The Beach

The sun was shining warmly making the sand gleam like gold dust.

The rock pools were alive with cockle shells and crabs.

The black, beautifully shining shag sat on the rocky cliffside.

Boats were gliding swiftly on the waves, far out to sea.

A lighthouse far up the clifftop was sparkling In the sun’s warm bright light.

The sky was bright blue with no clouds as far as the eye could see, and the long grasses on the sand dunes were waving madly in the brisk wind.

All was silent until you could hear the faint sound of people shouting from the clifftop, and the cries of the sandwich terns skimming and diving beneath the waves, the smell of the sea salt and seaweed drifted past in the brisk wind.

Sea Journey

As the boat sails along the trail of foam that it has made by the thrashing waves. The sea turns black like charcoal and ripples and glistens, the sun shines a burning ray of light across the still calm sea.

Oh, I wish I was back in England already, because the weather gets misty and dusky as the journey went on, and the sea breezes are cold, and I’m gazing out to sea to see the French cliffs and harbour lights.

The Spell

Liver of a poisoned snake mix it well and boil and bake, in our cauldron stir it well, and that’s our spell for us to sell.

Eye of wolf and tongue of lizard, stir it round and make a blizzard.

Heart of horse and lung of fish goes splashing into our big dish.

Eye of wolf and tongue of lizard stir it round and make a blizzard.

Eels sting and howlets wing, with them, bring the jungle king.

Eye of wolf and tongue of lizard stir it round and make a blizzard.

Frogs legs, a cockroach or two, stir it together and make a perfect brew. Mash it and grill it and serve it up with bugs, then top it off with black slimy slugs.

Eye of wolf and tongue of lizard stir it round and make a blizzard.

Witches

At the witch’s flight at night, everything was dark and the dogs did bark. The wind was blowing and the tap was overflowing, at the witches’ flight at night.

The lightning fell all around me glistening in the moonlight, the witches came out and made their flight, with golden lightning all around them in the still night air.

The forest walk

The forest walk started long and hard, with branches and thistles everywhere, the heat travels through the misty glen.

The middle was the easy bit striding along in front of the others and seeing the cliffs and gorges of the mountains and the rushing tumbling water through the trees.

We find a bird as it flies like a butterfly, flapping its wings and showing its wing-span, showing its slender red wings.

The journey was easy to start back but got slower and longer as the trail goes on. We get to the forest glen where we climb stones and soil to get to the grassy glistening open air where we see trees and habitats of wildlife galore.

Getting lost in a wood as big as this is imaginable with flags for groups of orienteers, it was easy for us to explore off-trail. At last, we find it and follow downhill, fording a stream and climbing more rocks and boulders.

We make our way back to camp where beer and ice cream beckon.

Wildlife

Wildlife everywhere we go in the forest, the dark deep forest, it captures wonderful fast and graceful animals, such as fox, deer, and beautiful birds of prey that circle the sky, and catches fish beneath the water with its great claws and doesn’t let it go.

Animals are wonderful, they live in every place, jungle, desert, and every natural environment such as yours and mine, and when the dinosaurs could roam free.

The River

The river is a smooth-scaled snake slipping down the river to the sea below.

Where the wind does blow, over stones and under trees.

Cunningly the snake has an apportionment to make.

But on a stormy night, he curves his tongue and overflows, like some beast, thinking he’s got a feast.

School

Uncreative

I felt uncreative when I started school I couldn’t do my work

Ugh! I didn’t like my teachers very much yuck.

Creative

I felt creative on the 5^th of November it was a Friday see

Wow! We were writing a poem in class yeah!

Monsters

monsters, monsters everywhere I can see, in the cellar in the attic, everywhere. I can see through the static and every corner of the house, and everywhere around me, while I drink my tea, the great big house which is as silent as a mouse.

The darkest night there ever was for all eternity, so dark in the night air, through all those centuries of death and destruction, he waits, the bogey man waits.

‘Right then sunshine’, the policeman growled, as his gnarled hand clasped around my
shoulder, ‘we’ll be having no more of your fun and games’. I literally felt like I jumped out of
my skin. I looked back at the policeman, he was tall, with slicked back short hair and had a
funny ‘Hitler esque’ moustache, whether he meant to or not.
‘Sorry, wrong person, you haven’t seen another of your kind around here, have you?’ he
said not sounding sorry. ‘No’ I said apologetically. The policeman moved off and I sighed in
huge relief, after the running, slipping and tripping I’d finally lost him. I did think to myself,
what did he mean my kind? I know what I would like to do to ‘his kind’, being dark skinned
in this day and age is not a crime.
The year 1989 and with all the upheaval of moving from a rural town to the cosmopolitan
city, I’m finding it a little hard to adjust. The smells, noise and sights are just overwhelming.
From the fast food to the noisy betting shops, I mean apart from the fact I had to move here
to work, who would come here otherwise?
The job wasn’t much, it was just another office job, but another office job with better
benefits, a company vehicle and my own cubicle, at last, no more having to share a phone
bank with other people’s bad habits and sticky elbows. The manager was alright too, he
would check on your welfare occasionally, but he had a different quirk, unfortunately he
had sticky hands, the ones that would stick to your body, thinking about it is making me
cringe, he is old enough to be my father.
As new to the city I decided to take in the sights of the more cultural aspects and ended up
at the museums and art galleries, loving it so far. Walking down by the Thames after a few
nights getting to know the area I came across what looked like a denim jacket covered in
various badges of the time with a huge blood stain on it, the jacket was worn and the stain
was dark red, my mind is moving fast and my heart almost skips a beat, where’s the jackets
owner? are they still alive? this is a lot of blood.
A noise not far away brings my panicked brain back to reality, looking up, I see in the
distance something floating on the top of the water, going up to see I almost retch, it’s a
body, gnarled and twisted, with wrinkled features and a big chest wound that has congealed
in the water, the smell is vile, like an open sewer. Resisting the urge to be sick I race off to
find someone in authority, clutching the blood-soaked jacket in my hands I run past
homeless crack heads down alley ways, and teenage boys either on BMX bikes or
skateboards, they shout at each other as they rush past me on the pavement.
The police station was crowded, it was a Friday night, lots of people were jockeying for
position, I nearly get crushed by the crowd, eventually reaching the desk sergeant.
‘Help me please, I found this down by the water, and there was a dead person not far from
it.’
Looking desperately into the sergeants’ eyes I realise it was the policeman from earlier, this
is not good.
‘A blood-soaked jacket, I take it this isn’t yours’
‘No, I just brought it for evidence’
‘So, you had nothing to do with the death of this person?’
‘No, I’m new to the area, I’m scared and you really think that’s motivation for killing
someone?’
‘People have been killed for less’
‘Well, I didn’t do it’
Another head appeared from out of the background and spoke up. ‘Knock it off Sergeant’,
‘She clearly didn’t do this’.
I handed it to the other man, who was clearly a detective, as he was wearing plain clothes
with his badge on his belt buckle.
I was asked to show him where I found it and where the body was. The detective was kind
and said I had nothing to worry about. Thank God, my heart had skipped many beats, and I
won’t forget that smell in a hurry. Only problem is that the perpetrator was unknown and
there is someone following me, looking into a shop reflection I pause, is that my new
manager behind me?

The wind blew the branches in the tree and rustled the green leaves, the sound drowned out the nearby road noise.

She loved watching the leaves blowing, it was like they were dancing to a tune only known to them.

The sights and sounds of the wood on a spring day was a chirpy one, the birds sang in unison and the animals ferreted in the undergrowth. The sun shone brightly through the branches and cast shadows on to the uneven paths for the people to walk on.

The people, they were big creatures wearing lots of clothing and occasionally carrying a lot of bags, they would sit down and talk to others, occasionally lighting fires and leaving their rubbish, she hated that, why do people litter such a beautiful place with rotten plastic, If she were human she would put a stop to that.

Flora was a fairy, not to be mixed up with pixies or nymphs, nymphs were horrid things that snuck about grubby pools of water and sucked all the water out, so only the muddy patches were left, people had to walk round them and occasionally they crushed her beautiful flowers.

Pixies on the other hand lived in the trees, they could be quite abrasive and rude, but they always just admitted they were honest, too honest if you asked others. They mainly blended into the background and lived in hollow trees, but occasionally they came to the stream where she lived.

Fairies lived in the river bank, if you see the holes that’s them, and at night their little wings would light up when they flew, like stars zooming between the tall trees and lighting up the flowers and river bank.

This particular day Flora had been following a group people and found that they had children who were very bouncy and friendly, even though in her eyes they were ugly, but all people were ugly to her.

She watched them from a distance playing with their toys. Flora was curious so tried to get closer.

The little girl was unsteady on her feet and even more so on this uneven ground, she went to kick something and she toppled backwards landing on her bum, startled by the jolt she started to cry.

The sound filled the glen with a noise never experienced before or since, flora covered her ears from the screeching wailing noise coming from the little girl.

The mother thankfully picked her up and tried to soothe her and more or less at once the noise died down.

Flora relaxed and smiled at the contented baby in her mother’s arms.

Just behind them Flora noticed something else going on, somebody was carving initials into an old tree, she was shocked, never had she seen people actually do it before. Occasionally people would when there was no-one else around, one day they would just pop up and the pixies would be angry and frustrated, their beloved trees had been defiled, but alas they couldn’t undo it.

RB & ST forever, she wondered what it meant, all she knew is that the pixies were going to be annoyed and chatter all night about it, she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep now.

She heard the people talking and laughing about it, she actually found the whole thing quite funny, but she knew she shouldn’t, no-one should anger the gods.

The gods to the woodland realm were not physical beings but the elements, the weather. If you crossed mother nature you could evoke a storm, hail or big winds that would knock the pixies off their high branches. She didn’t like to see them battered and bruised, they could look so pitiful and miserable.

The group of people had obviously had their fill of sitting and talking and had decided to start packing up, the mother had also put the child back on the ground, Flora saw her chance to get much closer and had decided to make a beeline for the little girl, she glided over to a large stone and perched herself on the edge to get a better view, the little girl was wearing a pink dress with flowers on it, so Flora decided to pick a nearby flower and present it to the girl, the minute the girl saw Flora float over with a flower not dis-similar to the one on her dress, she smiled, giggled and took the flower from the fairy, Flora smiled and a look went between them that neither would ever forget.

Just then the mother picked her up and put her in backpack, the girl was still smiling and looking around for Flora as they left to go further into the woods.

Looking around Flora could now see the damage they had left behind, plastic bottles and the embers of a dying fire, what a shame, and a minute later the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down, it put out the fire. Serves them right, now they will get very wet she thought, the gods were clearly not happy.

Flora and the flower girl

By Ellie Burton

The jewel encrusted condors flying high above her were sparkling on the haze of the mid day sun, and the beach beckoned her many miles away on the horizon.
It was so calming to be out here among the swaying dunes and the occasional bird sweeping overhead, no hustle and bustle from the city, speed racers and noisy market vendors.
May was standing on a rocky outcrop and was looking towards the beach through her binoculars. The condors were further away now and just glint of red flashed in front of the sun.
May kept on walking towards the beach and by the time she got there and sat down on her towel she had sand everywhere, from in her boots to her hair, but it was worth it. The sun beat down on her like it was trying to cook her, bake her into submission, and her bikini was glowing bright blue, it almost matched the sky.
She felt good lying there in her bikini, her slim tall body made her look like an athlete and her long curly purple hair could be likened to a film stars.
The best bit about this particular beach is that it was completely private, no tourists or lifeguards running round with red trunks on, nothing to distract her, the only sound was the rippling of the waves on the shoreline. After a paddle and a few selfies, vain she knew, but she didn’t do it often, she headed back to the chalet, her back to the sea.
Some way away she could make out a vehicle of some type coming towards her at some speed, she quickly put on her shirt and tied her hair back before the occupiers of the craft saw her. It came into view closer, it was a dune hopper with 2 men inside it. People mainly used dune hoppers to shoot birds from or hover above the water and use it as a fishing boat.
They grinned as they pulled up beside her, they both had nice smiles, short hair and they were both wearing khakis and brandishing shot guns, big ones,
‘ Hi there’
one of them said with glistening blue eyes and a smooth caramel tone to his voice. She smiled back from underneath her sunglasses.
‘ Have you seen and condors or albatrosses in the area?’
he asked politely with a thousand watt smile.
‘No sorry’ she replied not wanting to admit that she had, she didn’t approve of the gunners, they mainly did it for the jewels and would leave the birds to rot.
‘ Never mind, maybe we’ll get lucky’
the other said with a smirk on his face looking her up and down, she wasn’t in the mood to flirt today and looked away.
‘ Thanks anyway’
one of them yelled as they sped away towards to the hazy blue line of the seashore.
May pressed on until she got back to her chalet, it was what she imagined when she turned up there a couple of days before, just an expensive looking hut on a beach, it had a balcony with a hammock and a thatched roof, good job it didn’t rain here much.
May unlocked the door and went inside, everything was exactly how she had left it except, maybe it was her imagination, but there was a lot more sand on the floor now than before she left, slightly puzzled but not too fazed by it she had a shower and put on the stove for dinner, looking outside the sun had set and the sky was navy blue, the stars twinkled like sequins on a dress. As far as she could tell the wind had not picked up and everything was still and calm, not a hint of anything but her in her cabin, drinking wine and cooking her fish.
After her dinner May went to check out the TV in the bedroom and eat her chocolate in bed, as she looked down at her feet more sand seemed to have accumulated on the floor beneath her, noticing the floor in every room was the same, it was in the sink and on the bed, unnerved a little bit by it she tried clawing it off the bed sheets, dusting it onto the floor, not noticing it piling up in mounds like ant hills on the wooden floor.
She had got most of it off the bed and relaxed into the bed watching TV and eating her chocolate.
By the morning there was nothing, no bed, no sink, no chalet, no May, like the waves the chalet and it’s contents had vanished with the tides, and had sank beneath the sand with no trace, all was still, all was calm.

As the gloomy grey clouds descended the garden looked dull and unloved, the once pride of the county roses looked like they were in mourning for the sun.
Lily as her name suggests was a pretty little girl, blonde, naïve and a little bit cheeky, She was 8 years old.
She lived at the manor house, with her mind, really old people, this would suggest that they were in their 90’s, but actually her aunt and uncle were in their mid 40’s and still had all their own teeth.
Lily loved the gardens, especially when they were in bloom and the pretty bright colours shone when the light hit them, and the smell was glorious.
Lily was sometimes curious and would forget where her parents were and why she lived with her aunt and uncle, and was always told the same thing, when your old enough we will tell you, that was all well and good, but when would that be?.
The manor house was something quite spectacular, it was situated in the Somerset levels somewhere near Taunton, but hidden away from prying eyes. It was more than a hop, skip and a jump away from a main road and had quite a few number of hectares of land, it comprised of a tennis court, stables, a croquet lawn and the infamous rose gardens, which stood proud and defiant against all weathers, and little girls who would try to pick them, they would fight back by having very pointy thorns on their storks, so she would cry if she tried.
There were all sorts of different types as well according to Reg the gardener, from damask to climbing roses, all looked different and with different aromas, the whole place came alive in the warm spring weather. But there was one in particular that was lily’s favourite, according to Reg it was a rambling rose called ‘the fairy’. It would normally be found decorating the archway into the garden and was gorgeously pale pink with a yellow centre, and looked very dainty and light, even though it was a ‘ vigorous grower’ according to Reg.
She wanted to remember all the different types of roses but she realised quite soon that her little brain couldn’t cope with too much information like that, plus she couldn’t pronounce the Latin names of them even if she tried.
Today was special, the annual county show people were coming round to inspect the roses before picking their favourites to exhibit for the show, a highly prestigious event that the adults loved, Lily didn’t care, they were just not taking her favourite.
After afternoon tea and a walk around the rest of the gardens the committee ended up at the rose garden, and were suitably impressed with what they saw, even though the weather today could have been nicer there was no drop of rain or a cool breeze, everything was still and warm for a spring afternoon.
The committee comprised of 3 women and 1 man, they looked around the same age as her family, all old of course. The women all wore pastel shades and flower brooches, they had soft features and they all had their hair tied back like in an old film, and the man wore a dickey bow and had a funny little moustache. They all sounded very posh.
They talked softly, almost a whisper, she could hear lots of oohs and aahs and a lot of nodding heads and pointing fingers towards the different variety of roses, they were smiling and everything seemed to be going well.
As the roses were being picked by Reg for the purposes of making a display for the show, Lily noticed a little squeaky noise when they were cut, like a tiny scream, it unnerved her a little and she asked Reg what the noise was,
‘Why it’s a soul of an angel of course’
he said with a smirk on his face, Lily wasn’t sure what to make of this, in a way it was nice to know that there were angels all around, but why were they in the flowers?. Reg explained that when someone good lives in the house that dies their souls get transferred into the flowers by magic, and that randomly her favourite flowers on the archway were her parents, he then laughed and went back to his pruning. She thought that it could have been a silly joke, he did have a weird sense of humour, but suppose it was true, Lily shuddered a little as she heard more ‘screaming’ from a distance.

She looked up at the imposing building, the eye sore of the area.
The block of flats was a good 7 storeys high which looked not in the best state of repair, the moss was seeping from between the concrete infrastructure and the corners under the balconies were slowly crumbling away, but it was cheap and she could afford it.
It reminded her of a great battle ship, built of sturdy stuff, lots of small windows, and that horrible grey colour that merges in with the colour of the grey skies above. It was cold too, not the nicest day to see it in, but hopefully her mobile would get some decent photos, even in the low light.
Beth felt the idea of living up 4 flights of this cement block quite daunting. Then she remembered why she was seeing it, she wanted a flat she could call her own, she could do what she liked with it and a mortgage would be so much cheaper than staying renting.
The stair way was large and efficient, painted white with a black hand rail, but with good wide steps, at least they weren’t steep, 4 flights of the latter would kill her, quiet quickly.
After a lot of huffing and puffing, she was catching her breath when her future neighbour came out of her door looking Beth up and down.
‘ You’ll be wanting the key to see around then’
she said as deadpan as you can get, Beth could see her being a challenge, with her hair still in curlers and the smell of a sweet sickly perfume, it haloed her like a ring of smoke.
‘Thanks’
Beth said taking the key from her and giving her a half smile.
Inside the flat was dusty and smelt of a second hand bookshop. The layout was nice, a large area of kitchen and living/dining room at the rear with an arch between the two, a good double bedroom to the right at the front, with a bathroom between the bedroom and kitchen and a room slightly bigger than a box room with a single bed and wardrobe in it on the left side as you came in, despite the aesthetics it was a nice flat, good size and a nice view on the balcony off the kitchen. The town never looked so pretty, and at least she had this space to sit out and sit in the sun.
The décor was a lot to be desired, unless you liked proper vintage it wasn’t for you, certain pieces were nice, the furniture was looked as sturdy as the building did and in high gloss mahogany with short stumpy legs, that was most of the pieces explained. She figured the furniture was built around the same time as the building, in the 1970’s. The walls would take some steaming as most of the flat was wallpaper of an orange and brown nature in funky patterns on most of the walls, and the kitchen was full of out dated white goods, it was definitely do-able.
A noise behind her made her jump, the record player had jumped into life, ‘you are my sunshine’ sprung up loud and filled the quiet space. She looked towards the window as the mist in the light mixed with the dust in the air, she thought of gold confetti at a wedding in the sun, a whoosh of memory flooded her head, memories of getting married outside all saints church, family all around and the sun streaming in her eyes, so all she could see was the confetti floating in the air before crashing onto the path, it missed falling on her completely, it was such a beautiful memory, it’s a shame it wasn’t hers.
Beth slightly taken aback turned and went to look in the bedroom and turned off the record player on the way. The bedroom was nice and big with a king size bed, a chest of drawers and wardrobe, all in good condition and mahogany, again. Beth felt a tingling feeling whilst sitting on the bed and had a whoosh again, her head was spinning, as she looked around she could see children laughing and running in and out of rooms and bunting was attached to the tops of the door frames. The room had come alive, it was no longer dusty but bright and clean, not a cobweb in sight and the flat felt alive with joy and happiness, a warm feeling flooded her body, she just felt so happy and contented.
Beth closed her eyes again and woke up in the dusty version once more, feeling sad, she wanted to feel that happy again. Getting up she walked into the box room and sat down on the pink shiny blanket that covered it, the next whoosh she got was sad, it wasn’t the happiness and joy from the other bedroom she felt, it was loss and sadness, looking down she realised she was crying with no idea why, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, the overwhelming sense of pain and anger was too much for her and she closed her eyes hoping it would go away, and she would be back in the present. It worked and she took a huge sigh of relief and shaked off the moment wiping her eyes.
Beth realised that despite the emotions of that room the others were of joy and it would feel nice to live here, she felt as if she had made the right choice.
She stepped outside the flat and turned to post the key back next door when it opened on her ‘ Have the key back, I’ve made my mind up’
She said to the young woman standing there, not the stern looking old woman from earlier but a younger woman with softer features, freckles and smile.
‘Good I’m glad someone new will be moving in, the people that lived there before were nice too, at least until the little girl got ill, it went a bit down hill from there, it was a shame’
‘It does feel very nice in there, mostly calm, I like it, although the walls might need some paint, when did all this happen’
‘Last month’
‘That recent?!’
‘Yes, why, oh and the local painter and decorator did that about 2 years ago, you know to keep up to date with current trends’
‘Current, what year is this building in’
Beth said with half a smile
‘1976 of course, we have always been slightly behind everyone else I know, but what can you do about that’. ‘Nice to meet you, good luck with flat stuff’
Walking away Beth wondered if she had bought that place, signed on the dotted line, that she would’ve been stuck in 1976 too, what a thought she quietly said to herself, as she checked her internet connection on her phone.

The clouds were drawing in and the wind was picking up, he knew he would have to batten down the hatches and get ready for the storm.
Storms on Bangor were legendary for their ferociousness but also for being spectacular, the colourful spectacle would be seen across the galaxy. Some one had likened them to the northern lights of earth, just brighter and faster moving. For Jack it was a highlight of the year, like the fireworks they had on a solstice.
His little farm was on the edge of the only big city on Bangor and mainly contained sheep and chickens, he had heard years ago that the scientists had tried making a genetic hybrid of the 2, god knows what that may have looked like, and Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to know really.
He started to put his animals in their respective huts and locked doors ready, so they were comfortable and not to freaked out throughout the storm.
As he pulled down and locked the last window he could hear a low rumble of thunder and started looking through the window getting excited, and in every direction hoping to catch a glimpse of the first colour hurtling through the atmosphere or between the clouds.

As the wind picked up he could hear whistling coming from the trees, that meant that it was moving quite quickly, as normally the trees omitted a low hum or purr.
The colours changed as they fluttered past, the purples and blues blended into each other and the pink centre faded into swirls, slowly more colours lit up the sky, yellows and greens started to appear, all the while the whistling of the wind became out of tune and almost deafening at times. The animals had gone into hiding and the people were nowhere to be seen, apart from the raging storm on the surface and in the air not one mammal or other ventured out into the night.

This went on into the early hours of the morning, after the sun had rose the wind and whistling had died down. The racing colours had slowed down to a crawl and the bright yellow sun peeked out from a red cloud bathing the whole planet in an orange glow. The animals and birds started waking up, and coming out of hidey holes in the foliage above and below the trees.
The people started moving and doing things again and Jack walked out into the landscape basking in the new day, it was like walking out after a sandstorm, everything had moved and yet everything was also still and hazy, like when they show people walking slowly in films-just without the big bang behind them.
He picked up a few twigs that were scattered close by and threw them back in towards the bushes and thought back to the storm, that was incredible, a shame about the devastation that it brought with it because it really was worth seeing.

As I turned round the corner at work I jumped as a moth fluttered past me, what an idiot, deep breath, move on.
The sky outside had turned dark, not black with stars, just dark. The smog from the city meant the sky was devoid of description. I put on my big comfy warm coat and ventured into the night, with my trusty torch light bouncing off the concrete floors and brick walls, what a night to go ghost hunting.
There were several of us there, all in big coats and ready for the off. Walking to the cemetery on a cold dull night was definitely atmospheric, and a few friends huddled together for warmth.
When we got there there was a rather marvellous big old church with big buttresses and it glowed in the moon light like a fairytale castle lit up at Disneyland. We were all very impressed, a bit less impressed when we found out we were going inside first.
Inside the church was cavernous and cold, our voices echoed with the high ceilings, if I was in a choir here you certainly could feel you were singing to god. The wooden pews were old and dented, and the main dais was rickety but functional. I found the stained glass windows to be beautifully full of colour and life, not even being religious I could see the beauty in it.

We began the evening by meeting our guide, he had slicked back black hair, bright hazel eyes and a glint in his smirk like he was going to enjoy terrifying us tonight. During the course of the evening we listen to stories about the place and nod along with it, the atmosphere was starting to get creepily worse.
Out in to the cemetery now and it’s definitely colder outside than in, and the only noise is an owl in the background hooting at us, or at least that’s what it felt like.
The stories our grisly guide was giving us about ghosts was enjoyable but creepy, and looking around I was waiting for something to leap out and say ‘BOO’.

The evening went well and I left the party of friends around 2am, still spooked from ‘The hunt’ I walk home a little faster than intended, tripping over a paving slab I crashed to my knees in pain as the joint impacted with the concrete, painfully I limped home and as I turned a corner something flashed past my eyes, turning quickly I see a boy, younger than 10 in old clothing with a haze around him, realising he was on of the ghosts that was mentioned earlier I walk into the house, shut the door and didn’t come out until late the next day, with sore knees and dubious of every glint in the sunlight or movement out of the corner of my eye.

Lee was excited about volunteering for the first time in awhile.
He used do it do it when he was young, a young lad with floppy hair reminiscent of a 90’s boy band with a stone washed denim jacket and having crushes on girls, oh how he’s changed. To start with he doesn’t have crushes on girls any more, his last boyfriend called him too gay, how can you be too gay?. He also had moved on from floppy hair, he now styled a short crop but still he wore the denim jacket on occasion. He had volunteered at the local racecourse putting bets on for his dad and his friends, so technically not exactly an official voluntary job but he did have some benefits, free soft drinks and the occasional bet that he put on himself , not many won, but some did.
Lee crossed the street to the theatre, the same one he acted in when he was younger.
Inside it was bigger than he remembered, the paint was chipped here and there despite the large lottery grant it got 15 odd years ago, the atmosphere was the same. The slightly brighter green paint work had been replaced with a minted one, more in keeping with the original aesthetics, it also looked a lot cleaner.
The original boxes were still there, with names of playwrights or authors to adorn the plates above peoples heads, the Shakespeare name was the only one not been restored, the others had, he thought that was a nice touch. He also remembered the dressing rooms were below the stage, either it had got smaller since he was here last or he had grown a lot, it was more likely to be the latar as he bumped his head on a supporting beam.
Lee had decided to refresh his memory and joined a tour of the theatre, so much stuff he didn’t know about it. The history was fascinating, at one point it was run entirely by women, female actors dominated the stage, lighting, stage management and props, all women, he liked that, talk about rights for women, any feminist today would be proud.
In lees voluntary capacity he found out he would be helping in the box office, usher duties, cleaning and locking up at night, still he was looking forward to it, luckily it was a small theatre and he hoped it wouldn’t be to creepy at night, as the tour guide had shown them around earlier the prop store was kind of creepy, and this was in the daylight, lee could only imagine it at 10pm at night. Especially as he was getting bad vibes from an old dusty grandfather clock in one dark corner, how did that get in there?.

Lee had just moved back to his parents , he wasn’t happy, as up until recently he had been living with the boyfriend who called him ‘too gay’ and they had had a fight and broken up. He had no other option as living where he did was really expensive to live alone, despite his merchandising salary. So tail between his legs he went home, to a part time bar job in a local hotel and volunteering, for a possible career change, he did love all aspects of the theatre.
His new job was going well, he had connected with old friends he hadn’t seen since school and getting used to living in a little town again. It was still a nice place, and a little ‘posher’ than it used to be. Lee remembers all the charity and bargain shops it used to have, nowadays it had less of those and more Starbucks and harvesters, also a rather nice deli.
The history was also interesting in these parts, with a castle, the cricket and bowling greens and the theatre, a quintessentially English town. Lee liked being back, it was comfortable, he had already put his name down for a theatre studies course for next year in the closest college, and decided to concentrate on having fun and forgetting the ex. When one evening working in the bar a familiar school friend turned up and they started talking.
‘ Lee, pint please mate’
Lee grinned , he recognised the upbeat tone in the voice
‘Stan the man, what have you been up to all these years?’ Lee said as he pulled a perfect pint
‘Oh you know, this and that, wheeling and dealing, you know the sort of thing’, ‘What are you doing back here?’
‘You mean apart from asking you for £2 for the pint, bad break up, needed distance and my washing done for me’
‘That’s along way just for your washing’
‘Well its a fresh start if I’m being honest’
‘Good for you mate, hey listen there’s a good comedian in the theatre Friday if you fancy joining me and the Mrs?’
‘ Sorry mate can’t I’ll being working it, actually in the theatre though, I’m volunteering there’
‘Not bad, free shows, nice one, see you there then, drink after’
‘Yes sure’
Lee remembers Stan being the ‘wide’ boy in school, always being a booky for any bets going on, and a different girl on his arm every week, he always jangled with fake medallions, much to the dismay of the teachers, Lee wondered which of the many weekly blonde girls he married.
Friday night came around quickly and the theatre lit up, the metal was polished and the stage was swept, it was looking good, and the stage was set up and ready for what she needed for her comedy show. She was a local girl that now did the rounds in the big cities so the turn out tonight was busy.
Lee did his usher duties as usual and was coming down from the top gallery when he heard a knocking coming from an unusual place, he went a few steps to see where it was coming from, and by then the knocking had got louder, then a big BANG and the door shook violently, Lee started walking backwards and ran back to the café/bar, one of the tour guides was there sipping a glass of whisky
‘It’s Neil right?’ Lee asked slightly out of breath.
‘Yes, that’s right I’m a tour guide here, off duty of course, why?’
‘Quick question, the fire exit on the boxes level, did people used to come in that way?’
‘Yes, originally that was the main front door before the 1950’s, I thought you went round when you first got here with Nick?’
‘I did, I’ve forgotten some things, I remember that the hatch next to used to be where the tickets were sold’
‘Yes, that’s right, and that was the main door, why?. He asked perplexed
‘Oh no reason, just my imagination, just thought I heard something’
‘No, that happens sometimes, there’s a few ghosts around the building, not bad of course, they are dotted around, pounding that door is one thing they like doing, the other things are moving props around, just walking around, and occasionally singing, everyone loves them, just don’t piss them off’
‘Why, what happened that last time someone pissed them off?’ Lee asked worryingly
‘Well there is one story where a bloke that used to work here, he was an electrician, but was a bit of a, his words ‘ skirt chaser’, I think he was caught groping a female usher and was found the next day stone cold in the prop cupboard by that creepy old grandfather clock’
‘OK, don’t piss off the ghosts, good tip’
Lee figured he would be OK, after all, he was ‘too gay’, the ladies would love him.

Betsy was tired from walking so far, she wanted to give up, but she knew that it was only 5 miles to the nearest pub in a village at the top of the moor, supposedly the best view of the countryside for miles around, she decided she would reserve judgement until she saw it, only she had already seen some spectacular sights.
Betsy was on a walking holiday in the north Yorkshire moors, and camping under the stars on her own, she was actually enjoying herself, she could pitch tent where ever she felt like and indulge in some soul searching and contemplation, lots of mindfulness meditation and reading books in rain storms, quite peaceful really. she expected the walk to take about 4 days over and under dale, but due to the weather conditions she was likely to be a lot longer, she didn’t mind, being away from the bustle of modern technology was nice and refreshing.
She had been walking along time, 10 miles last time she counted. She decided to rest after puffing and panting up a very big hill, the view was beautiful, here camera phone came out again, and she sat there drinking her hot tea, when she could hear in the distance a steam train along way away. Betsy was sure there were no railway tracks around for a good 50 miles, she got out her map of the Yorkshire dales to check, she was right, there was nothing indicated on the map. She had decided not to use the sat nav on her phone she didn’t want it to use up all the battery, and instead she used a an actual paper map, her father would be proud of her, she was using his compass as-well, and binoculars to see further ahead and glance at the sky for the occasional bird of prey. Since she was in no rush to get to the pub she thought she would investigate the steam train noises that she could still hear.
Betsy followed the noises for 3 miles over rough terrain and moss covered boulders to a massive open air quarry where by the time she had got there the noise had gone, and all she could hear was the birds singing,which ones?, she was feeling disappointed in herself for not knowing what birds were, her father would know.
It was creepy here, very scooby doo, although there under the mud and dust from the quarry walls were remnants of an old rail track that looked over a hundred years old, probably more.
The night was drawing in and she was a fair way off her course to her destination, she decided to pitch camp in the quarry, as she made up the tent there were bits of wood scattered around the place, as if something had been torn apart, there was a letter on one of them, D, danger maybe, she ignored it, her imagination was running wild being out here on her own in the dark.
In the early hours of the morning the weather picked up a gale force wind and a thunderstorm loomed over head, she could hear the whirling of the wind and the rain as it was lashing down, thunder woke her up an then a sound of a steam train getting very close, she stared out to see glaring headlights of a train coming towards her at a rates of knots, she belted out of the tent to see a steam train, larger than life ploughing over her tent, it looked pale or out of focus, she could see the people in the carriages looking out at her in various states of injury, her eyes were wide and all she could do was stare back the wind and rain lashing at her pyjamas and her hair flattened by the rain, the train past and and faded from view, the noises got quieter until they had gone, she took a deep breath and picked up her tent from the mud to stand it up right and moved it a bit to the left before going back to sleep until the morning. The thunderstorm died down quickly and everything was still again and stars in the sky twinkled innocently.
Waking up full of energy at the crack of dawn, less muddy and wet she gathered her stuff and got back on her trail towards the pub, as she kept walking she could hear the train in the background, she ignored it and kept walking forwards, she checked the sodden map again she was further away than she thought, with immense effort she trundled on. A bit further on it was slowly getting dark again and a noise was following her, a snuffling and growling was coming from every bush of heather she past and she was getting slightly panicky, still a few miles to the pub. It was dark now, and the wind had picked up
it was cold and looking up the stars were out, it was stunning, she had never seen that many stars, the sky was completely clear and the moon was at its fullest, she took some photos of the night sky. Checking her focus she took some photos of some bushes and noticed they had eyes glaring at her, not wanting to be savaged she started to run, now she could hear howling coming from behind her and the thumps of running animals were apparent, she never knew she could run so fast, especially in hiking boots and she was desperately trying to avoid falling over in the dark.
She tripped over a small gorse bush, crap she thought, standing up she could feel a scratch to the back of her leg, she wish she hadn’t turned round to see, the eyes again and a claw trying to attach itself to her leg, she kicked out and ran on, the light on the outside of the pub went on as she got closer, the village behind looked dead but at least the pub was still open, she stopped running, straightened up and walked into it breathing as steadily as she could, Betsy bought a beer just before last orders and went up to bed soon after.
Waking up the next morning she felt refreshed, a shower and down to breakfast, as she was tucking in to her second bacon sandwich she couldn’t help but over hear a couple of locals talking about last night
‘did you hear it last night, it were about’
‘Ye, I did, full moon to’ said the second man
‘didn’t think it were true, I just heard the rumours’
‘You know it’s called werewolf moor for a reason don’t you?’
‘What’s in a name, what bugger would be out on moor at that time of night anyway?’
‘A daft one’
listening to them Betsy filled with horror, she had been scratched what would happen to her?, mindfulness breathing wouldn’t get her out of this problem, despite what her life coach says.