, he busted out of his car. If he was going to be soaked, he wanted it done with quickly, and as Whit fears, he was covered from head to toe with water.

Whit craved the feeling of being dry as he stepped through the door, thus escaping the pour outside. Whit decided to make an espresso for himself, but before that, Whit was going to pick out a book to read since no kid was really going to go out Whit’s End. So Whit, after getting everything to start the espresso-making, climbed up the servant’s stairs to his very own office with his very own bookshelf with some of his very own books.

“Hmm, now which one should I chose?” self-questioned Whit as he contoplated what book he should read. He would have read The Last Battle, but that hold the key to his secret computer room, and none of the others looked very appeling to him. Then he spotted it, the perfect book: The Chronicles of the Chosen. Cased inside a old school notebook, the story was about a brother and a sister who visited Odyssey, and ended up in a place called Marus helping a general become king, while making sure that are insane king doesn’t kill him before he does. The book was also the beginning of the Marus Manuscript Mystery. Whit and Jack Allen, Whit’s best friend, found the first one, the Chronicles of the Chosen, in an antique trunk that belonged to a sadly passed teacher named Madue McCutcheion. They went to Mis. McCutcheon’s old house and discovered another story about a kid going to Marus: The Chronicles of the Destroyed. Then, as they kept investigating, the more manuscripts they found, until they found six notebooks with stories set in Marus. Their investigation also lead them to the author of the Marus Manuscripts, a man named James Curtis, who had written the stories over 70 years. James not only stated that the stories were true, but that he had gone there himself. Whit and Jack both were skeptical, of course. But when James Curtis disappeared, after mentioning he wanted to go back to Marus, well, Whit had to wonder. Did other worlds exist? And if so, is God doing the same he has done in our world in others? Time would tell.

After Whit snatched the book from the bookcase, he made his way back down the stairs, and into the kitchen to make his coffee.

“Ding, Ding,” rang the door bell as Whit was finishing his espresso. Whit heard a few grunts and “Oof”s. Whit looked out of the kitchen. Maybe it was his red hair, or that Whit regonized the voice, or maybe it was the moose on his mail cap. But whatever the reason, Whit knew right there that it was Wooton Basset, a mailman by day, and a comic book writer by night. But now, Wooton was carrying a small box, about the size of a book.

“Good morning, Mr. Whitaker.” Wooton said cheerfully.

“Ah, good morning Wooton. What are you doing out in the rain?” Whit questioned.

“Well, as we say, ‘Neither rain, sleet, or snow, but sunny days are optional.’ Unfortauely, today it’s rain.” replied Wooton, and then, while he handed over the package he continued, “Anyway, here’s your package. Sign right there.”

After signing the paper Wooton gave him, Whit inspected the package. Whit wasn’t excepting anything, and there was no return address.

“Um, Whit, do you know what’s in the package?”

“Actually, I don’t know at all. I guess I’ll open it up to find out.”

Whit then spun around to grab a knife to open up the box. Whit then dabbed the sharp knife into the box. The after dividing the tape across the middle of the box, Whit opened the package, only to discover inside was a letter the said on the front, “To Mr. Whittaker” and a brown envolope.

Whit was puzzled. Why would someone send him these things. Wooton must have been glanced inside the box, because he said, “You know Whit, as an expert on, um, gifts, I say you should read the letter.”

“You’re right, Wooton.”

“I am?”

Whit chuckled while he opened up the letter, reached into the white envolope and pulled out a piece of paper with writing on it.

Dear Whit,

I hope you enjoy what I sent you. I found another one, and thought you would be interested. Oh, and don’t be worried that I have disappeared. The Unseen One has brought me back. I truly hope you believe that Marus is real.

Sincerely,

James Curtis

Whit read the message out loud to Wooton.

“Um, Whit, who is this, ‘James’ talking about?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. But first, I need to check something first.”

Whit grabbed the brown envolope, opened it up, and pulled out a school notebook, with said, “Chronicles of the Obedient.” Whit then put it with the “Chronicles of the Chosen”, and they matched perfectly.

“I don’t believe it! It’s another one!” exclaimed Whit.

“Another what? Notebook?” questioned Wooton.

Whit responded by telling Wooton about The Marus Manuscripts, how Whit and Jack’s investigation led to James Curtis, and how James had disappeared.

“Um, Whit, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Do you think other worlds exist?”

“That’s a good question, for which is not a good answer. I’ve heard about all of the debates of ….

End of Draft

Let me know in the comments if you liked this at all, found it merely interesting, or if you have any critiques of it (which, I’ve improved tremendously since I wrote this, so that’s that).

With all that said, I leave you with this final thought:

Passages, Book 2: Arin’s Judgment was prophetic.

-Gabriel Coats

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