Rhianna Mae France (15) from Leeds has been awarded 1st prize for her spook-tacular story 'London Bridge Is...' - we hope you enjoy reading your selection of books Rhianna!
Blinking, eyes open. As she brushes the crusted blood out the way, she realises that she can't. She's frozen as the song 'London Bridge' creeps through her mind and a darting shadow catches her eye, before the patch of moonlight returns back to its silvery glow. She stays deadly still and slowly turns her head as something else catches her eye. A string; hanging from the ceiling; and from it lies the mutilated corpses of fellow victims. The centre shifts as the other decorations follow its lead in a twisted dance. As each corpse passes, she can see the words carved into their torsos, the lyrics of 'London Bridge' circle in both her mind and reality.
The outer corpses each have a wound going in a different direction on the back and, whatever organs were previously there, now lay scattered on the floor. But the centre, the centre is the most twisted part of it. Two humans, cut in half at the hips, are joined by black stitching, their fingertips sewn together. None of the mobile has facial features. Their faces are blank. As 'London Bridge' plays faster in her mind, the mobile starts to spin quicker in a vortex of blood and gore. Looking away, hoping to find an escape, she notices a coat stand in the corner, a black top hat with tied ribbons perched on top. Everything stops. 'It's teatime.' Slowly, light resurfaces and touches a vase holding white roses, tainted red with fresh blood...
© Rhianna Mae France 2016
'Jon, what do you think you're doing?' she teased him as she sat upon the kitchen counter, swinging her legs like a child.
Scrubbing at the kitchen tiles, he watched the blood fade into pink suds and prayed it wouldn't stain. Jon needed to do anything but listen to her, if he didn't acknowledge her then she wasn't there.
Examining her warped reflection in the orb of the wok, Lucy breathed in through her teeth. 'You did quite some damage!' She fingered the bloody gash on her head before picking a few blonde strands out of it. 'What made you think of using the wok, anyway?' Waving the improvised weapon about like a flag, she beamed down at him.
Jon got up and tried his best to pretend that he stood in the dyed corn syrup from the three am horror shows that plagued his sleepless nights. 'You can't pretend that I'm not here. Well, you can but you'll give up soon; you always do.'
Lucy hopped down off the counter and stepped over to him. She dared to laugh at him. 'God, I didn't know you didn't want to talk about your mother that much. So, what's the plan now? Oh, you don't know, do you?'
Admitting defeat, the words fell out, 'But you're dead. I - I just killed you. You're not meant to be here. Isn't your soul meant to pass on or something?'
Her blue eyes shining wickedly, Lucy cooed, 'Oh no, I'm not going anywhere.'
© Danielle O'Shea 2016