Speed-Writing Ghost Story Contest

My friend Molly and I went to the Independent Publishing Resource Center (IPRC) for a Halloween ghost story speed writing contest.  15 minutes, no time to edit, pens to paper, the moderator drew genres out of a hat.  First Genre Selected:  Personal Ad.  Hee hee.  Try to make a personal ad a scary ghost story, 15 minutes or less.    Second genre selected: Confessional. Alas, Molly's choices of "limerick" and "footnote" were not picked out of the hat--or my choices "obituary" and "want ad" either.  

So, after a bit of scary music, we were off and running.  Molly and I mutually vowed to post our stories on-line, so here's mine.  See Molly's (really worth it) at redmolly.typepad.com.  

(Personal ads)

SWF seeks man with 2 silver dollars, suitable for placing on eyes of the dead.  Must be comfortable with small dark places.  No mold allergies please.  Reply by midnight.  

Angry spirit seeks priest for light fondling and possible exorcism. Long term relationship not desired.  

Gravedigger seeks woman in black. Cold hands a plus.  Fresh flowers in a wreath wait for you!

(Confessional--I envisioned this like a radio play, creaking rocking chair and all.  Remember, 15 minutes, no editing at all!)

Shut-in

I still see her hands, you know.  No matter how many hours, how many years, I sit and rock on this porch, I still see them, just reaching up out of the ground, cold and white and small.  

My foot hasn't touched ground in 23 year, and that's no accident, no sir.  'Cause those cold, white hands, you can't trust them...one step off this porch onto that rich black earth and they could grab you and pull you right down, down under the ground.  

It wasn't so often back then, but now, now I'm old, it's every night I have that dream.  Just letting it happen , taking off my worn out shoes and going barefoot out there.  Feeling those white hands grab my ankles and pull me down, the cold earth at my knees, my waist, my arms, my neck, and then soil tumbling down my throat, closing my tired eyes.  Cold earth and tiny white hands pulling me down.  

(Standing, rocking chair stops) Every night, just about this time, I think about doing it.  Taking that one step onto that ground.

Turn around for a minute, sonny.  Tonight Granny's going for a little walk.

(Sound of screaming, muffled by earth)

__________________________

I tied for third place (yay!) and Molly came in second (yay!), so we were quite pleased with ourselves.  The other writers were great too.  :)  

Suzy Q