Chapter 3
George slouched against the cold wall of the shack. However, Coco was determined to escape. She searched for a way out. Much of her time was spent kicking and nudging the brick walls which proved rather solid. She tried to kick the door down. Realising that her attempts were futile, she slumped to the ground and sighed defeatedly.

Eventually, Coco released her frustration, “George!” she shouted, shaking him roughly by the shoulder. “Are you really going to just sit there?” But George was not roused into this scolding. He sat. She searched. He soaked. She problem solved. The pigeonhole: could she ram her foot into the hole? Pain strangled her ankle but the gridded cover clanged to the ground. Smiling, she reached into the gaping abyss, only to be greeted by dust on the brick wall. “You should give up, “George rolled his eyes.
“Or you could help me, “Coco retorted, peering at him.

Both children stared at each other. One was determined and the other was defeated. Inside, the dim light from the bulbs slithered away. Outside, the night sky was freckled by golden stars and a moonlit sky.

Just then, a croaky voice could be heard from the window ledge of the shack. “Coco, is that you?” A ruffle of feathers was nearby. With sighs of relief, Coco and George looked at each other. Was it who they thought it was? “Fearless?” It was indeed Fearless. In her beak, was a copper key. Coco took the key and stumbled towards the door. Quietly and cautiously, Coco took the key and turned it in the lock. Just as she thought that it wasn’t going to open, Coco still had hope in her heart. It opened.
“Thank you,” whispered Coco.

As Coco, George and Fearless crept out of the front door, they were grateful for Fearless. When they got outside, they crept across the dew speckled grass. As they made their way to the end of the field, they reached the fence. It was extremely cold outside so the fence was creaky and frozen. After climbing over the fence, Coco and George broke into a run as Fearless flew behind them.

A couple minutes later, the escapees were calmly sheltering under a sturdy oak tree. What could Mr Evil possibly want with a 100-year-old locket? Could they reclaim the locket just like their ancestors had anticipated? What were his plans? Where was Christopher Misspit?