It was a witchy house: that quiet grey paint, those squinting shuttered
windows, and the empty porch rocker that rocked, rocked, rocked, day
and night. Everyone said the house was abandoned, but I knew better than that.

(Journalist's intuition.)

At Halloween, kids would dare each other to touch the doorpost, and afterwards they would run away screaming. There were ghost stories about that house. Even adults would gossip about the old lady that used to live there and the sad tragedy that happened to her. Everyone knew it was haunted. 

Except me. I didn't know it was haunted at all.

(Journalist's intuition.)

I think my mom secretly believed it was haunted, even though she's an adult. She would never let me go near it, and she would pale at the mention of it's name: Witchy Manor. 

The first thought that came to my head when I heard that name was "Wow, someone's creative." But Anyways, my mom wouldn't let me go near it.

But there was a great story going on in that house, and I was going to be the one to discover it.

(Journalist's intuiation.)

Maybe the newspaper would even publish my story! Now that would be something. So in the middle of the night, I got dressed in all black and packed my bag full of supplies. I sneaked out the door and into the night.

At the house, the rocking chair was rocking back and forth, back and forth. As always. That was the first mystery to be solved. Something told me to look behind the chair.

(Journalist's intuition.)

There was a solar panel. Yes, a solar panel. The chair was attached to it. That's the cause.

But who would go to so much trouble for a chair?

I went inside the house. I searched verywhere, but it was pretty much abandoned. I went upstairs. With every step I took, the stairs would creak. Except one.

I decided to open the one stair that didn't creak.

(Journalist's intuition.)

Inside, there were papers. I nearly fell down the stairs I was so excited! I turned them over and... they were blank. Big bummer. But I stuffed them into my bag. Maybe it was invisible ink???

I skipped over the broken stair and climbed up the rest. I heard a noise. A loud noise. It sounded like the clanging of chains on a prisoner. I gulped, but I pressed on. I turned the corner. The noise got louder. I opened the door to the room where the noise was coming from, and-

A little kitten stared at me and mewed. I laughed at the sight of  him in the middle of all the pots and pans scattered around the floor. I scooped him up and put him in a bag. I knew he would be my new forever friend. 

The scariest part of this was explaining my new pet to my mom.

The mystery of Witchy Manor has yet to be solved. The papers? The solar panel?

But I know I'll be back, and when I am, I'll find the story of a lifetime. I know it.

Journalist's intuition.

The ghost was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Straweberry jelly, to be exact, and the extra-crunchy sort of peanut butter, which was his favorite. As he popped the last gooey, sticky, piece of sandwich into his mouth, he heard a cough. He turned around. "Who's there?" 

Nothing was. The ghost shrugged and got up to make another sandwich. Hmm, he thought. Perhaps grilled cheese on rye. He opened the bread drawer and to his dismay saw that the only loaf left was sourdough. The ghost hated sourdough. Grumbling, he slammed it shut.

"Why are you eating so many sandwiches?" Someone asked. He didn't even turn around as he stared angrily at the drawer.

"I haven't eaten in one hundred seventy nine years." The ghost answered irritably.

"Why now?" The voice asked again, curiously. It was a little girl's voice, sweet, high, and gentle. The ghost glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting on the table. Rather, floating above it. She was a ghost too! He had never seen another one... like him... he had spent one hundred and seventy nine years drifting alone, mournfully, wailing to the wind.

"Because. It's obvious I'm staying here forever, I might as well get fed." Apples. The ghost thought. Maybe I should have some apples.

"It's not YOUR food!" The ghost girl asked, her transparent braids swinging. "This belong to some Living One."

"Who cares?" The ghost snapped. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" Then he glared at her. The meek, wide-eyed, innocent look she gave him was familier. Too familier.

"I'm Rebecca." The girl said gently. "Hi, daddy."

The ghost howled as the memories came flooding back with a torrent of feeling so strong he dropped the apple. Sickness. Terror. Leaning on the bed of a pretty, dark haired woman as her breath was sucked away for the final time. A small, cheerful girl fell into nothingness. Rebecca. Dark. Run. Far away. Stop. End it. NOW.

"Becky!" He sobbed. 

"Daddy!" The girl threw herself at him. "Let's go home now." The ghost sighed in relief. Everything was okay. He held Rebecca's hand tightly as the kitchen spun into nothingness and a new, bright, lighted, happy place focused in front of his eyes. 

~~~~~~~

"CAROLINE!" Mom bellowed. I picked myself out of bed. "Whaaat?" 

"No more midnight snacks!" Mom yelled. "We have no peanut butter, and only sourdough left. You know I hate sourdough..." 

~~~~~~~  

The bear charged! Its muscles strained with an ongoing forward thrust, and the wind flattened its fur against its skin. Its eyes were roaming madly, and a bubble of spit grew at the corner of its mouth. I curled myself into a tiny ball of pure fright, waiting for the roar of impact to hit. 

But it didn't. I felt a whoosh of air, but no collision. I peeked through semi-closed eyes, and saw the bear trot off through a gate in the wooden fence. To my amazement, a stick was clenched in its jaws! "Good boy, Patty," said a voice off in the distance.

I got up gingerly. Every inch of my new Levi's was grass-stained, and I felt a stinging on each of my palms. I followed the voice, softly creeping along the fence until I reached the gate.

I will finish this tomorrow. 

Random prompts I came up with!

1. "Uh, hi, yeah, it's me, <insert name here>. And five kids, except one of them's hurt bad...can I come in?"

2. She swore right then that if he was here after all, if he'd gone back on his word, she would haul both him and the boy before the Council and demand that they take their oaths as master and apprentice right then and there.

3. The surprising thing was not so much that the stick had sparked- indeed, that was actually no surprise to any in attendance. What had everyone's jaws on the floor was who it had sparked for.

4. If the stinkin' government hadn't interfered, <insert name here> thought over his third cocktail, I might actually be somebody. 

5. Sweat rolled down her back in rivulets. The heat was punishing, even with the trees hanging low on either side of the dusty track. "Johnny," she panted, "Are...you sure...trying to push...the cart...all the way...to the Dunstables'...was such...a good...idea?!"

Thank you all for joining my writing classes. We have been going for a week now. We now have 16 people who have joined. Anyway, It is Monday and so it is time for a new lesson. 

So next we are going to write a short story with the genre that I chose. I am going to pick the fairy tale genre. You are going to pick your favorite fairy tale and rewrite it. If you want an extra challenge, you car rewrite the story with five of the words below. 

Earthy, gingery, satiny, murmur,  chatter, ripple, gurgling,  flashlight, munch, locket, honeysuckle, gargoyle, pendulum, amble, plummet, wavering, crimson, azure, tawny, howl.

For the poets. You are going to pick your favorite number and write a poem about it. It can be about what it reminds you of or what you makes it your favorite number.  

Happy writing.  

Here goes

I have one brown eye and one green eye. The brown eye sees the truth, and the green eye sees much more. It sees hope.

If you have ever looked through a tissue you can understand how it feels, only now the tissue is a blue-grren color ans the image befor is rippling like a light skarf in the autumn wind. That's what I see. That's what all others wish to see. That's why I wish to be bling.

To me hope is as frendly as fear. And fear, in this case, is not my friend. Say you want a dog, you hope for a dog. If you were me, if you had my green eye, you wold every day see youself with that dog. That perfect dog. Then suddenly it would be gone, poof, just like that. Your dreams would be ripped apart right infront of you.

Now is when most people would ask,

"well what do you see?" So if you are wondering, I see me, happy me, alive me. That's right, I was never born, never alive. I am the magic woven into the world. the  hope woven into fear. and I am afriad, very afraid. Hope canot be so intense. If it were it wold overwhelm the world. All fear would disappear. And in this case fear is your friend.

And soon, very soon, I will be born, born to the world. 

No don't die

OK, so my last idea didn't amount to much so I am going to make another thing. I know it isn't Monday yet but it is close enough. So the next challenge for the writers is going to be:  I am going to pick thirty-five different and strange words. You are going to pick ten of your favorites and write a short story with them. Enjoy.  

Poets, your challenge is going to be: write a poem about the last place you went.

For writers here are your words: Devise ( plan or invent by careful thought. ) pungent, musty, mellow, velvity,  rasp,  hubub, stutter, gurgling, tomes, orbit,  nebula, radiant, careens, traverse, flutter, baffle, bioluminescent, pendulem, flash, soar, canter, rotuned, starred, crimson, ruby, beige, buttercup, azure, peacock, amber, mint, emerald, tawny, perl,