Creative Writing Competition Entry 1

This fictional story is the property of (1). Any resemblance it bears to any other person, (living or dead) character, incident or other known literary works, screen play or Television programme World Wide is coincidental.

How the Grey Castle got its Ghost

Once upon a time there was a Lord, who lived in a great grey castle. The towers of the castle loomed, the clouds above the castle were ominous, the corridors were draughty and cold, and the gargoyles were the scariest ones you've ever seen.

But the castle was sadly lacking in one thing. It had no ghosts. None at all. When you walked the draughty corridors at night the creaks you heard were just the floorboards. The cold wind in your neck when you were sitting in your room was indeed the window you had left open. And the shackles you heard clanging? Alas, they really were just a figment of your imagination.

The Lord was not happy. He lived together quite cosily with his housekeeper, and they had cosy little chats over hot cups of cocoa in the evenings. But it just didn't feel right. This castle just wasn't the type of place where you should be able to drink hot cups of cocoa and chat without being interrupted by the horrible moan of a grey lady floating by, or the clanking of the armour of a headless knight.

One day, the Lord was staring miserably into his third cup of cocoa for that evening, when his housekeeper interrupted his musings.

"Why don't you place an advert in the classifieds?"

The Lord raised his eyebrows. "An advert?"

"Yes, in the National Expirer."

The Lord, well versed in the contents of said newspaper "Written solely by real ghost writers" rubbed his nose, nodded, took a pencil and a piece of paper, and started to write:

WANTED: Ghost - The Lord paused and sucked his pencil - GSOH*, for large castle, appropriately bleak tower provided. No. 666
*Good Sense of Haunting

The advert was duly placed, and to the Lord's chagrin, he only received four replies, including one from your average white-sheeted ghost, which he rejected immediately, but it was better than nothing. The Lord employed a medium to channel the appointments long distance - so much cheaper than summoning ghosts by sending individual invitations to obscure addresses and confusing the postal services, - and hired a taxi run by a reputable ghost-transportation service, to pick up the applicants.

A week later, the Lord was staring out of the window over the suitably bleak marshes, when the taxi arrived. It dumped its load of spectral visitors and disappeared into thin air. Excitedly, the Lord sat down behind his desk, and asked his housekeeper to let in the first applicant.

It was a headless ghost. Headless in the most permanent sense of the word, since there was a ghost, but no head. The ghost stared - sort of - at the Lord, dripping blood onto the carpet. The Lord stared back, fiddling with the application forms. After a minute or so, there was a knock on the door and the housekeeper entered the office with a large brown paper bag. She dumped it in the ghost's lap.

"The taxi came back, the driver found this in the boot."

The housekeeper sniffed with disdain, looked the ghost up and mostly down, and left the room. The ghost nervously tore at the bag, and fished out a bearded head that started scolding its body straightaway.

"You moron! Again! When will you ever learn! Do you like bumping into things?!"

The headless body managed to look sheepish, and placed the head on its neck.

"Ahh, that is so much better." The ghost flexed its neck with a crack that sent shivers down the lord's spine. "Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes! I'm Baron Bruce LeStrange, used to haunt Lancaster Castle, got kicked out for being too forgetful, although I'm appealing the decision, how do you do?"

The Lord looked at the list of ghosts in front of him and then realised there was something missing.

"Excuse me, but I'm sure it says "Headless Horseman" on your CV."

There was a long pause.

The Headless Horseman without a horse looked around, as if suddenly realising he'd forgotten something really important. The Lord smiled brightly. "Never mind, don't call us, we'll call you! Please send the skeleton in will you? There's a good lad." The ghost of Baron LeStrange left through the wall, making a mental note to do something about his forgetfulness and forgetting it straightaway.

The skeleton arrived in all its rattling splendour, dragging a pair of chains behind it. The Lord grinned: that was more like it! The skeleton grinned back (of course).

"So," said the Lord, "I see here that you used to work in Balmoral? Is there any particular reason you left such a lovely place to haunt?"

"'ell," said the skeleton with difficulty, "I 'as 'ooking fo' fome f'esh scene'y, 'ou 'ow?"

As the Lord translated this in his head, one of the skeleton's fingers dropped off.

"Oo's, e'cuse ne,' said the skeleton apologetically, and stooped to pick the finger up. This made him lose his knee, and some of his toes.

The skeleton started to look rather embarrassed. It attempted to pick up its wayward limbs, but in doing so kept losing other bits. After a while it stood awkwardly hopping on one leg, with no arms left, most of its ribs gone, and its jaw had rolled in a corner somewhere.

The Lord snorted.

"Let me guess, it's only a flesh wound."

Despite it lack of limbs, or expression, for that matter, the skeleton looked rather insulted.

"Yes, well, since there isn't much of you left, I can't quite see how you could haunt this castle. Could you please pick up your limbs before you leave? Mrs Smith! Would you be so kind as to provide this ghost with a plastic bag to keep its bits in? Thank you."

The skeleton barely managed to hop out without losing any more limbs, and the housekeeper followed him with a bag full of bones. Before she exited the room, she introduced the next ghost with a rather disapproving look on her face. "It's the poltergeist, sir."

There was silence. The Lord looked around him uncomfortably. He snuck a look underneath his desk, but there was nothing there. He was about to call in his housekeeper to ask her if she'd missed somebody, when there was a small, tuneful pink explosion, and a shower of small hearts descended out of mid air. The Lord picked one up. It stuck to his finger. It had some very small and scribbly writing on it. The Lord took his reading glasses, put them firmly on his nose, and peered at the writing, which said "Hi! I'm your friendly future resident poltergeist! I will be tastefully rearranging your furniture! That desk is so 18th century, you know!"

Suddenly, the desk moved. The Lord grabbed both sides of it and held on tight.

"You will NOT be tastefully rearranging my furniture! This desk is an heirloom! Get your spectral claws off!"

The desk, which had started floating slightly above the ground, landed with a thud, nearly crushing the Lord's toes. A sole pink heart floated down. It stuck to the desk. It said "Well, if you're going to be like that." The curtains fluttered briefly and then there was silence once more.

The Lord waited, but nothing happened.

The housekeeper came in. "My Lord? I hope that poltergeist hasn't given you any bother, he has sorted all my pots and pans by colour, and now I can't find anything." She looked miffed.

"There's something stuck to your finger, by the way."

The Lord looked at his finger, and noticed the first pink heart was still stuck to it. He shook his hand, but the heart stayed. He sighed and looked at his notes. There were no more ghosts left to interview.

"Oh well," said the housekeeper, "Never mind, eh. Our evenings with cups of cocoa are kind of nice, aren't they? And I can rattle the odd chain in the cellar, if you wish, to create a bit of an atmosphere, like."

The Lord looked dismal. "But it won't be the same," he sighed, forlornly. "Who'd have thought there would be no suitable ghosts in this country? Forgetful headless horsemen, Lawrence Llewellyn Poltergeist, skeletons that can't keep themselves together …" He put his head in his hands.

The housekeeper looked at her boss and shook her head. "Now, now, my Lord, no need to be like that. Have another cup of cocoa. Is it me, or has it suddenly got awfully cold in here?"

"It has, hasn't it?" the Lord said, looking up from his hands. "Is the heating on the blink again?"

The housekeeper shook her head, and suddenly stared fixedly at a point above her employer's head. The Lord looked around and saw a white apparition appear through the wall.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

The housekeeper dropped the tray she was carrying. She blanched. And she fainted.

And that's how the grey castle got its ghost.

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