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.