Shades Children was a novel I picked up in sixth grade. Read it, fell in love with it. This Story is set in an Alternate Universe, much of the plot is changed and the characters are all original [with the exception of enemy’s and Shade himself You do not need to have read the novel to enjoy this story, it stands on its own and I have reworked the universe in a new way, for a new story and a new experience. I usually don’t ask for reviews, but I consider this one of my most personal projects and it means a great deal to me. I would appreciate any input at all.

‘Shade’s Children’ Belongs to Garth Nix.

We call it the Change. It’s the simplest name for it, as well as the most descriptive.

Everything changed. Our parents, our siblings, our mentors. Vanished forever.

We still don’t know where they went. We can only assume they are all dead.

The question now is, why us? Why did all children stay behind, only to be hunted down

and harvested like animals? To fuel the army’s of those twisted Overlords.

It’s a game to them, we’re raw materials, inferior. It’s clear now we stand no chance

as a species. All we can do is give them a hard time.

Make it more difficult for them to kill us.

Because eventually,

They will.

-Unknown, Found datapad

His eyes darted from the digital display on the cable box to the darkness beyond a set of French doors. The time said seven, but his mind argued that it was wrong. If it were in fact seven Iain would have had a clear view of his back yard, the sun would have set leaving the sky a deep blue, the neutral stage between afternoon and night. It felt strange not having his parents home from their Sunday shopping, and it all had to do with the disturbing lack of light in the sky. Usually they would get home at this time, smiling and putting Iain to work sorting the groceries in the refrigerator. Then it was always light out, just a little.

A click, and the squeal of an opening door. The young boy let out excess breath that had frozen in his lungs. Far too young to worry so much, his parents always told him. He was shaken to comfort as he heard his favorite sounds, car keys dropping on the kitchen counter, the rustle of plastic bags from the supermarket. Everything was normal.

“Hi mom, Hi dad!” His thin figure rose from the living room couch and darted to the kitchen into the arms of his father. “ Well that’s a nice surprise.” The father smiled down at his youngest son with a pleased expression. “I just missed you that’s all, it got dark.” Iain walked over to his mother and kissed her on the shoulder.

“Yeah I was telling your father it got dark early today, right?” His mother handed him a gallon of milk from a bag, which Iain replaced on a shelf in the fridge. “Dan did you take out the garbage?” Her voice carried across the house, thick with irritation.

“Ill get it mom.” Iain stocked a carton of eggs before he left the kitchen and started towards the front door, which hung open. The darkness outside felt strange, it was damp and it added a surreal effect to the streetlights on the quiet road where he lived. The walk down to the curb took longer than it should have; his eyes wandered every step to observe the soundless lightning that illuminated the sky, highlighting menacing gray clouds.

He stood on the corner now. Iain looked down, and to his surprise the trashcan was in its usual spot, and his hands were dirty. He could not recall the walk, or the last couple of moments. Every memory of his time outside swam together, as if lost in the humidity of the air. He turned back towards his home and walked, with great effort. It was halfway there when he realized that he could not hear anything. Something rang in his head.

Another lapse. This time he was standing in the kitchen. On the floor a bottle of wine sat in a pool of itself, the label holding together tiny fragments and shards of glass. Where were his parents? He couldn’t hear himself think, it was all drowned out by nothingness, a silence that filled everything around him. His vision swam; he caught a glint of metal rushing towards him.