More writing by young people

Non fiction work from Bradfield School, Sheffield Writing Day

Finlay Marsden:

Good evening. My name is DI Finlay Plodder. I would like your help in solving a murderous crime.


Lucius Beard was discovered slumped on his golden desk. His injuries were fatal. He had a serious break to the ribs and a fractured skull. He was left to die.


We need you to call Crimewatch immediately.


Stanley Ward:

Crimewatch Appeal:

Good evening. I am DI Stanley Plodder and I need your help to solve a dastardly, hideous murder. Lucius Beard was found sprawled across his desk in the Institute library. His injuries were fatal and too grotesque to show on television. His skull was fractured by a piece of sharp kryptonite. His brain was seeping out of his skull, dripping over the floor. We need you to call the studio if you have any information. Please help us. Please.



by Nadine (KCIS Khartoum, Sudan)


I smelled the pain before I felt it, gagging as the metallic stench of blood overwhelmed my nostrils. My eyes suddenly shot open and flicked warily around and absorbed my surroundings. The rear-view mirror hung askew, the dashboard was dented, both windows were broken, and as I craned my neck back to look above me, my nose touched the hood of the car, dented inwards. I blinked. My forehead stung as a single tear rolled over an open wound. What happened? I turned my head to the left and gasped at what I saw—the intake of breath itself caused a sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach. That’s when I got scared. I squirmed gingerly, trying to figure out what parts of me were injured. I heard a scream and felt a throbbing sensation in my right arm. The scream distracted me from the pain; I turned sharply to my left, hoping the person beside me had woken up; when I realised that the scream had been my own. I stopped moving, tense. Slowing down my breathing, I squirmed again, and found that the throbbing was in my right arm which was trapped between the door and the seat. So, there was no way of moving. The tears came uncontrollably now and the sight of my friend, bleeding and unconscious beside me blurred as my eyes clouded with despair.

Music. Loud music. Laughter. Then her face was suddenly a pale mask of shock. Straight ahead, a flash of red, pale blue and green, the wail of a horn, two horns, three, a scream, my scream, a spinning road, a spinning world, or was it us? The bump as tyre popped, a squeal as she tried to screech to a halt but the car wouldn’t obey. In slow motion the world stopped spinning and turned upside down and then there was pain, confusion, the smell of oil, the shatter of glass, then—


My head was against the seat and I hoped that the blood rushing to my head would increase my brain power, help me think about what to do. My lips quivered as I turned back to my friend. I grimaced, deciding that I had to get out. There was no panic now, and a sense of calm washed over me. My right arm was trapped but maybe I could move my left arm…? It dangled loosely from my shoulder with blood dripping down the forearm. I stopped and gazed at it for a moment, at the thick red liquid dripping off of my index finger. It was morbidly mesmerising; the rhythmic drip of blood. But it reminded me of something…

My heart stopped. I sniffed the air and smelled the odour I’d missed before, the scent that had been masked by the blood. The calm and logic had abandoned me and my mind raced into full fledged panic. I forced my arm to move, tried to rip off the seatbelt that was digging into my chest, slicing it like the window glass had sliced my forehead, but my arm was too weak. I tried to writhe out of it, twisting and turning, ignoring the stabbing pains. I lurched back and forth in my seat like a fish that had been caught and abandoned on the shore and despite my efforts I couldn’t get free. I felt my face contort in pain and my eyes squeezed shut as I tried to bear it. I was silent for a moment and in the silence I heard the sound of imminent death. The fast paced dripping of petrol, dripping from the engine like my blood had been dripping from my hand. Was there a point in trying anymore? I turned to my friend, saw her body slung awry on the driver’s seat, saw her honey brown hair, matted with blood and the debris of shattered glass, and hang limply on her shoulders. I sniffed the tears back and craned my neck to look at hers, and saw a steady pulse beating under her skin.

So she was alive. This made me feel worse rather than better; if she was alive then I had another life to save. The dripping petrol and blood, now a harmony of a death song, echoed in my ears and chaotic panic was close. I steadied my breathing and my brain began to calculate the chances of getting out. Minimal. But possible.

The only limbs that seemed to be uninjured in my body were my legs; I used them to push my back against the car door without hurting my right arm too much. I winced at the pain but focussed, feeling beads of sweat form on my brow. I extended my leg slowly, delicately, and used my foot to try and push my friend awake. Her head lolled slackly from side to side. “Sarah!” I could barely hear myself. “Sarah!!” I tried again and pushed her leg harder, and she was shaking back and forth now from the force of my leg, but she still didn’t wake up and I still couldn’t hear my own screams and shouts, my voice was so hoarse. I began to sob and bawl and was disgusted at myself and my helplessness. I banged my back against the car door, hoping it would open but it didn’t. There was nothing to do now, really, except to wait to die. I closed my eyes and listened to the pitter patter of blood and oil, sounding like the footsteps of death, drawing closer. A flash of light caught my eye and I turned to find its source; the oil had caught light. It sparked and the glowing light reminded me of the fireworks on my birthday. Little did I know then that the next time I would see fireworks would be minutes before my death. Tears fell from under closed lids as I slowly felt the light getting brighter from behind them.

The sirens blared and I felt light flash on my eyelids. What was happening…? I drifted awake and I was only just aware of what was happening. The panic ked eyes of a strange man looking into mine, his profile as he turned and said something to someone behind him. Shouts and yells. The high pitched screech of metal against metal, and then the warmth of sunlight on my back. Pressure on my arms and I felt myself being lifted. I was lied down on what felt like a cloud, next to me Sarah was on an ambulance bed. So they got her out then. Thank goodness…

A cloud of heat washed over me and I opened my eyes to a ball of fire; the car being engulfed by a roar of red and yellow flames. Smoke billowed in the sky, staining the clear blue sky with an opaque black.

I was being pushed on my cloud away from the chaos, into a bus that looked like an ambulance. Everything was slow. The air quiet and the chaos became a muffled dream. I heard a whimper and turned to see Sarah, stirring back into consciousness. I saw her eyes open wide, look around her fearfully just as I had done in the car—how long ago? It felt like a week. I caught her eye and eyes welled up with tears as she saw me. “Jen—are we okay?”

“No. But we will be.”


 Danya, KCIS Sudan.       

Sunday 4th December 2011

Slave escapee


Amna’s dark hair swept in front of her eyes as she dabbed at the ink splodges on her page. She remarked ruefully on how her dark-skinned face, framed by black hair, stood out in stark contrast against the fair-haired, light-skinned people of the class. Her hair was matted, her teeth crooked and her skin rough as a result of her arduous work as a slave. Her brown eyes darted around the room, taking in the scruffy chalkboard, the wooden desks and the puffy-eyed teacher delivering his lecture.


The frosted window was flung open and she could glimpse carriages making their way across the city that was, supposedly, paved with gold.  Her mind cast back to when she was back in her homeland, with the sun warm against her cheeks, and the Nile twisting its course deep into Sudan like a rich blue snake. Snow never fell on her country, but Amna knew she could survive without the bitter cold and dampness.  

She remembered how her dad would take her to the riverside, where he would show her the gleaming fish, the beautiful white shells and the glittering sand.  Until that day.


She could remember it as clearly as if it was yesterday. The moment of silence as footsteps thudded through the earth, the gunshots, her father moving in front of her, the whip cracking, his pleas. And since then, they became slaves. Then they were chained by the neck to several other people dressed in rags and crammed onto a cargo ship. They were given a mouldy crust of bread and murky water to survive off throughout the day. They climbed the rigging, they sewed the sails and they washed the dishes.  It was backbreaking work, and it was not uncommon for a slave to drop dead after days of starvation and labour. A few days before reaching their destination, her father had lain in bed after a bout of fever. Master had come with a whip and landed cuts all over his face, but her father lay motionless. After a quick huddle, Master declared that he was dead and threw him overboard.


Amna had cried for all of that day, before suddenly, a ship had sped through the waves toward them and their crew had boarded their own. The pirates were armed to the teeth with cutlasses and long curved daggers. They’d stolen most of the ship’s load and captured all the living slaves. The bandits sailed to a bleak land in the north and left the slaves there to fend for themselves.  Amna had wandered the streets before a public school had taken her in, away from the wrath of her former master. It was only because of the stern, but also warm and friendly, headmaster, Sir Antonio, that she wasn’t one of the beggars. She shuddered to think about what would happen if the Master found out where she was.  Amna didn’t think he would spare her, a 12 year old, on the run for a month already.


The bell chimed 12 o’clock, snapping Amna out of her terrifying daydream. As she stood up to leave, she reached a decision. She would run away. The school would not shelter her forever. Taking a deep breath, she slinked out of the room silently. Her footsteps echoed in the long, empty corridor as she reached for the door and heaved it open. Amna was greeted with a blast of icy wind as rain clouds covered the sun.   She shivered in her indoor clothes and reached for a shawl hanging on the door. She didn’t care whose it was; she just grabbed hold of one end and pulled. Suddenly, a hand shot out through the open door and seized her wrist in an iron grip, pulling her through the doorway.

“Where do you think your going?” Her captor whispered fiercely in her ear. 

“Leave me alone!” shouted Amna, squirming as dread filled her heart. She knew her thoughts of escaping were destroyed. “What do you want from me?”

“Shush, it is me” murmured the voice. 

“Who are you?” Amna clawed at in the direction of his voice, thrashing and wriggling, like a ferocious cat.


His tone seemed strangely familiar; just like… “Sir Antonio,”


Amna stopped struggling immediately. “Orders, sir?” her voice was hoarse.  Sir Antonio let go of her arm and she looked fearfully at him. No one had ever disobeyed the strict headmaster.

“Report to class,” he barked, and then said, less harsh then before, “We want you to be safe when he comes”

She shivered. No one had to tell her who he was.

Amna was taken to the literature classroom, where her classmates were facing the opposite direction, gathering around a startled looking Teacher.

“We have to find her!” shouted one, “He’s already here!”

“I’m here” smiled Amna. Her nerves jittered. He was here. She felt hysterical laughter bubbling to the surface despite the crisis.  

It was soon cut short by a booming voice, announcing, “And so am I. Ready to take my property”

A heavy arm draped around Amna’s shoulders. She looked up, horror forming in her heart like a heavy stone in her chest.  

“M-master” she stammered.

“Get your things,” Master hissed curtly, for of course it was he.


“Yes, sir,” she replied wearily. She knew it was no use fighting.

“No!” a student shouted. The cry was quickly taken up by the rest of the class.  Amna was surprised. She never knew that her classmates had cared about her so much. 

Master grabbed Amna’s hair and pulled her away. “I will take her,” he said calmly “The useless slave belongs to me. Though I have no need of her, she has committed a crime, which calls for a… suitable… punishment”

The teacher picked up his favourite paddle and whacked it against his palm threateningly.

Master drew a pistol from the depths of his silk blue cloak.

“You can’t kill her.” Sir Antonio said confidently


“Why not? She has not been stolen, but she has run away. A criminal,” He aimed the gun at Amna’s forehead. She couldn’t believe it. A criminal? For being kidnapped by pirates? She had not even become a slave of her own free will. Slaves are not property, but everyone seems to think so, she decided, closing her eyes and preparing for death. She took a deep breath and listened to the words her thumping heart seemed to beating out. It’s the end. It’s the end. It’s the end. It’s the—


A loud scrape of metal on wood jolted her out her out of her self-pity.

The teacher and Master were writhing on the floor, locked in heated battle, while Sir Antonio picked up the gun that the fighting pair had thrown aside only moments before.  Master had a deep gash on his face, and the teacher’s nose was bleeding. Amna hurriedly turned away. The sight of blood never failed to make her uneasy.


“Up,” Sir Antonio declared, an intense look of concentration etched into his face, “And leave”

 Master pulled himself away from his opponent and surveyed the barrel of the gun nervously.

 “I’ll be back for you, worthless slave” he snarled. She knew he would never give up. His pride had suffered a wound, but he would come back, if only to kill a former slave.

Amna pasted a confident smile on her face


 “I know,” she laughed, “But now I have friends I can count on” The Master glared at her before striding out of the room, sniffing contemptuously.

 Amna let go of her pent up breath and wondered how other slaves put up with other masters’ cruelty. She would do all she could to make sure no one would keep slaves in the future. It was a promise, she told herself.


Love hurts

By Thomas Wynne

My arm was a sleeve of red as I lay in my blood. I was alone. I cried out in rage as the primal figure proceed to charge into the blackness. I looked at the wound begging it not to be deep.

I stumbled into the hospital unaware of my appearance; I looked like a corpse. The blood was sticky and hot.

“Help me, I think I’ve been stabbed!” I called in anger. Why would anyone have a score to settle with me? What have I done?

A few months later my wound never healed; doctors said it may be a bite. It was too deep for teeth and it was definitely human.

Every time I had acquired a scab it fell off and the process restarted. Today it was the worst I’ve seen it; red and yellow puss seeped from the edges of the scab, as it disconnected and was washed away. I had an unquenchable thirst and my hair was growing a rapid rate. What was happening to me?

I looked out into the night and saw the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. I then began to change…

“Agghhhh!” I shrieked in agony, as my bones began to rearrange themselves and my once small moustache had advanced into a full face and body suit of silky grey hair. My eyes shone yellow, as my teeth grew into fangs. I was not human. Not anymore.

The final part of the process was my height. My once five foot eight frame had bulged into a seven foot demon. The moon was still behind the clouds, only half was out. My metamorphosis had not yet completed.

My mother’s car was pulling in the drive; they had been to a dinner party. The moon was fully out.

“Honey, we’re home.”


I ploughed through the window, my beastlike shriek stumbled into the bones of my parents. Soon I was gone.

The darkness was mine; the wind on my now black fur was relaxing. Then I saw her. Sarah Donnells. I smelt her heartbeat, the metallic smell pumping in and out of my nostrils. She turned around, her long black hair swiping at the air, to see my now nine foot figure.

I was eager to kill. I had always had a crush on Sarah; I had known her all my life. Even though my body said kill, my will said no.

“Run Sarah!” I cried in a monstrous possession. My state was between human and beast.

She cried and started to run as I controlled myself, I had told her about the previous few weeks. She had helped me.

I felt my state change as the moon contracted into the hillside and my human form returned and I fell to my knees. The sun was warm and refreshing and I knew I was sane. Just as I knew I was sick.

How would I go about this situation? My mind was racing. Soon I collapsed into a heap of destroyed clothes and fur.

After returning home, I paced my bedroom wondering whether I can overcome the curse. Soon I disposed of my bloody clothes and tried to recollect my faded memories of the previous night.

I turned on the news to see Sarah’s name over the bottom of the screen. Reported dead. My stomach dropped like I was on a ride. She was my best friend. Then the previous night came back to me. The reason why dawn had arrived so quickly.

“Run Sarah.” I called.

She ran but the beast regained control; I leapt to her side and slashed her belly with my pointed claws. Blood came from her torso and her mouth. It was a river of red.

“Ryan?” She fell to her knees and then dropped to the floor.

I’d killed her.

I lay in agony as the sun rose and the night faded away.

My mother came into the room.

“I have some bad news…”

The Laugher

by Henry, 11.

Dr McCanta was on the run. Up, down, up, down went his legs, like pistons, trampling heather underfoot. He was tired, dishevelled, sweating like a pig. But he couldn’t stop. Not when he knew what fate befell him if he did. McCanta had never been a fit man. The furthest he’d ever run was 200 foot when he was late for the bus, but now, heart pounding, legs throbbing, he was running the furthest he’d ever run in his life, on hidden energy stores, only brought on by fear of the creature behind him. Timmy, his last pupil, ran close behind him, panting, but also too scared to stop. The tall Irish boy was faster, and fitter than his teacher but he had a torn thigh muscle, so he was forced to reduce his speed to a lumbering trot. Suddenly, his bad leg caught on a sprig of heather, and he fell, twisting his ankle as he did so. The deputy headmaster did not register Timmy’s fall, nor did he hear the students scream as he was snuffed out of existence. But he did hear the beast’s roar, a long wailing screech, then the chattering laughter, like a banshee being eaten by a hyena. The cry could only mean one thing. The Laugher had chosen a new victim to hunt.

Alan Gibbons

Alan is nice, Alan is funny,

Alan is as soft as a big fluffy bunny.

Alan has glasses as clean as air,

Alan has clothes too few to spare.

Alan wears shoes as black as coal,

Alans wears a smile, reflecting his soul.

This poem man Alan, I hope it’s good,

This poem man Alan, please read it if you could.

Alicia Hampson

Broadgreen Primary

Year 6


‘Rid of the library,
Why not rid of the school?
He who rids of the library’s a fool.

Books are important,
to the learning mind,
‘Cos between the covers,
information you’ll find.

Would you really,
take away,
all my future,
‘cos you don’t want to pay?

Get rid of the Library,
then get rid of the school.
If you rid of the library

by Kimberley Johnson

Twiss Green Primary School, Warrington

Heather McComb, Alex Farrell, Alex Ross, Anna Haigh, Peter Anderson, James Blyth

The Bet

Some houses are born evil.Hill House is one of them.That gloomy, murky, February night, Anna was trotting ahead, her pink Timberlands thudding on the frosty ground, her new billabong hat at a jaunty angle, as casual as ever.I slowly trailed behind with caution in my eyes, starting to wonder whether it was such a good idea to stay in such a dark, forbidding place.I glanced at my watch. Twenty to midnight.As for Theo, beads of sweat were trickling down his forehead, as he plodded reluctantly behind us, barely moving.The wind howled through the gnarled branches of the trees like a wolf with toothache, sending shivers down my spine.


Then a sudden ray of shimmering moonlight illuminated a dark and intimidating shape at the top of the hill.Hill House.Anna carried on leading, persuading us all to move on, every inch of the way.The stars shone in the midnight sky. “Wow, look at the sky!” announced Theo.“No time for that, now come on!”Anna shouted back.Crow’s calls rang out through the mist shrouded wasteland.All of a sudden we were positioned directly in front of the entrance to Hill House.It took all three of us to pull open the cracked, rusty hinged door.We entered.My heart started to race like a cheetah chasing it’s prey.Anna strutted inside and examined the ginormous house.There wasn’t a light to be found in the whole house.Fortunately the moonlight shone through the cracked windows, lighting up the whole interior of the downstairs.The furniture was smothered in dust, making it hard to realise what anything was.An Arctic cold wind seemed to stab at my back.


As a chilling breeze howled through the room, a large shattered door creaked on its rusty hinges.Then the room filled with an icy chill, as flickers of frost appeared on the windows.A smell of burnt flesh filled my nostrils, which was as strong as petrol.“What’s that smell!” spluttered Anna.


As my lips turned blue, a slow eerie creaking noise drifted through the door.I inched my way forwards, my eyes bulging widely.A girl.There in the middle of the hall stood a girl, with her long blonde hair swaying slightly in the breeze.“Hello.” I whispered.Then she turned. “Aaaaargh!” cried Theo.A pale stretch of skin covered the place where her eyes would be.Her mouth looked like a gaping black hole, with jagged teeth pointing out menacingly.A huge roar of sound echoed through the darkened corridors, the first strike of midnight! “He’s here!” whispered the girl.


Suddenly an ear piercing scream, which was almost loud enough to wake the dead engulfed the entire of Hill House.What was that? I questioned myself, as the smell of fear drifted heavily through the air.We turned.We ran. Pounding down the corridor, like prey trying to escape it’s vicious predator.We tried to escape, but failed. With a high pitched hiss, like a thousand rattle snakes, a mysterious swirling dense mist appeared through the old, cracked floorboard.I knew we were trapped. The mist began to materialise.What was it.I saw what it was. “Ahhhhhh,” we yelled.It was like something out of my worst ever nightmare!His eyes, which were tiny slits seemed to fix upon mine.He had a deformed face, which was illuminated by the eerie moonlight.It made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He had an axe.A blood stained axe.Shaking with fear, we attempted to escape him.It was no use. “I’m here to finish the job” the faint floating figure whispered.


“Quickly, I know how to help you!” the girl screamed shakily “The only way is to sacrifice one of you, I know, I’ve been in your position”.Immediately, Anna boldly stepped forward, a brave grin on her face.A door slammed creakily above, Anna wasn’t so bold anymore.An overwhelming stench of rotting flesh blew onto their pale, cringing faces.I stepped forward to join Anna. More bangs.Although we had boldly volunteered, neither of us really wanted to die.Like a sandcastle being washed away by the salty sea, the ghostly girl melted into thin air.“What do you think Theo? Theo, where are you?” There was no reply, “No, Theo!!!”

“Run!” cried a voice. “Run!”They didn’t need telling twice.


As we quickly raced out of the mist covered Hill House I could feel rage filling up inside me.How could I have let this happen?Whilst panting to regain my breath, Anna shouted “were not safe yet, he can’t be far behind”.


With this, a wind as cold as the Arctic breeze, swept across the barren waste land between us and the house, freezing everything in its path.Then, one of the Hill Houses huge windows blew open with a huge cry and a piece of golden yellow paper drifted out.Straight away, Anna and me turned to face where the noise had come from and saw the ghostly girl for the last time.Then we noticed the paper lying on top of our ripped up shoes.Together, we scanned it. I read the list of names underneath until we saw the picture and the date; the survivors from 100 years ago. The faces were our own …

GLAZEBURY Glazebury Primary School

Ellis Carney, Lucy Johnson, Ryan Rowe, Abbie Lynch, Abigail Brown

The Bet

Hill House. Nobody dares to go up there.That mystical February night, the wind was so strong it made me drop my sleeping bag.I pulled out my phone it was 11:40.I turned my head around I saw my house.I looked at my phone I saw my mum and dads faces I thought will I ever see them again.Out of the blue lightening struck. Hill House grabbed my attention it seemed to be like a magnet I couldn’t take my eyes off it.


Adam was strolling along, without a care, showing a slim smile.He was listening to his I-pod; gold jewellery was hanging off him like chains. The cap that he wore was slanted.His big top was so baggy that it looked like he was too small to wear it and his jacket was a shiny leather coat.


Tommy, however was walking cautiously, trembling all over, even though he was reading a dictionary he kept glancing down below.He wore very neat clothes like a tucked in shirt, bow tie and glasses.


They held their breath.


Adam opened the door.


Adam strolled into Hill House.I crept in after him.

“I’ll just stay here and wait for you two to come out” mumbled Tommy.

“No get in here you wimp” groaned Adam.

Adam shoved him in.Adam heard music coming from up above.Tommy grabbed hold of some rope suddenly it started to tug “Ahhhhhh!” screamed Tommy.


Adam spotted a dead body.I tripped over a diary.My face lands on a newspaper saying 29/2/1908.Today at 12:00 mad man (Hugh Crane) killed himself and his family.

“That’s Hill House” croaked Adam.A ball bounces down the stairs they hear voices.Adam bent over and picked up a diary he looked around.

“Where’s Tommy Adam?”


They carried on creeping until Adam fell over.


“Adam be quiet”

Then suddenly there was a spine chilling draft.

“You know what that means don’t you Adam, a ghosts around!”

But I was right there was a ghost.


They heard singing and there on a window sill was a little girl.She turned around, her eyes were bloodshot red.

Her voice came out like a violin string “He’s heeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeee”

We turned our heads slowly towards the door

“I’ve waited 100 years….”

“What for?”

“Haven’t you heard the story of Hugh Crane and his family?”


“I’m his daughter……he killed me we lived here, mad man we called him”

“You and who?”


Creak creak………..



Standing behind us was a tall long haired woman, pale as white paper … holding a small dead baby boy.Me and Adam backed off!

“Don’t eat me” cried Adam

“Shhh” I mumbled.

Howling noises came from outside

“Go while you can….”

“Is there anything we can do?”


Suddenly a lifeless shadow crept round the door … his deathly grin was hair raising, he scraped the bloody axe from his split head, he was about to swing the axe at us when Tommy heroically shoved us out of the way saving our lives!


Unluckily the hitting of the axe had caused the old glass chandelier to fall on Adam’s head, and he fell through the floorboards helping us to spot the evidence of the dead families bodies in the axe chamber.

We rang the police and told him what had happened that night.


Twenty years later me and Tommy are back, we thought we would never come again.But we will never spend another night in Hill House, not after what happened that night.

“Wow daddy that was a cool story, can we hear it again?”

“Okay then”

“Hill House, nobody dares to go there …”

CROFTANDNEWCHURCH Croft Primary School and Newchurch Primary School

Alex Beevers, Peter Ball, Saffron Lowsley, Molly Bennett, Ben Curry, Helen Rear

Blood Stained Axe



Blood dripped from the oak axe (which had been flung into the grand staircase).Bodies lay around the entire mansion, chopped up vigorously with the axe like sausages.

The Brown family had been brutally killed by the murderer, Rellik Crawly – by nothing more than a rusty old axe …


One hundred years later.


Sam was marching boldly up to the door, with Jack trailing behind.The chilly wind blew Myrtle around.The bands in her short pig-tails were coming loose and her owl glasses were crooked.She was sobbing.

“Oh don’t fuss so, Myrtle!” snapped Sam, “I have the back pack don’t I!”

“I don’t like the creepy house!” wailed Myrtle.

Wooden shutters flapped around as Hill House emerged from the mist.The houses glowering eyes were like orbs and the glow of oil lamps inside were more sinister than cosy and welcoming as they should have been.


The house howled as if it were in pain and you could smell the mould that oozed from the walls.Myrtle trembled and Jack stopped for a moment to comfort her before running to catch up with confident Sam. Sniffling loudly Myrtle followed.Sam kicked down the crumbling, splintering door and the two boys scrambled inside.Doilies and tables were everywhere and there were dolls on the walls.

“Where is Myrtle?” asked Jack, “This is right up her street”.


It was then that they realised that Myrtle was gone!

“Myrtle?” whispered Sam, “Are you upstairs?”

Then there was a piercing scream …


They crept up the crooked stairs. The rotting boards beneath their feet creaking nerve wrackingly loud, “Myrtle?” whispered Jack. “Myrtle? Where the heck are you? This isn’t funny!” yelled Sam, his voice echoing through the deadly silent house. Jack opened the first door a fraction then motioned to Sam to follow. They gaped. Creaking in the corner was an old rotting rocking chair.A ghostly lady dressed in a pale pink dress and a moth eaten shawl was rocking a sleeping baby, wrapped in another moth eaten shawl.They tried not to stare as they passed through the next rotting door.


They glanced out of the cracked window pane, hoping to see some daylight.Instead they saw a man and three young boys playing cricket as if it was light. They moved silently into the last room. It was a child’s nursery. On the bed with her back to them was another ghost just like the woman and baby and the man and the three boys. Jack felt sorry for the girl, thinking of his own sister at home. He put a hand on the girl’s shoulder to comfort her.


She turned slowly round. She had a pretty face but her lovely features were distorted by a long blood stained scar crossing from one side of her face to the other.

“He’s back,” she whispered, starting to cry. “Mother,” she drifted away still sobbing.Jack and Sam watched her and then slowly turned around. Standing over them wheeling an axe was Rellik Crawly himself.


“Hello again …” muttered Rellik in a harsh grated voice.Rellik raised his axe above his head.He had come back.Blood still dripped form the axe.It was still there after 100 years.

“Run,” he said as he took a few steps forward.His blood stained eyes burned through Sam and Jack.They turned, they ran.

He chased them up the stairs to the hall. Sam opened the door.It was rusty with spiders crawling up and down.Rats scurried across the floor.


Without a second thought he opened the splintered door.Without knowing as they slammed the door the dust flew off revealing the initials RC – Rellik Crawly.His bedroom.

“That was seriously scary back there” stammered Sam breathlessly.

Jack wasn’t listening he was staring at the body pressed against the window.With a blood stained axe, sliced into it.He was staring at it with his full attention.


Suddenly he realised it was Myrtle. Jack burst into tears. “What? Oh come on Jack. Look, he’s gone now. Listen, I know it was scary but don’t be a wimp” said Sam. Then, in a blink of an eye, Rellik appeared at the door. He swung his axe, chopping off Jack’s right hand.


Red blood stained the carpet in front of them. But it made no difference to the wrecked carpet. Red stuff spread everywhere. Jack gripped his hand. They ran to a dusty pale door. He was behind them.


Jack slowly clenched the handle with his right hand, then he remembered. He looked at the deserted place where his right hand used to be. And reached out with his left hand – still sobbing about Myrtle’s departure. He twisted the round handle with great care.It was locked.

“Come on he’s gaining on us” panicked Sam.

“It’s locked, I can’t,” replied Jack.Rellik was floating towards them like a cloud of dust his eyes as red as blood and the axe waved high like a torch beam.

“Quick!” screamed Sam.Jack, with a powerful kick, smashed down the pale door with a deafening bang.The two shivering boys searched the deserted room.It had an old musty smell and was as black as night.There was nothing in the space of the mysterious room apart from a tucked away, tiny cabinet in the corner.

“Over here, “whispered Jack, Sam tiptoed to the miniature cabinet.He broke open the door with force and reached his shaking arm inside.He took out a green, torn, old book.It read: Belongs to the Brown’s.

“Of course,” shouted Sam, his eyes wide with excitement, “Rellik hid this because it’s the only force that can stop him”.The air suddenly went freezing cold. Misty, frightful smoke filled the room.Their hairs stood on end.Rellik stood tall in the broken down doorway.

“I’m back,” croaked Rellik, “And I’m coming to get you, just like I did the Browns”.

Rellik charged straight at them, swinging his axe like a maniac.

“Goodbye boys” cried Rellik

“I don’t think so,” replied Sam.He opened the mouth of the diary: Rellik flew into the page of the book.Rellik’s ghostly blood squirted out yellow as he was crushed onto the page. The boy’s were motionless. They walked out of the musty room silent, without saying a single word until downstairs.


As the remaining two approached the exit of the house of terrors, the huge oak doors swung open. Sweating the two terrified boys departed with the diary, the loss of Myrtle still destroying them. Just as they approached their house the zip of the bag slowly loosened. Before they knew it the bag was wide open … the book exposed!Jack started to climb the stairs, “crash,” the sacred diary fell from the bag and dropped wide open!


Two weeks later.

“Goal” screamed Jack as Liverpool scored the equaliser against Manchester.

Jack’s gold hand gleamed under the floodlights.

“Yes it was a good goal,” replied a rasping voice, like a rock being scratched across a chalk board. Goodbye.


As Jack glanced behind he saw Rellik holding an axe above his head, ready to attack …

CULCHETH Culcheth Primary School


Rachael Janes, Charlotte Andrew, Lydia Hickson, Lauren Carr, Rhiannon Carroll-Marsh



The Bet

Some houses are born evil.Hill House is one.Nobody goes near after dark which was exactly what we were doing that dark, gloomy night.Roger was striding ahead, determination gleaming in his eyes.Little did he know what the shadowy house contained at that time.I glanced nervously at my watch.20 minutes to midnight.I started to run towards him.It was all his fault we were going to stay here this night.He dared us.He placed the bet.

“Roger! Do we have to? I’m starting to doubt this idea!But ever so slightly ….”I didn’t want him to think I was a coward. I stumbled, tripping over something.This made me look back.Andy was positively petrified.Shaking in his boots, taking tiny steps.It was obvious he was as scared as me.I sighed and turned around.That’s when it happened.That’s when the mist parted and I glimpsed Hill House.It was the first time I’d seen it up close.Something occurred that night making it impossible for any of us to take our eyes off it, as much as we wished to.It was like it had a powerful hypnotic surge, pushing the charm right into us.My eyelids felt heavy and I wanted to run screaming home.I didn’t care if Roger called me a chicken anymore.I just wanted to leave and leave now.


We stepped up to the top of the stairs that lay outside the house, Andy was trembling with fear.I peered into the cracked window to see ripped chairs covered in blood.Roger grabbed the door knob tightly and bravely.He slowly turned the knob and the door creaked loudly open.A screaming sound appeared in the air and a 67 year old man came running towards us as if he had seen a ghost.Suddenly a flying axe sent the old man to the ground. We all gasped, a flying axe had just killed a 67 year old man right in front of our eyes, we couldn’t believe it.We walked into the ancient house wondering where the axe could have come from …BANG!

All three of them turned, then the old creaky door had just slammed shut.Then they noticed something, there was a music box on the window sill playing faintly.“I wonder who is playing that music “whispered Andy as they all turned around.Then they saw the ghost.


The ghost was not floating far off the floor and was dressed in a silky white veil that covered her see through body from head to toe.The back of her head was draped in a little cute hood … then she turned slowly around and her face was revealed.Her eyes were just pools of blood, her nose had been ripped and all that was left was a bare bone sticking out in that place.We all gasped and suddenly she vanished into thin air, just like that!We all stared around us searching for a sign of human life or anything.Somebody … or something, gripped me on the shoulder, I whipped round and that’s when I saw the man or should I say ghost.This one was completely different from the last.For one thing he has a long tatty beard hanging from his chin.The rest of his face was completely normal except from the nasty smirk that fell upon his face when he caught a glimpse of our surprised faces.On his shoulder a huge axe rested, blood dripping from the blade making a big puddle next to his boots.When he laughed his loud voice boomed around the empty room and I felt like fainting.


“I don’t like this g-g-ghost!We need to get rid of it” I whispered as the ghost swooped overhead. “That is not happening.It’s a dream right!Oh please someone pinch me!”Andy cried.“Roger, Roger where are you? You do know that ghosts can’t be killed only trapped through time and that is not even possible!”Roger suddenly appeared with the young female ghost behind him.


“Twist, turn and lock him away.He will not be seen any other day.He will start to shriek all the time, so I shall sing another rhyme” she sang mournfully!We all turned round and stared at her.We had to admit, she was mad!


“What? Please don’t look at me like that.My grandfather clock keeps me jolly when I need to think”.We all legged it up the stairs. Then Andy stopped dead in his tracks. “The rhyme it must be true.One of us will be trapped with the ghost! I volunteer. I was scared to come here and I have not helped you in trying to get out so I must suffer the consequences! Goodbye my friends.Give love to my parents for me!” Andy suddenly ran in front of the great grandfather clock!

“Andy don’t!” we yelled but it was too late!The ghost was flying towards us.We ducked, the ghost flew past us heading straight for Andy!The next thing we knew Andy and the ghost were gone! Trapped!Their faces were placed against the glass inside!We ran down the stairs but I had to turn around!He was one of my closest friends and now he has gone!Andy was one of the best friends anyone could ever have, kind, courageous and a true hero but the ghost was a different story….


20 years later.


Roger and I married at 32 and had a son and a daughter called Andy and Andrea.On the 21st March we took our children to see Hill House.We walked up the path and towards the house.Then suddenly we heard a scream and looked up and saw Andy peering down at us his face identical to that demented child all those years ago.I started to cry and pulled my children towards me and remembered how much I cared for Andy, he was like my own brother and it was Rogers fault he died. I could tell from Rogers face he realised it too.Then as I looked closer I saw that Roger had not aged and the grandfather clock behind him was stuck at midnight.

Writing workshops at the National Gallery

Pressing his ear to the great doors, Perseus felt his stomach churn. With trembling fingers he twisted the doorknob. At that moment he hurled the doors open with purpose. Simultaneously the guests spun their heads to face the intruder. A gasp sounded from the table. Perseus scanned the room for the man he wanted – the king.
A squat, balding man threw himself at Perseus, desperate to please the king. With a swing of his blade, Perseus slashed open the man’s skull, sending hot blood spraying across the room. Watching their fellow fall to the floor, three soldiers brandishing their spears, stepped forward, ready for a fight. Perseus delved into the leather bag and felt the still writhing snakes coil themselves around his fingers. Taking a breath, he drew out the cold, heavy head and thrust it in front of the soldiers. Its mouth slid into a sly smile as he saw the warning signs of the transformation the soldiers were about to undertake. Suddenly, each soldier stopped in his tracks, frozen to the spot for all eternity as fine cracks appeared on each mans arms. Their skin, tinted grey, hardened, whilst their voices faded into time as they turned to stone.
Finally, a glimpse or royal red alerted the predator to his cowardly prey, running through a doorway. Catching sight of his victim quivering in the shadows, Perseus strode over to him.
“Make your peace with the gods,” Perseus bellowed. “You are about to die”.
His jaw outlined his determination as he heard the king begin to run. He charged forwards.
By Hannah, Brentford School for Girls
The boy stood there, his hand trembling. Gasping with every breath, his heart pounded. Sucking in a last deep breath, he threw himself through the great wooden doors. The intruder entered. The guests turned and gazed with curiosity. One man dropped his goblet. Another turned and gasped. In his right hand he gripped his sword with pride. In his left hand he held a leather bag. He strode forward, proud, his eyes full of revenge. His jaw was set with concentration.
A thick-set guest, bald on the head, ran forward to block Perseus’ entry. The young man cut him to the floor with a slash of his sword and moved on towards the centre of the hall. There, three warriors moved forward. The trio ran toward him with their javelins. Perseus opened the leather bag. Placing his hand in the bag he felt the slithering serpents and Medusa’s blood on his palms. From the bag, Perseus clutched the snakes and pulled out the head. Medusa’s head stared colour-less, cold and evil. The warrior’s paralysed transformation began, their faces stiffened, and cracks appeared.
Perseus turned, “where is the king?” he bellowed. The king hid behind a red velvet curtain. Perseus searched for the king, listening for trembling breath. He pulled back the curtain and raised Medusa’s head. The king instantly turned into stone, the knowing look of death in his eyes.
By Paige, Brentford School for Girls

Pressing his ear to the great doors, Perseus felt a shiver creep up his body. He felt ice cold. His fingers trembling violently, he nervously twisted the heavy gold door handle. He entered, then drew a great deep breath and screamed “I have arrived!”
Instantly everyone froze and all eyes were on him. Glasses clattered to the stone floors, mouths fell open in shock and the moment felt extremely tense. Perseus scanned the throng quickly for his quarry, the king.
A squat, balding man galloped forward from the dispersing crowd and boldly took out his sword. Without a second thought, Perseus whacked the man with his sword. Warm, red blood gushed out of his skull and sprayed the people surrounding him. Perseus’ sword dripped with bright red blood and made Perseus feel nauseous. Three soldiers raced forwards, spears and lances raised, perspiring enormously. Perseus reached in to his leather bag and felt the smooth cold wriggling snakes entwining steadily round his fingers. He yanked the head out, holding his breath because the smell was so grotesque. He closed his eyes and pushed it towards the soldiers’ faces. He heard a series of shrieks and slowly opened his eyes. He felt sick. He saw the soldier’s skin stiffening quickly by the second. It was a disgusting sight.
Finally the hunter caught sight of his prey. The king instantly fell to his knees and started groveling shamelessly.
“Please, Perseus, forgive me. I am a good king at heart, please don’t destroy me, I beg of you…”
“Say your prayers, old man, for it is time for you to die!” roared Perseus, his eyes narrowing viciously. Even though he knew he had the upper hand, Perseus was shaking and perspiring heavily. The king, knowing that Perseus wasn’t going to relent, got up and started to run as fast as he could, his sandals clattering against the cold, stone floors and his wheezy breath getting louder by the second. Suddenly Perseus lost sight of the king. Perseus paused and traced the old man’s wheezy breath – it came from under the grand table. Perseus bent down and grabbed the king by his long white hair, thrusting his sword into his chest.
By Ameenah, Brentford School for Girls

He was coming, the avenger.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Silence struck, all eyes were on the door. Spilt wine on the floor, trickling like blood.
Phineas’s face was overwhelmed with fear. A chill ran down his spine, sweat slowly dripped down his cheek. People whispered words of anxiety, they exchanged looks of horror. The door handle slowly turned…
Finally, Perseus crashed through the door, a shining sword in hand. The guests gasped. Phineas shot up in fear, a chair tumbled, breaking the silence in the hall.
Tugging Medusa’s head from the bag, Perseus began to petrify the guests, cutting down anyone that lay in his path. The sound of screeching pierced through the hall, lifeless bodies collapsed on the floor.
With a cry of terror, Phineas fled from the room.
By Aisha, Hounslow Manor School

As he approached the hall, Perseus felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, as he tightened his grip on the leather bag. From the hall came the clink of glasses raised in celebration. He heard the deafening cheers of people praising the king, the quick steps of people dancing. He took a deep breath and flew into the room with his sword held high. He gave them a menacing glare. Hatred grew in his heart. A thought raced across his mind: Where is he, the king? He had no need to barge through the crowd, as it parted at his will. His heart was throbbing against his chest like a ton of bricks as he felt Medusa’s head squirm about in the leather bag, waiting to be unleashed. At last he caught sight of the cowardly king fleeing. The hatred grew and he tore open the leather bag. The crowd gasped as Medusa’s head was revealed. He nearly lost his grip as it squirmed, waiting for its next prey. The snakes writhed with delight at the room full of victims. The crowd screamed as they realized what had happened. Some tried to run, but it wasn’t long before Medusa’s eyes spotted her victims. They slowly turned a chalky grey colour as they turned to stone. The more they tried to struggle the more satisfying crunches were heard. Medusa’s snakes hissed in delight. Phineas fled.
By Adeeba, Hounslow Manor School


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *