Friday, 19 December 2014

A Fantasy Character by Rachel, 4CP

If the shop was as tall, it was nothing compared to the lady inside it. She was extremely pretty, tall, thin, like an encyclopedia, and beautiful. Her big, aqua eyes glistened like a thousand diamonds sparkling in the moonlight. Her shiny, perfect, long, blonde hair waved like the sea on a beautiful, scorching, summers day. Not just magical, but mysterious too. Somehow, she managed to put her make-up on so perfectly that she looked like a barbie doll who was a model. Her scent was of Michael Jones Dot.

She definitely looked normal, but she was far from normal, she was half animal, half human but she still talked. A unicorn she was. One horn, 2 wings and two legs, like a normal person. It made her more beautiful than ever. She was as sparkly as tinsel and as pretty as a kitten being played with.

Her name was Mrs Leroid which was a really peculiar name. She said it was because of her Dad, he was Mr Leroid and she wasn’t married. Her dress made out of daisies really suited her body. It made her look as adorable as a newborn baby and the newborn baby had a pink frilly dress on. The dress made her really smart and smarter than her brainy way of smart.

The only thing wrong with her was that when you were trying to do some work, she would keep tapping or knocking the table. Sing, scoff so loud a bar of chocolate or pat her tummy too. You’ve probably guessed already, she’s really distracting and irritating.

A Fantasy Setting by Kaitlyn, 4CP

As I walked over the horizon a magical, enchanted castle appeared.  I was completely overwhelmed.  It was as though this was always meant to happen.  The strong, stone walls were lit up like fireflies glistening in the midnight sky. Bright sherbert flowers climbed up the enormous, colourful castle tower.

Suddenly, a flying lion swept me off my feet and I flew through the air. Below me, wondrous creatures came out to applaud me. The shaggy lion’s mane felt like fresh, golden hay. The sweet aroma of fluffy, candy floss clouds drifted by me.

I noticed fantastic, fast fairies flying around snoring, boring cows, asleep amongst the lush, green grass. Slowly, we glided towards them.

Tortuga by Imogen, 3SC

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Vale Bear Hunt by Ruby, Wales Class

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Funny Bones Setting by Arthur, Wales Class

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A Ghost Story by Dylan 7DN

A mighty rumble of thunder shook the little village, like a lion playing with a defenceless mouse. Taunting the village and its inhabitants, it persisted mercilessly, full of rage. They chose the decrepit house, not the safety of the night…

Huffing and puffing, Ewan and Jamie clambered up the hill road. Young and eager to explore, they couldn’t resist the thrill of exploring an old, abandoned house. The two 12-year olds were looking forward to this adventure.

The mood completely changed when they reached the front door. The soaked, black as coal, chipped wooden front door.
“It can’t be that bad!” exclaimed Jamie. One more high spirited than the other, the pair of unlikely explorers entered the house.

Lightning stabbing the village below, they entered the house and were greeted by the musty smell of dust and ash. A red cotton carpet lay before them with gold stitching on the sides. This lead to a polished oak staircase, glinting in the candlelight.

  The walls were adorned with paintings of figures with stern expressions. Either side of them were two suits of knight armour, black all over, except for a red feather upon the top of each. One was grasping a huge sword, with diamonds encrusted in the handle. While the other was proudly clutching an axe, made with the finest steel the village would see. Chandeliers draped with cobwebs led up to the staircase. Everything had its place. Everything was in its place.

As their muddy boots trod across the perfectly laid carpet, the looming door slammed behind them.
 “We didn’t close that” whispered Jamie. They immediately regretted turning around, just as their brain ordered them to. Nothing. Except, for the door. It was different on the inside than the outside. Like the staircase, it was polished oak. Not the rotting wood on the outside.

Driven by their curiosity, they ventured further into the house.
“Let’s go in there!” whispered Jamie although he himself wasn’t sure why he was whispering. A light brown door with a golden-tainted door knob lay before them. Cautiously, they turned the pristine door knob and entered the room. Carefully closing the door behind them, they gasped in amazement. Red velvet chairs were perfectly placed. In the corner a grand piano, polished to the point of being a possible slip hazard, stood observer across the room.

“Look at that book!” stated Ewan. “It’s massive!”

Eagerly flipping through the pages, crammed with the tongue of Shakespeare, they enjoyed the delightful smell of an old book.
“This is boring!” moaned Jamie. Both turned sharply around on their heels and stood shocked. The door was left ajar. Not closed as they had left it but slightly opened. Beethoven’s famous pieces filled the room, but neither of the boys could play the piano. Nor were they trying to play the piano.
“Let’s get out of here,” mouthed Ewan to Jamie. As they edged closer to the door, they caught sight of the silver mirror. All three of them were standing in the mirror. Ewan, Jamie and it.
It. It was there. It was staring at them. It bored its eyes into them. It was blue, it looked like it was made up of gases. It disappeared.

“What was that?” inquired Jamie, as if Ewan knew. “Trick of the light,” answered Jamie to his own question.
“We didn’t light the candles. They were alight when were came in.” exclaimed Ewan. “Think about it. Whenever we look up to the house the lights are off. When we came, they were lighted. As if were expected,” trembled Ewan. They kept on exploring, with Jamie comforting himself with the illusion of light, and Ewan persisting on, despite being scared to breaking point.

Venturing out of the piano room, they climbed the staircase and were greeted by two more flights, either side of them. They chose right. Up, and up and up. After what seemed like an infinity they reached the top and entered the first door in of five, each side of the wall.

Suddenly, they heard a speaking. Squeeeeeaaaaaak. I continued, and didn’t end. In their chosen room there was a huge cylinder in the centre of the room and two cupboards at the back. Cobwebs draped everything. Barrels of gunpowder lay in corner. Again there was that squeaking noise again. Louder this time.

“It’s coming from that cupboard,” exclaimed Ewan.
“Let’s find out what’s making it then, scaredy cat,” replied Jamie. Despite Ewan’s pleads to leave Jamie boldly stepped forward. Increasing volume, Jamie stepped towards the cupboard each step was taken with great care. To say he was scared would be an understatement. He was petrified. Slowly and ever so carefully, he continued. When he reached the cupboard door, the noise stopped. As his hand touched the handle, it started again louder than before. His body feeding of the adrenalin, he turned the handle to reveal rats.

“It’s just some rats Ewan!” called Jamie. “Ewan? Ewan?”
Wood chips flew everywhere, cutting Jamie’s face. He slowly turned his head. The finest steel the village would see lay before his eyes. As fast as lightening the axe with-drawed and the knight in shining black armour raised its weapon above its head. Jamie slid under the knights open legs as he cracked the rotting wood with his tool of death. Lay before him was Ewan, with his mouth covered by the hand of the sword-wielding knight. It led Ewan into the cylinder and they disappeared.
“No!” yelled Jamie, although his shout was cut short by an axe hitting the wooden floor. Dashing out of the door, Jamie hurried along the corridor.

Eventually making his way down the stairs, he was given a choice. He could either enter the piano room, but his common-sense told him that was a ridiculous idea, especially with it. To his left, was another door. It was identical to the piano room’s door. He chose the new door.

The smell of dust and ash was even stronger in here. Grimacing at the smell, Jamie dared to sit down on one of the sofas. It was obviously some sort of living room. There were two crimson sofas, a china umbrella pot, an oil painting of yet another stern figure, plenty of candles, and a huge, black menacing fireplace was to his right. Cream walls made it stand out even more. Antique vases were placed carefully on antique stands draped with antique red clothes with antique gold stitching, just like the antique carpet. Exhausted and confused Jamie lost his battle with sleep and went into a deep slumber and dreamed about his cosy house.

Waking up slowly, Jamie was shocked at what he saw. It was another thing. Dressed in the strangest of clothes

“QUICK!” it shouted.
It looked like it was pushing people out of the way. It looked like it was made out of the same stuff as it was made of. The figure started running, before falling over in a puff of black smoke and fading away. It smelt even more of ash and dust even more then.

The creak of the door alerted Jamie and sent the hairs on the back of his head standing to attention. Slowly turning, he was met with a horrible sight. The knights. Both of them. Backing into the corner Jamie was even more scared than before.
“What have you done with my friend?” he yelled. Both of them ignored him and carried on moving forward in that menacing manner. The axe wielding knight lifted its axe high above its head and CLUNK. The knight fell before Jamie whilst the other knight had its right arm bent and looked as if it just hit the other knight with his elbow. It took its helmet off.

“Ewan!” exclaimed Jamie.
Sure enough it was Ewan.

“What happened? How did you get the armour?” Jamie questioned. Suddenly, Ewan turned a blue sort of colour before fading just like the strangely dressed man. The knight armour took its helmet, and positioned it on its head. It raised its sword but Jamie was prepared. He charged at the knight knocking it over before fleeing the room. The knight gave chase before stopping in the hallway and the armour just collapsed onto the floor. Then, Ewan entered the hallway through the front door. He looked like he was made out of blue gas like it and the funny dressed man. He was speaking to thin air. He was saying exactly what he said when he entered the house. Just as they had done that morning, Ewan entered the piano room. This made Jamie notice the front door. He ran towards it and left the house, tears streaming from his face. He dashed home, and let himself in.
“Mum! Mum! Something’s happened to Ewan! Quick! We have to call the police! Now!” he called.
“Ewan? Who’s Ewan? You’re pulling my leg. Shepard’s pie for tea love,” said his Mum softly.
“What?!” shouted Jamie

Jamie lived until the age of 88. He survived a volcano eruption that turned out to be the mountain where the house was situated. He never forgot Ewan, unlike all the others. Even Ewan’s family never knew him. He also never forgot it the funny clothes man, or the knights. He was obviously very troubled by the occurring’s of that night. He just counted himself lucky that he survived.

On the 76th anniversary of the night where Ewan stopped being there, a mighty rumble of thunder shook the village. It was like a lion playing with a mouse. It taunted the village mercilessly…

Nursery Rhymes EYFS

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Mazie and I by Charlie 6FT

Adrenalin flooded through my body. Mazie and I were grasping our parents' hands as the monster made its way towards the Safe House. “What’s going to happen to us, mother?” Asked Mazie. Mother didn't reply, she didn't want to tell her. 
“Mazie, the monster is coming for us,” I shuddered as I spoke.

Suddenly, a large crash sent my heart flying. “Take Mazie away, Rihanna,” Mother whispered to me. 
“What? Where are you going?” I didn't know why I asked. It was obvious, she and father were going to slay the beast and save our home. I grabbed my sister’s hand and led her to the train-station, we had to bail from this place.

We didn’t need to wait the weeks we did to receive the the letter. We knew mother and father had died; It wasn’t hard to figure it out. We had travelled to a new town, It was called Brookshire; it was a large town with not much in it. Brookshire was mostly grey, and made of mostly water.

We have been living in Brookshire for nearly a month now. Me and my sister were taking a walk when Mazie pointed to something. “No…” I said, my heart pounding louder than elephant footsteps. It was the beast that murdered mother and father. People started to panic; screaming blocked up my ears. Maize was petrified and started crying. I nearly cried too; I backed away with Mazie in my arms. People were shouting, “run for your life!” Others were calling family members, like children. Although I was seventeen, I didn't feel mature enough to make the right actions.

I chose to pick up Mazie and carry her to safety; this time I was the one to try and kill the monster.  I shall avenge my family. I didn’t tell Mazie what I was doing; she guessed anyway. “ No Rhianna! You’ll kill yourself! Who will take care of me then?” Mazie said aggressively. “Mazie” I said calmly. “I’ll be fine,” I said, with my hand on my heart.

It was a long walk back to the crowd of screaming townspeople. I pushed and shoved my way to the front. There it was, the black octopus creature. I took my pocket knife out and charged towards the killers neck. I stepped backwards, expecting a fight. I couldn't believe my eyes, I had killed the beast with that one stab. Was it its weak-spot? The sound of people cheering made me want to faint; I did. I could feel citizens gathering around me. I heard Mazie. I heard Mazie’s little voice.

A day later, I woke up in my bed. My little sister was sitting on a wooden stool asleep. “Mazie?” I said in a daze. 
“Hi Rihanna!” Replied Mazie, in a tired voice. 
“I think we should go back to our home-town.” I said, getting out of bed and packing our bags. 
“Yes!” Mazie said, agreeing.

We walked to the train-station an hour later. Mazie was holding our money.”Whoops!” Mazie said, she had dropped our money in the train- tracks. Mazie jumped in, she didn’t see that a train was zooming towards the platform… “No!” I screamed   

Christmas Memory by Archie 6FT

My favourite Christmas memory is when I awoke and discovered that my evergreen garden had transformed into a blanket of white. Paw prints had sunk into the snow while glimmering icicles dangled from my cedar window sill. I quickly gathered my belongings: a burgundy beany, a camouflage ski jacket, my comfy, yet warm, snow boots and rushed outside to see who had created this miracle. It was then when I explored and discovered that they weren't any ordinary footprints; they were ones of a magical, mysterious creature. A reindeer.

It reminded me that I may have some gifts from my family inside so I ran quickly but carefully back in to check. The sight was unimaginable; gifts (for me and my family) were piled up high next to my decorated Christmas tree. I knew that near the bottom of my parents gifts, were the ones which I had made, tree decorations that I had hand made and personalised especially for each of them.

Many hours had flown by because I could not defeat the urge to keep playing with my toys. Before I knew it, many loving members of my family had arrived and were ready to tuck in to a divine flavoursome Christmas dinner. Our mouth-watering dinner consisted of: luscious turkey; tasteful pigs in blankets and delectable roast potatoes.

I thoroughly enjoyed my Christmas day and I am sure the rest of my family did too. I was so exhausted so I brushed my teeth until they were squeaky clean, then I threw myself into my snug bed, prepared for another day of enjoyment to follow...

WW2 Diary by Amber 6FT

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Christmas Letter from the Trenches by Laura 6FT

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Through The Portal by Billy 4JP

It was 8 o’clock - my bedtime. As I changed into my pyjamas, I thought of the wonderful dreams I’d have. I climbed into my warm, comfy bed and closed my eyes.

In the morning, I woke up and found myself in a weird, wonderful world and not in my bed. As I stared around, speechless, I heard small, fluffy birds tweeting and animals eating wobbly jelly and tasty lollipops. I saw people chatting in the long, dry, green grass. It was such a beautiful sight. The hot, burning sun was shining in the bright blue sky, like a star which was as bright as the lightest light bulb in the world!

Slowly, I started to wander towards a very tasty looking lollipop and started to nibble it. It was the best one I had ever tasted. Birds flew down to join me. They started to peck the lollipops and the noisy cows started to drink up jelly from a jelly river. As I wandered further, I started to see lovely gingerbread houses with delicious cream and biscuits for the roofs. Next, I found a whole massive town! The pavement was made of crunchy crisps and the road was made of soft, brown chocolate. I walked quickly along the loud busy street, looking at every gingerbread shop I passed. Everybody waved at me. I felt like I was a famous man marching along a rich street. I could smell sausages and mashed potato from each shop.

One hour later, all the yummy food had been eaten and the sun was setting. In the distance, I could see a shadow which was the shape of a zombie-looking creature! The zombie stared at me and charged in my direction! I was very scared. Every single shop was broken and smashed to pieces. After 5 minutes, I could still see the zombie, about three metres away, running after me. I saw a castle and thought there would be some really good hiding places. 

I opened the hard, wooden doors, quickly, and slammed them in the zombies face. I found a dusty, golden key for the door and I locked it as fast as I could. I slept in a bed to get here, so maybe if I sleep in this world I’ll get back, I thought. The locked door crushed down and the zombie marched in. I looked around and saw a shiny iron sword lying next to a wooden shield. I picked them both up quickly and aimed the sword at the zombie. It charged at me and I stabbed him with the sword. Crash! the zombie fell to the floor. A few minutes later, I had explored most of the castle. Then I wandered into the king's bedroom and lots of angry zombies started to chase me. I quickly climbed into the bed and fell fast asleep. 

I woke up in my own world. That was an epic adventure, I thought.

Fantasy Writing by Elliot 4TC

As I dashed through the portal, I wondered where I would go. Suddenly, I fell firmly onto the sodden, mossy floor. I gazed in awe at where I was. A complex, dim, torch-lit labyrinth of gloomy corridors, chests and traps stood before me. There were jet-black, mammoth spiders spinning shimmering webs like the Mona Lisa. A peculiar scent of fish haunted the air, making me feel suspicious about who, or what, was making it.

Slowly, I crept to a mildewed, tattered chest and swiftly opened it. Inside there was nothing much, just a dark, polished opal that glimmered in the torch-light. When I observed the wall, I noticed diminutive symbols, like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. As I looked with interest at the lower part of the stone, dusty, musty wall, I was shocked to find a stalactite, which was as sharp as a fresh dagger; it had jabbed itself into my finger. I winced in pain.

I sprinted off to a shining shield, polished mirror-bright. When I picked it up, I found I could, cleverly, reflect it and, weirdly, intensify it. This enchanted shield had a black crest on a fine steel background. Whenever I held the wonderful, mystical shield, I heard mysterious whispers around me. Hastily, I slung it into my violet backpack and ran. No matter how far I went,I never reached the end of this bewildering, bedraggled labyrinth…

As I entered another chamber, I was shocked to find an elf-like creature clutching a long, slender, black bow, gazing at me, saying nothing. This ‘elf’ was wearing impossibly dark green leather, hiding a mass of soft, pale skin. He looked nothing like one of Santa’s elves, he was a tall, thin person with long, black hair like the void of space. When I closely observed him, I noticed long, jagged fangs and a blood-stained dagger in his belt, with a golden handle. Suddenly, he disappeared in a cloud of thick smoke, leaving only - a statue! I nervously, turned round to find him standing there, dagger drawn, ready to strike. I was so terrified, I couldn’t move. I held my breath, ready to die…

Thursday, 18 December 2014

The Snowman's Surprise by Hannah 3SB

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Wednesday, 17 December 2014

The Lonely Cottage by Lydia 5SH

Have you ever seen something that can't be explained? Or overheard something that shocked you? I don't mean people saying rude things on the street or seeing a magic trick.  I mean something that will change your life forever.  That's what happened to Beckie and me and we're still shocked by it now.  The memories of that terrible time haunt us still...

My name is Tara and I am 11 years old.  My sister Beckie and I would always go for walks and go exploring.  We loved it!  We loved finding hidden paths and things that we never knew were there.  On the day I want to tell you about, it was beautifully sunny.  Beckie and I were striding along as usual and I noticed a little path running between the trees.  Curious, I crept over to have a closer look.   "Come on," I called to Beckie.  "Let's explore!"  Beckie held back.  She was always shy. 
"No," she called anxiously.  "What if it's dangerous?"  Knowing what I know now, I wish I'd listened to her. 

Quickly, I dragged Beckie over to the gloomy pathway and started dashing along the tiny, bumpy path.  It had slimy weeds running all over it like living tripwires and the trees blocked out the sun.  The birds, which were pretty, bright colours, had been replaced with owls and crows.  A wolf's spine-tingling howl echoed in the distance. "I don't like this," whined Beckie.  "Let's go back."
"No!" I announced firmly.  "Let's carry on."

10 minutes later we were still walking.

At last, we reached somewhere.  We found an abandoned cottage in the woods.  Time had not been kind to the house.  It was covered in murky shadows and think, brambly weeds.  The trees around it, which were once lush and green had withered away and died.  Their long, spindly branches looked as if they were about to reach out and grab you.  Cracked and dirty, the windows had white cobwebs blowing around like old man's hair.  It have grown dark and there was a pale full moon in the sky.  Another wolf howled, its lonely cry sending shivers down my spine.  I gulped, remembering tales of werewolves I had heard recently.  Trembling nervously, I marched down the track.  Everything was deathly quiet.  A twig cracked. I screamed. Beckie yelped too.

Grasping the doorknob in my sticky hand, I yanked the door open and found myself in a small room.  Weird. I mean, who has their living room as soon as you walk in the door? It certainly wasn't a pretty sight.  No-one had entered it for years.  I stared around and I saw a dusty book on the mantle-piece - almost as dusty as the room itself.  It seemed to be drawing me in, pulling me closer. Walking towards it, I tried to stop myself but it was too late.  As if controlled by an unseen force, I slowly lifted the cover of the book.  Beckie screamed.  "What's up?" I snapped, jumping around.
"I saw a...a thing!" Beckie whimpered.
"So what?" I yelled. "Everyone sees things.  I'm a thing."  Beckie was close to tears but I ignored her.  Then I saw it. A ghostly shadow flitting around use.  I gripped Beckie's hand in mine and started running for the door.  It opened....and I found myself in another room.  

We never found the door.  Beckie and I are still walking. We don't know how long we've been here and we are tormented by the ghosts of the book.  We're still walking...

The Boots that Came Home Alone by Holly, 7AP

These are the boots
That once marched sullenly through sinister streets
Past the tightly pulled shutters.

These are the boots
That remember the sticky sweat dripping slowly
Like the innocent reaching the end
Of their unlived lives.

These boots have left footprints of hope
Behind the blood-stained beaches.

These boots have survived
Through murky, soiled rivers
Drowned in repugnant, sticky mud.

These boots remember the dispirited soldiers
Fighting together through the worst.

These boots heard the blood-thirsty ringing of a bomb
Like a soldier’s life ticking away.

These boots remember the salty tears falling
When civilians realised
It was worthless wishing for their loved ones
To come home.

These are the boots
That have experienced it all.

The boots that fell before they could tell.

These are the boots
That came home,
Came home without an owner.

A Letter from Carrie’s War by Honey, 7AP

44 The High Street

25th November 1939

Dear Hepsibah,
I hope you are well.  I’m ever so grateful for the goose.  It was absolutely splendid. Carrie and Nick loved seeing you, Albert and dear Mr. Johnny.  They loved the story and tea you gave them. I’m ever so sorry I couldn’t collect it myself.  I had an awful cold, you see, and Samuel wouldn’t tolerate me going.

As you know, the kids are marvellous. Carrie loves helping out in the shop with Nick; she’s always willing. Nick is rather audacious as he stole a biscuit from the shop but he’s little and you know boys, they get hungry. Carrie told me Albert was feeling unwell so I wish him well.

How is poor Dilys? Is she well? I am hoping to see her soon if Samuel allows me. I am so glad she has a carer as good as you. I’ll try to persuade Samuel but I doubt he will come.

I’m sorry I couldn’t see you and collect the goose but I’ll send the children back to Druid’s Bottom as they thoroughly enjoyed the last time.

With love


Ash by Joseph, 7MS

I used to love ash; the way it majestically wound its way through the warm air at home; how it seemed to shine as it left the coal burner; how it gently landed on my hands, cracked and paled from a barren winter’s night.

It warmed me through and made me laugh and stare at it, loving its gymnastic moves as it slowly fell to the ground…but this ash is different.

Sometimes, as I sweep, I wonder, deeply enveloped in my thoughts, if I can hear Mumma or Pappa in the charred black heaps. I sweep this ash only because it is the closest I will ever get to my parents again – they are one with the ash.

I don’t love ash any more…

Grandad and His Boots by Zach, 7DN

These are the boots,
That returned without Grandad.

Boots that marched across barren beaches;
Waves at their laces,
Boots trudging through desolate streets,
Bodies and blood,
Leaving holes in his heart.
Boots that Grandad wore,
Through thick and thin,
A young courageous soldier.
Boots that suffered the silence.
People non-existent,
All at war,
Like Grandad and his boots.

His boots heard the spurious talk from Hitler,
Lying for his country.
His boots heard the roar of the tanks,
The whistles of the bombs,
He gave all he could.

His boots,
Worn and torn,
Like him, when he fell to the ground,

We thought Grandad was coming home,
We hoped he was coming home,
We worried if Grandad was coming home.
But Grandad never came home,
Just his boots,

Which returned without him.

A Ghost Story by Nancy, 7DN

The mist hung over the forest like a dusty shroud, swamping the two young children like a tsunami wave. It engulfed the rotting trees like a carnivorous animal, before spitting out contorted shapes that clawed at the boys with thorny talons. The full moon cast eerie shadows on the cobbled pathway as it was tossed upon cloudy seas. The icy winds nipped at their heels as they gazed mesmerised at the decaying house before them.

Sam and James ran for the doorway, ignoring the branches that snagged at their clothes and hair. The unexpected fog had alarmed the two boys, who had been on their way home from school, slightly later than usual. They had stumbled home, unable to see a metre in front of them, until they had strayed into the garden of the ancient house. With rotting walls and broken windows, it had obviously been uninhabited for years: it was the perfect shelter.

Sam dragged James up the creaking stairs leading to the front door, which was hanging off the wall with one crumbling hinge. Using a shaking hand, Sam went to knock on the decaying door. Suddenly the door swung open, revealing a decrepit room smothered in cobwebs. The boys edged inside the dusty room, black as pitch. A cackle of lightning rung through the silence.  James whimpered, cowering by the open door.

“Are you coming or not?” Sam moaned, dumping his schoolbag on the brown grass. James gave his head a feeble nod, not wanting to be left on the decrepit, misty porch. Climbing shakily up the stairs, Sam glanced back at the crippled trees, bending towards each other as if whispering ancient, untold secrets. Then the door creaked shut, plunging the boys into a cavern of darkness.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

A spine-chilling a sound emanated from up a winding staircase. The boys froze as the temperature dropped. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, setting the hairs on the boys’ heads on end. Crumbling and sinister, foreboding and dark, the journey up the staircase would be perilous and full of danger; steps were missing; banisters were rotting; and the only light source was a fragment of light stabbing through the night. However, the boys had no choice. They clambered up the staircase, clutching to nooks in the walls to stop themselves from falling into the void of never-ending night.

The boys clung to each other, shivering and shaking as an icy wind tickled the backs of their necks. Sam, intrigued yet petrified, turned the brass handle that led to the room where the scraping noise seemed to be coming from. His fingers turned numb, his heart sinking to his boots. The lock clicked as the door swung open. A small, black kitten sat in the corner of the room, its claws halfway down a scarred window. No longer transparent, the windows were etched with sharp, talon-like claw marks. Shuddering, James let out a deep sigh of relief, finally breathing again. Then he saw it.

The temperature plummeted. A finger of ice brushed against the boys’ necks as they stared wide-eyed at the wall. Framed in cold metal, as black as pitch, was a portrait of an old woman, her pale face shrivelled and grey.

“Sam,” James whispered his voice wavering. “Can we go now?”

Suddenly, a blinding flash erupted from the wall where the painting hung. James scrabbled on the wooden floor unable to see through the impenetrable darkness. The door slammed with a bang. The lock clicked. James whimpered quietly, panic sinking in. Then out of the darkness, the withered old woman appeared. James screamed for help. Darkness enveloped him…silence.

Thunder boomed like an angry giant, shaking the barren woods. The search party spread through the mass of rotting oaks, searching every nook and cranny. Sam’s mother sprinted through the woods, tears streaking down her face. They’d been searching for two hours and had found nothing. They came across a ghostly silent clearing. Sam’s mother shivered, the eerie atmosphere creeping into her mind. Then she saw it. In the middle of the clearing, lying tattered and torn was Sam’s schoolbag. The mother fell to her knees and wept.

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

A Ghost Story… by Harry 7MS

The wind shrieked menacingly through the gloomy trees’ long tendrils, like a bellowing king, shouting in fury. Shadows slowly crept up on the terrified, disorganised boys, like a satanic midnight wolf sneaking up on its unknowing prey. Sam and James, two thirteen year old boys, had been walking through the ancient wood for hours, utterly drenched by the harsh rain, from the intense storm still raging on.  That’s when the old, mountainous trees began to slowly clear out and the panic-stricken, almost hopeless, boys spotted the colossal silhouette, perched on a rocky hill, like a pitch black raven perched on a branch…

It was a crumbling, wooden, dark mansion – the front was lined with large, eerie, oval windows, completely smothered in dust. Sharp, squat, rusty metal poles stuck out of the roof, slightly wonky because of the enormous, powerful storm.  Old wooden planks protruded in some places, and parts of it were going green; this place was abandoned and it had been for a long time.

Yet inside, it looked a warm, welcoming, jolly old place, almost luring in the two boys. Although they were slightly apprehensive, Sam and James were so relieved to find a house, and so desperate to get out of the rain, they barely noticed that they were slowly trudging towards the front door. They wanted to go inside. They needed to go inside! So they approached the heavy door, and heaving it aside, crept in.

As Sam swiftly lit a candle, which he placed on the floor, James slammed the door shut behind them.
“Finally, shelter!” gasped James, breathing heavily as he leant against the huge door. A long, obvious, white wire connected a tiny switch to a huge old light bulb hanging just above the next room

The light slowly flickered on as Sam quickly flicked the switch. The light, even though dim, illuminated the room, revealing it was swamped with sticky, white cobwebs. The two poor, innocent boys, looked at each other and slowly gulped – they had no choice.
Clutching each other’s shivering shoulders, Sam and James speedily marched to the other side of the room, only to find a humungous spiral staircase. The entire staircase was constructed of wood, but over the many years out in the desolate woods, it had become tired and decrepit. That’s when they heard it.

Terrified, they listened – a horrifying wail echoed down the stairs. The boys weren’t sure why (maybe curiosity or a sudden burst of courage) but they both began to walk up the staircase in eerie unison. A chill ran down both boys’ spines as another, louder moan echoed down the stairs. Both boys heaved a huge sigh as they got to the top, as they saw a tiny, tortoiseshell kitten, trapped under a plank of wood.

“Phew!” sighed James, lifting the plank off the injured kitten.  He sat, calmed, stroking the kitten. But something else had caught Sam’s attention. An ancient, framed painting was pinned to the wall in a room ahead of them, of a bearded, Victorian man.

Both boys now apprehensively crept into the mysterious room – a library! Every wall was covered in bookcases, and shelves were lined with malevolent busts.

Suddenly, the door slammed and a screech roared loudly out of the painting. Sam’s own thoughts flashed before his eyes. This was not a warm, welcoming, jolly old place! It was a sick, Victorian madhouse! Both boys kicked and slammed at the door, tears slowly rolling down their faces.

Ten years later…
“As you can see, the house is massive!” spoke the estate agent, guiding the wealthy couple around the house.  But he had spotted something very strange.  In the middle of a wall, in a massive library, sat a painting of a sinister Victorian man.  Also, beside him stood two modern-looking boys, petrified and weeping.