Stories for intermediate-level students, equivalent to CEFR B2.
‘Why do I need to read in English?’
My students often ask me this. They think, ‘I go to classes, I do my homework, I watch films in English. Why should I read books?’
Actually, reading is the best way to improve your English. I will tell you why.
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Everyone thinks I’m crazy, and they don’t even know about the voices inside my head.
Well, it’s just one voice, really. He’s called Cam, and he’s been with me all my life. He’s the little voice that tells me what I should be doing with my life. He tells me to stop being lazy, to go to bed early, to stop judging people.
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One day, the King and Queen had a beautiful daughter. Her birth was easy, but still, the room filled with shocked cries when she came out. Why? She had no scars, extra limbs or unusual marks, but in her tiny hand she held a wooden house, in the traditional Thai style.
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There was a knock at the door, and Rhiana slowly climbed down the stairs. She didn’t have high hopes for Beelzebuddy’s success, but she certainly wasn’t expecting to open the door and find her ex-lover standing there.
Panic seized her stomach. She felt like she was going to be sick.
‘Go away!’ she spat, slamming the door shut before Evelyn could say a word.
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‘Why, hello there! I’m Beelzebuddy, or “Buddy” for short! And I am very short… At your service. No spill, no stain, no mess is too much for me to clean! Just give me a cloth and a bucket and I’ll get right to work!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Rhiana. ‘I don’t need you to clean. I need you to get rid of some nasty people—and a dog—from my life.’
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One day, Dai received a gift from his sister: it was a pot of lamp oil. Over the next few weeks, as Dai used the pot, he noticed it had a strange quality. No matter how much oil he used, the pot was always full the next day.
That night, Dai lay down in bed, but he was so excited he could not sleep. He stared up at the pot on his shelf and daydreamed.
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But there was one thing that Zelda could never do. Morg had felt her confusion, as they had shared the kiss. The magic could change Morg’s appearance, but it could not change the way her body felt. Zelda had felt her heavy arms, her sharp bones and rough skin, and she had moved away in surprise.
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‘You wicked boy!’ they spat. ‘I raised you, I gave you everything you needed, and you disobeyed me!’
‘I did not,’ said Mortimer, smiling wickedly. ‘You stood at the head of his bed, and so the King was supposed to survive.’
Death raised a bony finger at Mortimer. ‘If you ever trick me again, it will mark the end of your life.’
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