Iona Chisholm (12) from Hedben Bridge has been awarded 1st prize for her spook-tacular story 'After The grief' - we hope you enjoy reading your selection of books Iona!
After The Grief
A man sits, alone, on a bench. Grief has stolen the precious
spark of joy from his sunken eyes. His face is wrinkled with
the scars of mourning. The bench itself is warped and
discoloured, being more ancient than even the man sat
upon it. Still, the old man sits, uniquely situated between the
trees of an old wood, shrouded by mist. The air is thick with
the scent of pine needles, carelessly scattered by the
warped trees. Looking up, the man recoils from the figure
stood before him. At first glance she may have looked to be
wearing a summer dress, adorned with pretty white frills.
But the man knows better, the girl is wearing a sterile blue
nightdress. The way she had the night she died. And what
once had appeared to be the innocent frills that so often
brighten the dresses of little girls are simply bandages,
wrapped round her legs like snakes, holding in the pale
frozen flesh. However there is nothing daunting about the
child, she does not sing creepy lullabies, she does not lurk in
the shadows of those she wishes revenge on to take away
the gift of life from others as it was so brutally ripped away
from her. She simply takes his weather-beaten hand gently
in hers saying, 'Let's go home now Daddy,' and with that,
the old man wipes away the remains of a sparkling tear,
and walks hand in hand with the little girl, into the swirling
© Iona Chisholm
Murder In The Dark
Darkness is heavy. That much I know. It creeps into doubts
and feasts on the mind, clinging to life like an unshakeable
curse. If you try to fight it, the darkness only consumes you
further. But the trouble is, you never know the darkness is
coming until it's there. By that point, things are already too
My flashlight was broken. It had been for some while now. I
asked myself how I had ended up in the middle of a forest
at night. Then I remembered. I had been running from the
darkness. And it had caught me.
Every tree was twisted and gnarled, with bulging, unseeing
eyes and mouths open in silent screams. The fog was
thick, curling around my ankles with the haunting grace of a
snake. It was seeping into my mouth, clouding my mind with
the darkest of thoughts. The trees were whispering; I could
hear their words echoing in my ears. 'You should have kept
running...' And they were right.
I cradled the dead body in my arms and dropped my knife to
the ground. It clattered to the floor and lay there glittering
with metallic light. Blood was spilling onto my hands, warm
and dark, and I dropped the body with a sudden realisation
of what I had done. I looked up at the sky and it was a clear
blue, the sun shining lazily through the emerald treetops.
Midday. That was when I realised there was no darkness.
The darkness was me.
© Amy Child