What it feels like to be haunted.

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Alex Scott                                                                      Miss. Turner

What it feels like…

…to be haunted

        The emerald green grass glowed under the dimly lit street light, and the grey misty fog blinded the distance. All that was to be heard was the cold repetition of the Tawny owl. The freezing winds punched the doors of the fifty year old houses. Shaking, they barely stood up to the hail beating up the straw thatched roofs. Nothing moved except, buried for fifty years, the ghost of Elysium, tearing silently though the small village.

        From 1988 to 1993 I lived in a cottage in the Yorkshire Moors that was nearly one-hundred years old. For fifty years of my houses’ first life it belonged to an outlandish man who was hardly ever seen out of his house. All we know is that he wore a long tatty black cloak all of the time he was in and out of his house. Unfortunately he was murdered between 1898 and 1900 but the killer was never seen or heard. As far as we know a police investigation took place, but no-one was linked with the murder. Fifty years later his cottage was home to me and many other people who have nasty experiences from the cottage. It has been said that he haunts the village for revenge because of the way the villagers treated him, that is with no respect.  

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        The winter winds are so strong they freeze the face within seconds of exposure to the agony. The car that has not been started for two weeks struggles to start, but the heating never fails. As the car pulls up into the drive of Elysium cottage, the torture of getting out is unbearable as the winds have got immensely stronger and the rain transforms into bombardment of blades of ice. The door is harder to open because of the massive freezing temperatures. On entry up the stairs the usual creaking symphony is performed by the flight of steps. A good ...

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