Mother Ghost Grimm

by Melody Grace

  The witch was in awe of all that she saw, the woods weren’t darkly, they were sparkly, enough to make her cold heart thaw.

  “This place is beautiful,” Isabella did speak, “sometimes scary things just need a tweak. This place is so inviting and exciting,” she said dipping her toes in the creek.

  Isabella then tugged on the witches’ dress, and said, “If I had to guess, I’d say you don’t look as mad as you are glad, so may you return me to my address?”

  “Yes, dear,” smiled the witch, “my evil days are at an end, allow me to make amends.” And the witch then gave a wave and sent Isabella to her family and friends.

  And for the rest of her days, the witch changed her ways, and many people stopped on by to just say “hi”, and that’s the way it would stay.

  The Bedroom Cupboard

  Story // Nicola Currie

  * * *

  I never wanted to move to the woods. I knew I would miss the noise of the city, miss hot days at the beach. I would miss the sun once I lived surrounded by trees, buried deep under the shadow of branches, away from light and light-hearted things.

  Woods were not a place for laughing in. I learnt that quickly.

  When we drove through the gate, Mum suggested we walk the rest of the way to the house, still hidden up ahead. She would go on and phone my new stepdad Rob, a day behind us sorting the final removals. Part of me thinks she wanted to force my stepbrother Scott to spend time with me. She still hoped we could be real brothers not strangers who had taken an instant dislike to each other. At fifteen, he thought himself too cool to hang out with an eleven-year old and was a complete butthead. A walk was not going to change that.

  Agreeing was the easiest way to get Mum off our case. As she drove away, Scott led us off the main path. The trees murmured gently as we walked. It would have been peaceful if I hadn’t been afraid. The house, unseen up ahead, was surrounded by the woods. It was like the house had hidden itself, like it was a place of secrets.

  As I glanced around at shadows, I tripped over something. I spluttered on dirt and noticed Scott’s outstretched leg.

  “Watch where you’re going, loser!” Scott said, laughing as he walked away.

  The jarring laughter made the woods fall silent. Tiny creatures stopped scuffling through the brush. Birds quieted like a choir interrupted by an off pitch note. I felt eyes watching.

  “Wait up!” I yelled. Scott smirked but let me follow until we passed through a bush and suddenly found ourselves at the house. It really was hidden; the trees came up almost to the walls. Only a small tarmac clearing in front of the door connected to the road.

  It was like no house I had seen before, made of grey stone with strange crosses cut into the rock. A pointy tower reached up from the middle of the roof. It looked like an old church. I could see why Rob wanted to move here. He was a History professor who focused on superstitions. Rob would probably tell me stories about this house, but I didn’t think I’d want to listen.

  “Nice walk?” Mum asked, greeting us at the door.

  We shrugged.

  “Well, this will get you excited. Come look at this place!”

  The same markings covered the inside, except the stone floor. I would have thought I had entered another time if it weren’t for the lightbulbs, the plug sockets, the kitchen fittings. Mum glowed as she led us around the house, but it didn’t feel like home to me. It felt like a museum. A tomb.

  The tower room at the top was the only interesting part. The outward side was covered in stained-glass windows, fifteen feet high, stretching up to where the tower started to slant to its point. The light of the setting sun decorated the floor with the colours that flowed from them. As my eyes followed the colours around the room, I noticed the back wall. It had a black door embedded in the middle of it, which had to open into a cupboard behind. The door looked out of place. The kaleidoscope shades from the windows covered the wall but made no impression on the black of the door, as though it ate their light whole. It fascinated me, as if it was calling to be opened.

  “I want this room,” I said.

  “Well, tough luck because I’m having it,” Scott said.

  “I have more stuff. Besides, I’m gonna be here longer. You’ll go to college in three years, I’m stuck here for seven.”

  “He makes a strong case,” Mum said to Scott. She turned to me and winked. “The room’s yours, sweetie. Now come help me!”

  It was an hour until I could return to the room, after unloading the last boxes from the car and making camp beds downstairs for the night. Mum left to get pizza from a place we passed on the way.

  As I walked up to the tower room, my heart jumped at a rattling sound that came from within. I took the last steps cautiously; in case some intruder lay in wait. But the room was empty. Still, I felt that strange watching silence I had felt in the woods as I reached for the key that rested in the lock of the cupboard door.

  A rattling at the windows broke the stillness. Behind the coloured glass, I saw a flutter of wings. When I moved to the window, the owl calmed, watching me from a ledge outside. I walked back to the door. The owl hooted and tapped the glass with its beak. I marched over and rapped the glass.

  “Get lost!”

  With a last yellow-eyed stare, the owl flew back into the woods.

  Before anything else could interrupt, I grabbed the key and turned. It was old and stiff, but I heard it click. There was a need in me to know what was behind the strange door. Rob said this house was ancient, that it could be home to unknown wonders.

  Disappointingly, the cupboard was nothing but a black space, the size of a small bathroom. It was empty.

  A shove from behind plunged me inside. I turned to find Scott standing in the doorway.

  “Enjoy your new room, loser,” he said, slamming the door closed and turning the key.

  The total darkness was instant and terrifying. My breath sounded heavy as I panicked. I made myself inhale deeply, slowly and felt my heartbeat calm. But my breathing still didn’t sound right. It still sounded too fast, almost…. excited. Then I realized. That wasn’t my breath.

  From the corner of the dark cupboard came a low husky chuckle. I froze as I heard something start to move.

  That’s impossible, I tried to reason. The cupboard was empty.

  But I knew I wasn’t imagining it. I felt the air change as something glided towards me. I felt its hot breath near my face. I heard it sniff as it relished my scent.

  The smell of something foul and rotten on its breath brought me to my senses. I felt for the door and started kicking, screaming, the heat of the creature closing in.

  I tumbled out as the door swung open.

  “Calm down!” Scott said. “It was a jok…”

  I rushed away from the cupboard, the room, the house. I heard Scott yell in shock, but I knew the creature would pass him. It had smelled me. It wanted me.

  I ran out of the house and into the trees. The dark beneath the branches was complete. I could only hide, hoping it could not find its way either.

  But whenever I stopped, I felt its hot breath on my neck. I ran blindly, tripping until I was bruised and bloody. It got closer. As I felt the sharp edge of fingernails on my neck, I sheltered against a tree, my face to the trunk. I was too afraid to look at the monster who would hurt me.

  The creature paused, relishing the moment.

  “Leave me alone!” I cried.

  The creature laughed. A loud, joyful, jarring laugh.

  I felt the woods go still. Every rustle stopped rustling. I sensed the stare of a hundred eyes watching.

  The creature’s laugh cut off. The leaves began to rustle again but loudly now. I heard creatures snarl and howl, heard their footsteps crack on fallen twigs as they came closer. I heard the hoot of owls.

  The creature screamed. I felt a gust as it rushed back towards the house. I heard the distant sound of smashing glass.

  When I turned away from the trunk, the woods were still again.
I felt them watching but I was glad now. I realized why the trees grew up to the walls of the house. The house and the creature weren’t hiding. They were imprisoned by the woods that engulfed them, that kept the world safe.

  Scott never bothered me again. He wouldn’t talk about it, but I know he saw what lived in my cupboard and knew I had somehow defeated it.

  I’d come back to my room to find the windows smashed from something flying in. The cupboard door was pulled shut. I turned the key and have not opened the door since.

  Sometimes at night I still hear it rattle.

  The Ghost Who Couldn’t Haunt

  Story // Tricia Lowther

  * * *

  It’s Saturday night and the ghost hunters are back. Thirty of them, more than usual, all paid up to catch a glimpse of us. They saunter in and stare around the entrance hall, eager for thrills. I wave to them from my spot on the balcony, pull gruesome faces and make woo-ooh noises, but it’s pointless. They can’t see me. I’m Meg - the ghost who cannot haunt.

  They come every Friday and Saturday night. Most of them only visit once, but some are regulars. Before, our building was empty for twenty years. It was dead boring - only the occasional homeless person or buildings inspector to give the heebie-jeebies to. Then Ghostly Gatherings bought the place. They put on ‘Abandoned Orphanage Tours’ and now we get to haunt people every weekend. Or at least, the others do.

  "Coming down to get in the picture, Meg?" Flo’s curly blonde head appears next to my elbow.

  People can feel Flo. Sometimes she tugs at their hair or clothes, but that uses lots of energy, so mostly she just gives them the chills. It’s easy for her - she gets up close, breathes in deep then blows hard on their backs - they get shivers all the way up and down their spines. When they pose for the group photo, she stands behind them and sends out a few shudders to start things off. Then she and Edward follow them around and play their tricks. I go too. Even if people don’t know I’m there, it’s fun to watch.

  We can hardly believe how people dress nowadays. All the shouty clothes and colourful hair. It feels like everyone’s bigger and brighter than back in our day. It’s nearly a hundred years since I was born, I wish it had been a hundred years later. Children aren’t allowed on the ghost tours, you have to be eighteen, but sometimes they hang around outside, point up at the windows, then scream and run away.

  James, the tour guide from Ghostly Gatherings, always takes a group photograph before things gets underway, (he has a ponytail that Flo especially likes to pull). They’re all bunched together, ready. Flo and I stand in their midst. She breathes in deep, ready to frighten someone, when we hear footsteps run up the cast iron staircase from the basement. Flo rolls her eyes and mutters, “Edward!”

  The noise causes a commotion in the group. Edward can make people hear him. Behind me, one of the regulars – Glenys, she’s called, puts her hand to her heart, “Oh those poor orphans! What are they trying to tell us?”

  Edward charges into the room and does his best spooky laugh, which makes Glenys scream, and me and Flo collapse into giggles.

  Edward likes to scamper about and bang cupboard doors. Sometimes he whistles or clicks his fingers in people’s ears. He’s seven and Flo’s six, but because she died two years before him, she says she’s older, and treats him like a baby. Makes me laugh. They were ghosts a long time before I came along, but they still treat me like I’m older. Because I look and act it, I suppose. Maybe I’ll be stuck at age twelve forever.

  James lifts his arms in the air and everyone quietens.

  “Okay everybody, looks like we’re in for a fun night. Our last group photograph caused quite a stir. I’m sure some of you will have read about it in the Ainsbrook News, even got a mention in a couple of the nationals.”

  Flo nudges me in the ribs. “What’s he talking about, Meg?”

  “Shh,” I tell her, “we might find out if we listen.”

  Edward slides in next to us. The three of us often stand together and grin for the camera, even though no-one can see us.

  Glenys pulls a carefully folded newspaper page from her pocket, “I’ve got the photo here if anyone wants to see it?” She waves the piece of paper in the air, “She was stood just… here.” She jabs her finger right through my throat which makes me hiccup in surprise.

  Flo’s mouth drops open as she stares at the photograph. The headline says Grinning Ghoul Photobombs Ghostly Gathering. It’s from last week’s ghost hunt.

  Edward points, and whispers, “It’s you, Meg.”

  And there I am, on the front page of the newspaper, in the middle of the ghost hunters’ group photograph.

  “Crikey,” Flo says, “That’s a clear picture. How’d you do that then?”

  I realize I have a massive grin on my face. I think back to last week. “Well, when James lifted the camera I just thought as hard as I could - See me See me See me.” Flo and Edward stare.

  “That’s it.” I shrug.

  Edward just grins. Flo squeals. “Oh! I knew you must be able to do something! You thought they couldn’t see you, but all this time their cameras have been able to.” She squeezes my hand. “I wish I could do that.”

  James speaks again. “So! Make sure you take lots of photos tonight everybody. You never know who might show up in them.”

  I clutch Flo and Eddie’s hands and jump up and down. At last I can join in the fun. I raise my arms and stare at the camera, gruesome face at the ready.

  A Web of Nightmares

  Story // Jason Holden

  Illustration // Becky Hall

  * * *

  Marie shuffled downstairs. Her dressing gown half undone, Fortnight PJs peeking out where the cord dangled loosely.

  “Didn’t sleep well again dear?” Her mum asked kindly, pouring out tea into Marie’s favourite cup. Without waiting for an answer, she spoke again, “Spiders again was it?” Marie nodded, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and took the cup from her mum.

  She sat at the breakfast bar sipping the milky tea from her MLP cup. A bit babyish for a girl of eleven, but she loved it. She thought she might never outgrow those ponies, and that was okay. She could hear her parents in the other room. Not arguing exactly. Her mum wanted her to stay home from school, dad thought she needed to go, get back to normal.

  Marie had hardly slept for the last two weeks. She would wake up after thrashing off the covers. Thinking spiders were crawling on her, in her mouth, up her nose. Looking for a place to lay their eggs. Sometimes she could swear she saw loads of them, dashing off to the corners as she turned on the light. Sitting at the end of her bed one night, her dad told her that the egg thing was an urban myth

  “It’s against all creature’s instincts to go into something else’s mouth. Even spiders don’t want to get eaten.” That had helped a bit. Until she woke up again two nights later, an actual spider on her chest. It was only a small thing. She was not by nature, a squeamish girl, but in seconds she had convinced herself it was there to lay its eggs inside her, and she screamed. Her parents had rushed into her bedroom, dad carrying his old field hockey stick. Once he’d won trophies with that old stick, now he wielded it with only a teeny spider as an opponent. It was so embarrassing.

  “One more day.” She heard her mum say, “And, she goes to see the therapist this evening anyway, we’ll better know what to do then.”

  “Alright, one more. I’ll call work, use my last holiday.” Marie smiled into her mug. Although she wanted to go to school and see her friends again, she was happy it was her dad staying home with her. It meant hours of gaming on the PlayStation, possibly a movie marathon between naps.

  The day passed as Marie knew it would. Her dad sent her for regular naps and the rest of the day was spent chilling. PS4 and Netflix. Eventually they had to get ready and set off for the therapist appointment her mum had made. Marie was scared about being given medication that would turn her into a zombie, removing any trace of her personality just so she could sleep and function like a
“normal” girl. She almost confessed as much to her dad on the drive over but looking at him she could see he was just as scared as she was. So, she kept it to herself, stayed strong for him.

  The therapist wasn’t at all like Marie had imagined. Marie had been picturing an old man dressed all in tweed and sucking on a pipe. Whereas Dr Lutens was young and very pretty, she wore a flowery dress and spoke softly. Marie felt she could say anything. The next hour was spent chatting about almost everything. Friends, school, her parents. They touched on the spiders and the bad dreams only briefly. Marie confessed at this point that she really didn’t want pills, and Dr Lutens listened to her saying there were other things they could try.

  At the end, Marie’s dad came in and they discussed, in front of her, What Dr Lutens thought they could do.

  “I think perhaps, a pet spider might help her.” She explained that interacting with a spider more would help get rid of any unconscious fear she held for them. Marie was thrilled at the idea. She had been asking for own pet for ages now. She’d hoped for a kitten, but a spider was actually pretty cool.

  The drive home from the pet shop was quiet, most of the way. Marie sat with the spider (In its case) on her knee. Looking at it now, she wasn’t so sure about the idea. Watching it scuttle to and fro about the case made her skin crawl. Even dad kept making quick glances over at it as if expecting it to burst from the case and start running rampage round the car.

  Then suddenly he burst out laughing, “Your mum’s going to freak Marie!” Then he continued in his best mum impression, “Why on earth did you buy the girl a spider of all things? Ewww! Look at it’s eyes!” They both laughed then. Her dad laughed so hard he had to pull the car over.

  Marie’s mum was not as horrified at the spider as they thought, she even got it out of the case letting it crawl around on her. It slowly walked up her arm and sat on her shoulder.