The Toy Soldier

The Toy Soldier

I heard stories about this house. Things that make my bones shiver. It watches me and I watch back. A family used to live there, but they fell into the abyss like many others. All they found in the house was a toy soldier, that still walks around searching, waiting.

The Marionette by Richelle Bulgin finalist

Vivian shivered at the autumn wind and continued walking at a brisk pace. She was trying to clear her mind; she and her boyfriend had broken up yet again. As she passed the graveyard, she noticed an attractive young man watching her from the entrance. Intrigued, she approached him and introduced herself.

The boy’s name was Damian, and he was a nice distraction. After chatting for awhile, he asked her to join him in the graveyard. Warily, she followed.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Damien asked in a mock serious voice. Vivian laughed and shook her head. Suddenly, Damien leaned in and kissed her.

Vivian closed her eyes and smiled at the faint feeling. She leaned in to deepen the kiss, but the light touch of lips against hers disappeared. Frowning, she opened her eyes.

What she saw made her heart stop. Damien was not there. She glanced around, and a feeling of apprehension leaked into her gut. She tried to stay optimistic; tried to believe it was simply a practical joke. Even in her head, it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Damien..?” she called out cautiously. Her voice seemed to resonate through the arrant silence.

A freezing gust of wind produced the only movement, rustling her hair and the dead leaves scattered across the ground. A feeling of dread washed over her. She had to get out of there. Vivian’s heart was beating in her throat. She spun around in a circle, eyes scanning for the exit. She had to get out of there. Her nerves were taut, her mind racing. Her previous worries seemed so far away, like a dream fading back into the subconscious. All she knew was that she had to get out of-

An intense blow to the gut caused Vivian to keel over in pain. She gasped for breath, clutching her sides tightly. After a moment, she attempted to stand up straight again, but an unknown force prevented her. Her muscles screamed as she fought against it.

Vivian’s peripheral vision began to blur, and the world seemed to fade to black and white.  Everything seemed dull and hazy. She felt a presence inside of her, but she could not pinpoint its location. She felt it begin to engulf her from within.

Vivian tried to scream, but no sound would pass her lips. She tried to move her arms, her legs, her head; nothing would respond. She was no longer in control of her own body.

She watched in terror as her body began to stand up slowly, her spine cracking in a way that made her mentally wince. Vivian felt herself take a stumbling step, but could do nothing to stop it. She heard her own voice talking, but could not halt the words.

“What a lovely body,” she was saying. “Much better than my last one.”

Vivian strained against it with all her might, but it was no use. She was merely a spectator forced to observe, trapped inside of her own mind.

 

End.

 

Awake by Matthew Raske finalist

 

Bang.

 I wake up suddenly to a sudden loud thud from down the hall. It sounds like it came from my parent’s bedroom.  I glance at the clock. It is 3:06am. Perhaps it is my father rolling out of bed in his sleep again, or my mother stubbing her toe on the foot of the bed as she always does on her way to the kitchen for her traditional midnight snack. Certainly this thud is nothing out of the ordinary. Or is it?

 When my father rolls out of bed, I always hear him stand to his feet on the old creaky floorboards and climb back in bed. When my mother stubs her toe, there is always the subsequent muffled muttering of curse words as her footsteps creak past my bedroom on her way to the kitchen- yet, I hear none of these familiar sounds. I hear nothing but an eerie silence.

 

Perhaps a book had fallen off my father’s shelf –but no, a book would not shake the floor the way this thud had. Perhaps the legs of my mother’s rickety antique vanity had finally given way and crumbled to the floor as we always joked they would –but no, it would have woken mother, and mother can leave no mess untouched no matter the hour of day. 

 

Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Yes, I am overthinking it. It was just a thud- an ordinary thud - no cause for alarm. I can investigate in the morning but for now I need sleep. I’ll just close my eyes and drift off…

 Suddenly I hear what sounds like a smothered gasp for air, piercing the silence, and then:

 Bang.

  A second thud much like the first, followed by the same eerie silence. I am wide-awake and very uneasy now.  What could be the cause of this? I am about to spring from my bed and investigate when I hear a creaking in the hall between my parent’s room and my own. It is not like the familiar creaking of a person’s footsteps, but rather sounds like something heavy being dragged slowly down the corridor.

 I am unable to move now. I am frozen in fear. Whatever is being dragged in the hall is getting closer and closer to my opened bedroom door. The creaking is getting louder and louder, my heart is pounding faster and faster. Suddenly against the dark of night I see a silhouette of a man dragging two lifeless bodies down the hall leaving a distinct trail of inky black liquid in their wake against the lightly colored vintage maple floorboards. Suddenly he stops in front of my bedroom and drops the bodies-The creaking ceases.

 My heart is beating like a drum – so rapidly that it feels like it is about to explode. This cannot be real. This must be a dream. Those cannot be my parents. I am lying as still as the lifeless bodies in the hallway hoping not to be noticed by the man. I could not move even if I wanted to. I am frozen in fear. Utterly petrified.

To my horror, the man reaches down in dips his fingers in the blood coating the maple floorboards and begins to write a message on the wall. The inky blackness of the night veils his words from my vision. I cannot decipher the words on the wall. The man finishes scrawling his script and turns around once more to face me. The hairs on my neck are standing erect and Goosebumps ripple through my body.

 

The floor begins to creak as he slowly tiptoes into my bedroom and crawls under my bed and lies down on the floor directly beneath me. He must be waiting for me to awaken. But I am already lying awake and terrified beyond comprehension. I want to scream, but he’ll hear me. I want to run, but he’ll catch me. I am paralyzed by petrification.

 

I have been lying here for over an hour now.  I can hear him breathing heavily directly beneath me. The smell of warm blood on the cold musty floor fills the room. The scent of death is overpowering.  My vision is slowly getting used to the darkness. I can almost interpret the bloody message on the wall.

 I gasp as I read the words 

“I know you’re awake”

 Suddenly, something shifts beneath me.

Note to the finalists of 2014

Hello everyone! I am still working on getting all the finalists posted to the blog. Please be patient with me......I PROMISE to have them all in soon. Thank you all for sharing your scares and telling your tales! Keep posted for more posts.

 

Winners in the Telegram!

I just got word last night that the winners will be posted in the paper today Saturday November 15! Be sure to check the Telegram on pages F22 and 23!

Anchored by Olivia Bradbury Finalist

Anchored

There is a dead man anchored at the bottom of the sea.

  My name is Luther. Due to my parents’…incompetence, I was raised by my grandfather, a retired sailor who lives in and mans a lighthouse. Some may have viewed such a life with distaste; a lighthouse on a rocky beach, fish for every meal, somewhat isolated from the rest of town. On the contrary, it is a satisfying, peaceful way of life.

  I was strolling along the beach one night when I saw something bobbing in the ocean several yards from shore. The moonlight illuminated a man, young and seemingly naked, with dark hair and ghostly pale skin. He stared at the sky, looking sorrowful, and I felt sympathy without reason. He didn’t answer when I called to him, but he did lower his head. Our eyes locked, and I could tell even from such a distance that his were the same dark blue as the sea. A breeze blew by, words carried on it, but not spoken by him. They seemed to be uttered by the wind itself.

  “Years ago,” it whispered, “in a small town, a well-liked ship captain found love letters written to his wife from another man. The skipper demanded his wife reveal the writer’s identity. Fearing for her lover’s safety, she lied and answered with the first name that came to mind: that of a young boy who’d just began working on the captain’s boat.

  “The captain gathered some of his fishermen companions and told them of the treason he’d discovered. That evening the captain called on the boy, who was oblivious to the wife’s falsehoods. The boy obediently followed, and when he reached the ship was ambushed by fury and blunt weapons. They knocked the poor soul unconscious, then put his body in the boat’s furnace, barbarically burning him to death.

  “They put his ashes in a metal box and tossed it into the sea. As long as the ashes are trapped, the boy will never be able to move on. He will never be free.”

  When the voices ceased, I found tears streaming down my face. An overwhelming urge to help filled me. I determinedly waded into the water, swimming towards the man, my clothes weighing me down to some degree. I was confident I could hold my breath long enough to find the box. Even if I couldn’t, I had to try. For the anchored ghost boy, knowing how badly he’d been hurt.

  I stopped, floating a few feet away. He stared at me, a small smile on his face, unreadable. For a brief moment, I glanced around, marveling at how calm the night was. Like the calm before the storm…

  Suddenly, he was in front of me, face contorted unspeakably. He was the storm the calm had warned me of. Then…there was darkness.

  There is indeed a dead man anchored at the bottom of the sea. But there is no box of ashes - the dead man is me.

 

The Flute by Matthew Hong Finalist

 

James was in grade 4 and he was eager to join band.  His mom bought him a shiny used flute.  After the first day of band, he came home and played for his mother and father. 

His mom said, “That was excellent, James but I am not feeling well.”

“Get well soon, mom,” said James.

Coincidentally, the following week, his band teacher, Mr. Hemmingway got sick.  Then his dad got a cold.

Soon, the kids in band were not showing up for school.  Ben ran a high fever and Stacey got hives that itched and burned.

James discovered that whoever listened to the music from his flute became cursed with sickness.  He went to the town witch and shakily told her about the situation.

 “I will do whatever I can to help,” the witch said.  But she tricked him and put a worse curse on the flute.  Whoever already heard it or hears it in the future would die a slow and painful death.  James mournfully sobbed as the effect took its toll on his mom as she slowly died.  Her last words were “It’s not your fault.” 

 When she died, James realized that he had been tricked and vowed vengeance on the wicked witch.

 James went to the witch’s house and through the window he saw the flickering fire in the fireplace.   He knocked on the door.  At the door, the witch let out a petrifying shriek when James took out his flute and played one last time.  She clutched her throat and gasped for air.  She fell to the ground and died.

 A police officer heard the shriek and went to the witch’s house.  By that time James was already gone.  In the house, he saw the dead witch.

 The officer radioed the station and told them about the dead body.  As he was about leave, he looked in the fireplace and saw a shiny flute.  He picked it up and said, “Hmm.  I could give this flute to my son.  He will be in band next year,”

Writing tips from Stephen King

 

An Unusual Recount of Peculiar Events......... Finalist

An Unusual Recount of Peculiar Events

Selena Walker

With a hollow, damaged look in his eyes he began his story.

“I remember the first day the girl came. A child of about 10, dressed in vintage attire. My husband thought it was unusual how she was dressed like she’d just stepped out of Hairspray. I thought it was cute. She had a saccharine disposition, though it was odd how she carried a shovel. It was a dirty, rusted thing but I thought nothing of it.

            ‘Hi, I’m Vicky!’ She had an amiable tone to her voice, and looked up at us with eyes pristine as glaciers. ‘Can I please have my dog back?’ Bemused, we told her that we didn’t have her dog, but would keep an eye out for it. She said nothing, just smiled and strolled away.

            This occurred daily for a week. Each time we became more confused. ‘Why does she think we have her dog?’ We wondered. We checked with the neighbors. None of them had seen a loose dog. Or the girl.

Day eight was different. Her expression became dark, her voice malicious. Black mist and tendrils crept at the edge of my vision.

            ‘Give. Me. Back. My. DOG!’ The front door and windows shook as she yelled. The rattling frightened our cat, and it ran out the door towards her.

            I still recall the noise. The sickening crunch. The strangled animalistic cry made as the shovel came down through his neck. The stunned silence afterwards.

I still recall the sight. A fountain of blood over the porch. The twitch of paws and kick of legs as transmissions from brain to limbs ceased. When we looked up, the girl had vanished.

We executed a short funeral the next day. As we dug the hole we found something peculiar. A skeleton, canine in structure. Remnants of its organs still clung to the bones.

‘I just wanted my dog back,’ we heard a quiet voice astern. We turned and saw Vicky. Something about her seemed unusual. ‘How dare you come here again,’ my husband began as he stalked to her. ‘Why, I ought to-’ He cut his sentence short as he saw her glide over to the dog skeleton.”

The man paused and took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing to tell me his story.

“Then Vicky… She hugged the dog and that’s when it started. Her face shriveled and sagged. She aged by decades before our eyes. Her skin started to slip off in torn visceral chunks, exposing the sludgy brown muscle beneath. Snow white hair fell like autumn leaves. Her eyes fell from her sockets, barely clinging by rectus muscles. They quickly blackened and continued their descent. By now her teeth were exposed, yellowed and blackened as well. They fell one by one against the dog’s skeleton, clinking like fine china. Soon she was nothing but quiescent viscera, and shortly afterwards nothing but the sheen of bodily fluids a dog skeleton.

Our dreams were haunted for weeks. My husband killed himself a month later.”

The man had finally finished his recount of the events. I briefly checked with my partner to see if she had everything down.

“Thank you for your time, Sir.” I shook his hand and I believe I may have a heard a faint ‘you’re welcome, officer.’ As I departed the asylum I saw a dog and shuddered.

Winner "The Stairs" by Zach Wheeler

 

It was nearly 3 am, and the moonlight hit the form of a grand staircase. There was just enough light to see the polished dark rail, the wood was filled with deep carvings of vines and leaves. Through the spindles, you could barely make out the floral print of the carpet that covered the stairs. These old stairs curved into the parlour of the Salvation Army Glenbrook Lodge. Only five more minutes until 3 am I wonder if I will see her.

But before I continue, let’s go back a few days.

My grandmother moved to Glenbrook Lodge two years ago. For a fifteen year old teen there is not much to do there; it wasn’t my favourite place to go. It was Saturday afternoon when my grandmother suggested that we walk down to the old section of Glenbrook. I pushed her chair down a long institutional hallway until we came to a large sitting room. This room was different that the rest of the building. It was an old home. The walls were paneled, not brick like the rest of the building. The furnishings however, belonged in a museum, they were old and musty. The biggest feature in the room, however, was a grand mahogany staircase.

Nanda, that’s what I call my grandmother, asked if I had heard the story of the Sunset ghost. Well that may pass some time, so I turned off my phone.

She went on with the most amazing story, “Years ago, this old Victorian Manor was a shelter for unwed mothers and their children, called the Sunset lodge. In those days, it was a great shame for families to have a child born out of wed lock; so many young women were forced to this shelter run by the Salvation Army. Many of the mothers who came here reluctantly gave their children up for adoption.

“It was just before the outbreak of the Second World War, that a young teen named Mary arrived with her little girl. She had refused to give up her little girl, and her parents sent her away to fend for herself. Mary’s little toddler brought so much laughter to the home. She loved to play follow the leader with the staff and hide in the laundry baskets.”

“It was during their stay, that tragedy struck and filled this place with sadness. This little girl crawled out of her bed in the middle of the night to explore her new surroundings. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the stillness of the night was shattered by the little girl’s scream. As everyone came running, they were struck with horror by the lifeless body of the little girl at the bottom of the stairs. She had put on her favouite red satin dress and her special Sunday black paten shoes, and in the darkness of the night tumbled down these terrible stairs. Ever since that night, at 3am, it is said that you can still see the form of a little girl dressed in red, with black shoes at the top of the staircase.”

“If you don’t believe me, Nanda said, “You can ask the staff. None of them come down here at night.”

I don’t believe in ghosts, so I can’t really explain why I ended up sneaking back into the Glenbrook and making my way down to the old parlour and the staircase. I sat in an old armchair over in the corner of the room, my grandmother was right; there was not another person to be seen. Only 5 more minutes until 3am, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Then from the corner of my eye, I saw some movement. It wasn’t a ghost, but the bent figure of an old lady. It was Ms. Temple, the old lady who stayed in the room next to my grandmother. She never said much, just rocked back and forth in her chair humming. Nanda said she never had any visitors, and as far as she knew had no family. Her entire life, she worked at the Glenbrook and now lived here since her retirement.

Just as the clock chimed three, Ms. Temple sat at the bottom of the stair, smiled and stretched her arms out, and said “Come here my precious little girl.” Then, there she was. A small ghostly figure dressed in red with black paten shoes. She slowly drifted into the arms of Ms Temple for a just few moments and before she was gone.

Not many days after that, they found Ms. Temple dead at the bottom of those same stairs. No one knew how she got there. Her obituary read, Mrs. Mary Temple predeceased by her one precious little girl. They are finally together again.”

 

 

Winner "One Horrible Halloween" by Jenna McDonald

 

It all started on what seemed to be a normal Halloween evening. My best friend Lucy and I were jumping over puddles in our Halloween costumes. It was a fairly sunny day, but earlier there had been a torrential downpour. We were both dressed as witches, and had two pillowcases each just ready to be filled to the top with candy.

We decided that we would start on Dead End Drive, because the street had a scary Halloween name. Lucy and I were both anxious to get candy as we went up the steps of the first house and knocked on the door. The lady that answered didn’t give us candy! She gave us some sort of trick advice….”don’t go to house number 17” she said in a warning tone. Thinking she was joking, we hurried to the next house. At every house we went to it was the same thing! “Don’t go to house number 17”’ they all told us Lucy and I thought that it was some sort of elaborate Halloween prank.

We arrived at house number 17, and I stood on the sidewalk as Lucy started up the driveway. “Come on,” Lucy Said. You don’t really believe all of that nonsense, do you? They’re just trying to scare us.” Then she knocked on the door. “Lucy!” I hollered as she disappeared into the run-down house. I ran up the driveway, and furiously pounded on the door. An old lady who looked different from anyone I’ve ever seen before opened the door. Her hair was a light grey and pulled back into a pony tail that fell almost to her ankles. Her left eye was almost completely closed shut, her teeth were yellow and black and she was hunched over so much that I had to bend down to look at her.

“Come in my dear, and get some candy” she said in a screechy voice. “I’m sorry but I can’” I said. “Look at the time! I was supposed to be home ten minutes ago. Can you please tell my friend to come out? We have to leave or our parents will worry.” “Nonsense,” the old lady said and grabbed me by the wrist. She had a surprisingly strong grip, and pulled me into her kitchen. She picked up a strange looking candy and shoved it in my mouth. It was very slimy, and tasted like pepper. I started to choke and gag on it, and then I passed out.

 

 

When I woke up, the old lady was gone. I tried to open the door but it was locked. I heard the old lady coming towards the kitchen, so I ran down the hallway and into another room. The room was lit by one candle, and when my eyes adjusted to the dim light all I saw were dead bodies everywhere! These people had died in the most horrible ways. One person had no head another no limbs, another had been hanged. There had been others that had been tied up and left to starve. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

I heard footsteps coming down the hall, so I lay down and pretended to be dead. The door creaked open, and the old lady came in. She walked around for a minute, and then left. I got up and opened the door a crack. The coast was clear, so I started running. “I have to find Lucy and get out of here” was all I could think. I made my way to the back door, and almost tripped over Lucy. “Lucy”, I cried. “We have to get out of here.” Then I realized that Lucy’s arms had been cut off and she was dead. Screaming, I opened the back door and ran like my feet were on fire. I ran all the way home, and called my parents who were on their way to a Halloween party. My Mom answered, and I told her about Lucy, but she didn’t believe me. They thought it was a Halloween prank. “Please come home Mom” I begged. “Don’t be silly sweetheart” Mom said. “We’re only going to be two streets away and we won’t be late.” “Where exactly are you going?” I asked fearfully. “Number 17 Dead End Drive,” Mom replied. “We’re here now, and somebody is dressed up in the best old lady costume I have ever seen. She has light grey hair pulled back in a ponytail that reaches almost to her ankles…..”

Winner "Scary Mary" By Kaitlyn Simms

 

There once was a girl named Mary who loved to look at herself in the mirror. That night it was stormy and the power went out. Mary went to the bathroom and took a candle with her. Mary looked at herself in the mirror for a really long time. Then suddenly something came out of the mirror and stabbed Mary right through the heart. Mary’s parents heard a scream and they came running in to check on her. But when they got to the bathroom all they saw was Mary, lying dead and covered in blood. Then they saw her spirit in the mirror. Mary’s spirit had fangs for teeth, black hair and blood on her lips.

The next day Kaitlyn and her friends Brooklyn, Ashley and Laura were walking to the park and on the way they saw a house. The house looked nice, but a little bit old, so they went in. When they got inside Ashley said “I have got to go pee.” Ashley went to the bathroom and when she was done she went to wash her hands. As she dried her hands she looked up in the mirror and saw a spirit, then Ashley screamed, “Aaaaahh.” The others came running in “Are you OK?, Kaitlyn asked. “ Ya I am fine, but I saw a girl in the mirror” said Ashley. “That’s ridiculous there is no girl in the mirror.”

“Help me,” said Mary. “Who said that?” Kaitlyn whispered. “It wasn’t me,” said Brooklyn. Then they all looked in the mirror and screamed” Aaaaahhh.” “Help me,” whispered Mary. “What do you want? “asked Kaitlyn. “Get me out of this mirror” cried Mary. “No Thanks!” said the girls and they all ran out screaming. Ever since that day no one ever went into that house again. The End.

 

 

 

Links to Youth Writing Opportunities

Last night I had promised to put up some links for youth. Here is what I have so far, but I will post other links as I come across them.


http://ywp.nanowrimo.org/ 

and

http://wanl.ca/membership

I will start posting all the finalists entries for whom I have release forms today!

2014 Fantastic Finalists!

Age 7-9

Ashley Meagan Neary - Dillen, Jake and Pickle on Scare Hill

Kaitlyn Simms - Scary Mary

Mikaela Gibbones- The Mixed Up Spell

Jenna Fardy - The Haunted House

Maya Gamble - "A Witch Put a Curse on Me"

Luke Kearley - The Spooky Hotel

 

Age 10-12

Jill Baker -The Toy Soldier

Jenna McDonald - One Horrible Halloween

Matthew Hong - The Flute

Rebecca Boone - Across the Street

Stella Heald - The Ghost Cat

Allyson Lefrensne - The Curtain

 

Age 13-17

Miruna Baciu -Phonodeath

Selena Walker - An Unusual Recount of Peculiar Events

Matthew Raske -Awake

Olivia Bradbury -Anchored

Zack Wheeler - The Stairs

Richelle Bulgin - The Marionette

Good Luck!

I cannot wait to read your stories. I know I will be up with nightmares, but I am looking forward to the frightening fables and fiendish fiends.

Deadline Approachith!

D E A D L I N E !  Friday October 17  Oooh what a scary word. Please be sure to drop off your entries to your nearest St John's Library (A.C. Hunter, Marjorie Mews or Michael Donovan) or you can email me at juliamayo@nlpl.ca .

Tip 7 Proofread

Proofread ....What is that you ask? Read over your story...look for obvious errors like spelling and grammar. Now Read it again. Now hand it to a friend who will give you an honest opinion. Ask them to read it. Now listen to what they have to say.

Check out this for seven tips on proofreading.
http://www.dailywritingtips.com/7-proofreading-steps/

Creepy Music to set the scene (Tip #6)

Check out this excellent background music!
Set the scene.....

Step #5 Listen Carefully

Some of the best stories you will ever hear are those passed down from generation to generation and some of the best authors start out as ....storytellers. Dale Jarvis, Michael Crummey, Lisa Moore, Bernice Morgan and Helen Porter are some of the best authors this province has and the best storytellers too. I am sure everyone of you has a older relative who would love to tell you a local ghost story so...Listen carefully!

Step#4 Write what you Like...Like what you write

If you don't like it.... no one else will either. Write about what interests you, that way you will enjoy the whole writing experience.

 

Step #3  Read Read Read!

Read scary Authors like....Dale Jarvis. Stop by your local library or your school library for a great inspirational spook! Darren Shan, Ray Bradbury, Stephen King. The more you read the better writer you will become. You increase your vocabulary, understand the flow of a good story and expand your imagination!



Here are a few more of my favourite frights!




 

Spooky Inspiration (Tip#2)

Tip#2 ....Go to places that inspire the spooky!

Get Mom and Dad to take you to the local cemetery (during the day of course) and look for the oldest gravestones. Check out the names , dates and inscriptions. Just being there may spark some spooky inspiration.

Tips to Tap into Terrific Terror! (Tip #1)

Over the next weeks I will be posting tips on how to write the best and creepiest stories!

Tip #1 ...Set the Mood

Surround yourself with whatever you find to be creepy so that you will get into the proper mind set.

Check out our Celebrity Judge's Website!

Ghosts of Signal Hill

2014 ....Spookiest Creepiest Year Yet!

I am so excited to get started  for another year of all things spooky,supernatural and paranormal! This will be our 6th annual contest and we are looking forward to another round of great writing. Check out this cool spooky pic I found on Pintrest! Maybe it will inspire you!