The haunted house by robin borsato (age 8)
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The Haunted Dock by Clara Le Grand (Age 10)
I walked on the dock that Dianne told me not to go on. My paws were silent, as I was a creature of the night. Yes, I like that! I am no longer Pumpkin the dog. I am Creature of the Night! As Dianne would say, “Don’t go on the dock, my sweet Pumpkin! It’s haunted!” But I have told her many times, there is no such thing as a ghost. They make smart TVs, smart cars, smart phones, when are they going to start making smart humans? I always went on a walk on the dock before bed. My human, Dianne, always said it was haunted and I never believed that. Until now. It started with words. English words. They whooshed through the wind. "Pumpkin, beware. Pumpkin, beware. Pumpkin, beware!"
I was startled, but as great TV once said, it was probably just the wind! Born on Halloween as a black lab, I was called a cursed dog for many years, and I like it like that. People leave me alone because they think I am cursed. But the whispers grew louder, not leaving me alone! Strange. I shook my head and the sweet sound of my collar jiggling sounded through the dock. The fog on the dock was super thick, but I could still see a figure in front of me. It did not smell of anything as I pushed my nose towards it. A being with a smell of nothing? Then a thought hit my tiny doggy brain. Was this a creature of the fog? "Pumpkin, beware. Pumpkin, beware. Pumpkin, beware!”
What was going on here? The figure became clearer. It was a misty man with a long swirling beard that came to his evaporating legs. That’s right. His evaporating legs. They were completely disappearing at his ankles! The mouth moved at the same time as the words rang out, but the sound seemed far away… "Pumpkin, beware. Pumpkin, beware. Pumpkin, beware!"
I started to whimper, then it turned into a full out cry! I began to back away, curling up smaller. "Pumpkin, GET OUT OR FACE YOUR DOOM IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE!"
I, Creature of the Night, wanted to run but my legs felt stiff. Like my muscles died out. The mist man came closer and closer, then drew out a sword. My legs, still stiff, felt a tingling like they were trying to run but couldn’t pull up. The pirate misty man raised his sword and then flung it down on one of my legs. A reddish dark substance leaked out and wouldn’t stop. BLOOD! I howled at the full moon that was raised above me. The misty man opened his mouth, but still, it didn’t seem like it was him talking. "Pumpkin, beware! For you are in my territory leaving me in complete noise with your jiggling collar. Leave now, or you will regret it!"
The mist man started to sprint towards me but let me tell you that you do not need to worry. For the one game I can properly play, is chase! I am usually the chaser in this game, but what mist man can catch up to a dog? I am a thousand times faster than those dogs on that show Paw Patrol. I ran towards a ship that was tied to the dock. I recognized this ship because Dianne’s grandpa owned this grand boat and I love the feeling of the breeze on my tongue when riding. I leaped, with all my might, but just barely grabbed the edge of the boat with my paws.
Pulling myself up with my doggy paws, with one of them slashed open HARD. By the time I got my back leg up to support my slashed leg, the mist man was right behind, on my tail. I heard a thump come from the inside of the boat, then out came Grandpa! He looked pretty tired, and he must have been working on the boat! “Why, if it isn’t Pumpkin! First mate of my boat!” He came out and picked me up around my belly. I turned and looked at where the mist man had been. Nothing. He had vanished. How odd! Grandpa took me in the boat before I could look any closer. Seeing blood on my leg, Grandpa put me in the passenger seat. Then, he turned the Black Lab (his boat, named after me) on. Why didn’t he just walk me back to Dianne? I settled in on the seat and shut my eyes. I heard a clang of metal and opened them up again. The mist man sat on the seat Grandpa had been on! Grandpa was gone. Mist man started to drive the Black Lab away from the dock!
I had a feeling I wasn’t going home.
Love By Karina Benner (Age 13)
I always had a craving for love.
Hearing the audience roar with validation when I stepped on stage was almost euphoric. I would sometimes go onto the internet and search through forums dedicated to me. I felt loved. I felt godly. They would rip each other apart for as little as a glance from me. I had total power.
Looking through a forum one day, I found a user that interested me by the name of ‘Liebhaberin’. There were no pictures of themselves, and the few words were in German. The only thing on their profile was me. It was all me. Pictures from all angles, all places. There were organized folders dedicated to certain body parts of mine, with the ‘left elbow’ folder having over two hundred photos.
I felt a shiver go up my spine, but I told myself it was normal. It’s normal love, isn’t it? I would frequently go on their page. One day, I went on after a hard day. A costar I had worked on a movie with in the past had gone to several different news outlets and told them terrible things about me. The coworker hadn’t necessarily been lying, but what they were saying was awful for my public image. The next day, that same costar was found stabbed thirty-eight times to death. Their left arm was missing. Surprisingly, Liebhaberin didn’t post me that day. All they posted was a sentence in German. “Alles für meinen schönen gott.”
“Anything for my beautiful god.” After that, whenever I would go on their page, I would feel a sick feeling of doom in my stomach.
My marketing team made me do a tour in Germany, which I didn’t think much of. During my first show, I felt all the loving stares and heard the shouts from the crowd, when all the sudden, I felt a strong, aching, dread inducing stare coming from a spot in the front row. There, was a man. He wore a simple brown mask that covered his entire face except for two slits in his eyes. It was an old, worn mask that he wore with brown overalls. Every show I went to, I felt the stare. Eventually, I felt it everywhere. When I would go back to my change room, things would be missing. When I woke up in the house I was renting for my time on tour, windows would be open. Liebhaberin began to post pictures of me. But not of me in public. He posted a few of me in the dressing room. The picture was taken from the closet.
An incident happened at one of my shows. A woman leapt on the stage and punched me across the face, causing my nose to bleed. The security quickly pulled her off stage. That night she disappeared from her jail cell. I began to feel terrified to go to shows, because I knew he would be there. I eventually began to feel terrified to be home. One night, as I slept, I swear I could feel heavy, putrid smelling breathing against my face. I opened my eyes, and nothing was there. But the window was open, and I closed it before bed, didn’t I?
Liebhaberin began posting photos of me from inside my home. I hired a private investigator, and he couldn’t find a trace of any human besides me. Wherever I went, I could feel
that terrifying stare. It was filled with love, but so much to the point I wanted to vomit. All over Liebhaberin’s page was items of mine such as used tissues, socks, and dental flossers. I was terrified for my life. I called my boyfriend over. We were walking around the city, and we got to an abandoned building. “Please, I really don’t want to be here. I’m scared, Josh. Please.”
“Stop whining, you will be okay.” The building was dark, and large. After a few minutes of wandering, I couldn’t find Josh. That’s when I heard a sound. Across the room, in the corner, was the man. Josh lay in his arms, bloody and lifeless. Me and the man were alone, in the darkness. His mask was dirty up close, but his eyes were wide with so much love I wanted to rip my organs out. I woke up in a small room, with pink, peeling paint. In the room sat the man, watching me. I was restrained. The room was decorated with pictures of me sleeping, eating and showering. There were items of mine placed proudly around. In the corner, to my horror, was the woman who punched me, bloody and lifeless. In her lap was my costar’s left arm.“Du gehörst jetzt für immer mir, meine liebe.”
“You are mine now forever, my love.’’
the dollmaker By Jordyn Patterson (age 15)
The town of Charmourn is an ordinary town full of ordinary people living ordinary lives. And in this perfectly ordinary town there was a small, yet extraordinary shop. This shop, you see, was run by a kind lady named Belle, and she sold perfectly wonderful dolls. These dolls were renowned in the town, for their craftsmanship. every doll was handmade by Belle, and every doll was different. Yes, Charmourn is known for being a perfect town, except for one thing. Charmourn, always seems to have an abundance of missing children. Now no one is quite sure why this is, the townspeople have searched everywhere for the kids, but none have ever been found. There are many rumours surrounding the disappearances, from a witch that lives in the woods, to aliens who steal kids. As dark as these theories may be, the townspeople have no idea that the truth is in fact, much darker.
Our tale begins one afternoon in Charmourn, with two children playing marbles in the street. There was Holly, a spirited young lady, known for being rambunctious. And August. a shy boy, with long blonde hair almost covering his eyes. The two sat there, flicking marbles, and watching them roll away, when Holly caught sight of one of her school friends across the street. Betsy, who was entering Belle's shop being beckoned in by a hand. Holly thought nothing of it, Betsy has always collected dolls, she already had about 10 of Belles dolls in her room, she was just going after another one. Holly returned to the game, and she and August continued playing until the sun began to set. They were both about to leave for supper when they heard a shrill scream coming from inside Belle’s shop. Holly ran across the street fearing the worst, before discovering the shop was locked. She wasted no time and ran down into the alley looking for a back door, August right behind her. They both found a small window that led to the store's basement. Holly pushed it open, and before August could protest, she jumped down inside. August unwillingly followed.
Down in the basement, it was dark and damp. The pair could barely make out a small workbench and dark black bags piled up against the wall. The two were silently searching when they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Holly grabbed August and pulled him inside one of the dark bags, where the two hid and watched. Miss Belle came down the stairs holding a large metal bucket, with dark red rust covering the rim, and a squirming figure who she seemed to drag behind her. She heaved the figure onto the workbench before setting the bucket on the side and turning on the light. Only then in the now brightly lit basement did the pair finally see their classmate. Betsy was bound on the table, struggling against her restraints. She was murmuring, her words muffled by the gag in her mouth. Belle dragged her finger over it, shushing her before whispering, in a an almost comforting tone “Hush my dear, this will all be over soon.” She then pulled out a large knife from her belt and raised it over her head. Holly quickly covered bother her and August’s eyes as they heard the sickening squish of knife against flesh. They only dared open their eyes when the muffled screams had stopped. They watched in horror as the doll maker reached into the body and began ripping things out and dropping them in the bucket. The bucket, coated in what Holly could now tell was not rust, but blood. It wasn’t until the bucket was filled did the woman stop. Then she reached and got a bag from the pile beside the children, and stuffed the hollowed corpse inside, before casting it aside. But the Dollmaker was not done. She retrieved a box from under the table, full of sewing supplies and empty doll skins. The woman then began the process of reaching into the bucket and stuffing the dolls with whatever was inside. She took care in sewing each doll up and carefully adding details. It wasn’t until the bucket was empty, did she carefully place each newly made doll in the box and begin slowly making her way back upstairs, turning out the light. Holly and August stayed still, horrified by what they had witnessed, when the doll maker paused at the top of the stairs. She slowly turned around and smiled, making eye contact with the children before swiftly shutting the door, leaving them both in darkness.
Yes, Charmourn is a perfectly ordinary town, with perfectly ordinary people. A town with rumours surrounding the missing children, and a few new extraordinary dolls up for sale inside a doll makers shop.