Современное образование
Содержание. Часть 2 => Английский язык => Тема начата: Sergevna от 20 ноября 2014, 16:50:16
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The Guests
by Anonymous
A short story for Halloween
A young man and his wife were on a trip to visit his mother. Usually they arrived in time for supper, but they had had a late start, and now it was getting dark, so they decided to look for a place to stay overnight and drive on in the morning.
Just off the road, they saw a small house in the woods. "Maybe they rent rooms," the wife said. So they stopped to ask. An elderly man and woman came to the door. They didn't rent rooms, they said, but they would be glad to have them stay overnight as their guests. They had plenty of room, and they would enjoy the company. The old woman made coffee and brought out some cake, and the four of them talked for a while. Then the young couple were taken to their room. They tried to insist on paying for this, but the old man said he would not accept any MONEY.
The young couple got up early the next morning, before their hosts had awakened. They left an envelope with some MONEY in it on a table near the front door, to pay for the room. Then they went on to the next town. They stopped at a restaurant and had breakfast. When they told the owner where they had stayed, he was shocked. "That can't be," he said. "That house burned to the ground, and the man and the woman who lived there died in the fire."
The young couple could not believe it. So they went back to the house. Only now there was no house. All they found was a burnt-out shell. They stood staring at the ruins trying to understand what had happened. Then the woman screamed: In the rubble was a badly burned table, like the one they had seen by the front door and on the table was the envelope they had left that very morning.
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The Legend of Blackways Cove
Blackways Cove is an isolated inlet just along the coast from the golden North Cornwall beach of Trebarwith Strand. It is said to be haunted, but no one really knows by whom. Could it be the ghosts of shipwrecked sailors drowned when their vessels were torn apart on the treacherous rocks nearby? Or it could be the restless spirit of a local man doomed to haunt the scene of his crime - a crime with a curious twist in the tale?
Many years ago a man with two sons farmed in the vicinity, and on his death left his entire estate to his eldest son, cutting out the younger one without a penny. The younger son went away wracked with jealousy that fomented over time to be an obsession until, convinced that he had been cheated of his birthright he set out to wreak revenge on his elder brother.
One night he crept onto the farm and set fire to the buildings. The blaze took hold and the entire property was razed to the ground. The ruins of this once prosperous farm may still be seen near Blackways - a few stones from the farmhouse and outbuildings were all that remained. Only in the morning did he discover that his brother had died the day before - and left the entire estate to him.
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The Ghost of Charlotte Dymond
One of Cornwall's most celebrated ghosts is that of Charlotte Dymond, who was found murdered on the slopes of Roughtor, near Camelford on Sunday 14th April 1844. Her lover, a crippled farmhand called Matthew Weeks was later hanged at Bodmin Goal for the crime, though it is doubtful that he committed it. Since that time, and especially on the anniversary of her death, Charlotte has been seen walking in the area, clad in a gown, a red shawl and a silk bonnet. Sentries of the Old Volunteers stationed in Roughtor were very reluctant to stand duty there, so convinced were they of her ghostly presence.
A memorial stone marks the site of her murder, and the story has been immortalised too in "The Ballad of Charlotte Dymond", by Cornish poet Charles Causley.
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Duporth Manor
The ancient manor house at Duporth was said to have been haunted by the ghost of a nun known affectionately as "Flo". A century ago she could be heard striking matches in adjoining rooms and at the same time almost every night someone - or something? - would click open the lock on the cabinet in the drawing rooms. The manor has now been demolished and the sight has become Duporth Holiday Village, but according to a night security guard "Flo" hasn't gone away. Many strange happenings have been witnessed in recent years. The roundabout in the children's playground has been seen to turn by itself, first one way then the next without a breath of wind in the air. A kettle boiled itself in a locked an unattended room and a sewing machine which whirred into life without human assistance abruptly stopped when a member of staff said "no thanks Flo -I don't need you today". People claim to be aware of an invisible presence near the old Farm house. An elderly lady staying at the village with her 5 year old granddaughter heard the child talking to someone on the landing one afternoon. On investigating the grandmother could see no one, and when questioned the child said she had been chatting to a nice old lady in a black dress!
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Creeping Lane, Newlyn, Cornwall
There is a narrow lane, between Lidden hill, Alverton and Tolcarne, Newlyn, which seems to have a very creepy atmosphere, especially at night, It runs parallel to a very dark wood, which could be the reason for the eerie sensation, but there are a few stories about the road, that could explain this could be perhaps more than just a feeling.
Many years a go a small baby was found, lifeless and without any clue to who it belonged to. Also the lane runs past the now overgrown, entrance to Devil's Rock, a large slab of rock overlooking a sheer drop to Newyln Coombe, It is said that the devil made an appearance here, and local fishermen say that the devil was once caught in the nets. The fishermen said the Lords Prayer and the devil stamped his foot in anger and vanished. Never to be seen again.
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The Phantom Coach
A lonely drive through quiet country lanes one wet November afternoon led to an extraordinary encounter for Mr. Cliff Hockin of Mevagissey.
He was driving from Mevagissey to Truro to visit his wife in hospital when, to his shock and amazement he rounded a round bend and without warning was suddenly confronted with an old fashioned stagecoach thundering along the road towards him, drawn by four horses galloping at full speed. At the reigns sat a coachman in a greatcoat with wide blue lapels, whipping the horses into a frenzy of speed. Beside the driver blowing a posthorn sat the guard, clad in a scarlet coat and black hat. Horrified, Mr. Hocking stamped on his brakes, stalling the car and throwing his hands up over his face. As the mysterious coach bore down on him, the thundering wheels, galloping hooves and urgent blast of the horn rising to a crescendo, he sat helplessly awaiting the imminent collision. Nothing happened. Instead, the terrifying sounds of the coach ceased abruptly and all was quiet again. When he looked up it had literally disappeared into thin air.The road was empty.
The phenomenon of phantom coaches drawn by ghostly horses is not an uncommon one, especially in the uncommonly haunted county of Cornwall, but to Mr. Hocking this vision was a very real one. He remembers quite clearly that the coach was painted bright red, low bodied with small doors and windows and a sloping rear. Such a coach would once have carried the mail to towns and villages in the vicinity - some two hundred years ago. Why was the driver in such a hurry? Well perhaps he was late with the post - or maybe he had a rendezvous to meet. After all, Walter Cross - the Mevagissey man who had introduced the stagecoach service into Cornwall in 1796 was, among other things, a smuggler. Was it him at the reigns?
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Haunted Pubs and Inns
At the famous old coaching hostelry Jamaica Inn (made famous by Daphne Du Maurier's Novel) in Bolventor, near Bodmin, the ghost of a murdered sailor returning to finish his last drink has been seen by many visitors.
Customers at The Dolphin Inn in Penzance have witnessed the sight, and in recent years the sound, of an old sea captain dressed in a tricorn hat and laced ruffles. It is thought he may have been a victim of Judge Jeffries (1648-89), the famous "Hanging Judge" who is reputed to have held an Assizes in what is now the dining room of the inn, or possibly an old smuggler returning to claim the casks of brandy recently found hidden away in the cellar during renovations.
From the Punch Bowl Inn at Lanreath, near Lostwithiel, comes the tale of a demonic black cockerel believed to have been the angry soul of an old rector of the parish who fell to his death down the stairs to his cellar whilst fetching a bottle of wine. His guest for dinner that night was the new young curate who had fallen in love with the rector's young and beautiful wife. Did he fall or was he pushed? We'll never know, but the very next day a large black cockerel suddenly appeared and began attacking everyone in sight. Eventually the bird flew in through the window of The Punch Bowl Inn and straight into an old earthenware oven. A quick thinking kitchen maid imprisoned him inside it and a mason was duly called to cement it up for all eternity.
The Wellington HOTEL, Boscastle's famous old coaching inn, has more than its fair share of ghostly inhabitants. Some years ago the HOTEL'S owner, Victor Tobutt, was working at the reception desk when the figure of a man drifted silently past him. Looking up, he was surprised to see that the man wore leather gaiters and boots, a frock coat and a frilled shirt, such as might have been worn by an 18th century coachman, and his hair tied back in the old fashioned style. "There was nothing insubstantial about him", Victor told, "he looked remarkably solid." To his shock, the apparition disappeared through the wall, but when he began to describe what he had seen to one of his employees, the man completed the description for him. Apparently he too had seen the ghostly visitor on more than one occasion.
Another employee at The Wellington Hotel, retired policeman Bill Searle has twice witnessed a misty shape, wearing what appears to be a cloak, drift across the landing and disappear through the wall of a guest room. It is thought to be the spirit of a young girl who, crossed in love, flung herself in despair from the ramparts of the hotel's tower. Another part of the building is thought to be haunted by a murdered man, and there is also an "animal friendly" spirit, which was eagerly pursued by the small dog belonging to the writer of ghost stories who stayed in the hotel. Ironically, the writer himself didn't see it, but his wife witnessed a shape move across the room, followed by the dog excitedly wagging his tail!
Several of the staff and customers have also witnessed a dark shape float down the stairs and disappear into the cellar late at night. Curiously, the two oldest hostelries in Boscastle bear the names of two of history's most famous adversaries. At the top of Boscastle's steep "corkscrew " hill, high above The Wellington HOTELstands The Napoleon Inn. It is said that the inn served as a recruiting office in the Napoleonic Wars, but the sympathies and interests of many Cornish smugglers lay more with their French suppliers than with King and Country. Legend has it that The Napoleon Inn was so named because it was actually used to recruit volunteers for the enemy!
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The Talland Ghost Hunter
Talland is a small village on Cornwall's East coast not far from the fishing villages of Looe and Polperro. Once an area notorious for smuggling, its worthy vicar, Parson Richard Dodge who served the church between 1713 and 1747 acquired a reputation as a Ghost hunter and Exorcist, almost certainly a convenient cover to disguise his smuggling activities! Dodge claimed the power to drive away the Devil and spread the story of having met The Devil himself driving a sable coach drawn by two headless horses. He spoke of demons on nearby Bridle Lane, a path that leads down to the beach, thereby ensuring that God-fearing folk would steer clear of the area at night and not disturb his illegal TRADE!
He also let it be known that on his approach evil spirits would cry out "Dodge is come! I must be gone!" and so his reputation as the scourge of evil spread far and wide in the county. Legend also has it that the original Church was to have been constructed at nearby Pulpit and work had actually commenced, but each following day the stones that had been laid had been mysteriously transported over to the present sight. Then, a chilling voice is said to have been heard, commanding "if you would my wish fulfil build the church on Talland Hill". The superstitious masons duly acquiesced, and there it stands to this day.
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White Horse - St Ives Cornwall
There's a beach in St Ives, thats said to be haunted by a White horse. The story goes that a man rode his horse every day on the beach, at the same spot he would dismount, and go for a swim, but one day tragedy struck and he was washed out to sea and drowned. The horse was found, still on the beach staring out to sea.
A few years later the horse also died and it is said in that area that the horse can still be seen waiting for his master and sometimes at certain times of the year a man and horse can be seen riding along the beach.
???
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A Haunted House
Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple.
"Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them."
But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.
But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe" the pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure buried; the room . . ." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?
A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. 'The Treasure yours."
The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.
"Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking in the morning--" "Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" 'In the garden--" "When summer came--" 'In winter snowtime--" "The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.
Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound asleep. Love upon their lips."
Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.
"Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--" he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe! safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart."
Virginia Woolf
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Lost Love
by Jan Carew
These things happened to me nearly ten years ago. I lived in a city, but the city was hot in summer. I wanted to see the country. I wanted to walk in the woods and see green trees.
I had a little red car and I had a map, too. I drove all night out into the country. I was happy in my car. We had a very good summer that year. The country was very pretty in the early morning. The sun was hot, and the sky was blue. I heard the birds in the trees.
And then my car stopped suddenly.
‘What’s wrong?’ I thought. ‘Oh dear, I haven’t got any petrol. Now I’ll have to walk. I’ll have to find a town and buy some petrol. But where am I?’
I looked at the map. I wasn’t near a town. I was lost in the country.
And then I saw the girl. She walked down the road, with flowers in her hand. She wore a long dress, and her hair was long, too. It was long and black, and it shone in the sun. She was very pretty. I wanted to speak to her, so I got out of the car.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m lost. Where am I?’
She looked afraid, so I spoke quietly.
‘I haven’t got any petrol,’ I said. ‘Where can I find some?’
Her blue eyes looked at me, and she smiled.
‘She’s a very pretty girl!’ I thought.
‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘Come with me to the village. Perhaps we can help you.’
I went with her happily, and we walked a long way.
‘There isn’t a village on the map,’ I thought. ‘Perhaps it’s a very small village.’
There was a village, and it was old and pretty. The houses were black and white and very small. There were a lot of animals. The girl stopped at a house and smiled at me. ‘Come in, please,’ she said.
I went in. The house was very clean, but it was strange, too. There was a fire and some food above it. I felt hungry then.
‘That’s strange,’ I thought. ‘They cook their food over a wood fire! Perhaps they have no money.’
I met her father and mother, and I liked them. They were nice people, but their clothes were strange.
‘Sit down,’ said the old man. ‘Are you thirsty after your walk?’
He gave me a drink, and I said, ‘Thank you.’ But the drink was strange, too. It was dark brown and very strong. I didn’t understand. But I was happy there.
I asked about petrol, but the old man didn’t understand.
‘Petrol?’ he asked. ‘What is that?’
‘This is strange,’ I thought. Then I asked, ‘Do you walk everywhere?’
The old man smiled. ‘Oh, no, we use horses,’ he said.
‘Horses!’ I thought. ‘Horses are very slow. Why don’t they have cars?’
But I didn’t say that to the old man.
I felt happy there. I stayed all day, and I ate dinner with them that evening. Then the girl and I went out into the garden. The girl’s name was Mary.
‘This is nice,’ she said. ‘We like having visitors. We do not see many people here.’
We spoke happily. She was very beautiful. But after a time, she began to talk quietly, and her face was sad.
‘I cannot tell you,’ she said. ‘You are only a visitor here. We have to say goodbye tonight. You have to go now.’
I didn’t understand. I loved her. I knew that. And I wanted to help her. Why did 1 have to go? But Mary said again in a sad voice, ‘You have to go. It is dangerous here.’
So I said, ‘I’ll go to the next town and find some petrol. Then I’ll come back.’
She didn’t speak.
‘I love you, Mary,’ I said. ‘And I’ll come back to you. You won’t stop me.’
She said goodbye to me at the door. Her face was very sad, and I was sad, too. I didn’t want to go.
It was midnight. The night was very dark, but I walked and walked. I was very tired when I saw the lights of a town. I found some petrol, and then I asked the name of the village. But the man at the garage gave me a strange look.
‘What village?’ he asked.
I told him about the village. I told him about the old houses and the people with strange clothes.
Again he gave me a strange look. He thought, and then he said, ‘There was a village there, but it isn’t there now. There are stories about it — strange stories.’
‘What do people say about it?’ I asked.
He didn’t want to tell me, but then he said, ‘There was a big fire in the village. Everybody died. There aren’t any people or houses there now.’
‘How did it happen?’ I asked. ‘And why?’
‘Oliver Cromwell killed them; he said. ‘He was angry with the villagers because they helped the king in the war.’
‘This isn’t right,’ I thought. ‘That war happened 350 years ago!’
Then I remembered the strange clothes, the long hair, the food over the fire, and the old houses. And I remembered, too, about the horses.
‘But I don’t understand,’ I cried. ‘I saw the people and the village. I spoke to some people there!’
The man looked quickly at me, and then he spoke.
‘There’s an interesting story about the village. For one day every ten years, it lives again – but only for one day. Then it goes away again for another ten years. On that one day, you can find the village. But you have to leave before morning, or you will never leave.
‘Can this be right?’ I thought. Perhaps it was. Mary said, ‘You have to go.’ She loved me, but she said, «We have to say goodbye.’ She was afraid for me. ‘Now I understand,’ I thought.
I went back to the village, but it wasn’t there. I looked again and again, but I couldn’t find it. I saw only flowers and trees. I heard only the sound of the birds and the wind. I was very sad. I sat down on the ground and cried.
I will never forget that day. I remember Mary, and I will always love her.
Now, I only have to wait two months. The village will come back again. On the right day, I will go back. I will find her again, my love with the long, black hair. And this time, I will not leave before morning. I will stay with her.
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Coat from the Dead
One evening a man called James was on the road from Oxford to London. There weren’t many cars on the road because it was late. Suddenly in the lights of his car he saw a woman by the road – she was quite young and very pretty. ‘It’s dangerous to walk along the road when it’s dark and late,’ he thought. He stopped, opened the window and asked the young woman, ‘Where are you going? It’s dangerous to stand here at night… perhaps I can take you to London with me.’ The young woman didn’t answer but she opened the door of the car and got in.
James asked her e a lot of questions: ‘What’s your name? Where do you live? Why are you on the road at night? Is your family in London? Where are your friends? Have you got any money? Are you hungry?’ The young woman sat next to James but she said nothing. Not one word. She only looked at the road.
Soon James stopped asking questions and they drove along without talking. Coming into London there were more cars and James had to drive more slowly. Suddenly the young woman started to open the door so James stopped the car quickly. They were in front of a house on a long street. The woman opened the door and got out of the car, then she slowly walked up to the front door of the house. James watched her and thought angrily, ‘She didn’t say «Thank you».’
Three days later he opened the back door of his car and found a coat. ‘This isn’t my coat,’ he thought. Then he remembered the young woman. Perhaps it was her coat. He had to drive to London again that evening so he thought, ‘l’ll take her coat back. ..I remember the street and the house.’ He drove there, parked in front of the house and walked up to the door. An older woman answered.
‘Does a young woman live here?’ he asked’. l think this is her coat – she left it in my car three days ago.’
The woman looked at the coat and began to cry. ‘That was my daughter’s coat.. .’
‘Here, please give it back to her then,’ James said.
‘l can’t,’ the woman said. ‘She’s dead.’
‘Dead!’ said James.
‘Yes, she died five years ago.’
Five years ago?’ James asked quietly.
‘Yes, on the road between Oxford and London. .. in an accident,’ the woman said.
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The Doll
by Jan Carew
Mr Brown lived near the centre of town, but his small house had a garden. Mr Brown liked his garden very much. It had a lot of flowers and they were pretty in summer — red, blue and yellow. Mr Brown liked sitting there in the evenings and at weekends.
But he had to work, too. Mr Brown worked in an office. It wasn’t near his house, so he often went to work on the bus. He came home on the bus, too.
Mr Brown was a lonely man. He didn’t have many friends, and he didn’t talk to many people. And so he was sad and often bored.
One very hot day, Mr Brown walked home. He didn’t want to go on the bus that day. He wanted a walk in the warm sun. In one street there was a small shop. Mr Brown looked in the window.
There were very old things in the window, and Mr Brown liked old things. He went into the shop.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the man in the shop.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Can I look round the shop?’
‘Please do.’
Mr Brown looked at the things in the shop. He saw an old doll with a sad face. It wasn’t a pretty face, but Mr Brown liked it. The doll was a little old man with white hair and black clothes.
Mr Brown thought, ‘Perhaps the doll is lonely, too.’
He asked, ‘How much do you want for this old doll?’
The man thought. ‘Oh, that. Three pounds,’ he said.
Mr Brown wanted the doll. Why? He didn’t know. But he wanted it. Three pounds was a lot of money for an old doll, but Mr Brown paid it. He went out with the doll in his hand.
He looked at its face. ‘Is it smiling?’ he wondered. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘It’s only a doll.’ He said to it, ‘I’m going to take you home,’
The doll didn’t answer – it was only a doll. So why did Mr Brown speak to it? Because he was lonely. He put it in his case with his papers from the office.
Mr Brown was tired now, so he got on the bus. The man came for Mr Brown’s money and Mr Brown bought a ticket.
Suddenly, somebody on the bus spoke. ‘Go away!’ said the person. ‘You stupid man. Go away!’
Everybody on the bus looked at Mr Brown. ‘Did he say that?’ they wondered.
The ticket man was angry with Mr Brown. ‘Why did he say that?’ he wondered. He gave Mr Brown a ticket and went away. He didn’t like Mr Brown.
When Mr Brown got home, he was very tired. ‘Who spoke on the bus?’ he wondered. He didn’t know. He took the doll out of his case and looked at it.
It was only a doll. It wasn’t very pretty. It was quite ugly but it had a smile on its face. ‘That’s strange,’ thought Mr Brown. He put the doll on the table and had his dinner.
Mr Brown wasn’t very hungry, so he only ate some bread and butter. Then he went to bed and slept. He forgot the doll. It was on the table.
Morning came, and the sun shone into the room. Mr Brown opened his eyes. There was something on his bed. ‘What is it?’ he wondered.
He looked, and he saw the doll. ‘But I left it on the table. It can’t walk — it’s only a doll,’ Mr Brown didn’t understand it. It was very strange.
Mr Brown went to the front door. ‘Are there any letters for me?’ he wondered.
Yes, there were three with his name and address. But what was this? The letters were open! Who opened them? Mr Brown didn’t know.
Mr Brown ate his breakfast. Then he went to the bus stop and waited. His bus came and stopped for him. Mr Brown got on with his case and sat down.
There were a lot of people on the bus, and one old woman couldn’t sit down. Her face was tired, and Mr Brown was a kind man. He stood up for her, and she sat down.
Then suddenly, somebody spoke. ‘You stupid old thing!’
The woman turned and looked at Mr Brown. She was very angry. Mr Brown’s face went red. Then he remembered the doll.
He got off the bus. He couldn’t understand it. ‘That doll’s at home,’ he thought. ‘Or is it?’
Mr Brown opened his case and looked inside. The doll was there, with a big smile on its ugly face!
He put the doll down on the street and left it there. Then he went to work. ‘That’s the end of that doll,’ he thought. ‘Good!’
Mr Brown worked well all day. After work, he walked to the bus stop. But what was that? The doll was at the bus stop! Mr Brown saw the white hair and the black clothes, and he saw the smile, too. ‘What’s happening?’ he wondered. ‘It’s waiting for me! It isn’t only a doll. But what is it?’
He turned and ran away from the bus stop. Then he walked home. He had to walk three kilometres to his house. He was very tired.
Mr Brown sat down in a chair and went to sleep. He slept for an hour.
Suddenly, there was a big noise in another room – CRASH! SMASH! Mr Brown opened his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ he wondered. He went into the other room.
The doll was there again. It sat on the table and looked at him. Mr Brown’s cups and plates were all on the floor.
‘It isn’t only a doll,’ Mr Brown thought. ‘And it isn’t a friend. This is difficult. What can I do?’
He took the doll into the garden and buried it in the ground.
‘That really is the end of you,’ said Mr Brown. ‘You’re under the ground now. You won’t get out of there.’
Next day, Mr Brown went to work on the bus. He didn’t have the doll now and nobody spoke. He worked hard, and he was happy.
Mr Brown came home again that night. He watched television. ‘This is good,’ he thought.
At eleven o’clock he went to bed. The house was dark and quiet.
But an hour later, there was a sudden noise in the night. Mr Brown sat up in bed. He was cold and afraid. ‘What was that noise?’ he wondered.
The noise was at the back door. Mr Brown was afraid, but he opened the door. It was the doll again!
It was dirty from the ground, but it looked at Mr Brown and smiled. It was a cold smile, and Mr Brown was very afraid.
He looked at the doll and said, ‘Go away! Please! Go away!’
The doll didn’t speak – it only smiled again. Mr Brown was very angry now. He took the doll into the garden again. He found some wood, and he made a big fire. He lit the fire. Then he put the doll on the top.
‘Now die!’ said Mr Brown. ‘It’s different this time. This will be the end of you.’ And Mr Brown smiled. The fire was hot and red.
The fire got bigger – and bigger. Suddenly there was a loud cry, and people ran out of their houses. ‘What’s wrong?’ they shouted.
‘There’s a big fire in Mr Brown’s garden,’ somebody said. ‘Look!’
And there was a big fire.
The people looked round the house and garden. They couldn’t find Mr Brown. But on the ground near the fire, there was a doll with white hair and black clothes. It wasn’t a pretty doll. And there was a smile on its face.
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The Other Man
by Jan Carew
I was a writer. I wrote books. I write now, but nobody knows. Nobody can see me now. Something strange has happened to me. I will tell you about it.
In January I wanted to write a very long book. So I left my home and I found a little room.
‘This is a good room for a writer,’ I thought. ‘I’ll write my book here.’
It was a little room, but I liked it. It was very quiet. I began to work on my book and I was happy.
Then things began to happen — strange things.
One day I was at my desk with my pen in my hand. Suddenly I thought, ‘I want a coffee and I haven’t got any. I’ll have to go to the shop.’
I put my pen on the table and went out.
When I came back, I looked for the pen. It wasn’t on the table. I looked on the floor, on my chair and then on the table again. It wasn’t there!
‘I don’t understand it,’ I thought.
That night another strange thing happened. I was in bed and the room was very quiet. Suddenly, I opened my eyes,
‘What was that?’ I wondered.
Then I heard a voice – a man’s voice.
‘Who’s there?’ I cried.
There was no answer and there was nobody in the room! I couldn’t understand it, and I was afraid.
‘What can I do?’ I thought. ‘What was that?’
After that, strange things happened every day. But I had to finish my book, so I stayed there.
The room was very small. There were not many things in it; only a bed, a table and a chair. And there was a mirror on the wall. It was a very old mirror and I liked it. And then, one day, I looked in the mirror and – I saw him! The other man! It wasn’t me. This man had a beard, but I didn’t!
I shut my eyes and looked again. This time, I saw my face in the mirror.
‘That didn’t happen,’ I thought, ‘I was wrong. There wasn’t another man.’
I went for a walk that day, and I didn’t work on my book. I didn’t want to be in the room. I didn’t want to see or hear strange things.
At night, I went home again. The room was very quiet. I looked in the mirror and saw my face. But I wasn’t happy. I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep.
‘I’ll leave here tomorrow,’ I thought. And after that, I slept.
But then another strange thing happened. The other man stood by my bed and spoke to me.
‘You will never leave here,’ he said. ‘You will stay with me.’
And then I opened my eyes. I was very cold and afraid. ‘I’ll leave now,’ I thought. ‘I can’t stay here for one more minute.’
Quickly, I put my things in a case. I wanted to go – now. I couldn’t forget the man, so I was afraid. But afraid of what? I didn’t know.
When my clothes were in the case, I thought, ‘I’ll leave the room now.’
I looked round the room, and I also looked in the mirror again. And then I suddenly felt colder and more afraid. I couldn’t see the other man in the mirror. Why? Because he wasn’t there. But I couldn’t see my face in the mirror! There was no face. Why not?
I tried to shout, but no sound came. I had no voice.
And then I saw him. I saw the other man — the man with the beard. But he wasn’t in the mirror. He was at the table, with my pen in his hand. He wrote my book with my pen! I was angry and I tried to speak. But I couldn’t, because I had no voice.
The other man didn’t speak. He smiled and wrote.
Suddenly, there was a sound at the door, and I heard a friend’s voice.
Are you there?’ my friend called. ‘I want to see you.’
I was very happy then. ‘My friend will help me,’ I thought. But I couldn’t move. The other man went to the door and opened it.
‘Come in,’ he said to my friend. ‘Come and see my room. I’m writing my book.’
My friend came into the room, but he didn’t see me. He smiled at the other man.
My friend said, ‘Oh, you have a beard now!’
Again and again, I tried to speak but I couldn’t. My friend couldn’t see me; he couldn’t hear me. He only saw the other man.
That is my story. The other man has my room. And he also has my face and my voice. He will finish my book, too.
But the other man doesn’t know one thing. I can write — I can tell my story. And I’m telling it to you!
-
Coat from the Dead
One evening a man called James was on the road from Oxford to London. There weren’t many cars on the road because it was late. Suddenly in the lights of his car he saw a woman by the road – she was quite young and very pretty. ‘It’s dangerous to walk along the road when it’s dark and late,’ he thought. He stopped, opened the window and asked the young woman, ‘Where are you going? It’s dangerous to stand here at night… perhaps I can take you to London with me.’ The young woman didn’t answer but she opened the door of the car and got in.
James asked her e a lot of questions: ‘What’s your name? Where do you live? Why are you on the road at night? Is your family in London? Where are your friends? Have you got any money? Are you hungry?’ The young woman sat next to James but she said nothing. Not one word. She only looked at the road.
Soon James stopped asking questions and they drove along without talking. Coming into London there were more cars and James had to drive more slowly. Suddenly the young woman started to open the door so James stopped the car quickly. They were in front of a house on a long street. The woman opened the door and got out of the car, then she slowly walked up to the front door of the house. James watched her and thought angrily, ‘She didn’t say «Thank you».’
Three days later he opened the back door of his car and found a coat. ‘This isn’t my coat,’ he thought. Then he remembered the young woman. Perhaps it was her coat. He had to drive to London again that evening so he thought, ‘l’ll take her coat back. ..I remember the street and the house.’ He drove there, parked in front of the house and walked up to the door. An older woman answered.
‘Does a young woman live here?’ he asked’. l think this is her coat – she left it in my car three days ago.’
The woman looked at the coat and began to cry. ‘That was my daughter’s coat.. .’
‘Here, please give it back to her then,’ James said.
‘l can’t,’ the woman said. ‘She’s dead.’
‘Dead!’ said James.
‘Yes, she died five years ago.’
Five years ago?’ James asked quietly.
‘Yes, on the road between Oxford and London. .. in an accident,’ the woman said.
-
Room for One More
by Alvin Schwartz
A man named Joseph Blackwell came to Philadelphia on a business trip. He stayed with friends in the big house they owned outside the city. That night they had a good time visiting. But when Blackwell went to bed, he tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep. Sometime during the night he heard a car turn into the driveway. He went to the window to see who was arriving at such a late hour. In the moonlight, he saw a long black hearse filled with people.
The driver of the hearse looked up at him. When Blackwell saw his weird, hideous face, he shuddered. The driver called to him, «There is room for one more.» Then he waited for a minute or two, and then he drove off.
In the morning Blackwell told his friends what had happened. «You were dreaming,» they said.
«I must have been,» he said,» but it didn’t seem like a dream.»
After breakfast, he went into Philadelphia. He spent the day high above the city in one of the new office buildings there.
Late in the afternoon he was waiting for an elevator to take him back down to the street. But when it arrived, it was very crowded. One of the passengers looked out and called to him. «There is room for one more,» he said. It was the driver of the hearse.
«No thanks,» Blackwell said. «I’ll get the next one.»
The doors closed, and the elevator started down. There was a shrieking and screaming, then the sound of a crash. The elevator had fallen to the bottom of the shaft. Everyone aboard was killed.
-
The Boarded Window (By Ambrose Bierce)
In 1830, only a few miles away from what is now the great city of Cincinnati, Ohio, lay a huge and almost endless forest.
The area had a few settlements established by people of the frontier. Many of them had already left the area for settlements further to the west. But among those remaining was a man who had been one of the first people to arrive there.
He lived alone in a house of logs surrounded on all sides by the great forest. He seemed a part of the darkness and silence of the forest, for no one had ever known him to smile or speak an unnecessary word. His simple needs were supplied by selling or trading the skins of wild animals in the town.
His little log house had a single door. Directly opposite was a window. The window was boarded up. No one could remember a time when it was not. And no one knew why it had been closed. I imagine there are few people living today who ever knew the secret of that window. But I am one, as you shall see.
The man's name was said to be Murlock. He appeared to be seventy years old, but he was really fifty. Something other than years had been the cause of his aging.
His hair and long, full beard were white. His gray, lifeless eyes were sunken. His face was wrinkled. He was tall and thin with drooping shoulders—like someone with many problems.
I never saw him. These details I learned from my grandfather. He told me the man's story when I was a boy. He had known him when living nearby in that early day.
One day Murlock was found in his cabin, dead. It was not a time and place for medical examiners and newspapers. I suppose it was agreed that he had died from natural causes or I should have been told, and should remember.
I know only that the body was buried near the cabin, next to the burial place of his wife. She had died so many years before him that local tradition noted very little of her existence.
That closes the final part of this true story, except for the incident that followed many years later. With a fearless spirit I went to the place and got close enough to the ruined cabin to throw a stone against it. I ran away to avoid the ghost which every well-informed boy in the area knew haunted the spot.
But there is an earlier part to this story supplied by my grandfather.
When Murlock built his cabin he was young, strong and full of hope. He began the hard work of creating a farm. He kept a gun--a rifle—for hunting to support himself.
He had married a young woman, in all ways worthy of his honest love and loyalty. She shared the dangers of life with a willing spirit and a light heart. There is no known record of her name or details about her. They loved each other and were happy.
One day Murlock returned from hunting in a deep part of the forest. He found his wife sick with fever and confusion. There was no doctor or neighbor within miles. She was in no condition to be left alone while he went to find help. So Murlock tried to take care of his wife and return her to good health. But at the end of the third day she fell into unconsciousness and died.
From what we know about a man like Murlock, we may try to imagine some of the details of the story told by my grandfather.
When he was sure she was dead, Murlock had sense enough to remember that the dead must be prepared for burial. He made a mistake now and again while performing this special duty. He did certain things wrong. And others which he did correctly were done over and over again.
He was surprised that he did not cry — surprised and a little ashamed. Surely it is unkind not to cry for the dead.
"Tomorrow," he said out loud, "I shall have to make the coffin and dig the grave; and then I shall miss her, when she is no longer in sight. But now -- she is dead, of course, but it is all right — it must be all right, somehow. Things cannot be as bad as they seem."
He stood over the body of his wife in the disappearing light. He fixed the hair and made finishing touches to the rest. He did all of this without thinking but with care. And still through his mind ran a feeling that all was right -- that he should have her again as before, and everything would be explained.
Murlock had no experience in deep sadness. His heart could not contain it all. His imagination could not understand it. He did not know he was so hard struck. That knowledge would come later and never leave.
Deep sadness is an artist of powers that affects people in different ways. To one it comes like the stroke of an arrow, shocking all the emotions to a sharper life. To another, it comes as the blow of a crushing strike. We may believe Murlock to have been affected that way.
Soon after he had finished his work he sank into a chair by the side of the table upon which the body lay. He noted how white his wife's face looked in the deepening darkness. He laid his arms upon the table's edge and dropped his face into them, tearless and very sleepy.
At that moment a long, screaming sound came in through the open window. It was like the cry of a lost child in the far deep of the darkening forest! But the man did not move. He heard that unearthly cry upon his failing sense, again and nearer than before. Maybe it was a wild animal or maybe it was a dream. For Murlock was asleep.
Some hours later, he awoke, lifted his head from his arms and listened closely. He knew not why. There in the black darkness by the side of the body, he remembered everything without a shock. He strained his eyes to see -- he knew not what.
His senses were all alert. His breath was suspended. His blood was still as if to assist the silence. Who — what had awakened him and where was it!
Suddenly the table shook under his arms. At the same time he heard, or imagined he heard, a light, soft step and then another. The sounds were as bare feet walking upon the floor!
He was afraid beyond the power to cry out or move. He waited—waited there in the darkness through what seemed like centuries of such fear. Fear as one may know, but yet live to tell. He tried but failed to speak the dead woman's name. He tried but failed to stretch his hand across the table to learn if she was there. His throat was powerless. His arms and hands were like lead.
Then something most frightful happened. It seemed as if a heavy body was thrown against the table with a force that pushed against his chest. At the same time he heard and felt the fall of something upon the floor. It was so violent a crash that the whole house shook. A fight followed and a confusion of sounds impossible to describe.
Murlock had risen to his feet. Extreme fear had caused him to lose control of his senses. He threw his hands upon the table. Nothing was there!
There is a point at which fear may turn to insanity; and insanity incites to action. With no definite plan and acting like a madman, Murlock ran quickly to the wall. He seized his loaded rifle and without aim fired it.
The flash from the rifle lit the room with a clear brightness. He saw a huge fierce panther dragging the dead woman toward the window. The wild animal's teeth were fixed on her throat! Then there was darkness blacker than before, and silence.
When he returned to consciousness the sun was high and the forest was filled with the sounds of singing birds. The body lay near the window, where the animal had left it when frightened away by the light and sound of the rifle.
The clothing was ruined. The long hair was in disorder. The arms and legs lay in a careless way. And a pool of blood flowed from the horribly torn throat. The ribbon he had used to tie the wrists was broken. The hands were tightly closed.
And between the teeth was a piece of the animal's ear.
-
During the Halloween party, the first prize for the best costume is given to a little boy. But he seems very unhappy. His friend asked him why he is so sad. The little boy replied that “oh, I just came here to pick up my sister”!
-
What is a ghost’s favourite dish?
Ice-Scream!
Where did ghosts love to swim?
The Dead sea!
What did Dracula said about her new girlfriend?
Oh, she is my love at first bite!
-
Последнее сообщение порадовало! Забавно!
-
Something Was Wrong
One morning, John Sullivan found himself walking along a street
downtown. He could not explain what he was doing there, or how he got
there, or where he had been earlier. He didn't even know what time it was.
He saw a woman walking toward him and stopped her. "I'm afraid I forgot
my watch," he said, and smiled. "Can you please tell me the time?" When
she saw him, she screamed and ran.
The he noticed that other people were afraid of him. When they saw him
coming, they flattened themselves against a building, or ran across the
street to stay out of his way.
"There must be something wrong with me," John thought. "I'd better go
home."
He hailed a taxi, but the driver took one look at him and sped away. "This is
crazy!" he said to himself.
John did not understand what was going on, and it scared him. "Maybe
someone at home can come and pick me up." he thought. He found a
telephone and called home, expecting his wife to answer. Instead, a
strange voice answered.
"Is Mrs. Sullivan there?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, she isn't," the voice said. "Her husband died a few days ago in a
horrible car crash, she's at his funeral."
-
The Appointment
A sixteen year old boy worked on his grandfather's horse farm. One
morning he drove a pickup truck into town on an errand. While he was
walking along Main Street, he saw Death. Death beckoned him.
The boy drove back to the farm as fast as he could and told his grandfather
what had happened. "Lend me the truck," he begged. "I'll go to the city. He
won't find me there."
His grandfather lent him the truck, and the boy sped away. After he left, his
grandfather went into town looking for Death. When he found him, he
asked, "Why did you frighten my grandson that way? He is only sixteen. He
is too young to die."
"I am sorry about that," said Death. "I did not mean to beckon to him. But I
was surprised to see him here. I have an appointment with him this
afternoon in the city."
-
The Graveyard Wager
A group of young girls were having a slumber party one night and began
to exchange ghost stories. One girl claimed that the old man who had been
buried earlier that week in the graveyard down the street had been buried
alive. She claimed that if you tried, you could hear him still scratching at the
lid of his coffin. The other girls called her bluff and told her that she wouldn’t
do it. They said she was too afraid to go down there to the grave that very
night. They continued to challenge her and eventually she gave into the
peer pressure and accepted their challenge. Since she was going to go
alone, she needed to prove to the others that she actually followed through
with the task. She was supposed to take a stake with her and drive it into
the ground so the next day the girls would know that she had been to the
grave.
She headed off to the gravesite, stake in hand, and never returned. The
other girls assumed she had "chickened out" and had just gone home
instead.
The next morning as they passed the graveyard they saw her there at the
old man's grave. She had accidentally staked her nightshirt to the ground
and when she tried to run from the grave, she couldn’t... she died of fright
right on the grave
-
China Doll
A beautiful 8 year old girl, Izzy, got this adorable china doll for her
birthday. She called her Sam. One day Izzy was playing with her doll until
her mom called her for bed. Izzy put the doll in the basement and went up
to bed.
In the middle of the night she heard weird noises. Then she heard "China
doll, china doll in the basement, china doll, china doll on the stairs, china
doll, china doll in your parents room, now they're dead." Izzy fell back into a
troubled sleep.
In the morning she raced to her parents’ room and they were dead. She
cried as her brother planned the funeral. Izzy did not play with Sam that
day. She went up to bed early and fell asleep.
In the middle of the night she heard chanting again. China doll, china doll in
the basement, china doll, china doll on the stairs, china doll, china doll in
your parents’ room, china doll, china doll in your brother’s room now he's
dead." Izzy shivered and fell into another troubling sleep.
In the morning she went to her brother’s room, he was dead. She spent the
day in her room and wouldn't come out. Night fell again and she went to
sleep.
She heard the chanting again. "China doll, china doll in the basement,
china doll, china doll on the stairs, china doll, china doll in your parents’
room, china doll, china doll in your brother’s room, china doll, china doll in
your room." She gazed up to see the doll. "Now you're...dead!"
The police found her the next day with no sign of the murderer. All they
heard was chuckling in the distance. The chuckle of a brown haired, brown
eyed china doll, on the hunt for her next victims.
-
The Boy with the Brass Buttons
A young couple were delighted to purchase the old-fashioned house in
the Stuyvesant Square section of Philadelphia. They moved into their
dream home in the winter of 1889, bringing their six year old daughter with
them.
There was a lot of refurbishing to do, so the little girl tended to go up to the
attic to play while her parents were occupied with the house. It wasn't as
bad as it sounds, because the previous owners had converted the attic into
a playroom. It even had a fireplace at one point, but it was currently
boarded up.
After a couple of weeks of hard work, the downstairs rooms were finished.
The mother, realizing that she had been neglecting their daughter,
attempted to try and spend more time with her now, but the little girl
seemed distracted. She kept stealing back up to the attic alone to play.
Exasperated, and perhaps a little hurt the the child was not being
responsive to her attentions, the mother finally asked, "What's so
interesting up there in that stuffy room?"
"It's the little boy with the shiny buttons," the child replied. "He's so much
fun to play with!"
"What little boy?" the mother demanded, wondering if a servant child had
stowed away in the room. She went to investigate, but found the room
empty.
Certain that her daughter was just being contrary, she urged her husband
to discipline the child. At her father's stern voice the little girl became
hysterical. She kept repeating that there was a little boy and he wore a blue
jacket with lots of shiny buttons on it. As her father listened, he became
more and more curious. Formerly a seaman, he realized his daughter was
describing a child's sailor suit, complete with the brass buttons.
The girl's father made some inquires about the Cowderlys, the family that
lived in the house before them. He learned that they had come from
England, bringing their children with them, two boys and a girl. The
youngest child, a boy, was born retarded. The neighbors described the
youngest boy as a sweet innocent child, but added that Mr. Cowderly was
ashamed of him and tried to prevent him from being seen outdoors.
According to the boy's parents, the neighbors continued, the young boy
would often sneak out to go down to the river. The story goes on to say that
one day he fell in and drowned. His body was never recovered, but his cap
had been found floating in the river. Shortly after the disappearance, the
Cowderlys put the house up for sale and, leaving Philadelphia, dropped out
of sight.
The former seaman's suspicions were now thoroughly aroused. He
accompanied his little daughter to the attic and asked her to show him
where the little boy came from. She pointed to the boarded up fireplace.
Her father called in workers to open it and then to remove the mortar that
cemented up a cavity beside the chimney.
As the mortar was chipped away, the corpse of a small boy was revealed.
He was clothed in a little blue sailor jacket with four rows of brass buttons
down the front. Further examination revealed that the back of the child's
head had been crushed by a violent blow.
The little boy was murdered!
-
Haunted Doll
In 1897, a family named Otto lived in a nearby house in Key West,
Florida. They owned a plantation and had a lot of servants working for them
who they treated very badly. One servant girl gave their son, Gene, a
present of a doll. What the Ottos didn’t realize was that this servant girl
knew voodoo.
Gene's full name was Robert Eugene Otto. His parents had always called
him "Gene", so he decided to give the doll his real name, "Robert".
Many Strange things began to occur in the Otto household. Many
neighbors claimed to see Robert move about from window to window,
when the family were out. Gene began to blame Robert for mishaps that
would occur. The Otto's claimed to hear the doll giggle, and swear they
caught glimpses of the doll running about the house.
Gene began to have nightmares and scream out in the night, when his
parents would enter the room; they would find furniture over turned, their
child in a fright, and Robert at the foot of the bed, with his glaring gaze!
"Robert Did It".... The doll was eventually put up into the attic. Where he
resided for many years.
But Robert had other plans. Visitors that entered the house could hear
something walking back and forth in the attic, and strange giggling sounds.
Guests no longer wanted to visit the Otto home.
Gene Otto died in 1972.The home was sold to a new family, and the tale of
Robert had died do....
But Robert waited patiently up in the attic to be discovered, once again.
The 10 year old daughter of the new owners. Was quick to find Robert in
the attic. It was not long before Robert unleashed his displeasure on the
child… The little girl claiming that the doll tortured her, and made her life a
hell. Even after more than thirty years later, she steadfastly claims that "the
doll was alive and wanted to kill her."
Robert, still dressed in his white sailor's suit and clutching his stuffed lion,
lives quite comfortably, though well guarded, at the Key West Martello
Museum. Employees at the museum continue to give accounts of Robert
being up to his old tricks still today....
-
- Where did ghosts love to swim?
- The Dead sea!
А что это за язык?
На вопрос 'где' всегда отвечают, ГДЕ. А тут какая-то китайщина:
- Вы где живете?
- Москва.
- Где привидения любили плавать (почему-то в прошедшем времени)?
- Мертвое море!
Ваши английские тексты, Sergevna, вызывают массу недоуменных вопросов у русского человека, изучающего английский.
Хотелось бы разъяснений. Глядишь, станет яснее, почему в английском языке нет слов, обозначающих 'светофор', 'гайку' и 'болт'.
-
Relax, take it easier)))
it means that there aren`t any ghosts in the Black sea any more... and you may swim there)))
-
Sergevna, nice to see you here!
What about some new stories?
-
очередные страшилки...
Amber
A Texas Ghost Story
Spooky TexasOh, you hear the stories about how dangerous Ouija boards are, but hey—it’s just a game. Mary waited until midnight to begin our little game, and the four of us—Sarah, Jessie, me, and, Mary, started by asking all kinds of silly questions.
It was a strange-looking board, covered with letters and symbols. There was a plastic pointer that was supposed to move across the board at the behest of the spirits. The instructions called it a planchette.
Around one thirty in the morning, the planchette suddenly froze in Mary’s hand. It wouldn’t move, no matter how much we pushed and pulled.
Mary turned her frightened blue eyes toward me. “I’m not doing it,” she said, lifting her hands. I grabbed the planchette myself and tried to push it around, but it was fixed to the board.
Suddenly, a kind of electric shock buzzed through my fingers. I gasped and tried to pull my fingers from the planchette, but they were stuck. Mary and Jessie both tried to pull my fingers away, nothing helped. The other girls stared with wide, round eyes, as the planchette came alive under my fingers—which were still fixed to its surface—and began to move.
“Help.” The words spelled out under my hand. “Help me. Help me.”
The planchette kept moving back and forth between the h – e – l – p continuously, until Sarah cried out: “Who are you?”
“Amber.” The board spelled. “My name is Amber. I am eight years old.”
“What’s wrong?” Mary asked. Her face was so white all the freckles stood out like darkened age spots.
“Water. Danger. Help. Scared.” The words spelled out as fast as my hand could move.
“Call 9-1-1,” Mary cried suddenly. “Quick. Amber is in danger.”
By this time, Sarah was gasping into the phone. Then she hung up the phone. “They wouldn’t listen to me,” she told us, almost in tears.
At that instant, my hand was suddenly free from the planchette.
“She’s gone,” I gasped,
“See if you can contact her again,” Mary said urgently. “We need to know if she’s okay!”
I picked up the plastic planchette again. “Amber, are you there?” I asked softly, afraid of what might happen.
After a long pause, it moved slowly across the board and spelled out the words: “Too late.” And after another long pause. “Water. Flood. Drowned. Mobile. Alabama.” The planchette stopped.
I knew that Amber was gone.
None of us got much sleep that night. In the morning, we rushed through breakfast and then looked up the Alabama news on the Internet. None of us were surprised to read that there had been flash floods the night before. I read the names of those who had died in the flood. One of the victims was an eight-year-old girl named Amber.
-
Dancing with the Devil
The girl hurried through her schoolwork as fast as she could. It was the night of the high school dance, along about 70 years ago in the town of Kingsville, Texas. The girl was so excited about the dance. She had bought a brand new, sparkly red dress for the dance. She knew she looked smashing in it. It was going to be the best evening of her life.
Then her mother came in the house, looking pale and determined.
"You are not going to that dance," her mother said.
"But why?" the girl asked her mother.
"I've just been talking to the preacher. He says the dance is going to be for the devil. You are absolutely forbidden to go," her mother said.
The girl nodded as if she accepted her mother's words. But she was determined to go to the dance. As soon as her mother was busy, she put on her brand new red dress and ran down to the K.C. Hall where the dance was being held.
As soon as she walked into the room, all the guys turned to look at her. She was startled by all the attention. Normally, no one noticed her. Her mother sometimes accused her of being too awkward to get a boyfriend. But she was not awkward that night. The boys in her class were fighting with each other to dance with her.
Later, she broke away from the crowd and went to the table to get some punch to drink. She heard a sudden hush. The music stopped. When she turned, she saw a handsome man with jet black hair and clothes standing next to her.
"Dance with me," he said.
She managed to stammer a "yes", completely stunned by this gorgeous man. He led her out on the dance floor. The music sprang up at once. She found herself dancing better than she had ever danced before. They were the center of attention.
Then the man spun her around and around. She gasped for breath, trying to step out of the spin. But he spun her faster and faster. Her feet felt hot. The floor seemed to melt under her. He spun her even faster. She was spinning so fast that a cloud of dust flew up around them both so that they were hidden from the crowd.
When the dust settled, the girl was gone. The man in black bowed once to the crowd and disappeared. The devil had come to his party and he had spun the girl all the way to hell.
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The Legend of Bride's Head BridgeShort Halloween Childrens Story
There's a bridge near Hanover in Germany called 'Der Kopf der Braut', which means bride's head. A 15th century legend has it that Reichsgraf von Kesselstatt and his bride Gretchen were approaching the bridge in their horse and carriage when their way was blocked by an elderly crone.
The Reichsgraf or 'Count' ordered the old lady to get off the bridge instantly and make way for their carriage. But it was dark, and the old lady had difficulty in herding her sheep off the bridge.
Because the old witch was moving none to fast, Reichsgraf von Kesselstatt took his whip and have her a sound thrashing. Bleeding, and cowering in a ditch, the old witch put a curse on the carriage. Consequently when the bridal party eventually crossed the bridge, one of the horses shied and the other reared up. The upshot was that Gretchen was thrown from the carriage into the river below.
It seems certain that she drowned as the river was in torrent and Gretchen was never seen again. However, it is said by Hanoverian wicca that at Halloween you can see a headless bride standing on rocks in the middle of the river. Some say she is looking for her lost head, while other say she is looking for her beloved Reichsgraf von Kesselstatt.
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Uncle John's Halloween Story
When I was a boy, each year as the nights began to draw in, my uncle John would tell we kids this Halloween story. It was a tale about a trick that he played in a graveyard. One night Uncle John spotted his great friend Eddie weaving his way home from the village pub. As John watched, he saw Eddie open the church's litch gate and take the shortcut through the graveyard.Uncle John's Halloween Story
There was no doubt that Eddie was the worse for wear, and appeared disoriented, really he should have taken the longer route home via the round ring. But then he cried out to nobody in particular, 'Where am I?'
John replied instantly, 'Amongst the living'.
'Where are you?' cried Eddie'; to which John replied in his most sepulchral voice, 'Amongst the dead'.
Eddie sobered up instantly, rushed back the way he came, and took the long way around the churchyard. This time he preferring to go passed the round ring, rather than stay a minute longer amongst the spirits of the gravestones.
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The Old Witch by The Brothers Grimm
(Classic Halloween Story For Kids)
There was once a little girl who was very wilful and who never obeyed when her elders spoke to her - so how could she be happy? The Old Witch Brothers Grimm
One day she said to her parents, 'I have heard so much of the old witch that I will go and see her. People say she is a wonderful old woman, and has many marvellous things in her house, and I am very curious to see them.'
But her parents forbade her going, saying, 'The witch is a wicked old woman, who performs many godless deeds - and if you go near her, you are no longer a child of ours.'
The girl, however, would not turn back at her parents' command, but went to the witch's house. When she arrived there the old woman asked her:
'Why are you so pale?'
'Ah,' she replied, trembling all over, 'I have frightened myself so with what I have just seen.'
'And what did you see?' inquired the old witch.
'I saw a black man on your steps.'
'That was a collier,' replied she.
'Then I saw a gray man.'
'That was a sportsman,' said the old woman.
'After him I saw a blood-red man.'
'That was a butcher,' replied the old woman.
'But, oh, I was most terrified,' continued the girl, 'when I peeped through your window, and saw not you, but a creature with a fiery head.'
'Then you have seen the witch in her proper dress,' said the old woman. 'For you I have long waited, and now you shall give me light.'
So saying the witch changed the little girl into a block of wood, and then threw it on the fire. When it was fully alight, she sat down on the hearth and warmed herself, saying:
'How good I feel! The fire has not burned like this for a long time!'
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Texas Halloween Investigation
There was a murder in Texas at Halloween, and the FBI were called in to investigate. Hitchcock, one of the officers, saw something written in blood on the wall. It looked like the number '7734', but he was not sure; anyway, he took lots of pictures.
When Hitchcock got back to the lab he developed the film of the crime scene, but he still could not make any progress with the number. In the hope of inspiration, he took the sheaf of photographs home and spread them on the dining room table. Just at that moment his 7 year old daughter Emma came in through the patio door opposite, and looked down at the photographs.
'Why have you photographed hell?', she asked, then Hitchcock saw that when held upside down, 7734 spelt: 'hELL'.
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Halloween Skeleton for the DoctorHalloween Skeleton Story
An intern was sent to collect a new skeleton from the central store. When he arrived at the consultant surgeon's office there was already a queue of patients waiting. As the intern wrestled the skeleton through the outside door he became aware of people gazing at him enquiringly.
He gave them a smile and said, 'I am bringing him to the doctor.'
An old lady said sympathetically, 'My dear! Isn't he a bit late for the doctor?'
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The Trip to the Brocken, Germany (fairy tale)
Once upon a time there was a young man who was engaged to marry a pretty girl. After a while the bridegroom-to-be became suspicious of his fiancée and her mother. You see, they were both witches.
The day came when witches go the Brocken, and the two women climbed into the hayloft, took a small glass, drank from it, and suddenly disappeared. The bridegroom-to-be, who had sneaked after them and observed them, was tempted to take a swallow from the glass. He picked it up and sipped a little from it, and suddenly he was on the Brocken, where he saw how his fiancée and her mother were carrying on with the witches, who were dancing around the devil, who was standing in their midst.
After the dance was ended, the devil commanded everyone to take her glass and drink, and immediately afterward they all flew off in the four directions of the wind. The bridegroom-to-be, however, stood there all soul alone on the Brocken, and freezing, for it was a cold night. He hadn't brought a glass with him, so he had to return on foot. Halloween Stories
After a long, difficult hike he finally came to his fiancée's. However, she was very angry, and her mother scolded him as well, for having drunk from the glass. Mother and daughter finally agreed to turn the bridegroom-to-be into a donkey, and that is what happened.
The poor bridegroom-to-be was now a donkey, and he plodded unhappily from one house to the next, crying a sad 'ee-ah, ee-ah.' A man felt sorry for the donkey, took him into his stall, and gave him some hay. But understandably the donkey did not want to eat, and was driven from the stall with blows.
After wandering about for a long time, long-ears finally came back to the house of his fiancée, the witch, and he cried out pitifully. The fiancée saw her former bridegroom-to-be, standing there before her door as a donkey with bowed head and ears hanging down.
She regretted what she had done and said to the donkey, 'I will help you, but you must do what I tell you. At a child's baptism, place yourself before the church door and let the baptismal water be poured over your back, and then you will be transformed back into a human.'
The donkey followed his fiancée's advice. The next Sunday, a child was baptized, and the donkey placed himself before the church door. When the baptismal service was over, the sexton wanted to pour out the baptismal water, but the donkey was standing in his way.
'Go on, you old donkey!' said the sexton, but the donkey did not yield. Then the sexton became angry and poured the water over the animal's back.
Now the donkey was redeemed and was transformed back into a man. He hurried to his fiancée, married her, and lived happily with her from that time forth.