Tower and Town, November 2021 (view the full edition)Gothic WritingShadows leapt out at every corner. All I could hear in my head was a high-pitched whistling sound, despite the fact that my surroundings were deathly silent. Desperately pinching myself again and again, I firmly told myself I was not dreaming. I wish I hadn't stepped out of my cottage with its glow of safety and warmth. Ivy crept up the decaying walls of the abandoned mansion that towered threateningly over me. Moss flourished under the dampness and evident neglect of the scene. A distant church bell chimed twelve bongs. Midnight. Ordinarily, I should have loved to be outside. I like to go out at night when all the planet's burdens are asleep - just me and the world. There is an air of serenity, as though the Earth is resting after a hectic day. Yet here was a place that felt so alive with the supernatural, so throbbing with spirits, swirling round and round me in a whirlpool of evil, despair and regret, that I could not fully accept it. Sharp spikes like spears on the top of the fence enclosing me glinted wickedly in the full moon, as if daring me to escape. The roof was laden with crumbling chimneys and cracked red tiles. The leafless trees swayed even through the air was still and the black dot in my eyes steadily grew larger and larger, and larger still - until I passed out. Charlotte Prothero, Year 8 |