This will be our Theme Song!

Love this song.

Winners for 2013!

Here are the winners for this year. Caution....those with a low tolerance for scary need to be careful!

Halloween Night

                Once upon a time there was a girl named Jade. She was eight years old. One night she asked her mom and dad if she could go trick or treating with her friends Cassie, Emma and Michelle. Her mom said “Yes”, but her dad was still thinking about it. Jade said, “Please, Dad.” “Ok, Fine, You can go,” Dad said. Jade was so happy she called her friends. The next day was Halloween!! Jade was dressed as a gothic angel. Her friend Cassie,  a mad hatter, Cassie was a dead prisoner. She looked creepy. Michelle was a dead salsa dancer, she was scary. They met at Emma’s house at around 4:00. They started trick or treating next to where Emma lived. In the woods there was a haunted house. All of the girls were scared and said,, “ We should go in.” They got a flash light and began to walk slowly. They were at the gate and Michelle pushed the gate and made a creaking sound. They were so scared. They went in the haunted house and the girls thought it was an old amusement park because there was even a creepy clown! They went upstairs and Emma was last to go. The stairs collapsed. Michelle grabbed Emma and pulled her up. “Oh my God,” shrieked Emma. “I almost died, you saved me.”

The clown was at the top of the stairs. He pushed them don the stairs and nobody ever saw those girls again.Watch Out on Halloween Night boys and Girls.

By Michelle Valoyes aged 9 

 

 

The Boy in the Painting

            Frank woke up in the morning with a peculiar feeling.  The feeling that he was being watched.  He thought maybe he was dreaming.  So, he pinched himself.  Nope, not a dream.  He hoped he was just tired and the feeling would go away.  He got out of bed and went down to the kitchen. 

            The yummy smell of sizzling bacon wafted through the air.  His mom greeted him  and handed him a plate of bacon and told him to sit down.  Frank still had the feeling that he was being watched.  The night before, his mom had found a strange painting in their attic.  A little boy wearing blue striped pajamas who had cold blue eyes that looked down at the ground. Frank chewed as he thought about the painting.  Then it hit him, maybe there was something or someone watching him from the outdoors.  After he was done eating he made his way to the front window of his house.  As he passed by the painting in the hallway, the little boy seemed different.  He looked more carefully.  The cold blue eyes of the boy stared right at Frank not at the ground like the night before.   He knew now what was making him feel watched.   He grabbed a sheet from the laundry basket and put it over the painting and the feeling slowly faded away.  What a crazy morning!  Frank shivered as he put the painting in the basement.

            When Frank woke up the next morning, his eyes felt icy cold.  He went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror.  His eyes were blue instead of their normal hazel colour.  He washed his eyes with warm water to see if he was seeing things.  Then he noticed that his red pajamas were turning into the striped pajamas of the boy in the painting.  He felt like he was in a bad dream.  He had a sudden urge to see the painting.

            As he went down into the basement, the smell of mould filled his nose.  He slowly approached the painting.  He hesitated before he took the sheet off.  To his astonishment there was no boy in the painting.  Just a fuzzy background.  As he touched the painting to get a better look, he got sucked into the painting.  Now he was looking out at his basement from the painting.

            Out of the dark corner, a boy that looked just like his true self stepped out and smirked at him before heading upstairs.  

            Frank heard his mom say, “Good morning Frank, here is your breakfast.”

            Frank tried to scream out to his mom from the painting but all he could do was move his icy blue eyes.  

Matthew Hong  aged 10

 

  Martin
I felt more at ease in large crowds.
The lure of being around other people. It was soothing to know I was melding right in, just another brick in the wall that kept us together. Another stone on the avenue below our feet.
“Oh and you know it’s a drag. You live your life for a heart attack,” Nate Ruess once said. That’s why we must do for now. That’s why she must live now, for later, right. It must be.
Later when you are staring down the barrel of a gun, a fully loaded gun called fate. A fate that’s gonna get you. It’s gonna get you and when it does there’s no escaping . Sure, maybe once or twice. But is it worth a few scrawny days, months, years? In the end, in the end life will have been born, died. For what?
Once you escape it, it haunts you like an itch that just won’t go away, that shape that swoops by the corner of your eye, that noise behind your back, but when you look, it isn’t there. No, no. It hides, and watches you squirm under with your worthlessness. No matter who you are; everything that makes you that person people remember will be gone. No one will remember that Engineer from London. No, no they won’t remember me. But is that reason to deprive her of breaking the inevitable reality of oblivion? No she needs a chance. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t save her? A chance like this? To save her, to end me. A fair trade. Anything for my sweet little angel.
As I walked through this crowd, there couldn’t be another way. This is right, it has to be. She needs the medicine. This was the only way I could get it. How she loved the song the pianist plays in the lobby.
I wonder what he’s thinking. But like his thoughts, the song will end.
 What kind of father would I be if I didn’t proceed?
The piano got louder, like the pounding in my head. This has to be the right thing to do. But what, what if it isn’t?
The pianist plays so loud. I felt as though both I and the strings would break.
A tear then fell from my then aching eyes. This is wrong but she must live. There must be a way, a different way. What am I doing? Loss surged through me.
A little girl ran by me, hair flowing behind her. A man chased her and picked the girl up, planting a soft kiss on his daughter’s velvety hair.

“I love you, my child,” he said, and the world seemed to collide with itself. The piano reached a musical climax, the notes cold and shallow, like the feeling running up your spine as the ticking of a time bomb neared its end. The sound of the detonation being replaced by the algid echoes of a child’s nearby scream.

Kaitlyn Ikkusuk-Rogers aged 13