Woodseats Young Writers

A Taste of Your Own Medicine Secrets are powerful things, hidden whispers in dark corners, the hush-hush of things you want not to know. Threads of dangerous, unpublished words that should never be leaked. A perfect, unravelable spider’s web spun with a silver tongue and quickly thought up lies. Breathy words interwoven in a deadly tapestry. Flawless and quiet, dew drops of suspicion clinging to its silken fibres but ultimately, unable to penetrate the web. And there was no better web-spinner than John Huberwick. He thrived in a state of hushed tones and zipped lips, fed off conversations that came to an abrupt halt as oaken doors swung open. It was his natural habitat and anyone that got caught on his web would not be leaving it anytime soon. He had become a master in sucking the life out of those that threatened to leave. He had a million eyes, surveying every corner of his web and his instinctive predatorial nature made him a menace to anyone who dared threaten to uncover hi...

The Milkman Catherine had always know ghosts existed. There was no false pretence in her mind that the man who left non-existent bottles of milk outside their door every morning was not just an echo of life left over from half a century ago, or that the elderly woman who came in her room to say goodnight had not long since shuffled off this mortal coil. But ghost stories were never scary for Catherine. How could they be? The ghosts she knew were kind and friendly - like the little girl who always wanted to play pat-a-cake or the kind man who never failed to look up from his typewriter to smile at Catherine and run his hand through his afro before returning to his never ending stream of words. The only ghost that Catherine didn’t like was the dog. Each year, on the 16th May, at roughly 10pm the dog began to bark. And when the dog began to bark, everything changed.   Ruff! Ruff! It was that time of the year again, the night Catherine had come to dread. Ruff! Ruff! Th...

Crimson on White Thick, scarlet liquid trickled onto the frozen blanket of white. Ice became water as hot blood swirled in the dusty flakes. Tendrils of ruby reached out into the endless white, grasping for freedom; praying that if they unfurled their copper coils just enough there might be an excuse to hope. Stark and contrasting; the ruby poured itself into the snow, mixing in a deadly dance of blood and water, There would be no escaping the icy clutches of the chalky, boundless expanse. Not Today. Not ever. Mary Ann pulled her fur coat tighter around her shivering body, her breaths crystallising as they left her mouth. The faint remnants of a Michael Jackson song echoed in her ears from a bar down the street. The sun, having set long ago, had left not even a dash of its legacy behind and Mary Ann felt persisted by the dark. The clouds had created a shield against any small beam of light, extinguishing the stars and banishing the moon. Streetlights emitted their feeble impr...

Crush Darren Harris was, in the opinion of Alicia, the best looking boy in class. School. Maybe even the whole world – to her knowledge. She’d spend most lessons shooting him glances, maybe even giving him the odd stare if she couldn’t get caught. She had his number, and she tried to text him but he’d either ignore her or give disinterested results. He must’ve had other people for his eyes to be on – like Fran Simpson, or Chrissie Bale. But all sweet, young Alicia wanted out of life was someone like him – or so she thought. If not handled delicately, a childhood crush can quickly become obsessive, or spiral out of control. Or even become a point to fixate decisions on; which is never the right thing to do, even if it seems to be at the time. Luckily, the young blonde hadn’t yet allowed herself to fall into such habits. But it was always a possibility. It was February 14 th , more commonly known as Valentine’s Day, and Alicia was walking to school with her older brother Bill...

If there was one story I'd like to state, It would be about why I was late. So, here I am to celebrate, The joys of being a headless date. I met her down in the pub. It was half past seven, I'd had some grub. She really did look very sweet, But I was late to the meet and greet. Like I've said, I'm a headless date, So I don't know why I was so late. I don't really know Why I really did go. It wasn't for a kiss. I have no lips. I don't know why I was so late. As I say, I'm a headless date. So, I shall stop blathering on. I think the date's back on.

The walls were pale, lifeless. Grime residue hid in corners and a nauseous antiseptic smell filled the room. There was only one window and it looked out on to a city doused in a derelict grey. Despite the beeping and whirring of various machines, there still seemed to be a silence so thick you could it with a knife. In the centre of the room on faded white sheets lay a shell of a man. Jack Floyd’s face was empty of colour, his ashen hair thinning and his lips a pale blue, their surface dry and cracked a million times over. His wrinkles had sunk so deep into his face it was like knives had carved them out. His eyes were closed and his skin was so starved of blood that you could see each little vein and capillary as it snaked along his eyelids. He was so still you’d think he was dead if not for the machine that occasionally rang out, announcing his heart had finally beaten once again. It was one machine in a battalion of them, each dedicated to providing or measuring something. An ...

Thunderstruck The owl flew over me skimming the trees with its foot. At last I had some peace. I stared up at the sky, not caring about the rain. Not caring that I was lost. Not caring about the storm. A flash of lightening lit up the sky and I counted for the thunder. 1, 2, 3, 4… and suddenly a great boom of thunder filled the sky with noise and I fell on my knees and fell to the ground… I’VE BEEN THUNDERSTRUCK… It had been 1 whole hour after the thunder that I woke up. I found myself somewhere else lying on a bench in a… in a forest. I jumped to my feet making my knees turn to jelly. What had happened? I ran as fast as I could, but stopped. Coming towards me was a pale shape illuminated by the light. I spoke out loud to it. “Who are you? Where am I?” The ghost wailed back “You don’t need to know who I am, where are you is another matter but I can solve that, you are with meeee!!”…. I woke up sweating but shivering. What was that dream? What did it mean?... By Django P...