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  1. Sorry this is the rest from my last post....

    One night, at about eleven p.m., I notice a creaky floorboard in my room. I tug at the board, becoming frustrated when it refuses to move. For almost an hour, I heave and haul at it, trying to prise it lose, and just as I’m about to give in, it comes suddenly upwards, revealing a small dark space.
    I realise that the floorboards aren’t laid directly on the floor, but are slightly higher up, creating a crawl space. I look around for a torch, but finding none, I thrust my hand deep into the hole, timidly looking for something, even though I’m not sure what I hope to find. I search around, ignoring the cobwebs that I can feel.
    I touch something different from the cobwebs and jerk my hand out. Slowly, I reach back inside, and pull out a yellowed piece of paper.

    Dear diary,
    Simon has been frightening me lately... He keeps coming home drunk, and he’s been getting so angry with me very easily. To be honest, I’m scared, but what can I do? I’m afraid of him, because I’m not sure what he’s capable of. Last night he got angry and he –


    I read the note (which I recognise as a diary entry) three times, trying to make sense of it. What did Simon do? The rest of the diary entry had been ripped off so it’s impossible for me to know. I reach back into the hole under the floorboards one more time, trying to find the rest of the paper, but come up empty handed.
    Later that night, as I lay in bed, I wait for Simon to come home, but hear no cars pulling up outside, and no other evidence of him returning. I wait awake for hours, scared of what he might do if he does come home. Just as I start to drift asleep, I hear a floorboard creak, a single creak. I jerk wide awake and lay still in my bed.
    However, there are no further sounds. I listen intently for about ten minutes but hear nothing.
    *
    After the strange floorboard creaked, I had felt frightened about staying in the cottage. But nothing compared to this night.
    Simon had gone out to town and had told me not to expect him home until the morning. So, why had I heard footsteps in the cottage – again?
    After hours of trying to sleep, I finally drift off, and my dreams are filled with weird visions.
    Simon is walking towards me, a crooked smile on his face. I gaze up at him, noticing how different he looks. I try to put a name to his expression and features, but cannot find the word I’m looking for.
    Another person, a boy, walks into my view, someone younger, about my age. But he’s pale, extremely pale. He motions to me, moving his fingers in strange ways and tries to talk, although no sound comes out. I walk towards him, and see over his shoulder that Simon still pacing in my direction. When I reach the boy, he holds his hands out at me, as if to stop me walking any further, but his hands just go straight through me, like he is a ghost.
    That’s when I realise. He is a ghost. And the look on Simon’s face, it’s evil.
    When I wake, I lay panting and sweating in my bed, surprised to find the light shining brightly through my window. My phone beeps loudly by my side, and I reach out to answer a call from my mother. During the phone call she’s as cold and distant as always, and the call follows the same routine it does every morning when she rings. She asks how I am, how Simon is, tells me she and Chris are fine, and says bye and hangs up. But this morning, there is a slight change in the routine, she reminds me to be careful with Simon, considering his last child, Sam, went missing.
    I sit, thinking deeply for a few moments, and can now put a name to the boy in my dream...
    His name is Sam, he’s Simon’s son, and he’s dead.
    *
    I try to reach my mum’s mobile – answer phone. I try to reach Chris’ mobile – answer phone. I try to reach the hotel phone – answer phone.
    I pace around my room, petrified. Simon still hasn’t come home and I’m worried about what will happen when he does. What if he knows? Will he be able to notice that I know what he did?
    I don’t want to admit it, but I make myself say it out loud, so that I can convince myself that I’m not still dreaming.
    “He killed his Sam... He killed Sam... He killed Sam...” I repeat to myself. “He killed his own son.”
    Tyres scream outside, and I know Simon’s home. In my panic, I forget that I need to keep up my appearances so he doesn’t realise I know, and I have an urge to jump in the wardrobe to hide. I run across the room, and throw open the wardrobe doors. Just as I’m climbing in, I get the feeling someone is watching me.
    I turn around very slowly, expecting Simon to have snuck up on me. But no one’s there. Once again, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the air seems colder than it was just thirty seconds ago.
    The bedroom door, which had been shut, breezes open. I start walking towards it, feeling as if I’m not in control of my own feet. For some reason, I walk in the opposite direction to the front door, where I can hear Simon fumbling with his key in the lock.
    Then, the door that I had never opened, never even dreamed of peeping inside, flies open, quickly but quietly. I walk inside and flicked on the light switch. All around me are bottle upon bottles of alcohol.
    No wonder he gets so drunk! I think to myself. I walk to the far wall of the room, and find a hole in the floor, as if the floorboard has been torn up. I drop down inside, not feeling scared but oddly at peace. I find myself in a bigger crawl space than under the floorboards in my room. The space is almost big enough for me to stand up straight in.
    I walk for about thirty seconds and see wooden stairs leading up. I climb up, and bang my head. I reach up and push the thing above my head. It’s heavy and comes up slowly, but then I see light. I peep out a small gap it’s created and can see the open front door. I’m a few metres away from the house, under the ground.
    I have the sudden feeling to run, so I step out the underground tunnel and run. But, I run towards the house, towards the car.
    I have never driven before, and it takes me a few moments to figure out how to even move. Although, I manage to finally get going, and almost laugh when I realise I have escaped. The joy lasts for about ten minutes, until I grasp that I have no idea where I’m going.
    I panic and ring my mum again.... no answer. I ring Chris... The ringing tone beeps and on the fourth beep he picks up!
    “Chris!” I shout, delighted.
    “Yes? What’s wrong?” He asks sleepily.
    “Have you been sleeping?” I ask, frustrated. He starts to answer but I cut him off. “No, no it doesn’t matter. I have left Simon’s! I have no idea where I am. I need someone to come and pick me up, now!”
    “Alexandra! Go back, now. Right this minute!” He shouts at me.
    “No, send someone to pick me up.” I order. Finally he gives in and promises to send a chauffeur to pick me up, but says it may take a few hours.
    When I hang up, I lay back to relax, nevertheless, I sit up straight again and whisper into the summer air.
    “Thank you.” Suddenly the radio turns on. The lyrics reach my ears and I smile.
    Your welcome! It sings at me.
    From that moment on, I know my suspicions were right and the spirit of Sam had helped me escape.
  2. Hey, this is a short story I wrote, let me know what you think.



    Help from the past.



    Simon woke groggily to the sound of his phone beeping. As he answered the phone he was still half asleep, but by the end of the call, he was wide awake.
    “Hello? Simon Taylor?” The person on the other end of the call asked.
    “Speaking.” Simon replied, frustrated at being woken up.
    “Hello Simon, I’m Sophie Clarke, calling from the social services. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Ruby Stone died a week ago...” She paused, letting Simon take in this new information, but he only appeared confused.
    “Who?”
    “Ruby Stone... The mother of your son.” Sophie told him, uncertainly.
    “Oh.” He suddenly realised what she was talking about, and didn’t know what to say. He had had a short relationship with Ruby nearly fifteen years previously... Why would he be notified of her death now? Then he remembered, the son.
    “Well, as you are the father, it has been suggested that Sam comes to live with you, considering he has no other family...”
    “Me? Look after a child? You must be joking...” Simon laughed.
    However, after a long phone call, Sophie finally persuaded Simon to give parenthood a chance, and it was arranged that Sophie would deliver Sam the next day.
    *
    A year later, Sam, now fifteen, came in from the farm and started shouting with fury when he saw Simon was still in bed.
    “You’re meant to be the parent!” Sam screamed. “You’re meant to have to get me out of bed! How can I live with someone so lazy?! And so untidy! Look at your room! The animals are cleaner than you, you filthy little ...” At that comment, Simon got extremely angry and snapped. The affects of the night-before’s alcohol had not worn off completely, so he was easier than normal to annoy. He swung himself out of bed and snatched at Sam, but missed. Sam backed away wearily.
    Suddenly Simon seemed to sober up, and apologised to Sam, blaming his anger on depression and lack of sleep. Sam accepted his apology and felt bad for shouting, so turned his back on Simon to walk out the room. On the other hand, Simon had merely tricked Sam, and swung at him again, the moment his back was turned. This time though, he used a baseball bat he had been hiding under his bed. Sam fell to the floor, unconscious, without a chance to scream. But Simon’s fury wasn’t over, and he kept on beating Sam until he no longer breathed.



    “Alexandra?” My mum, Rebecca called to me from outside my bedroom door.
    “Come in!” I told her, and watched her through my vanity mirror as she let herself into my room. As I watched her, I noticed for the millionth time how much we looked alike, with our matching height; curly blonde hair; blue eyes; and skinny figure. “We need to talk.” She stated coldly as she reached me. Without waiting for an answer, she carried on. “Chris and I are going on our honeymoon.” They had had a beautiful and expensive wedding only a few weeks previously.
    “What about me?” I asked cautiously.
    “Well, it will be your summer holiday by the time we go, so i thought you could spend some time with your father... Your real father. “
    “No!” I almost shouted, standing up to face her. “I’m not – “
    “Don’t argue with me!” She snapped and stormed out my room, leaving me with tears in my eyes. I desperately longed for the time before my mother had met her new husband, a time when we were so close, like best friends. Nevertheless, good fortune was not on my side, and money and fame had won my mum.
    *
    As I’m packing my suitcase for my visit to my dad’s, my mother steps in my room, and stands uncertainly by the door.
    “Be gentle with Simon... He has had a lot of things go wrong in his life...” She tells me.
    “Like what?”
    “Well, seven years ago, Simon’s son, Sam, went to live with him after his mother died, but a year later, he went missing. Simon nearly went insane with grief, so please be sensitive with him.”
    *
    The car slows and stops, after hours of driving. Yet I still don’t open my eyes, as I’m pretending to be asleep, as I have been the whole journey.
    My mum gets out of the car, and gently nudges me. After a few minutes of being prodded and poked, I give in and reluctantly open my eyes.
    I see mountains in the distance, topped with snow, and hundreds of fields covered in small white dots (also known as sheep). Sprinkled around the fields are small houses and cottages, and barns full of animals. A huge change compared to what I’m used to. Suddenly I forget the change that has occurred in my mum, and long to be back in the city, surrounded by shops and busy roads, instead of being stuck in this isolated countryside.
    The door of one of the cottages opens, and a man in his late forties begins to stride towards us. He’s wearing a blue shirt, which looks as if it hasn’t been washed in a long time, and faded jeans. When he reaches us, he holds out his hand for my mother to shake.
    “Rebecca,” He greets her politely; he has a more Northern accent to what I am used to. “Alex.” He nods, as he shakes my hand.
    “My name is Alexandra.” I reply icily.
    “Oh, do beg my pardon... Alexandra.” He smiles.
    Then he walks us down to his cottage, and shows us around. He has a small kitchen and living room (with no television), decorated mostly with wood, two small bedrooms and a room that he doesn’t show us inside. One of the bedrooms is covered in rubbish and clothes etc, whereas the other has been stripped bare, except a single wooden bed.
    “This is going to be your room.” He tells me when we are standing in the bare room. “I’ll go to town tomorrow to buy you a wardrobe.” He informs me.
    “Well, I had better be going.” My mother says after a few minutes of awkward silence. Feeling hurt and lonely, I turn away from her as I feel tears forming in my eyes. She touches me gently on my shoulder and leaves without another word.
    A few moments later, I realise I can’t stand such a horrible goodbye, and run up the small hill after my mother, to find her almost at her car. I leap into her arms and hug her tightly, letting the tears fall steadily.
    That night, I lay in bed, not moving a muscle, hardly daring to breathe. I can hear floorboards moving outside my door. At first the noises were too soft for me to hear, but as I had started to panic about sleeping in such an unfamiliar place, I had struggled harder to hear any peculiar noises. Suddenly everything went completely silent, and there were no noises from the floorboards, which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
    Just as suddenly as they had stopped, the floorboards start to creak again, and this time louder, also they are recognisable as footsteps. The footsteps stop directly outside my door and my heart starts to speed up, becoming so loud that I can hear it hammer against my chest.
    Thump, thump... thump, thump... thump, thump.
    The door handle turns.
    Thump, thump... thump, thump... THUMP, THUMP.
    The door opens slowly.
    THUMP, THUMP... THUMP, THUMP... THUMP.
    A head peers round the door. I throw my hand to my mouth in an attempt to stop me from screaming. The bedroom light is switched on and I let out a faint scream as I’m temporarily blinded. When I can see again, I find out that the head looking around the door is Simon’s and I let out a little whimper, cursing myself for being so pathetic.
    “Sorry, did I scare you?” He asks carefully, looking ashamed of himself.
    “Just a little.” I reply and smile sheepishly.
    *
    A week later, Simon carries on with his strange act, often disappearing to town for hours, not returning until late at night, when he’s drunk. I try to avoid him as much as I can, spending most of my time on my own in my room.