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Title: One ordinary night

by Katie from Hampshire and Isle of Wight | in writing, fiction

It is dark, as usual. How many times I had asked to meet in the day I don't know. But it seems that my wishes do not count.
Not even the moon is out tonight. Instead, a deep blackness covers everything in sight, consuming the road in front of us. It is not a still night. It is the kind of night where things move out of the corner of your eye. The kind of night when weird noises come from weird places. It is that kind of night.
I swallow and slump back in my seat. The taxi driver glances back at me, looking slightly worried and afraid. I roll my eyes. He has a reason for being so, just not a good one. I am not the scariest being out
Sheri sits in the seat next to me. She's staring out the window, thinking to herself. I'm not speaking to her. All this is because of her
'You have a talent, Bella,' she had said to me. 'You don't want to waste it.'
How does she know what I want? There are so many who claim to have the talent and who want it. Why do they want it? So that they can be carted to various places late at night, sometimes with thunder in the background? Oh yes. Sheri said the weather added to the drama of the events.
I spent a lot of time not speaking to her.
The taxi driver turns into a small driveway. I look up at the house. Old. Figures.
Sheri gets out of the car quickly and smartly. I try to follow her but trip. Sheri looks at me and sighs.
I right myself, looking sheepish. Sheri marches swiftly to the door. I turn to pay the taxi driver but he is gone. Either I'd been knocked out for the past few seconds or Sheri is freakishly fast.
When Sheri knocks, it makes that eerie sounds which echoes through the door. I can hear it thundering through that silent looking house. I shiver beside her. It's a cold night.
A woman answers the door. She looks pleasant enough. Her face though is distraught.
'Hello, I'm Sheri Deere,' Sheri holds her hand. 'We spoke on the phone.'
'Thank goodness you've come,' the woman looks like she's at the end of her wits. 'I don't know what to do. It's not every day something like this happens.'
She looks at me strangely. Letting us into the house, she whispers the Sheri.
'Who's the girl?'
I sigh. A lot of people make the mistake that organised, efficient Sheri will be the one to deal with this. Not fifteen year old, clumsy me.
Sheri introduces me. 'This is Bella. She'll be getting rid of it.' She put a lot of emphasis on the 'it'. I didn't like calling them 'it'. It makes them seem as though they are far away, oblivious to us.
Which they certainly aren't.
The woman stares at me critically. I look away. I am uncomfortable with being scrutinised. I know I'm not up to scratch.
'Where did you last see it?' I ask, trying to at least seem professional.
'Up in the second bedroom. Always there. Third door on the right.'
I look up the stairs. I can feel that there's something up there. My sixth sense. It's telling me to run away from here, far, far away. This one will be tough. Mentally haranguing Sheri, I start climbing up the staircase without another word. Sheri and the woman follow me.
It is a pretty ordinary room. A large double bed and a big wardrobe. I edge away from the wardrobe. After last time I'd pretty much developed a phobia of all wardrobes. I continue to a rug and sit down, cross legged, concentrating on the room around me. I listen for every sound and watch every movement. Sheri closes the door. The wind blows the curtains slightly. A dripping noise is coming through somewhere below.
'What's she doing?' the woman whispers.
'Oh, just shut up,' I say. I don't like being interrupted when I'm in my zone.
I settle down to wait. Sheri and the woman stand at the edge of the room, watching me. The clock on the wall ticks slowly.
It doesn't take too long. About twenty minutes. The woman tried to speak twice but Sheri shushed her, knowing that I don't like to be disturbed.
At first, I see a flickering. Immediately, I swivel to where it's coming from. The mirror on the wall is emitting a strange light. A white sheen. I stand up and cautiously make my way to the mirror. I stand right in front of it, trying to look brave for the woman who's almost fainted near the door.
And the ghost in the mirror smiles a dark smile at me.

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One conversation with a friend at a sleepover. Her mum's pub is supposedly haunted. She was talking about an ecounter she'd had with a ghost and how she'd almost spoken to it. Although I don't really believe in ghosts, I wondered what it would be like if you could talk to them. And then this story came into my head.

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