Several weeks ago I came across a competition on the web that I thought would be kind of fun to enter… To be honest I have not written anything imaginative (non-work / business related) since school, however creative writing has always been something I would like to find time to do! Its like painting, I was not bad at arty stuff at school, however finding time these days to pick up a paintbrush seems impossible!
So the Telegraph ghost story writing competition 2010, the spec was to write a short story (under 2000 words) about ghosts… You could say my story ‘Icy Window’ was kind of rushed, I believe crammed into three nights work! And if it was not for my amazing wife and parents egging me on, I probably would not have entered!
Although I did not win this particular writing competition, I do feel the whole thing was a success, by this I mean proving that I can make the time to write amongst my busy schedule! The winners of the Telegraph ghost story writing competition were announced yesterday, congratulations to all who won, your stories are awesome! Anyway… here we are, a short ghost story written by me:
Icy Window
Setting the scene
As hailstones hammer down on the old shed roof, a street light flickers. Branches from a leafless tree connect violently against a bedroom window like fingernails on a chalkboard; a young boy hides under his duvet, unable to control his fear.
Angry outbursts of thunder result in his duvet being wrapped tighter, creating the illusion of comforting arms. Bolts of lightening light up the room, shadows dance over the walls bringing to life mysterious figures. The young boy’s only escape is to closes his eyes as he disappears further and further down into the safety of his duvet, then under his breath he offers to exchange all he loves, for this cold December night to end.
Between each echoing tick of the second hand on the wall clock, uncomfortable hours seem to pass. Each heavy gust of wind seems to tell a different story, whispering unclear but violent sentences through tiny gaps in the window frame.
Some comfort was offered in the boy’s younger sister who shared his room. Although younger, she was oblivious to the nights events, her duvet pushed aside to make room for fluffy toys, an innocent smile fixed on her face, indicating that her dreams did not reflect this young boy’s reality.
It is on this cold dark winter night that our story begins… but first we need to understand why.
Darkness comes in many shades
The story I am about to tell you should never be told during the month of December, let the festivities and the anticipation of new toys distract the young, may families reunite and find safety in numbers.
We are told from an early age that ghosts are not here to hurt us; they are simply disconcerted souls with un-finished business among the living, denied entrance into any form of afterlife. However, what we are not told is these unsettled souls can sometimes stop searching for the light and with enough time and heart ache they may forget their purpose, forget their past, or even forget their name!
It is at this point when the darkness sets in, best described as the last ray of sunlight at the days end, an eternity re-living the coldest winter night, a numbness, much, much worse than the loss of love… The darkness is neither heaven nor hell. Merely a disease of the spirit which infects, consumes and distorts what little memories of life or love remain. Like a flame which burned with such energy and passion, slowly fading away into nothingness.
Yes, ghosts may walk among us, and we at times may walk among them, these two worlds are connected by the delicate strings of time, ever so fragile, so different but alike, so close but so far, and it is when these two worlds merge that we often find consequence. December being the month that one such soul, infected with darkness found new light in the pain of another…
The morning after the storm
Following a turbulent night the young boy awakes to a cold winter’s day, a robin sings at the top of its voice looking in from the once aggressive branch that attacked his window. Wrapping a dressing gown around his cold body he walks towards the robin, hair disorderly, eyelids heavy from lack of sleep, he reaches his destination and looks out at the world.
Rubbing what life he could into his left eye he notices the robin had fallen silent! Perched outside, it sits motionless, looking in at the boy for a few seconds before darting off down an empty street blanketed in snow.
Amongst a mixture of ice and condensation on the cold glass window, the young boy notices a message in-scripted by tiny fingers. It read ‘come outside and play’… the boy stood confused before turning to wake his younger sister, but to his surprise she had already gone!
“MUM! DAD!” the boy calls out at the top of his voice, slightly unsettled with vivid memories from the night passed. The boy turns to face a once noisy wall clock, “BANG!” a snowball hits the glass window causing his heart to miss a beat, he slowly starts to smile in anticipation of the days events.
He walks cautiously back to the window, to see what looks like his sister making various shapes in the snow outside. For a split second he questions, is it really 10am? Where are Mum and Dad? How long had his sister been out playing for? Answers were needed… but none as urgent as his coat, warmest jumper and woolly gloves so he may join her outside.
Like a tornado the young boy moves from one corner of the room to the other, over excitingly collecting various items in his path. He dresses himself in record time before taking one last glance out the icy window.
His sister looks up, dressed from head to toe in bright red, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and face, only her eyes could be seen beneath a large woolly hat that seemed to drown her! She waves her arms, signifying he should get a move on, then turns and walks without urgency in the direction of the park.
In the corner of his eye he notices the writing on the icy window had started to disappear, although still visible, it had become distorted by a network of water, travelling down a glassy plain like floods of tears. No real attention was made to what moments ago read ‘come outside and play’ now reading ‘come die and stay’.
Dressed in his warmest clothes the young boy pushes open his front door. A deep breath filling his lungs with ice cold air, he then exhales what looks like a thick cloud of smoke. In his minds eye, the young boy instantly feels much older and stronger; visions of a cowboy smoking a cigar before a gun fight inspire him.
Like a wild hunter he starts to track footsteps in the snow, these giving some indication as to which direction his sister had gone, he knew a short walk would lead him to the park where she had earlier declared war.
His feet waded through ankle deep snow and within seconds he had passed through cast iron rusty gates in hot pursuit. Once in the park he notices a red figure in the distance, surely this was his sister! He throws himself behind the nearest tree, arming himself with two or more perfectly formed snowballs. From tree to tree he moves, doing his upmost to remain invisible and retain the element of surprise.
Now only moments away from unleashing his attack, a realisation kicks in that the little girl is standing on what appears to be part of the frozen lake! Panic and worry consume the boy as he drops the snowballs he had intended to throw… “STOP!” he yells out, gloved hands either side of his mouth to help project his voice… “DON’T GO ANY FURTHER!” However the young girl continued to venture further and further onto the icy lake.
The young boy had no option but to follow, to make sure she was safe! Head down he steps cautiously out onto the ice, each footstep a well calculated move to ensure both their safety, the park seemed deadly silent, apart from the occasional sound of ice straining and cracking under pressure.
After twelve careful steps the young boy finally reaches her, his arm extends to touch her shoulder… She turns to face him… “CRACK!” the ice disappears from beneath his feet! Within the blink of eye the boy finds himself in a strange, unfamiliar world, his body weighed down by heavy clothing, shoes filled with icy water making it impossible to kick!
Looking up from beneath the ice, he sees his sister peering down from the dry world above. For a split second the boy embraces the silence and weightlessness of this new world, but his attention is immediately pulled back towards his sister who stands motionless; with no sense of urgency or panic.
He looks again, this time much closer at her eyes, the icy window floating effortlessly above slightly distorted with frozen leaves, mud and sticks. The young girl falls to one knee, moving her head closer and closer to his icy tomb. It was then the boy realised he did not recognise her… It was not his sister!
The eyes looking back down at him seemed vacant of emotion, radiating such pain; large black pupils re-play scenes of the angry branch attacking his bedroom window… Taking one final gasp of water, his eyes still transfixed on the stranger above, he silently fades away into the darkness below.
After his death, many years passed, flowers and prayers graced the lakeside and countless lessons were learnt. It is however said, that on the coldest December night, a ghost in the state of darkness will find light from the living to heal their own pain… The young girl who led that boy to his icy grave may have escaped, however when the light and memories slowly fade away, it will be his ghost luring innocent souls to take his place in the darkness, behind that icy window.
Written by Michael Jon Ward – November 2010
