Author: ByQuillandInk PM
I wrote this aged 11 for a 500 word story competiton. It's not much of a story, more a very detailed blurb. Or maybe a prolouge. Also it hasn't been changed since 11 year old me wrote it. Tell me what you think...Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 500 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 11-23-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3076935
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I crept along the hall staring at the slimy walls in disgust, pausing for a few seconds to watch a thick green liquid drip from the ceiling. I concentrated on the only thing that mattered to me now and that was getting out of here as quickly as possible. I looked around; there was a strange red substance splattered up the wall. The sight made my heart freeze. Crimson blood, still warm, had been sprayed across the wall looking very much like someone's throat had just been ripped out.
I continued along the hall tentatively, one step at a time. A floorboard creaked somewhere and I jumped slightly, spinning round and checking that I was still alone. I shuddered; it had been a long time since I had felt scared. 'Not much I can do about it now though' I thought so I continued to inch down the hall, stopping every few seconds to check that no one was following. My heart was racing and my ears were straining for the slightest warning that I was about to be attacked.
I crept forwards, my back pressed against the wall; although it was not particularly helpful, it calmed me knowing that I could see any entrance a possible enemy could enter through, or so I thought. Suddenly the wall behind me gave way and I spun around, drawing my dagger from my belt and raising it, ready to strike. I lowered my dagger when I saw what it was that had snapped. An old rotting piece of wood had given way, exposing the window behind.
Out on the moors, looking very ragged and thin, was a group of soldiers. I stared. In the group of soldiers was Charles. I blinked. It couldn't be Charles, it just couldn't be, because Charles was dead, tortured and killed because he refused to give up secret information. Then an eerie song, sung by the soldiers, reached my ears, the song of the dead.
"Silent night, frozen night
Prisoners quake at the sight
Captors come with their
Whips and their knives
Won't be peace
Until one of us dies..."
The song faded away as the soldiers disappeared over the top of a hill, and as they went I realised that every one of the soldiers was a man I had once known, and that had been killed. Then I noticed a soft drip of blood on my shoulder. Dread gripped my heart and I closed my eyes, turning slowly I knew that in a moment I would have to open my eyes and see what horrors I faced. My eyes flicked open and everything seemed to freeze. In front of me was a boy I knew very well. His face was white and his deep blue eyes seemed to scream out at me. On his neck a deep cut was spilling blood.
"Morg..." he whispered softly.
"Kasper" I sobbed.
"Morg don't cry" he gasped again, his breath failing now "be careful...it's... Their coming for ...you're next"