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Stephen watched the cows watching him, their mottled coats quite in keeping with the gravestones. Stephen felt quite the intruder. He stood up and looked for his grandfather. They wandered once more amongst the grey slabs and heard his grandfather’s voice coming from the far side of the Campbell tomb. They could hear a second voice. He was in conversation! They continued over the ridged ground, following the voices. Rounding the corner of the Campbell tomb they saw to their amazement that Grandfather was speaking to a hooded, monk-like figure.
“Grandfather . . . we—”
Lotty didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence. Jim turned to face them and, in moving, displayed the full view of his companion. Lotty and Stephen were petrified; they could feel their hearts thumping high in their chests and their legs wouldn’t move.
The hooded figure was looking at them; they could feel it, despite the fact that he had no eyes. He was looking right into their souls. The children felt exposed, cold inside and out, and they knew he was real as the foxgloves waving in the wind behind him. They felt as if they were taking part in a film in slow motion. For a few moments they saw that every living thing around them had a granular and complex texture, that nothing and no one was mere surface. In this reel of slow motion you could FEEL every grain and flicker. Their love of routine and predictability won out and fear broke through. They grabbed each other’s cold hand, screamed and ran for the cemetery gate, tripping and scrambling as they tried to outrun their fear. Jim’s pacifying shouts fell on deaf ears and he hurriedly said warm farewells to the hooded figure.
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Amusing words, but not strong enough to convey a trickle of intrigue or fear. Neither could I feel an evolving atmosphere of danger or suspense. In truth, I thought it was an 'unbeleivable' event that was taking place.The writer needs to convince the reader it is a 'real' happening. Maybe the extract was too short to make a fair appraisal.I would wonder what age group this could be written for? One would hope this story suddenly grabs you and erupts into a compulsive tale of scary surprises that make you want to keep the light on at night! But good luck to Kate Green for trying to scare the pants off me.
Joe Thomson-Swift, London, England. UK
Making a rash assumption in Charlie's case, I'm thinking that all the extracts thus far have been from
female writers.
Impressive.
D. Robinson (male)
D. Robinson, Peterborough, Cambs