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As long as those of us who wrote a story regard it as a bit of (free) fun, then we can all clap if the winner,or runners up are in our group.Anyway, I'm in a good mood, cos last Sunday I was in London for the unveiling of a new batch of names on the Honour Wall at the Royal Society of Medicine, and mine was on it. Both my sisters attended, and-now retired from my profession-it's gratifying to think your efforts over the years have been recognised. There are many things wealth cannot buy.
[quote=toothlight]Honour Wall at the Royal Society of Medicine[/quote]
Eeks! How impressive. Bet you were "fully chuffed". (Is that the expression you English use for stoked?) Are you/were you some sort of doctor, TL? It's just that I have this rather uncomfortable rash...........
On the off chance, I thought I'd check for results online this morning. I was surprised, and excited, to find that they had been posted 10 hours ago.
No luck for me this time, and I don't recognise any names from TB, but I'm hoping that there is! Perhaps we can all post our attempts here, and still enjoy them, unless we're saving them for elsewhere. :)
Didn't recognise any names (except Paul Clark as I know 2 of them but I doubt it was either of them :P) and can't say I really liked the winner. Enjoyed the 3 runners-up though.
Of the winner and the three runners up, the one I'd most like to have written is the winner. It is ghostly and creepy with a cunning little back story tacked on at the end - the wife.
This was my story. But no gushing please. I couldn't stand it.
I hesitated before opening the shed door - the scratching and occasional squeaks from inside were unnerving. A rat perhaps. Standing well back I quickly pulled the door open. Something soft and grey flew at my neck. I felt a woolly warmth. The love bites are fading now.
For me, the cycle story was the best and should have been the winner. I didn't like the winner simply because I cannot see a guy meeting a ghost night after night. Do they speak? Does he try to kiss her? The paper says they want an 'original twist,' so how could the last, about ghosts waiting for a family have even been considered? It was plucked straight out of the Kidman film which-ironically- I mentioned here. So here is mine, for you to consider/critique.
'My cat steps out of a Paris doorway as I return home, ignoring the curfew.She arches her back, seeing me, and follows. The German soldier aims his gun, ordering me to stop. I approach and see the fear in his eyes. The Boche can't kill me again.'
I did write, at first, making the cat the ghost, and leading the man a roundabout route home where he sees Germans getting out of a car, and smashing in his door, thus his dead cat has saved him.
I agree with the comments above, especially toothlight's. I didn't like the winning story because technically it wasn't necessary a ghost story - any courting couple can meet up in a cemetery.
I liked No. 3 about the bicycle. That was the ghostliest, I thought.
Are we going to put ours on here, just for fun? Here's mine:
The stranger nudges me. "Is there space here?"
I recoil.
He sits.
Incense curls its deathly smell around us.
The priest, chanting, lifts his arms to heaven.
*
It ends.
We stand.
I confront him. "You knew my Derek?"
"Yes."
He steps through me.
Vanishes.
Well congratulations to all.
Considering the deadline was not long from when the details were posted, you all did great- and you have a story you can build on and expand to a full length piece if you're so inclined.
Why do all lifts stink of urine? Graffiti was spattered on every wall, like cake mixture that had spun off a whisk. Childish scrawl caught my eye: aLicE.
A sudden yoyo reminded me of the peaks and troughs of a heart-rate monitor. We plummeted towards the echoing giggle. RIP, Alice.
Congrats to Toothlight for the recognition - you should be very proud.
Here' s my story:
The road was a dark snake. Her windscreen wipers fought against the rain. A hand touched her shoulder; her head whipped round to empty seats. Already it was too late. The tree was in front of her, a towering executioner. Beside it the remnants of a bouquet, already in place.
Well done to you all, fab stories. Congrats also to Toothlight.
Here's mine:
He parks at the lake. Adrenaline courses through him, remembering how he held her beneath the murky waters; the final bubble departing her lips. The chill entering the car escapes him. But he cannot escape the wet, invisible hands wrapping around his, nor the icy foot forcing his to accelerate.
Want an honest opinion? I reckon most of your stories are heaps better than the final four.....but...they (how many) did have to wade through 1500 entries.
Oh bless you, toothlight. I must say, I thought the same but I wasn't sure if it sounded good to say it. I reckon I've had my share of sour grapes this morning.
Everyone's seem so good. I didn't really like mine anyway but, hey, here it is (and it's actually based on a real experience within my family) - probably wasn't 'original' enough tbh - oh well. Perhaps the other story I wrote as an option would have been a better choice to enter *shrugs* Probably not.
May kick me into gear for writing up the (many) ghostly/weird happenings and experiences my family have provided me with as short ghost stories now.
Anyway, I'm rambling... this was my sorry excuse:
'His hand shook as he reached for the ornate handle. This was stupid. To be afraid to open your own kitchen door. As he touched the cool metal, he felt the icy grip on the back of his hand as expected. The breath on the back of his neck wasn't.'
I'm enjoying reading everyone's stories. This was my attempt.
I unlock the door, expecting him to grab me and force his greasy lips on mine. But hes dead now. Ive nothing to fear.
I go to turn off the dripping bathroom tap. Silverfish scatter. The drain reeks. In the semi-darkness, his wrinkled face sneers out from the rusting mirror.
Have now read the Times winners (in the vain hope that mine was one of them and just hadn't been picked up by you all. No such luck) and have to say they're good. Particularly liked the middle two.
Carol, You really are very kind to us all. Having demonstrated that you KNEW the exact number of entries, you (obviously) also knew none of us were in the first four, but kept quiet. Now that is what I call sporting and proves you are a lady.
Now.......will you kindly predict what competition I should enter to get placed???????????
I quite like the winner. The runner-up with the bicycle is good, but the way it's written suggests it's raining, or at least has only recently stopped, so it doesn't make sense that the woman could see the wet tyre mark on the (also wet) road. I'm pretty sure I remember the final story, or something very similar, from a joke book I had when I was a kid in the 1980s.
Oh well. This was my effort:
We see the boatman every evening, his distant light flickering in the fierce winter storms. Last summer - the hottest ever - wed walked across the dry, cracked lake bed. Lifting the crumbling husk of a small wooden boat, wed uncovered a skull, a broken oar, the rusted remains of a lantern.
Thanks, all. From the examples you're all posting here I can imagine the judges had a hell of a job sorting through 1500 entries; any one of them could have won.
For the sake of our egos, shall we just assume they printed them out, threw the stack of paper down the stairs, and gave the prizes to the ones that landed on the highest step?
That's the thing with judging, in the end it is a personal thing. A judge may have certain criteria set which they will apply to the entries- and we all know a different judge would likely come up with a completely different winner...:)
I didn't like the winner at all, it bored me. But I do know one of the RU, and he wrote a good piece.
I think a lot of people are far too obsessed about winning, and take it far too seriously. Just enjoy taking part in competitions. If you win, you win, if you don't, you don't. We can scruntinise until the cows come home, but because this isn't a perfect world, there's no accounting for a judge's personal taste, because, to be fair, that's what it sometimes boils down to. That's how the cookie crumbles.
I didn't like the winner. John Xero's story about the misted window pane was my favourite of the four posted, but I think some of the stories in this thread are better than any of them (and better than mine).
He stood looking at the executioner's block which was surrounded by a metal cage. The axe was there but out of reach.
Two girls of maybe thirteen approached him laughing. Look, he must work here. He's in costume.
[quote=Onlinegenie]John Xero's story about the misted window pane was my favourite [/quote]
I know John, and he's a fab writer.
Anyway, for what it's worth, my effort:
A collective heartbeat filled the air. Voices, behind the door. Behind the walls.
Strangers shuffled through damp passages - they couldnt hear the screams, the fists against brick, nor see grey skin stretched over bone. Sometimes they just heard lost, fragmented echoes.
Seventy years on, those still trapped in Auschwitz.
God, yes, Red. I remember when I was much younger, visiting one of the camps in Southern Germay which is now a museum. You could feel the spirits really.
By the way, you need to look on TKnC site. I can't say more than that, really. You already have. Congratulations! :)
Just seeing this now and I have enjoyed reading all your entries. I still haven't been to the Time site to see the winning stories, but before I do so, here's mine!
THE PRISONER
_________________
In the cell, morning came sickly. Afterwards, I poked at the growing puddle beneath the valve.
The voice sighed. Ahhhh, youve done it...
I smiled. Yes.
A warden ran in. Ill get help!
No, just the lady from the radiator... shes free now.
Comments
Eeks! How impressive. Bet you were "fully chuffed". (Is that the expression you English use for stoked?) Are you/were you some sort of doctor, TL? It's just that I have this rather uncomfortable rash...........
;)
No luck for me this time, and I don't recognise any names from TB, but I'm hoping that there is! Perhaps we can all post our attempts here, and still enjoy them, unless we're saving them for elsewhere. :)
I didn't recognise any names either.
Yes, Paul Clark rings a bell with me too, Jediya!
[quote=Debby]Perhaps we can all post our attempts here, and still enjoy them, unless we're saving them for elsewhere. [/quote]
How about it? Although I don't have one as I didn't enter.
This was my story. But no gushing please. I couldn't stand it.
I hesitated before opening the shed door - the scratching and occasional squeaks from inside were unnerving. A rat perhaps. Standing well back I quickly pulled the door open. Something soft and grey flew at my neck. I felt a woolly warmth. The love bites are fading now.
'My cat steps out of a Paris doorway as I return home, ignoring the curfew.She arches her back, seeing me, and follows. The German soldier aims his gun, ordering me to stop. I approach and see the fear in his eyes. The Boche can't kill me again.'
I did write, at first, making the cat the ghost, and leading the man a roundabout route home where he sees Germans getting out of a car, and smashing in his door, thus his dead cat has saved him.
Wow, toothlight! Well done and congratulations!
I liked No. 3 about the bicycle. That was the ghostliest, I thought.
Are we going to put ours on here, just for fun? Here's mine:
The stranger nudges me. "Is there space here?"
I recoil.
He sits.
Incense curls its deathly smell around us.
The priest, chanting, lifts his arms to heaven.
*
It ends.
We stand.
I confront him. "You knew my Derek?"
"Yes."
He steps through me.
Vanishes.
Considering the deadline was not long from when the details were posted, you all did great- and you have a story you can build on and expand to a full length piece if you're so inclined.
Here's mine:
Why do all lifts stink of urine? Graffiti was spattered on every wall, like cake mixture that had spun off a whisk. Childish scrawl caught my eye: aLicE.
A sudden yoyo reminded me of the peaks and troughs of a heart-rate monitor. We plummeted towards the echoing giggle. RIP, Alice.
Congrats to Toothlight for the recognition - you should be very proud.
Here' s my story:
The road was a dark snake. Her windscreen wipers fought against the rain. A hand touched her shoulder; her head whipped round to empty seats. Already it was too late. The tree was in front of her, a towering executioner. Beside it the remnants of a bouquet, already in place.
Here's mine:
He parks at the lake. Adrenaline courses through him, remembering how he held her beneath the murky waters; the final bubble departing her lips. The chill entering the car escapes him. But he cannot escape the wet, invisible hands wrapping around his, nor the icy foot forcing his to accelerate.
I wonder if Carol dances around in the woodland at night . . . naked.
Oh, no. That's her OTHER thread.
Bit too cold at this time of year...;)
May kick me into gear for writing up the (many) ghostly/weird happenings and experiences my family have provided me with as short ghost stories now.
Anyway, I'm rambling... this was my sorry excuse:
'His hand shook as he reached for the ornate handle. This was stupid. To be afraid to open your own kitchen door. As he touched the cool metal, he felt the icy grip on the back of his hand as expected. The breath on the back of his neck wasn't.'
I unlock the door, expecting him to grab me and force his greasy lips on mine. But hes dead now. Ive nothing to fear.
I go to turn off the dripping bathroom tap. Silverfish scatter. The drain reeks. In the semi-darkness, his wrinkled face sneers out from the rusting mirror.
I think our entries are all brilliant!
Now.......will you kindly predict what competition I should enter to get placed???????????
Are you entering any of the WM/WN competitions next year?
I quite like the winner. The runner-up with the bicycle is good, but the way it's written suggests it's raining, or at least has only recently stopped, so it doesn't make sense that the woman could see the wet tyre mark on the (also wet) road. I'm pretty sure I remember the final story, or something very similar, from a joke book I had when I was a kid in the 1980s.
Oh well. This was my effort:
We see the boatman every evening, his distant light flickering in the fierce winter storms. Last summer - the hottest ever - wed walked across the dry, cracked lake bed. Lifting the crumbling husk of a small wooden boat, wed uncovered a skull, a broken oar, the rusted remains of a lantern.
For the sake of our egos, shall we just assume they printed them out, threw the stack of paper down the stairs, and gave the prizes to the ones that landed on the highest step?
I think a lot of people are far too obsessed about winning, and take it far too seriously. Just enjoy taking part in competitions. If you win, you win, if you don't, you don't. We can scruntinise until the cows come home, but because this isn't a perfect world, there's no accounting for a judge's personal taste, because, to be fair, that's what it sometimes boils down to. That's how the cookie crumbles.
But isn't that what most competitions are anyway? It's often down to luck if what you have written is the judge's cup of tea.
He stood looking at the executioner's block which was surrounded by a metal cage. The axe was there but out of reach.
Two girls of maybe thirteen approached him laughing. Look, he must work here. He's in costume.
He took off his head and smiled at them.
They showed the original Canterville Ghost on telly yesterday. Wonderful.
Priceless snippet of dialogue from the ghost as he wreaked his revenge on the American family who'd moved into his house:
"Take thou that!"
A comment like that is compensation for not winning.
I know John, and he's a fab writer.
Anyway, for what it's worth, my effort:
A collective heartbeat filled the air. Voices, behind the door. Behind the walls.
Strangers shuffled through damp passages - they couldnt hear the screams, the fists against brick, nor see grey skin stretched over bone. Sometimes they just heard lost, fragmented echoes.
Seventy years on, those still trapped in Auschwitz.
By the way, you need to look on TKnC site. I can't say more than that, really. You already have. Congratulations! :)
THE PRISONER
_________________
In the cell, morning came sickly. Afterwards, I poked at the growing puddle beneath the valve.
The voice sighed. Ahhhh, youve done it...
I smiled. Yes.
A warden ran in. Ill get help!
No, just the lady from the radiator... shes free now.
Between us, the air began to thicken.