Ghost Story by C. M.

Nobody really knows who he is or what he looks like. Stories and myths give some hints, but no one can be certain. Anybody who had ever seen him just evaporated into thin air, because when he looks at you with those beady black eyes, he consumes your soul - you die. It feels like your heart is a burning furnace and magma gushes through your veins. Your eyes pop out of their sockets, your skin melts and every bone in your body turns to dust. And there is nothing you can do. I remember the day he looked at me, the day I died.


It was a cold dark night, the sky was a musky grey colour and the air was cool and crisp. I didn't like being alone in the forest at night, but it was the quickest route to return home after my friend’s Halloween party. I heard noises coming from the treetops so I walked a bit faster. Then a cloud of silence took over, all I could hear were my quick footsteps on the dusty forest floor. I decided to run, I was scared. Suddenly, the sky looked as though it was crumbling, the trees started bending in loops and rats scattered all around me. A poisonous taste filled the atmosphere and a loud screeching forced me to the ground. Everything turned white. The whole world stopped moving. I lifted my arm to shield my eyes from the bright light, and right in front of me stood the dark silhouette of the tall slender man holding a sinister scythe.


I tried to resist but the big black blobs resting upon his blank face drew me in. I was petrified. His ghostly hand slowly crept towards me, stretching and warping until he reached into my mouth. He pushed his cold grey fist down my throat and viciously ripped out my heart. The pain was excruciating. My body felt like it was on fire, and my eyes were trying to escape on their own accord. Still beating although it was outside my body, the man caressed my heart, and my soul gently vaporized into his mouth. It was then when I realized that I was looking at my own disintegrated body, but from a distance. I was no longer myself; I was trapped inside this monster. I became this cold-blooded killer - I became death.



In the spur of the moment I had an idea. What if death was no more? What if the entire population had eternal life? I couldn't be this dark angel, carrying out the underworld’s dirty work. Then, without thinking straight I took his scythe and trusted it into where his heart should be. It was futile. There was no blood – there was no heart. I was trapped within this atrocity and the only way for my soul to escape was if I kill someone else. What happened next was a mystery. The end.

Ghost Story by L. O'B

Fear rushed through his body. He began to shake uncontrollably. The fireworks stopped and the mist grew. He heard the crowd outside go silent and a few screeches were let out. This was the story of young Ben Mantony. It begins with an old myth about a small bungalow around the corner from where  Ben lived. It was a lonely, cold and dark looking bungalow. Some say a man lives inside. He had not been seen leaving the house for 40 years. The house was old, dark and no lights were ever on inside. Tall gates covered in dead plants and rust surrounded the house boundaries. The gate was locked with heavy chains and locks. No one dared to go near the house or attempt to enter the gates. There were old stories of teenagers climbing over the fence and never coming back. Legend has it that the man living inside was cursed to stay in the house and was being guarded by ghosts that circled the house constantly, banishing anyone who dared take a step on the property.

There was an old homeless man who lived on the pavement outside the house who claims that he was the good friend of the man who lives in the house and knew him well. The homeless man’s name was El Pasto. He was of Italian origin and lived his life as a street magician known as “The Magic Hobo”. He had little or no money and wore the same ragged old cloths, torn and dirt covered. He had a long beard and wore sandals and socks on his feet and a farmer’s cap on his head. He lived on the pavement outside the locked up house and performed for the passing by people during the day. He was a terrible magician. Some say he was using it as an excuse so he could stay there and wait for the day his old friend emerged from the house at last, others say he’s simply mental. He hadn't moved from the spot for years and only left to get food and water. He had no family or friends and would not speak to anyone.

A five minute walk from the house there lived a young boy called Ben. He was a normal 12 year old boy who lived in a house with his parents and two sisters. He was the youngest in the family and felt he was treated differently than the rest and often left out or forgotten about. In school he had problems getting noticed and fitting in.

One day he overheard the older kids in school talking about the old bungalow. He was curious about this. It made him think about the mystery surround the house. An idea began to form in his head. He decided that to get more attention and finally get recognition, that he was going to enter the house and find out the mystery and become a hero. He picked Halloween night as the time he was going to attempt to do this. He chose this night as this was when everyone would be outside and the house often attracted a big crowd at Halloween.

Halloween night finally came. Ben dressed up as a llama to gain maximum attention.  He told his parents he was going trick or treating and left the house. He ran with excitement down the road to the old bungalow in excitement.

When he got there he saw El Pasto performing for the crowd surrounding the house. Perfect timing thought Ben. It was a misty foggy night and already pitch black. The sound of fireworks and bangers going off around the neighbourhood filled the air, creating a strange, spooky and exciting atmosphere for Ben

Ben crawled around to the back gate of the house and began to climb. He reached the top, he jumped and when he hit the ground the atmosphere changed suddenly. Fear rushed through his body. He began to shake uncontrollably. The fireworks stopped and the mist grew. He heard the crowd outside go silent and a few screeches were let out. Completely coincidently lighting began to strike as if Ben was in a ghost story written by an author who can’t think of any more ways to build the atmosphere. 

Ghost Story by J.K

It was a dark Halloween’s evening. It was that time of evening where the sun had just vanished from the cloudless sky and darkness was closing in. Tom was fifteen years old and was staying in a lonely house down the country with Brendan and George. The tiny cottage belonged to George’s grandmother, who passed away three years ago to this date. That didn't bother George or Brendan, however, Tom, being a little bit superstitious, felt differently. He decided not to mention it, knowing that his friends would try to frighten him if they found out he was scared.

The three friends sat around the fire located in the middle of the room, the middle of the house for that matter as there was only one room. The walls could not even been seen as the spider webs were so dense from the ceiling to the old, wooden floorboards. They thought it would be best not to go near the walls.

The three lads were playing a board game that was found it a tattered box on a shelf in the corner of the room. Their original plan was to go out and walk to the village about a mile away from the house, wearing black clothes, each with a different mask on the face. They knew they would scare the little kids walking around the village but decided immediately that they would much rather play the mysterious game they found in the corner, however, they knew it was just another way of saying they were too scared to go out alone. Now, they sat around the fire, sitting on three fold up chairs, staring at the game that sat on the small, slightly lob sided wooden table, simply labelled “ghost”.

Tom picked up the game and inspected the box. There was absolutely nothing on the either the front or the back. It was just a plain black box. Tom carefully took of the battered cardboard lid. He was met with a cloud of dust filling the air. He carefully took out the board and the two dice that were lying on top of the board. George and Brendan looked on in suspense. Tom put the board on the table and opened it up as it was folded in half. The three lads stared at the contents, trying to make sense of it. It appeared to be some sort of path with different pictures after every few spaces on the board. There were spiders, bees, snakes, and some pictures of animals that none of the three boys had ever seen before, but what they thought was really strange was that the path suddenly ended at the bottom of the board and there was nothing but a picture of a ghost. It was unclear at first what the image was, but they soon realised that the ghost was a picture of a soldier, a dead transparent soldier.

George was the first to pick up the dice. Without even a second thought, he rolled the dice across the table. It was two fours. He moved his marker, slowly, eight places. Just as his marker reached the eighth space that had a picture of a giant spider, the air in the room was filled with a huge cloud of dust. The three lads coughed. Just as the air had cleared and the dust had returned to the floor, tom noticed a big black spider on George’s shoulder. George jumped, after all the spider was almost the size of his hand. Before he even had time to shove it off his shoulder, the spider dashed straight for his neck and lunged its two hairy fangs straight into his vein. There was no blood, just a tiny mark where the spider had injected him. George fell to the ground while Tom and Brendan stared at him in disbelief. Suddenly, they say a scrunched up piece of paper slip out of George’s pocket. They read it. It said, “Continue playing or he will not return”. They tried to make sense of it. They were both terrified. Tom decided that there was only one thing that there was only one thing they could do. They had to keep playing.

Brendan decided to go next. He picked up the dice. He rolled it was a five and a four. He moved his marker nine places and just as he reached the ninth space, he froze. It was a magic curse. He remained frozen and there was silence in the room as Tom picked up the two dice for which he knew would be the last throw. It was up to him. He rolled, his heart in his mouth. Two sixes. He moved his marker slowly, but surely. He soon realised there were only twelve spaces. He reached the last space, but nothing happened. Suddenly out of nowhere, man ran straight for him, no, a ghost ran straight for him, like the one in the picture on the board. He jabbed his spear ended gun straight into Tom’s heart. Tom fell to the ground his eyes wide open. He was still. Dead.

The Mansion House by O. K

Near the outskirts of the little village of Avon was a small hill and on top of this hill towering over was a giant mansion that was over half a century old. It was now a desolate place and the villagers feared to go near it as they still believed the tale of the dead bundle.......


It was the year 1934 and the mansion house was a thing of beauty and not the ivy infested broken ruins that it is today. The wooded front was painted a navy colour with a beautiful deep mahogany door, the windows glistened in the early morning sun and the front garden bloomed with summer flowers making everything vibrant and cheerful. Inside however things were not as peaceful.


Mary and John were very ordinary people apart from the fact that they were the most argumentative people you could ever meet but this time their topic of conversation was a rather dire and serious one.


“Mary get down here there’s a letter for you”. John hollered from the drawing room downstairs. Mary rolled over onto the other side of the mattress and groaned. It’s 8 o'clock in the morning how on earth can anyone be up at this hour let alone awake enough to get the post. Mary thought grumpily she decided that she was going to have to get up sooner or later What with John yelling like a mad man downstairs. “ I'm coming I'm coming”. She cried as she grudgingly threw on her slippers and steadily made her way down stairs. As she walked into the drawing room she could see the figure of her husband flicking through the post with a bored expression on his face. “What is it?” She snapped at him annoyed that he had interrupted her only lie in of the week. “A letter came for you”. He snapped back aggravated that she had already begun her tirade of whining and complaining today. "Give it here" . she said snatching the wad of post and begging to look through it for her letter. She froze when she found it. No it couldn't be she thought. Not again not now. She cautiously opened the letter with shaking hands discarding the others on the table. It was him the mistake she had made only 6 months ago. He was coming back tonight, oh god what was she going to do she could feel her stomach drop and her heart clench in her chest. " What is it? " John asked his voice for the first time in a while laced with concern instead of irritation. He grabbed the letter from her trembling fingers and began skimming through it. His head snapped up from the letter. " Mary what is this. Who is this man do you know him? What does he mean by ' I'll leave it here tonight but you won't see me again'. " John I... I... " . Her voice shook. " I had a baby with another man 6 months ago I never told you because the man was a psychopathic and threatened to kill me if I told anyone about it." The whole story came pouring out before she could even stop herself. John starred at her his cold eyes full of doubt and disbelief. Without saying a word he turned around and left the house slamming the door behind him. " No John please don't leave " She whispered through her tears but it was to late he was already down the hill and out of sight as she fell to the ground too weak from shock and despair to stay standing and that is where she stayed until exhaustion won and she fell asleep unable to move even to crawl into her bed.


He came as quickly and silently as he had left. The house was silent in the pitch black night just as he had hoped it would he walked on the little stone-way path to the front window oft the house he hauled it up and he slid through with ease holding tightly to the small little sleeping bundle in his arms he laid it down on the cold wooden floor as he reached into his pockets for the kerosene and matches he'd been saving for this very moment he poured the entire bottle all around the room and struck the match he through it to the floor and leaped back out the window slamming it shut so the fumes would remain inside. It wasn't long before the entire house was aflame, burning bright in the inky blackness of the night. He watched the rising flames as he stood at the bottom of the hill a maniacal glint in his eyes he soon hear the loud siren nearing but with a swish of his long coat he was already gone striding into the night never to be seen again.......

Red by L. D.

It was cold, the kind of cold that crept under your skin and refused to leave. The moonbeams shone with an eerie glow as they passed through the blanket of mist shrouding the countryside. A single creature sat perched in a tree. It’s chest gently moving up and down. His eyes looked wearily at the ploughed land below him. There he saw something moving steadily over the crumbled earth. He narrowed his small, hazel eyes guardedly. The creature seemed large. A predator? It seemed too large to be one that he was familiar with. As the shape drew closer he could just make out the figure of a person through the darkness. It was, in fact, the old farmer making his way home. He was relieved. The weathered old man was no threat to him, he could rest at ease. He adjusted himself on his perch and his eyelids began to droop. He couldn't sleep though, it was too dangerous here and there wasn't enough leaf cover to hide him properly. His eyes lifted up to the horizon, where the black night had long ago swallowed up the blood red sunset.


It was then that he heard a branch snap behind him. He turned is head and was met with his worst fear of all; a pair fierce, golden eyes. The huge black figure lunged at him. He cried out in terror as he tried to escape. In the commotion he was thrown from the branch. He somersaulted through the air, flapping desperately. He managed to turn in time to soften his fall, but he still crashed into the dry soil below with force. He took in a sharp breath as he felt pain shoot up his tiny frame. He got to his feet and frantically looked for cover. Out of the corner of his eye saw the enormous monster leap down from the tree. It started to move sleekly towards him. It’s lip curled up showing two rows of razor sharp teeth. Most would think he was snarling, but the small creature knew better. He knew the monster was not snarling, it was in fact smirking slyly at the him, knowing that it would soon have his prey. The monster stepped forward purposely causing the tiny creature to step back as he shuddered uncontrollably.


Time seemed to slow down as he gazed at the huge crouching figure, fear-stricken. Its smooth black fur glowed in the moon light and the pointed silver knives on its paws pierced the ground beneath them. Its tail twitched from side to side eagerly as it shifted its weight to its hind legs. Finally regaining his senses, the tiny creature began to turn and try to take flight, despite his pain. The monster bounded around him, blocking his exit. This time it didn’t give him time to think about escaping. With one long stride it reached him. It lifted up its massive paw and roughly pinned its prey to the ground. The small creature could feel the warm breath of the monster on his face. He looked hesitantly up and once again was met with bright eyes and a toothy grin. The monster started to slowly dig its claws into the creature’s chest, causing him to flinch in pain. Blood spilled from the newly inflicted wound turning his usually bright red breast into a dark maroon. He began to squirm desperately trying to ignore the sharp stinging. When that didn't work he frantically started to peck at the predators paw. The monster dug its claws even further into his body, giving him no choice but to stop. He took one last look at the sky above the monster’s head, knowing it would be the last time he ever saw the open space he had come to love so much. He then closed his eyes and awaited his fate.


After a few long insufferable moments the creature began to wonder why it was the monster hadn't struck the finale blow yet. He opened one eye. He was no longer met with the cruel golden eyes he feared. What he saw instead was the monster not looking at him but looking up. Its ears were pricked and its expression was apprehensive. He followed the monsters gaze to the long grass beside them. There something was moving slowly but purposely. The monster let at a long hiss. There was no reply. It released its injured prey and faced the grass. Said prey tried to scramble away but was brought to a stop by the searing pain in his chest. The monster furrowed its eyebrows and bared its teeth again but not in a sneer, in genuine aggression. The rustling in the grass stopped, much to the small creatures sorrow. The monster slowly and wearily turned his attention back to him.


Just as the monster’s signature smirk returned to its features, what appeared to be blazing ball of fire leapt from the grass tackling the monster to the ground. There was a loud screech as the fire ball knocked the monster clean off its feet. The small creature looked up in astonishment at the beast that stood in front of him. It was tall and slender. Its fiery coat was such a dark orange it appeared red, except for the tip of its tail, which was as white as snow and its paws, which were a black as night. The tail was a huge tangled, sweeping, brush that appeared rough and wiry. The orange beast lowered its head and a deep growl came from the back of its throat. The black monster got to its feet hastily. It arched its back and hissed at its opponent. They seemed to size each other up for a moment before the black monster launched himself at the other beast, claws out ready to fight for his meal. The bright orange beast also leapt into the air, prepared for battle. They seemed to be suspended in air for a while before they met but when they did the air was filled muffled screeches as they began to tare each other apart. The black monster wrapped his paws around the fiery beast’s neck, driving its claws into the tangerine fur. The orange beast shrieked and trashed around wildly. It twisted its head and managed to sink its teeth into the black monster’s shoulder. The beast wrenched the monster from its hold and flung it against the tree. The black figure hit the tree with a loud thud. It lay there silently for a few seconds as the flaming beast stood nearby. Slowly the monster lifted its head and limply picked itself up. It took a shaky step before looking up to meet the other beasts gaze. Its eyes surveyed the scene. They looked at the injured creature and then moved to the snarling beast. It let out one frustrated hiss before scampering past the tree and down the field.


The injured creature let out a sigh of relief, drawing the attention of the beast that was only a few steps away. He pushed himself up of the ground and slowly got to his feet. He looked defiantly at the beast. He was not going to simply accept his fate as he had done before. The beast looked back at him, its eyes burned the same colour as his fur. It took a stepped forward. The injured creature’s confidence wavered. He had slipped from one predator’s jaws into another’s. As the beast came closer the creature stood his ground, what had he to loose? He was already injured and flightless. The beast came so close that the creature couldn't take in its whole face at once. Its eyes weren't as cruel as the black monster’s, they held a sort of wild intensity. Unlike the monster, who was worshipped by the humans, this beast was independent. It did what it needed to survive. That scared the creature. However, there was something else in the beast’s eyes, something that resembled respect. Respect for the fact that the injured creature was also just trying to survive. It wasn't smirking either. Its face was cold, de thatched and held a hint of pity for the creature’s experience. Just as the beast lifted his paw towards the creature there was a crack somewhere in the distance. The beast looked up and then back at the creature. Its mouth twitched up into to a smile. With that last action it silently leapt back into the grass.


The small creature stared after it, confused and exhausted. His legs gave out from under him and he collapsed helplessly to the ground. He stared up at the sky lovingly, wondering what on earth he would do next. He most certainly couldn't fly and he couldn't survive walking everywhere. Suddenly he heard footsteps. Without warning another large creature loomed over him. He became fear stricken for the third time that night. When the blurred figure came into focus the reason the fox had fled became apparent. Standing over him was the old farmer.


“My, oh, my! A robin red breast! Why it’s been a while since I've seen one of you up close,” he thought aloud. He bent down with a great effort and gently picked the trembling bird up. His hands were course from years of farming but were never the less warm. His comforting tone relaxed the bird. “Has that cat been after you little birdies again? I really must get her a bell. Come on! Let’s see if we can fix you up. A few days rest and some porridge should do the trick” he said as he stroked the bird’s feathers. With that he lay down the last of his last fox traps and turned to leave. “Foxes, they’re such cold, vicious creatures. Lucky you met Boots and not one of them.”