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Sleep Tight. Nighty Night.
This story I wrote before 'Big things come in small packages' see how is has matured. (if it has) It is a classic example of how a young child (or teenager in my case) should carry on writing and inmpove in a big way. I would like to encourage people like me. This story is full of mystery and suspence, with a bit of horror! Please enjoy...!
I am 13 years old and many people say my writing is very mature. I wish to be an author when I am older.
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (2)
Big Things Come In Small Packages (Short Stories) This story is about a boy who loves playing the piano and wishes to be a pianist but is severely disformed. This is a short story - I would recommend it for teens. I always want my stories to have a m... [2,075 words] [Teenage]
Mums The Word (Short Stories) 16-year-old Sky is mortified when her careworker, Jack has to leave for the US for the birth of his new baby. Sky, and the rest of the residents are wven more mortified when they meet thier new care a... [3,830 words] [Teenage]
Sleep Tight. Nighty Night.
Sleep Tight. Nighty Night.
Silence. Pure Silence. Nothing but pure silence. Nothing but pure silence came from the abandoned house next door, the cold night before Halloween. Fourteen-year-old Ben looked out his window, breathing heavily on the window. It was the strangest house he had ever seen in Glasgow, infact, the whole of Glasgow. As fog crept around the house, the night grew colder. "What are you looking at?" asked Ben’s older sister; Chloe. " This house, look." He said taking Chloe to the window. Shivers ran down her spine. "Ever since we’ve moved here, two weeks ago, I knew there was something strange about that house. My mates say that its haunted, by a deformed musician. He used to play a piano from a book. Apparently he killed children who comes to his house on Halloween or All Saints day. He’s dead now anyway. It always gives me the creeps."I don’t know what to think. Said Ben, with his blue eyes staring strait at the fog-hidden house. "Just go to bed, don’t worry about it." She said, walking out of the room.
The next day became increasingly cold. Ben wrapped up warm, ready for school. Ben’s mother gave him his lunch money. "Remember, if you go out with your friends, you have to tell me before you go. Oh, and don’t stay out too late!" She said, picking up her briefcase, ready for another day at the office. "If Dad was here, he would let me go out all night! "Said Ben, crossing his arms.
"Well, your Dads not here, is he!? He’s in heaven." Snapped Ben’s mother with a slight tear in her eye. Ben ran outside into the freezing, Halloween morning, and slammed the door. Teenage kids filled the hallways of ‘Glasgow secondary school.’ "Happy Halloween!" smiled Ben to his twin friends, James and Tom as they put their books in their lockers. "Fiannaly, Ben! Listen, we’ve got a dare for you to do." Smiled James, cheekily, to Tom.
"Well… what kind of dare?" asked Ben.
"Right, you win £30 if you spend one night in the haunted house next door to you. Tonight. You will be alone. Actually you won’t because the ghosts will keep you company, wont they?" laughed Tom.
"WHAT!? Um… I mean OK, I’ll do it. I’m not scared." Said Ben, trying to keep his cool. By tomorrow morning that thirty quid will be mine. Later." Flaunted Ben as he walked off.
As soon as the bell rang, a huge crowd of hormonal, spotty teenagers came out of school. Among the crowd, Ben could just about find James and Tom. "Right, OK Ben, meet you outside the house at eight and be sharpish!" snapped Tom as they walked of in different directions. Shall I do this? Asked Ben to himself. Am I scared? Should I mess with the dead? He couldn’t think about anything else, no matter what he did. He gave one look at the house; one look and one look only. "Mum I’m going out, to the twins house. For a sleepover, I will be back tomorrow." Said Ben, lying as he put his school bag away.
"A sleepover? Aren’t you lot too young for that?" said his Mother as she chopped up carrots for dinner. Rolling his eyes Ben said, "I told you though didn’t I?" His Mother just nodded.
It was near eight and Ben was giving the last lot of sweets to the giggly trick or treaters. The night was young and spookiness was in the fresh air. He grabbed his bags and left, with a few butterflies in his stomach. To keep himself calm, Ben kept thinking about the money and the money only. The air was cold and fresh. "Ready." Ben said, slightly nervously.
"Right. OK. Come back at nine-tomorrow morning. And that money will be ours." Laughed the twins.
"Sleep tight. Nighty Night." They teased. They then walked off, leaving Ben all alone. Gulping and short of breath, he opened the creaky door and walked inside. He saw and old, dusty piano with a music book on top of it. The piano still worked and looked as if it was well used. Next to it was a knife. A knife. Why was there a knife? He thought to himself.
A rush of fear ran through Ben. Fear was evil. It took over Ben. He could fell a cold atmosphere. Putting his bags down, and turning on his torch, Ben looked around. He could see dusty, old-fashioned furniture, some moth eaten. He crept up the wooden stairs, silently. Again. Again it was silent. Pure silence. It was loud. The silence was too loud. Too much to take in. He could feel a warm breath on his kneck. Closer. Closer. He stared to run. Run somewhere in the house safe. Faster and faster the breath was behind him, closer and closer, warmer and warmer. It stopped. It was gone. Ben’s heart rate went back to its original beat and his hands were less clammy. Curled up, Ben sat in the hallway, both eyes wide open. His eyelids became heavy. Heavier and heavier. BANG.
It woke Ben his heartbeat increased and so did his fear. His eyes opened up to scream. His heart thumped after every bang.
What was it? Was it the twins playing a trick on him? Was he dreaming? Was it his imagination getting the best of him? Ben gasped and couldn’t catch his breath when music started playing. Like the piano, downstairs. "Tom, James you don’t scare me. I know its you!" he shouted, in the pitch black, putting on a fake smile. The music sounded like it was behind Ben. He ran up another set of stairs faster and faster the music played faster and faster. It stopped. It was gone. Silence. A figure. A figure stood infront of his very eyes. Ben froze. He couldn’t move. It was like someone had put him in a freezer. He was stone cold. The figure was tall, thin and black like a shadow, holiday a musicians conductor stick.
"Who…Who…Who are you?" asked Ben, quivering.
It stood still and replied, "Your worst nightmare." And flew backward across the landing in to thin air. Ben gulped. Shall he leave? Shall he run like a coward? Shall he win the money? Breaking Ben’s concentration on what he should do, was a deep and husky moaning voice. Ben shook like a fish, uncontrollably. "…Hell…Hello?" he said standing up with legs like jelly. It carried on. Walking forward, Ben felt something on his hips, like hands, cold hands. It covered his face. Thump… Thump. Thump. His heart skipped a beat and beads of sweat ran down his kneck.
"You will wish you never came here." The husky voice said in his ear. It was the mysterious figure. Ben had a feeling. He knew, he knew something bad was about to happen and he couldn’t do anything about it. He squealed a squeaked like a piglet. He wiggled and wiggled but couldn’t break free. "Sleep tight. Nighty. Night." Said the voice.
The next morning, All Saint’s day, the twins waited outside the house, not knowing what to expect, but had the money in their pockets. It was gone nine and Ben didn’t show up. He didn’t come out. The twins had enough and walked inside of the house. "Ben?" the hollered, time after time. They walked up the stairs and found Ben’s Bag, fully packed, with his torch still on. On the floor was a paper, reading ‘Sleep tight. Nighty. Night.’ In blood. Ben’s blood. Again. Again the music started to play. The twins gasped, struggling to catch their breath. "Sleep tight. Nighty. Night." Whispered the figure. Their screams were never heard. Their bodies were never seen.
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© 2003 Alessandra Mace
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