07/03/2014 Tamsyn Murray

The house at the end of the street looked quite ordinary, at first glance. It had four windows, each wearing fussy net curtains, a sturdy blue front door and flower-filled hanging baskets on either side of the porch. The number thirteen glittered in the morning sunlight. If it hadn’t been for the two stone lions at the edge of the driveway, I might have continued on my way to school and never noticed anything unusual at all.

I’d seen a few statues in my time, even visited the those big lions in Trafalgar Square, so I knew what they should look like; grey and heavy, as though they wouldn’t topple over in the wind. Their eyes weren’t normally a burning, crimson red. And they didn’t tend to blink. Not ever.

At first, I thought I’d imagined it...


Views: 99

Comment by Nicola Gowing on March 7, 2014 at 9:57

But, as I continued thinking It had to be true... Then again, every other time I had walked by them with my friends, we never noticed what I saw… Oh! Except that one time when Carolina suggested to play dares and Chantelle had to take a selfie next to one of the statues. She chose the one on the right, with a purple tie around his neck…  Chantelle tried tricking us into thinking the statue had a nickname on it... I mean come on? Who would think a statue had a nickname especially Selfie, That was just too wired!

 “MEGAN!” Shouted the grumpy old P.E teacher, “You’re fifteen minutes late!” Who did she think she was, shouting at me? My parents don’t even shout at me. I sat in the corner of the changing rooms, crying... As Miss Norton walked in, I stood up and ran for my bag and pretended to get changed. Carolina and Chantelle walked home with me, I asked Chantelle to go on her phone to play Flappy Birds. I had to be sneaky and have a look to see if she still had the selfie with the statue and she did.. I sent it to myself over Bluetooth, then gave her the phone back.

When I got to my room I took my phone out and printed the picture out. It was so unusual, it was like playing  spot the difference. There was something different about the picture but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it..

By Megan Norton, Carolina Carvalho and Chantelle Copping.

Great Yarmouth High School U.K

Friday, 7th March 2014

Comment by janet dowey on March 7, 2014 at 10:34

I continued staring at the photo for the best part of half an hour, trying to figure out what was wrong with the photo, and then, with rising horror and disbelief, I found out what it was, and the reason made me freeze into position like water freezing over to become ice in sub-zero temperature. My breath caught in my throat and my heart seemingly stopped beating. I studied the photo very carefully, picking out every detail. I saw me, standing there next to the stone lion, with my left arm around its muscular neck and my right arm outstretched to take the photo. My blonde hair, fastened into two drooping braids, were hanging down my shoulders, and I was in my sea-green blazer and purple tie - well, I should have been wearing the purple tie, but I had wrapped it around the Lion's neck. My face was pale and my blue eyes were flashing, my pink-lipped mouth curled into a mischevious grin, and the stone Lion next to me... It looked the same, made from rough grey stone that was covered in astounding details too realistic to be those of even the best carpenter, and one of its forepaws (the right one) was lifted up from its stone plinth and was dangling almost limply, the short grey stubs of claws glinting. Its face was no longer solemn: it was a mask of pure hatred. A grimace. A growl. A SNARL. Grooves picked out the creases in its stone forehead and under its sunken eyes, and its grey-lipped jaws were gaping to reveal long, grey teeth like daggers against a black throat. But its eyes, its sunken eyes, were glowing with a blazing crimson light with no whites or pupils, and this light was like the sizzling embers from a bonfire. And the glaring, blazing red eyes were full of Evil. But not just any Evil. Pure, Malevolent, Violent Evil...

By Dylan Wright, Unity City Academy, Middlesbrough, United Kingdom

Comment by janet dowey on March 7, 2014 at 10:45

They blinked right in front of me I thought it might of been my imagination so I carried on with my walk to school and the woman who bought the house was looking at me. I felt quite freaked out. I was late going to school and my teacher bellowed at me and gave me half an hour to stay. when I was doing my detetion I got thinking about that house and why she was starring at me. I took it upon my self to knock on the door and asked why she starred at me . There was no reply so I knocked again but harder and this old hag opened the door and pulled me in and that was the last thing I saw.

Adam Stephens Unity City Academy  

Comment by Annette Bowles on March 7, 2014 at 11:43

The blazing light shone down at me as I once again tried to regain full conciousness. My body ached as fear surged through my veins. I tried to move but the weight of metallic shackles resisted my struggles.

  I turned my attention to the rest of the room, as I realised I was not alone. My brain was too hazy to notice before hand, but I was surrounded by hundreds of others, shackled just like me.

Written by Alex, Imogen, Freya, Sam and Faye

Lynn Grove High School

Comment by Vashti Turner on March 7, 2014 at 12:58

My heart was racing rapidly; it felt as if it was unstoppable. It was like a huge wave of fear toppling over me and urged my head under. I couldn't breathe, my lungs were scarred. The distinct smell was atrocious and reminded me of when we pass the dustbins on to way to school. I studied my surroundings and saw children crying in a pool of tears while others were trying to escape the shackles with their shivering hands. Petrified, I looked around me and saw a massive room painted in deep red provoking the danger the room seemed to withhold. I searched for the old women who led me here but I couldn't see her. Cautious, I took several steps forward towards a panic-stricken girl, companionless crouching on the floor.

“Hey?” I asked, trying to captivate her attention. She raised her head and had what seemed like a sizzling burn on her face. Her weakened body language suggested she was traumatized.  Soused in fatigue, I helped her stand and she introduced herself.

“I’m Cheryl” she stated. “I’ve lost my sister and I have no clue what’s going on,” she added, drying her tears.

“How did you get here?” I questioned curiously.

“I knocked on the door and some old hag violently seized my hand and I ended up here, in this dreadful place,” she explains in a shaky voice. “You?” she asks.

“Yeah, pretty much the same as you.”

“So, what happens now?” we say simultaneously.

Lily Palmer, Bacon’s College, London

Comment by Tricia Oyston on March 7, 2014 at 14:07

I noticed that one of Cheryl’s fingers were missing. She must have spotted me looking, because she muttered, with a voice full of sorrow,

“They took my ring. My Great-Grandmother left it to me in her will. It is my most precious possession – both sentimentally and in terms of money that I have – or had.” She wiped a silent tear away, and flinched as a cut on her knuckle brushed her skin. I choked back a sob at the emotion in her voice, and the expression in her small, round face. She was barely eight years old, and already had felt so much melancholy, and witnessed so much that she shouldn’t have. I quickly checked that my pendant was still hanging around my neck.

 It wasn’t.

I fell to my knees, clutching at the air where it had once been. Now I couldn’t hold back the sadness, and quietly started to weep. I was not, by nature, a quiet girl though, and I soon heard my sobs getting louder, as the thought grew in my mind and took over my grasp on reality.

From the pits of despair, I looked up into a young, scared, innocent face, and knew that I had to compose myself. I must appear strong, and bury my misery.

Drawing myself up I took the little girl by the hand, and told her in a confident voice

“Come with me. We’re going to find your ring.” And my pendant I thought. I now had a burning passion to rescue the missing jewellery, a mission which must be fulfilled.


Florence J.  Morgan W.  7V  Sheffield High School

Comment by Simone Pope on March 7, 2014 at 15:05
Her sweaty palm pressing into mine, I felt determined, yet unsure, how I would succeed. The problem was… we can all very well succeed in retrieving our lost jewellery, but how were we going to get out! Not really thinking anything through, I stormed forward; yanking at the handle flung open the crimson red door. Petrified, I fell back, hauling Cheryl down with me, as a thousand pixies flew into our faces. Unfortunately, as if these pixies weren’t bad enough, they were riding on the back of vampire bat- blood dripping of the fangs and onto the coarse wood floor. Cheryl squealed, thrusting her arm into the air her finger pointing to one specific pixie. I rolled my eyes… had she not noticed the other 999 pixies! Suddenly, I realised what she was looking at, it wasn’t the pixie, and it was what the pixie was holding…

Grasped in its hand was the ring and pendant! Rapidly, I scrambled up and leaped into the air, attempting to snatch them. I failed miserably. Noticing they had gone forward I ran to catch them up...BANG. I had tripped over something…someone. I sat myself up, blinked, then studied what lay before my eyes. It was enormous fat man, dressed in all red, with a fluffy white material all around his head. At first I thought that this was cotton wool, then I realise that it was a beard.
“It’s Santa!” screeched Cheryl, directly into my ear.
“Oh my gosh, It is!” I yelled back, “Maybe he can help us!”
“Umm excuse me sir,” began Cheryl, but she was soon interrupted by Santa’s deep chuckling.
“It’s a bit early for Christmas, isn’t it?” mumbled Santa, “What do you want little girls?”
“We want to get out of here, preferable with all the stuff we came in with!” I shouted, not thinking about what words were escaping from my mouth.
“Oh that’s easy,” laughed Santa, “first I will get your belongings,” his arm shot into the air and snatched the jewellery from the startled Pixie and passed them to us. “Now we leave, follow me.” He led us to the door I had previously opened; I stared down into the black pit of nothing.
“Are you sure this is the exit?” stuttered Cheryl.
“Absolutely certain,” replied Santa, in an unsure manner. And at that, he grabbed our hands and we all stepped out into the black pit of nothing…

Sarah Johnson and Imogen Shedden, Woolmer Hill School

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