My Horror Story

As the sun rose, it lit up the blood red sky, which reminded me of the tragic events that happened here not that long ago . . .

. . . Across the rolling hills, an evenly distributed layer of shimmering crystals made my insides shiver with delight as I looked down upon the picturesque scene.

Hi, my name is Nicholas Nickleby. At the moment I live in Haudington Vale, which is a small town in the Yorkshire Moors. Normally a calm, peaceful, secluded village, but ever since the “incident” it has become extremely infamous. I loved this village before, and continue to like it now, except for when I look out onto the fields remembering the disturbing images that still haunt my mind persistently. Nobody would have ever expected anything like that to happen here, which is why everyone was so flabbergasted and stunned at the situation. You’ll never believe what happened.

I gazed out of my bedroom window curiously as the trees blew in the icy cold wind, their arms shook as though calling for help to rescue them from the cold, sharp weather. Behind the rustling trees is the old church, which is used on Sundays only, apart from special occasions. Further beyond the 18th century cobbled road, you would find the only primary school for many miles, called Haudington Vale Primary School. It’s a small building and the atmosphere is exceptionally helpful and friendly. If you were to continue down the ancient road, you would find yourself in the main square, this is our main shopping area, although it isn’t what you would normally call shopping, but its got everything we need. Then if you proceeded through the main square and out the other side, you would be outside the high school. I don’t know much about the high school except its old and gothic! I do not go to high school yet; this is because I am only eight years old. Then just after that you are back to the housing estate, which is where I am right now. There are around 25 good-sized cottages only; they are all period cottages. Although behind the cottages is where the real story lies.

Behind the cottages are many miles of unwonted fields, however that is not the case any more, it turns out that there is a mystery, which we are all trying to solve here about what goes on in those miles and miles of desolate hills. I always check out of my window, just to see if I can catch a glimpse of it once again . . .

I live in the cottage, which is closest to the fields; I live with my mother Anne Nickleby and my father Michael Nickleby. We all spend a lot of ...

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I live in the cottage, which is closest to the fields; I live with my mother Anne Nickleby and my father Michael Nickleby. We all spend a lot of time together, especially in the winter and I like that because I have not really got many friends in school. I’ll tell you what happened as best as I can because it is all a scary blur now, but this is how it went . . .

I was walking home from school last year, and it was now the October holiday. It had gone unusually warm for October, but nevertheless I was walking home – on my own as usual, and it was a normal evening, until about half past nine that evening. I went to take muffin (my pet dog) for a walk. I took him on a new walk for a change, up into the fields. I had just got a t-shirt and shorts on and as the day became night and the horizon swallowed the sun, I realized that it had suddenly gone abnormally cold – compared to recent temperatures. This was when I began to head back home, however as I had never been this way before I could not remember which way I had come from, so I took a random guess. As I continued I saw a light in the near distance, it was a fire so I thought that it was a cottage. I hoped that it was the way home so I went towards it. Little did I know that it was a large willow tree, blazing with rage. I ran, as it was the obvious thing to do. All the way back home not even thinking which way I needed to go, but somehow I managed to get home. The first thing I did when I got home was to look out from my bedroom window like an eagle looking for its pray, and my pray was the roaring willow tree. However there was no sign of anything when I finally got to my bedroom window. Not even the smallest sign of anything burning never mind a humongous willow tree. I did not know what to do, whether to tell someone or whether it was just my imagination.

It was hallows eve, and I was out again, but this time I was alone. I was out looking at all of the Halloween preparations that the village was making. All the candlelit pumpkins were staring in a still glare, showing themselves to all people. We make a big deal of events like this, and I can honestly say that I do not understand why. However, on this particular evening the atmosphere was extremely eerie, but I couldn’t put my finger on the cause. My head was still buzzing like a bee, questions flying around my head, wondering whatever happened to that blazing willow tree. This was the point when I finally made the decision to go up into the hills again to try and solve the mystery of what happened.

It took me a quite a while to find the exact spot where I was before, as it was pitch black now, and my only light source was the dimmed light coming from my ancient touch. What I saw was unnatural. Twisted. I stood there, breathless.

Silent. The only sound was my hasty breathing.

You’ll never believe what I saw . . .