ŷ������

And go. :-D

Thanks Jessica! :)

Not a problem. Sometimes judging is more fun than participating. As long as there are participants to judge of course.

Haha! If I didn't have so many other things to worry about, I would agree with you.

This is a beginning of a story, but I think it works...

Elli/Pirl


In a kingdom far away, during what was called by the people of the land 'the fifth era', there was a girl born, to a poor family, in a poor farm, near a little town. She had four older brothers and sisters, and by the time she had reached the age of twelve, she had three younger siblings as well: the older ones were called Cab, Merth and Tory, twin girls, and Sall, and the younger ones were Jamey, Tibon, and Xab. Her name, Elli, was a simple and common name, but she was no common girl.
Growing up on the farm wasn't easy, never knowing if they were going to make it another year. The previous year they had married off both girls, which helped for there were fewer mouths to feed and two dowries to help feed the mouths still in the farm's care, but meant there were less helpful hands around.

The day we begin our story on started clear, sunny, and beautiful.
Elli woke up bright and early to find everyone but little Xab gone. Assuming, correctly, they were all in the field, she washed her face and combed through her hair in an attempt to tame the wild curls. Just as she was about to head out, Xab woke, crying, and Elli picked him up and set out to look for her Ma.
"Ma!" she called, hearing a faint answer and following the voice, finding her feeding the chickens.
"Good morning, darling," she said brightly, taking Xab from the small, pale hands which belonged to Elli.
"Good morning, Ma," Elli replied. "Where is everyone?"
Ma started back to the house, and Elli hurried to keep up. Though short for her age, Elli was quick.
"All the men are out in the field, but Jamey should be back any moment; I sent her to get some water from the well just moments ago."
Just then Jamey appeared in the doorway. "I set down the water on the table," she informed their mother, "Is there anything more you would like me to do?"
"Yes, there is, in fact," said Ma as she walked inside. Xab had calmed down by now, but there was no telling what had caused him to cry in the first place. "You and your sister go into the town and get some more cloth, would you? And get yourself a treat," she added, giving each girl a small portion of gold. Ma added to Elli's hand, and she understood that was to pay for the cloth.
So that was how, slightly less than an hour later, Elli and Jamey were in the town.

Night at the RockWood House

Together me and my friend Rarvert, entered the house called the RockWood house. It's supposed to be different and odd. But those who learn its secret, never come out alive.

My friend Rarvert was frightened though he didn't like to show it. "Psst, it doesn't look...that scary. Right Thomas?" He trembled. I nodded, I wasn't too frightened by this house. It didn't look intimidating at all. It sat in the middle of RockWood field. It's how it got its name, RockWood House.

We entered the house an hour before midnight. The porch was stained with...a red substance, that made us jump. The house was old and the door was rusted. The ceiling was falling apart and moonlight came through the gaping holes.

I shivered. It became so cold, so suddenly. The door creaked and shut by itself with a THUD! I fell to the ground startled and my friend Rarvert laughed. Though, I could see in his eyes, he was not amused at all. His green eyes were wide and his skin began to sweat.

He must be truly scared, because it was freezing and he was sweating like we were in a desert. I took a flashlight out of my bag and scanned the walls with the light. Old picture frames, clung to the wall by nails. One was on the ground and had shattered. The person in the picture stared back at me, so I moved my flashlight to something else.

I found a staircase and a light came from it. Out of curiosity, I followed it with Rarvert behind me. The light came from a golden statue. A bright light shrouded around it.

I came up to it and it spoke in a deep voice, almost causing Rarvert to faint. "Life, or Death?" My mouth opened and I stuttered, "I...I..." When it saw me stutter its voice boomed even louder, "Life or death!?!"

"Life?" I said.

"We will see about that. Choose something in this room. It can be anything. We will see what your true answer is." Clueless, Rarvert and I searched the room and both of our eyes fell upon the glorious glinting ruby necklace. The other item in the room was an old notebook. We grabbed the necklace...that was our mistake.

"Death it is!" We watched as the necklace transformed into the notebook and the notebook transformed into the necklace. "Looks are deceiving. You chose the more valuable thing at first glance, without any thought. Now you both will suffer what most have suffered in this house." We never made it out of that house. Our story is told throughout the schools. People still wonder where we have gone. And no one heeds the warning of this house. People still come in and meet their fate. For this house is a curse that always rests in its place.

These Old Bones

Rats�� nests took up residence of every corner and hole in the plaster, and yet, somehow, he didn’t seem to mind. I kept waiting for the punch line, the true hidden secret pulled from the rafters or even the gaping holes in the floorboards, but he just kept talking about foundation and two-by-fours and land and how “These old bones are stronger than any cookie-cutter new-age fabrication��.

What? He bought this condemned piece of crap?

I must have turned green because when Travis turned to me, his tone morphed from exuberance for the challenge, to concern with restorative hands that were suddenly on my shoulders, though he was across the broken down room he had now crossed it in mere steps, speaking with a tone meant to soothe but put me on a crumbling edge. Knowing me enough to know I was seconds from a rambling lecture questioning his mental stability, he just kept talking, removing the opportunity for my protest.

“Think of it, babe. This house is huge. The land is worth the money alone. We’re getting a steal.��

My laugh wasn’t one of humour. “A steal?��

Again he stopped me before I gained momentum by placing his big warm hands on either side of my face, blocking the decrepit ‘once-a-house�� around us.
“Please don’t focus on what you see. Listen to what I say and close your eyes.�� I paused but his pleading blue eyes full of guilt got to me and I closed them. “These ceiling are ten feet high and once the roof is fixed will hold us safe beneath it. The walls are busted up, but once I’m done they’ll be the walls we hang our first family photos from.��

This sprung my eyes open. We were inches apart, but my mind was rolling. It didn’t stop. Instead it reeled in a downward spiral as Travis got down on one knee and proposed. If only my ears could grasp onto what he was saying, it was definitely important and heartfelt, but he was a distant whisper as my sight blurred with tears when he reached into his pocket and pushed a ring I couldn’t focus on over my knuckle.

Fear struck him, I saw it in his features and couldn’t imagine why. Until I realized I hadn’t answered him. No doubt he asked but since I couldn’t hear anything, I’d missed my cue and a sobbing release answered for me. A smile crack his full lips and the corners of his eyes squinted as he flexed to his feet and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me off the ground in a crushing kiss.

Back on my feet I still struggle to breath. Shock waving over me, but he didn’t let go.

“I will take a while. We’ll have to keep the apartment and I’ll probably have to get a second job, but please, just imagine it how I do and see our future here.��

Suddenly, I could see it all. Those high ceilings, the character new builds strive and fail to replicate, even a swimming image out the glassless window pane held a vision of the perfect wedding I’d never thought I’d plan, celebration in the green grass with our laughing family under a big white tent.

“So,�� I managed before my voice cracked. “These old bones, huh.��

So far all the responses have provoked 0_0 and jaw drops from me.

*APPLAUSE*

Now more... pwease?

Jessica Elayne- Eternal Werecat Queen wrote: "So far all the responses have provoked 0_0 and jaw drops from me.

*APPLAUSE*

Now more... pwease?"

Thank you! Everyones stories are wonderful :)

Anyone else?

Want me to broadcast a message to see if we can pull in more entries?

Cheyenne wrote: "Want me to broadcast a message to see if we can pull in more entries?"

May as well...

Pwease do.

:)

The old house had been loved. Not recently, of course, but it had known the feeling of a warm and loving family within its walls. It knew the miracle of a child coming into the world and the wonderful growing pains that happened throughout a child's life. It knew the slow-burning glow of true love and the bittersweet tang of growing old together. It grew old with its residents and now they had outgrown it completely.

Now the house knew how annoying small animals and pests could be. Humans mostly kept those out. It knew what the wind felt like, sweeping through its cracks and empty windows. Its wood expanded and contracted with the seasons, the tin roof rusted, but the old house remained standing. It was a silent testament to the vagaries of life.

It had always been a small town, where the house was. People farmed for a living and once the drought hit - the long, merciless drought - many people gave up. His last family lingered on for a while. They tried to pick up other odd jobs to make a living, but the world kept on leaving them behind. Better opportunities existed far beyond this corner of the world.

The house remained after everything else. The land recovered, there were large farms beyond its borders, but nobody needed it now. The house aged and sagged and played host to a menagerie of beasts. It was complacent with this teeming un-life it had.

And now, a small ray of sunshine lit up the house. A man by himself, tramping through the grass, had found it. The house knew it was uninhabitable but being noticed, being liked in its own way, was a small consolation. A picture made the house immortal - the house knew this from old pictures on its wall. This was something to hold on to.

(yes it's a sentient house, what of it? :-D)

Sami-Jo wrote: "Cheyenne wrote: "Want me to broadcast a message to see if we can pull in more entries?"

May as well..."

Just now checked this thread. I'll send a broadcast out now.

LAST DAY FOR ADDITIONS, FOLKS!

I sent a broadcast, so hopefully you'll get more entries. If you don't have as many as you'd like, you can extend the deadline an extra day or two.

I might type something up to enter :)

Very beautiful. I can't think of much to write but it reminds me of an Andrew Wyeth painting. Love the lavender sky and the rust tones.

The only thing I could think up is absolutely horrid because I'm rusty from not writing in weeks.

There are a lot of good things about the city but I sorely miss my country home. The untamed grasses blowing in the wind and wild flowers always reminded me of how free we were. I could scream outside if I wanted or send a whisper along the wind. We left by choice. We thought it would be nice to be close to things. How I miss the peace.

Is that an entry, Bar?

Well, I don't really write fiction. But it was an attempt to get the creative juices flowing.

13 minutes to spare in my time zone:


Once, long ago, the house had been loved. Children had run through and around it. A family had grown in the house. Time passed, and the children grew up and moved on. After the last owner passed on, no one could be bothered to live on the unused farm land. No one could be bothered to live so far from the city.

I walked through the house. Carefully, for the floors were weak. In my tip-toe silence, I gazed upon ancient dishes, books, candleholders, and toys. A sound filled my mind. The sound of laughter, of family, of cherished memories. Whether it was the sound of the ghosts of the house, my imagination, or a rush of my own childhood memories, I may never know.

If Jessica wants more entries, she can extend the deadline when she gets back on.

I'm glad I don't have to make the decision, everyone's is really good.

Me too XD It's always a really difficult decision to make.

A HOUSE CALLED NIRVANA

Buy me, o so buy me! buyme,buyme,buyme,buyme,BUYME!
You know you want to
Yeah, I know, I know, I'm all beat up
But, hey! I got back up again
Give a house a chance, guys!
... beating heart, I swear
Rock on foundations
Check 'em out, deeper than deep
Gimme a chance, dudes
Best cellar in Iowa
You could live here! I know y'could, just know it
Look who's smiling at ya!
Nirvana, yep's m'name maam, a house called Nirvana!
Yours, I'm all yours!
...do my bit, you do yours
Love's the paint, love's the tiles, love's the putty round the panes
Press your ear to my soul
...sound of baby LaVon a-Christmas eve, you a-strummin' y'strad', hear in Nirvana

Ron Askew - g'reads author Watching Swifts

Okay, in a moment of sheer excitement at seeing all the new posts, OPEN ONE MORE DAY

I'll edit the title so that people scrolling by will see they can still enter.

Sorry its so long, its called 'Home'. Hope you like it.

It sits there alone in an area otherwise empty and deserted. It stands there looking defeated and lost, cold and somewhat sad. Some would say that if you listen carefully you can hear it groan or cry into the night though others simply state that’s it the wind whistling through its skeletal remains.

To think that once it had been loved, treated with fondness and care. It had stood there proud and strong, a protector and caring mother to those that lived inside. No matter how cold the nights had been or how fierce the rain would fall it would insure those that were inside stayed warm and secure.

To think as a child I had played there on the porch, a porch now rutted away to nothing. And see there by that patch of dried grass why, that was where the vegetable patch had been. How I remember my mother with her twinkling eyes and easy smile would tenderly grow an array of different vegetables and herbs before gathering them in her apron to bring inside to cook.

If I close my eyes I can almost hear the sounds of laughing and running feet as my many brothers and sisters chased each other and played and oh the sound of sweet music from the radio in the living room. I smile as I think of father sitting there on his favourite chair reading the newsletter while mother cleaned around him while humming to the tunes that played softly through the room. There was always a fire going, smoke would bellow from that chimney, a chimney that now looked as though it would crumble and fall.

I laugh now as I look up at one of the many windows. If I remember correctly that had been my room. Why! The things I got up to at that young age, how invincible and glorious I felt as many a night I snuck out from that very window. The boys I had kissed and the promises we had made and the scowls and harsh words from mother on the times she found out. “You’re far too young for such words as love!�� She would scowl then shake her head and smile, “one day you will know love but first you must learn to grow up and sneaking out is not how that’s done.�� She was right as she always was for it wasn’t until many years that I can say with certainly that I felt love.

By then I had a job though I still lived at home with its comforting familiar walls surrounding me, walls that now looked cold and lifeless. I had been working as a waitress in a diner-that’s now closed and knocked down to make way for apartments-and it was while at work our eyes had met. He had smiled and winked; I had blushed and looked away. He would come in every day this mystery man and order the same thing, a cup of coffee that he never even drank. He would sit there a short while then with a smile would leave, leaving me the same generous tip every time.

It is strange how even though he spoke hardly a word and I saw him only a few minutes each day I had come to know him, to understand him almost. To me he was my familiar stranger, the man of my dreams though I didn’t even know his name. Then one day as he got up to leave he came over and asked me if I would meet him after work. I agreed and with that smile on his face he left. For the rest of my shift I couldn’t stop the grin that filled my face or the blushes that took my cheeks whenever I thought of my mystery date.

When the time came he had been charming and sweet, shy almost. We spoke for ages and paid no attention to our surroundings as we sat there outside the shop. It wasn’t a very romantic date but I didn’t care and when he took my hand and led me to a nearby park I felt as though I were flying. We strolled arm in arm and talked and acted as though we knew each other well. Then as our time drew to a close he kissed me lightly on my lips and I asked him for his name. “John,�� he said then we parted ways and I found myself humming and smiling all the way home.

We dated for 5 months before he proposed and on our day of marriage I remember being both excited for the future yet sad for what I would be leaving behind. I had spent that morning wondering around the house, my fingers trailing along the walls and ornaments as they spoke stories to me, memories of my childhood and past. I had opened a new chapter in my life that day, a chapter full of new memories. Those of my first born and the 2 that followed after, the memory of the places we travelled to and the new home we made for ourselves.

That was many years ago and I now find myself at my final chapter in life. I am to be moved into a care home, I won’t last long there, that I am well aware. I had asked my son for one final thing though before I went and that was to come back home, to the place where my life had begun. I felt it only fitting as it was now to end. As I stand there, being gently helped by my son, I stare up at the crumbling surface of the house and think of the empty rooms inside, rooms that had once been so full of colour and life but now sat dull and grey as the clouds that hung above.

“Come mother, it’s getting late and it looks like it’s going to rain.�� My son gently leads me away, back to the car. I take one last look at the house and feel a tear escape and fall gently down my face. I somehow can’t help but wonder if it will still stand here when I am gone or if it will crumble or be pulled down so that nothing remains. To think of it gone is sad, to think that nothing of my childhood will remain, and a large part of my past destroyed.

My son doesn’t understand my grieve but then he doesn’t see the magic of this place the magic that I had saw as a child, a magic that was now fading away as the house slowly decayed. I whisper goodbye, not only to the house but to my parents and siblings who had gone before me and all our pets and to my husband who I had shared 62 glorious years with. By saying goodbye to this house I understand that soon I shall be saying goodbye to life and that just like this once magnificent house I too shall fade away as not only will my mind and body crumble away but the memories that I carry. Lost forever like this lonely house in the middle of nowhere.

Lynne Weir

A Midnight House
When I turned thirteen we moved into what I called the Ramshackle House. Don't get me wrong, it was the most beautiful house I'd ever seen in my short life-but it was pretty run-down. We could only live downstairs because the floorboards upstairs couldn't hold that much weight. There's still a hole in the ceiling from when my 16 year old brother Reggie had fallen through when he was "exploring." Mom forbid us to go upstairs after that. But what she doesn't hurt her. Sometimes at night I sneak upstairs, trying to make my steps light as a feather so Mom doesn't here me and so I don't fall through. At the top.......well, it's just un-describable, but I'll try. The hole in the ceiling let in the silver moonlight, which caresses the old floorboards and doorways which seem like entrances to different worlds. There are so many doorways I haven't time to explore them all yet. The first door I saw I fell in love with. It was once regal and haughty, but now it's fell from grace and has accepted it. But in the moonlight the chipping white paint glows as if whole again. The edges are worn smooth, by countless hands over the years. Mothers gripping the door to steady them when nothing else can, children peeking to see where the seeker is, dogs scratching to get at the delicious bounty they earned. The images fade from my eyes, lost to the cruel ravages of time. The door swings open, the hinges giving a familiar creak.
Books.
Hundreds.
The bookshelves circle the entire room, hiding any bit of wall. Spindly tables make up the center, covered in papers that flutter in the wind. That's the only sound in the room, aside from the gentle cooing of the birds that live on the tables and on the bookshelves. The first night I just sat, letting the happiness just seep out of me and into the air. I actually slept there that night. It was a narrow miss that my mother didn't catch me. The second I tried reading the books, but most of them were ruined, a loss I mourned. After that I just immersed myself in the smell of old books, knowledge, and paper.
Then I discovered my path to the sky.
I climbed the bookshelves, grabbed on to the metal ridges in the ceiling, and hoisted my self up out of one of the holes in the ceiling. There I found myself in the true beauty of the house. The navy blue sky stretched across the fields, blanketing them in mystery. Strewn across the sky were the stars, sewn into the sky by the gods. And the moon. Pervading the darkness, shining and bestowing light on the mythical creatures of the night. Most nights I just sit there, bathing in the sights and sounds. Even the corn fields look beautiful at night. And the trees, also. It's almost as if something took the ordinary, green-brown trees of the day and replaced them with something else. Something not better, nor worse....but something different. Something spookier, more majestic.
Usually I just wait there until morning. That's the best part.
The sun bursts from the horizon, as if Apollo himself was pulling it. It exudes golden light, chasing away the horrors and joys of the night, streaking the sky with orange and yellow and red. Far away, at the other horizon the sun barely reaches, turning the navy into blues and lavenders.
I just close my eyes, letting the new day wash over me, accepting the old and new, the comes and goes of life, and knowing there is magic in the world, you just have to find it.

Seeing the old house again sent chills up my spine. I hadn't been here since I was eight, and the only reason I left was because of rumors. They say the house is haunted. Do I believe it? No. Did I believe when I was eight? Yes. Eight years, eight long years. I was small and gullible. I had small blonde curls, and a bright smile. I sighed and trudged into the old house. I threw my stuff down and sighed. I pull out my phone and sigh. No bars. I snap it shut. Forced to spend the summer in this old house. Did I miss the house? Sure. Would I rather be with my friends? Yes!
My eyes trailed along the empty furniture. I plop down in a chair, with brings up a pillow of dust with it. I rub my eyes and cough. I sighed and get up to get a fan. She sit back down and turn on the TV. Of course, there wasn't any signal. "I hate you house." I murmmered.
I trudge up to my room, to tak an early night. I lay in my bed thining about the old rumors that had gotten out of this place. Maybe if I had pretended to be scared, I might be with my friends instead up in a stupid old house. There is an eerie creek. I shrug it off. It comes again. My stupid mind, scaring me again. A small voice sounds. "Amy..." The voices say. "Aaaammmmmyyyy??" I sighed. "Go away, figments of my imagination." The voice answers. "Pick up the phone..." I smile in recognition. I pick up my phone and smile. "Val? You there." The phone stopped. "She hung up."
Later that night there is my dream. A small house, bright and white. A girl, with a small cotten dress, her eyes lively and bright. She looks to me and a flash of some unknown emotion crawls into her eyes. 'Is it fear?' I wonder. She does a small smile and waves, staying up on her toes. I wave back, but its not me she's waving to. I turn to look, but I'm planted in place, as if that part of the dream wasn't important. I was seriously starting to wonder where I was, and why the girl was looking so familar. The girl's mouth suddenly gapes open, her eyes scared. She starts running, and I turn again, this time seeing something. A plane, crashing towards the house. I run to, I squint my eyes to see the girl carring a baby. It all seemed so familar. The baby, now was safely away. The woman was running back when the plane hit, taking the woman along with whoever else was on that plane. A riccidy old structure remained. I tilted my head, frowning. I'm sent to another scene, a more sad one. A small girl, one about five or six, had tears running down her face. Her blonde hair was rastled. She bent her head over a grave, placing flowers on it. She gave the small dirt bed a longing glance before running back to the house. Recognititon dawned on me. The little girl was me.. I had dreamed about my mother's death.
I woke up, processing the information. I always wondered why I stayed here when I was little. It was my mom's home. Where she sacrificed herself to save me. I never knew how she died, because no one would tell me. The dream cleared it all. I sit up, unpacking my stuff. No matter how run-down, how spooky, how horrible this place is, I'm never leaving it. No matter what.

The

Is it done???

The past is a funny thing. It explains history, regains memories and forges moments that take your breathe away. And yeah, it comes back to haunt you. Perfect girls don't learn there lessons but mental stalkers get there revenge. In Primrose, murders and homicides are secretly little incidents and blonde freaks.

A small freckled ginger lives in home, alone. Two small braids linger done her back. Tiny frilled forest dress flows in the shadows, confidentially seeking her next victim that steps into her property. Thirting for vengenous for her parents death. She was the perfect until life dragged her down, the critized nerd ripped her life down, raw and painfully. Endin with suicide at home and the drugs dealing with parents.

Searching for lost children is her destiny, throwing her rage to the innocent tresspasers. To bad no one knows her secret, but me. Stay tuned kiddies, this is a story that's to die<\i> for. Mwah! -M

More jaw droppingness...

I'm going to have a hard time choosing... this is so exciting.

:) good job everyone!

When are the winners going to be announced? Just wondering......I wouldn't want to be the judge on this one!

Maddie, usually it takes a few days for the judge to decide.

I've been on tenterhooks since Tuesday, I think.

*CLOSED*

Now for the fun/hard part :-D

:D

XD

Where are the results, exactly?

It might take a while, there were a lot of very good submissions.

Mine wasn't, though... I was just too lazy. I could've so won. Oh well.

Mine wasn't either...