Spooky Stories Writing Competition Winners

The thunder booms. The lightning cracks. The clouds fizz in anger. There, in the middle of it all, stands a blood-curdling haunted house. Outside, the dry grass is scattered with grave stones. Bare, black trees swipe down on the stony path, like hands trying to grab me.

Through the cracked glass window, light bulbs flicker, fizz and crash to the ground. I take a deep breath and push open the large steel doors. 'Creak!' The doors open eerily, adding to the spookiness.

As soon as I step inside, the doors clang shut. I'm left alone in the darkness. Petrified. My legs tremble when I hear something that almost makes my heart stop. Something calling out into the darkness. I froze. A ghoul. My blood ran cold.

The sound sent shivers up my spine. I pull with all my might to get the doors open until my knuckles go white and my palms are red and stinging. I had to find an exit. Sticky cobwebs stuck in my face, tickling me. I rip them off. Suddenly, there was dead silence. Another grave stone popped out from the undergrowth. Whoever went in, never came back out.

Anna Zobel's notes:

I congratulate the author of 'The Soul-Stirring Haunted House'. The author has chosen expressive verbs to create a frightening atmosphere - When reading the opening paragraph I was particularly impressed by the phrase ‘the clouds fizzed in anger’. The author varied their sentence length, which added greatly to the suspense, and they also made use of simile. Well done!

It’s the most freeing, lightening feeling and feels like pure bliss and euphoria when a child laughs, unbothered and happy. That is, unless it’s 3 a.m. and you’re home alone. When that laugh starts to morph into a scream, you know it’s time to run and burn the building down behind you. Unless you’re a psychopath, or you have a death wish. Even if you have a death wish, you should know that death is not something a demon will grant you easily. Especially not one that desires to feast only on the screams of the damned, the honourable and the unstable alike.

Death doesn't distinguish between good and evil, it just takes who it wants when it wants. I should’ve run, I should’ve screamed, I should’ve done so many things differently. Yet I am weak, I am human, and I ran to save the tortured child. But you can’t save what doesn’t exist.

That face is what made me stop, made me think, and made me scream. That face would haunt me for the rest of my life, however short that may be. White flaky skin, it looked like someone had taken a razor to its face and left the skin in tatters. Whatever must have been its mouth was a twisted up line that reached halfway to its eyes, like someone had taken a knife and carved a smile. Its hair was wet, dead strands and tangles, falling to the floor. If Death had a smell, a look, a face, this was it. This was Death. It was coming to get me.

Run. Run. Run. The word flashed in my mind over and over, yet my legs wouldn’t listen. It skulked closer towards me, stalking, ready to pounce. It was the hunter, and I was the prey. Just when it pounced, I gathered my common sense. It didn’t run, could it run? Everything I could get my hands on was thrown backwards. Paper, picture frames, tablecloths, pens, chairs, ornaments, cutlery, flowers. When I looked back, that was when I realised my mistake. The thing wasn’t solid. Out the front door, down the apartment stairs, out the building. Then the claws get me. Ripping the flesh from my bones, I fall to the ground. I’m convinced I’ll bleed out. Instead, I black out. Flashing lights, blackout. Rolling, blackout. Talking, blackout. Hospital hallway, blackout. Everything comes in flashes, and I can feel the blood seeping down my back. I’m dead, I was dead as soon as that thing entered my home.

I’m paralysed, yet I can feel every single bit of my skin, it feels like I’m trapped and frozen in my own body. Blinking. I can blink. Desperately, I exaggerated my blinks until a nurse noticed. Thank gosh. She comes over, smiling softly.

“You think we don’t know you’re awake?”

Anna Zobel's notes:

I would like to congratulate the author of 'Run' on their narrative voice, which is very developed. The opening two sentences of this story were absolutely compelling: ‘It’s the most freeing, lightening feeling and feels like pure bliss and euphoria when a child laughs, unbothered and happy. That is, unless it’s 3 a.m. and you’re home alone.’ This created a marvellous premise for a horror story. What would you do if you heard a child laughing in your empty house at three in the morning? The author’s craft was evident in each line, and in particular they made masterful use of simile. I would love to see this story expanded into several pages. Congratulations!