smokingboot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smokingboot) wrote2007-12-21 04:12 pm
smokingboot) wrote2007-12-21 04:12 pm
A ghost story
Happy Yule, crazy folk!
The below is in response and x-posted tocaddyman's challenge on the lj community ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
just_writing; a Christmas ghost story of 500 words or less. I hope you like it, and would love to read something you write too, go on, how hard can it be? Meantime
here's my effort.
My first thought was that she must be cold and her teachers needed a talking to.
Well, no, no, that was about the second or third time. My first, I didn't think really...she was just a figure over on the Derrentwater, moving over the ice. They do skate there when it freezes, but it's not wise really. You can't trust ice to stay solid, you can't guess when it'll crack, only that it will, and what then?
But there's no telling young people. I pointed her out to Frank, who shrugged. Time was you couldn't get him off the Derrentwater, quite the skater himself, but he agrees its too dangerous now. Anyway, he couldn't make her out, sun blinking in his eyes.
Next time I saw her, she was on a park bench with her back to me. I recognised her coat. I was laden down with carrier bags, cos Frank can't help with shopping now, so I could have used a moment sat on the bench myself, but then I heard her chatting away on her mobile or something, and didn't want to sit too close. Other people's business and all that, and anyway, she sounded upset. I wonder their parents give them mobiles. Talk about the bills they must run up!
It was the next time I thought of her teachers and her parents. Couple of days before Christmas and she passes me, running on the pavement, silly little goose, nearly knocked me over and I called out, and half way down the road she looked back. God help me if the girl's not soaked.
To the skin! In this weather! Her parents must be half daft, and if it's swimming at school, the teachers should be ashamed to let her out like that, it's pneumonia in the making, I don't care if they put it all down to viruses.
Told Frank. He lost his temper and said all I did was talk about the girl, and school term had ended 10 days gone, and couldn't I talk about anything else but the girl in the brown coat?
I never told him she wore a brown coat.
Saw her earlier this evening, along the path back of the house, hair sopping, coat drenched. She looked up at his bedroom window and back to me, a little bit impatient but I'm almost done. Made plans to go to my sister's anyway, so everything's packed and locked except the back door into the kitchen, with the windows looking out over those school fields, and the Derrentwater glinting in the evening sun, red as you like.
The below is in response and x-posted to
caddyman's challenge on the lj community just_writing; a Christmas ghost story of 500 words or less. I hope you like it, and would love to read something you write too, go on, how hard can it be? Meantimehere's my effort.
My first thought was that she must be cold and her teachers needed a talking to.
Well, no, no, that was about the second or third time. My first, I didn't think really...she was just a figure over on the Derrentwater, moving over the ice. They do skate there when it freezes, but it's not wise really. You can't trust ice to stay solid, you can't guess when it'll crack, only that it will, and what then?
But there's no telling young people. I pointed her out to Frank, who shrugged. Time was you couldn't get him off the Derrentwater, quite the skater himself, but he agrees its too dangerous now. Anyway, he couldn't make her out, sun blinking in his eyes.
Next time I saw her, she was on a park bench with her back to me. I recognised her coat. I was laden down with carrier bags, cos Frank can't help with shopping now, so I could have used a moment sat on the bench myself, but then I heard her chatting away on her mobile or something, and didn't want to sit too close. Other people's business and all that, and anyway, she sounded upset. I wonder their parents give them mobiles. Talk about the bills they must run up!
It was the next time I thought of her teachers and her parents. Couple of days before Christmas and she passes me, running on the pavement, silly little goose, nearly knocked me over and I called out, and half way down the road she looked back. God help me if the girl's not soaked.
To the skin! In this weather! Her parents must be half daft, and if it's swimming at school, the teachers should be ashamed to let her out like that, it's pneumonia in the making, I don't care if they put it all down to viruses.
Told Frank. He lost his temper and said all I did was talk about the girl, and school term had ended 10 days gone, and couldn't I talk about anything else but the girl in the brown coat?
I never told him she wore a brown coat.
Saw her earlier this evening, along the path back of the house, hair sopping, coat drenched. She looked up at his bedroom window and back to me, a little bit impatient but I'm almost done. Made plans to go to my sister's anyway, so everything's packed and locked except the back door into the kitchen, with the windows looking out over those school fields, and the Derrentwater glinting in the evening sun, red as you like.
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