What is a Ghost story by dffhrtcv3


									“ The ghost story must impart a strong sense of place, of mood
, of the season, of the elements, and sp the traditional haunted
elements – old isolated houses, lonely churchyards, castles
and convents and empty, narrow streets at night – are heavily
relied upon.”

 What is required is a real ghost. It’s got to be something
 which is seen now, but is the image of somebody who is
 known to have existed and is known to have died. It may
 be a child, adult or animal; it may be seen or heard; but it is
 certainly more than just in someone’s imagination.
    As you read this ghost story, pay close
    attention to the elements that make it a ghost
    story and what elements make it particularly
    frightening. You will need to identify the
   Setting
   Ghost’s characteristics
   Chost’s conflict
   Ghost’s interactions with others
    I roam alone in the woods, listening to the
    enchanted children's voices calling to me. "Little
    girl, come and play," they sing over and over in my
    ears. Sometimes I hear them from the window of
    my room. They giggle and whisper words that I
    cannot make out. They sound like so much fun that
    I run outside my house as fast as I can to try to
    catch them. I plunge into the woods, calling back to
    the children, but no one answers. So I stand still as a
    mouse, trying to hear where they are hiding.
   I find it odd that no one else can hear the children. I
    tell my mother about the game of hide-and-seek
    that they play with me, but I know she doesn't
    believe me. She just ruffles my hair and chuckles
    about my bright imagination. Papa can't hear them
    because he is too busy reading the paper and going
    to work. He says I will grow up to be a writer.
One morning, I hear the enchanted
children calling to me from my porch.
"Sara, come out and play." I finish my
breakfast so fast that the milk spills from
my cereal bowl and run outside with my
blue smock still dripping wet.
"Where are you?" I call as I run into the
woods. I can hear them giggling, and
footsteps scampering first here, then there.
I laugh aloud and follow them up hill and
then down. Only my foot slips in the damp
leaves and I slide too fast, too fast. I fall
backward, wind-milling my arms. Then a
terrible pain shoots through my head and
is strikes against a rock. I see a blinding
light, and then nothing. I hear my name
called from very far away: "Sara, Sara!" I
open my eyes and sit up, rubbing my hair.
Something isn't right, but I cannot tell at
first what it is. Then I look at my hand, and
realize I can see the ground right through it.
That's strange, I think, standing up and
brushing dead leaves from my blue smock. I
look around to see who was calling my
name, but I see no one in the woods with
me. I notice that the trees look taller than I
remember them, and the pathway is
overgrown with weeds.
I make my way home slowly, hoping
Mother can explain to me why I can see
through my hands; why the trees are so tall.
But someone else is staying at my house.
Mother and Papa must have gone away on
vacation. I climb up into my favorite tree to
wait for their return.
After a few minutes, a lady comes outside
and calls up to me. She is dressed strangely
in a man's long pants and a rough work
shirt. I feel shy, so I pretend to be invisible. I
see the lady blink a few times and rub at her
eyes, as if she can no longer see me. She
goes back into the house, muttering to
herself and pours herself a cup of water.
Then I hear the enchanted children calling out to me
again from the woods. I slid out of the branches of
the tree and run to answer them. At least they
haven't changed. I can see the children clearly now,
as they play hide and seek in the woods. I join their
games, laughing sometimes when one of the boys
tweaks me on the ear or when one of the girls
compliments me on my dress and blue smock. This
is fun!
But sometimes the enchanted children go away to
another place, a place I can't follow. When they
vanish, I wander back to my house, wondering
when Mother and Papa will come home. Or I play
in the alley by the woods, though I don't like it
when strangers try to talk to me.
One day when the children go away, I follow my
nose to the door of a pretty lady who is baking
cookies. I peek into the kitchen window and smile
at her. How I want one of those cookies! The lady
looks out the window and sees me.
She smiles and then comes to the front door. I know
she is going to offer me a cookie, so I scamper to the
door and wait eagerly for it to open. When it does, I
grin at the pretty lady, but she looks right through me,
a puzzled frown on her face. Maybe she is blind, I
think and so I say politely: "May I come in?" right into
her ear. The lady gives a start, backs hastily inside the
house and shuts the door in my face. No cookies for me
then. I sigh and go back into the woods to wait for the
enchanted children.
When the children come to the woods, I am happy
again and we play for days and days. We sing and we
dance and the boys play tricks and we climb all the
trees and fall out of them. But they only come during
the day.
The nights are lonely, and sometimes I wait for hours
and hours during the day before they come. I like to
go to the pretty lady's house and sit on the half-wall
while I wait. Maybe one day she will offer me a
cookie. The lady's grown-up daughter passes me
sometimes on her way in and out of the house. Once
the daughter asked me where I lived, but I was too
shy to speak to her. The daughter put some pretty
metal cats near the wall where I like to sit. I play with
them when I feel lonely and no one else is around.
It is beautiful here in the woods, and I like playing
with the enchanted children. But often I wish Mother
and Papa would come home. I miss them so much.
But they never do.

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