It’s Dark in Here

(1000 words) “Where’s the key for the wardrobe in the spare room?” “What … why?” My wife, Jane, looked down at the carpet. “Oh, uh, I just fancied looking inside. Who knows what’s in there?” She gave an unconvincing laugh. “What’s Lucy been saying?” “What?” “Come on, what’s that girl been imagining this time?” “Look, Tony, I’m worried about her. First there was that nonsense about Roman soldiers under the bed, now this.” “Now what?” “Well, she said not to tell you, that you’d be cross.” I felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps I had been less than sympathetic over the soldier episode. But Lucy was eleven, for heaven’s sake. “Come on, out with it.” I smiled. “I won’t be cross, promise.” “Well, she said she heard whispering from it.” “What?" “She said it said ‘Let me out, it’s dark in here.’”


(850 words) - Windsor Great Park was my destination, somewhere I’d never been before. I drove my little silver Toyota through the busy streets of Windsor, noticing in the distance a red flag flying above the famous Round Tower of ‘the oldest and largest occupied castle in the world,’ signifying that the Queen was in residence. I followed the signs and found myself on less manic roads, finally pulling up at an impressive lodge, beyond which lay green fields and trees. A manservant in an antiquated purple robe came out. “Hello, Madam, may I help you?” “I’m Sylvia Williamson, I’ve come to look at your ghost.” His aged face betrayed no surprise. “Ah, yes, come this way please.” He led me into the sumptuously furnished building and along corridors, where faces of unrecognisable royal personages glared at me through the cracked glaze of ancient oil paintings, mounted in enormous gilded frames.