Well, the challenge has certainly been taken up with a vengence! I've enjoyed all the pieces on this thread. cambert's story sent a genuine shiver down my spine. I knew something was going to happen but for the punch to come so close to the end was very effective. I can visualise the suddenly opening eyes as one of those scenes in a horror film that catch you unawares and make you jump out of your skin. And I loved the subtle ambiguous threat of the last word "Stephen". Makes you wonder what's going to happen next... I would probably have been caught out by jagill's cannibals. There are so many apparently meaningless email addresses in the world that I'd never have thought to try reversing the letters. If I'm feeling paranoid I will now! (Mind you, I can't believe no one ever thought Count Alucard wasn't a strange name in one of those hoary old vampire movies!) mboncher's zombie tale was most effective. I wonder why zombies always seem more plausible with a French flavour? Must be something to do with the associations of voodoo and Haiti, I guess (even though this story isn't set there). Butte Des Morts conjoured up an unheathy fear of the dark that I think is a useful ingredient in any Halloween story.

That's a very sinister story dialyn and I reckon your 2nd piece is even better than the 1st one. It's a good example of how what isn't said can be as effective as the elements of a story that are made explicit. I like the implications of a whole fractured society of vampire followers which the reader can pick up from the title and those few well chosen words without any need for a labouring clarification. It feels like a good introduction to a novel about a whole mysterious horror "underculture". On the "ashes" sentence, I have a suggestion. How about something like:- Kat moved the beam of her flashlight to the mans face and flicked the dead dust from her cigarette over the body. Ashes to ashes. "dead dust" is an unusual description of the cigarette ash maybe but it chimes in quite nicely with the unspoken "dust to dust". I've just got back from a walking holiday in Scotland which is how come I haven't kept up with the postings but now I think I'll have a go at a 2nd piece myself...

I like the dialect in that story too. It conjures up a sense of place without wasting any words. I can picture that empty chair still rocking on a hot summer evening. Very effective (and only just over 200 words!)

That was a very intriguing little piece, dialyn. I enjoyed those 496 words! I particularly liked your idea for Transom's cunning Halloween scavenging scheme. And you managed to set up Samhain's demise plausibly as well. Very clever. I know what you mean about editing. There comes a time when you lose patience with it! I remember that when I wrote the first draft of my story it came in at something like 700 words and I then spent ages pruning it down. But in retrospect I think this was a good discipline. I found it surprising how much I could cut without losing anything important and I suspect it actually improved the prose in many places by making it shorter and punchier.

Chuck, just to put you out of your misery there's nothing all that interesting in my ID I'm afraid! The DMFW is just my initials, which are usually a unique ID when I sign on to a web site. If I used my first name I'd be David500042 or some such :-) Glad you liked the story. 500 words makes you strip every sentence down to the bone. On reflection, I think even the little amount of plot in there was too much for the story to carry without making the reader work pretty hard. If I did another one of these I think I'd concentrate more on atmosphere and have even less narrative.

P.S. I'd like to have formatted this a bit better and I had a theory that the HTML option might let me do something along those lines but sadly my efforts at HTML posts just didn't seem to be treated as HTML despite ticking the box (or have I got hold of the wrong idea of what this box is supposed to do?) Oh well...

The Wind Over The Border

The metallic blue of a late October afternoon was hardening to twilight over the Northumbrian moor. Only the crumbling stone of an old pele tower stood against the bleak skyline. A raw northern wind, a Scottish wind, bit fiercely through the sere brown grasses, despising the thin yellow light that came to life in an upper window. For an hour the light shone in defiance of the oncoming night before the hills were left to darkness and wind.

"Help me! Please help me!" It was a womans voice, faint but fervid, making Claires heart thump. Shed thought herself quite alone in the only habitable room in the ruin but now a low unnatural candlelight illuminated everything.

"Help me!" the cry came again

Her feet were icy on the bare flagstones as she responded without waking. She stumbled over a chair that didnt match the pattern of her dream and a shock of adrenalin brought full consciousness.

The tower was dark and the only sound was the wind. It was more than just cold making her tremble as she returned to her duvet.

"But Ive never been sleepwalking before!" Claire protested to Lucy.

"Its stress", her friend pronounced. "Youve split with Mark, and that tower is creepy. Why you took that temporary wardens job Ill never know! The place isnt exactly a tourist trap is it?"

"Its shut in winter. Another week and Ill be in America."

"That holiday will do you good", Lucy said.

Old Thomas Mason from the village had a set of keys. The tourist board paid him a small sum to assist her.

"Is the tower haunted?" Claire asked.

"Theres a story about an old reiver - a cattle raider; lived and died violently. They say he took an English mistress and threw his Scottish wife in the dungeons where she starved to death. Your bedroom was his."

He seemed uncomfortable.

"Its just the wind over the border. It can make strange noises. Best to ignore them."

"Todays the 31st. Ill be gone tomorrow", Claire said. "Halloween", she remembered.

The cry was anguished, impossible to ignore. In the dream light of ghost candles the fifteenth century was visible again. Behind a rough stone Claires sleepwalking fingers sprang the catch for a concealed entrance to dungeon depths of which her conscious mind was ignorant. She only saw the ghost for an instant. The reivers wife smiled.

"Whore! Share my husbands bed and share my fate!"

The Scottish wind slammed the secret door and Claire woke naked in damp underground darkness. Her frantic fingertips were bleeding on the unyielding granite long before she began to scream.

Thomas returned to his car. The young student was gone. On a plane already, most likely. Hed cleaned her room and now the old pele tower would be deserted until April. He almost heard a womans voice.

"Help me!"

"The wind over the border", he thought with a superstitious shudder. "Best to ignore it". He started the engine.

Attached Link: http://andromeda.rutgers.edu/~jlynch/Writing/index.html

If I had the chance to change one thing about English grammar it would be that wretched rule about "it's" and "its"! I know that the apostrophe indicates a contraction of "it is" but I often find that I'm thinking of the possessive sense of the word as I write (as in "belonging to it") and applying an invalid rule. Then I lapse into using "it's" when I should have used "its". On more than one occasion I've reread some email I've already sent out to half the company, spotted this mistake too late and felt cross with myself for letting it out of the door. I know no one ever said that English grammar was logical but there is something about this particular rule that really annoys me!