Donate coins to StephanieMarie.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by StephanieMarie in portal Paranormal

A house stands

Upon a shady hill

Hidden in the shadow

Of the local saw mill

Men often stayed here

And worked off the bill

Chopping up logs

While honing their skill

Though run down now

The house was once filled

But the men made space

For some trouble until

One night those men

Were given a spill

They were found when

The smell came downhill

All of them twisted

They had been killed

But no one knew who

Had wished them ill will

Enough to mangle

Their bodies but still

The faces stared frozen

Gaped with the shrill

Screams that were cut

To a violent standstill

Bodies were taken

But angry spirits willed

Themselves to stay their

Up on that hill

In that tiny house

Where they were killed

I've never gone in

Myself if you will

The door hangs open

Waiting to thrill

The men still get loud

And drink their swill

But their ghosts walk around

With heads open and spilled

Angry and looking

For fear to instill

So venture on in

Or peek past the sills

But beware of the men

From the Fayetteville Mill

10
2
2
Juice
37 reads
Donate coins to StephanieMarie.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by StephanieMarie in portal Paranormal
A house stands
Upon a shady hill
Hidden in the shadow
Of the local saw mill
Men often stayed here
And worked off the bill
Chopping up logs
While honing their skill
Though run down now
The house was once filled
But the men made space
For some trouble until
One night those men
Were given a spill
They were found when
The smell came downhill
All of them twisted
They had been killed
But no one knew who
Had wished them ill will
Enough to mangle
Their bodies but still
The faces stared frozen
Gaped with the shrill
Screams that were cut
To a violent standstill
Bodies were taken
But angry spirits willed
Themselves to stay their
Up on that hill
In that tiny house
Where they were killed
I've never gone in
Myself if you will
The door hangs open
Waiting to thrill
The men still get loud
And drink their swill
But their ghosts walk around
With heads open and spilled
Angry and looking
For fear to instill
So venture on in
Or peek past the sills
But beware of the men
From the Fayetteville Mill
#horror  #poetry  #challenge  #freeverse  #ghoststory  #illgoinifyougoin 
10
2
2
Juice
37 reads
Load 2 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to AtMilliways.
Juice
Cancel
Written by AtMilliways in portal Paranormal

Presence

The ghost entered the apartment with the same quick, confident stride she'd always entered it with in life. She was only half aware that she was a ghost, but didn't bother herself to be troubled by the thought. What she noticed, if anything, was having more strength than she'd had in quite some time. Where her body had been wasting away she was now thin but no longer emaciated. Death had undone all signs of her decline, except for the track marks sprinkled like freckles down the insides of her arms and backs of her knees. Now what propelled her more than anything was unfinished business.

As she walked into the living room her stride faltered. She felt a tug in her chest upon seeing one of the few places where she'd been happy. This was where, in the warmth of Hazel's embrace, she'd said I love you for the first time and meant it. At least... she’d thought she had meant it. In the end she had run away — first back to pills, then to needles, then from her job even though Hazel had struggled for months to cover for her, and then from Hazel herself as though there were nothing left to hold her down.

With a jolt she saw that all of the pictures of them together had been taken down. That hurt more than she would have expected, but at least she hadn’t been replaced. The walls and the mantle were bare.

In contrast, the rest of the apartment was cluttered. Hazel had always been neat and tidy before. Now, dirty clothes and used plates lay scattered haphazardly across the living room floor, couch, and coffee table. The ghost drifted to the kitchen where there were dirty dishes and cups stacked up in the sink. In the spare room, where Hazel kept her art supplies, everything was covered in a layer of dust as though it hadn't been disturbed in weeks.

That bothered the ghost, because art had been an important daily part of the other woman's life and the idea that it no longer was seemed alien and strange. Art was the reason they had met, after all. One day at work the marketing department had assigned Hazel to work with a sales team to come up with a new ad campaign design. At first Hazel had seem too tall, too big, too out of place, not the ghost’s type at all. Once she had her computer open and a stylus in her hand, however, it was clear that she wielded a kind of magic over form and color. There was an undeniable current that ran through both of them whenever their gazes met.

Romantic entanglements were discouraged by company policy. Much to the irritation of her friend in HR, who she occasionally had to bribe to keep covering for her, the ghost got a thrill out of dipping her pen in the company ink. One day over lunch and midday cocktails, when Hazel asked shyly if she might draw her sometime, the ghost had countered with an offer to pose nude. The tactic had spread a pretty blush across Hazel’s cheeks, but not distracted from how much food had still been on her plate at the end of the meal. Even then, at the very beginning, Hazel noticed, and her first instinct was to take care of her.

It bothered her to think that leaving the way she had might have wiped all that away.

Uncertain of what she would find, the ghost continued down the hallway to the bedroom. The door was barely open and no light seeped out through the sliver-sized gap, but she caught a trickle of escaping sound.

There were two figures in the darkened room, one in the bed curled beneath a mass of blankets still in her pajamas even though it was well past noon and another sitting on the edge of the mattress still in her dress suit from work. The ghost circled, eying the second person, who was saying, "Come on, that's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. There’s no way you’re responsible!" But her voice got high and frustrated towards the end and fell short of sounding convincing.

The ghost knew her. Jo had never been much of a people person; ending up in Human Resources had either been a cosmic joke or darkly fitting. She was more of a tough love gal when she bothered to be kind so she seemed out of place here, trying to offer comfort when she was clearly bad at doing so. Still, the ghost appreciated that she was trying. Someone ought to. The ghost walked over and sat next to Jo, kissed her cheek, and the woman shivered without looking away from the cocoon of blankets.

It was fitting that the two of them were both here, the ghost thought. That cheered her up a little. Her two longest-held conquests... Although Jo had only been an on again off again affair when she was bored. Those flings had eventually trailed off into nearly nothing once she’d met Hazel, though. Now there they both were, still treading water and being tossed around in her wake. A strange sort of pride swept through her and she basked in it, feeling important and almost warm.

Hazel peered out of the blankets, her curly brown hair disheveled and falling in her red and puffy eyes. Though she was looking at Jo, the ghost pretended that she was looking at her instead.

“But she’s dead. Ariel is dead,” she rasped, sending a crack running through the ghost’s pretending. “I can't believe she's really gone...”

Ariel. The ghost shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her name, the one she’d almost forgotten just as she’d ignored being dead. Whatever warmth she'd briefly felt drained away with the reminder. A part of her knee passed through Jo’s leg and the woman shivered again.

Then, to make matters worse, Jo reached out and touched Hazel's cheek. Just like that, the ghost remembered in a flash of jealousy why they'd only had the one threesome. Of course Hazel was kind and sweet to everyone and it was painful to see her so wounded, but that was no excuse for Jo to get ideas and touch things that weren't hers. After all, it had only been a year since the ghost had last been in this apartment, and a year was nothing to the already dead.

“She's been gone a long time, Hazel.” Jo licked her lips nervously and her harsh tone became softer. “Look, I've known— I knew her longer than you did, and she was already fucked up when I met her. You’re a saint for wanting to help, but she was too far gone already.” Her hand slid tentatively from Hazel’s cheek to tuck some of the other woman’s unruly hair behind one ear. “She ran off and overdosed, for christ sake, she made her choice. Sorry, but that choice just wasn’t you.”

The ghost bared her teeth invisibly. She remembered meeting Jo, cutting her in on an illicit break room poker game as incentive not to report it. The bitch had cleaned up at that game and not been invited back again, but she had been fun for other illicit things. The three of them had even been together once, with the normally tightly wound Jo in the middle and gasping with pleasure under their hands and mouths. Hazel had been gentle; the ghost had been relentless. The ghost had held court over them like a queen commanding her subjects, and that was fine. But not this. Never this.

A moment passed while they both dropped their eyes. Jo dropped her hand, and the ghost was just about to untense when Hazel sat up and kissed Jo. There were tears in the kiss, but they already seemed to be drying. Rigid with surprise, it was a second or two before Jo began to kiss her back.

Furious, the ghost lept up and grabbed thoughtlessly for the nearest thing she could reach — a half empty glass of water on the bedside table. Her anger was a tangible force, flowing into her hand and giving it just enough solidity to grip, to throw. She threw it at the wall with all her strength and felt a deep satisfaction at the way it shattered.

Ariel was home and she was determine to defend what it had been, what it should always be. 

5
2
1
Juice
11 reads
Donate coins to AtMilliways.
Juice
Cancel
Written by AtMilliways in portal Paranormal
Presence
The ghost entered the apartment with the same quick, confident stride she'd always entered it with in life. She was only half aware that she was a ghost, but didn't bother herself to be troubled by the thought. What she noticed, if anything, was having more strength than she'd had in quite some time. Where her body had been wasting away she was now thin but no longer emaciated. Death had undone all signs of her decline, except for the track marks sprinkled like freckles down the insides of her arms and backs of her knees. Now what propelled her more than anything was unfinished business.

As she walked into the living room her stride faltered. She felt a tug in her chest upon seeing one of the few places where she'd been happy. This was where, in the warmth of Hazel's embrace, she'd said I love you for the first time and meant it. At least... she’d thought she had meant it. In the end she had run away — first back to pills, then to needles, then from her job even though Hazel had struggled for months to cover for her, and then from Hazel herself as though there were nothing left to hold her down.

With a jolt she saw that all of the pictures of them together had been taken down. That hurt more than she would have expected, but at least she hadn’t been replaced. The walls and the mantle were bare.

In contrast, the rest of the apartment was cluttered. Hazel had always been neat and tidy before. Now, dirty clothes and used plates lay scattered haphazardly across the living room floor, couch, and coffee table. The ghost drifted to the kitchen where there were dirty dishes and cups stacked up in the sink. In the spare room, where Hazel kept her art supplies, everything was covered in a layer of dust as though it hadn't been disturbed in weeks.

That bothered the ghost, because art had been an important daily part of the other woman's life and the idea that it no longer was seemed alien and strange. Art was the reason they had met, after all. One day at work the marketing department had assigned Hazel to work with a sales team to come up with a new ad campaign design. At first Hazel had seem too tall, too big, too out of place, not the ghost’s type at all. Once she had her computer open and a stylus in her hand, however, it was clear that she wielded a kind of magic over form and color. There was an undeniable current that ran through both of them whenever their gazes met.

Romantic entanglements were discouraged by company policy. Much to the irritation of her friend in HR, who she occasionally had to bribe to keep covering for her, the ghost got a thrill out of dipping her pen in the company ink. One day over lunch and midday cocktails, when Hazel asked shyly if she might draw her sometime, the ghost had countered with an offer to pose nude. The tactic had spread a pretty blush across Hazel’s cheeks, but not distracted from how much food had still been on her plate at the end of the meal. Even then, at the very beginning, Hazel noticed, and her first instinct was to take care of her.

It bothered her to think that leaving the way she had might have wiped all that away.

Uncertain of what she would find, the ghost continued down the hallway to the bedroom. The door was barely open and no light seeped out through the sliver-sized gap, but she caught a trickle of escaping sound.

There were two figures in the darkened room, one in the bed curled beneath a mass of blankets still in her pajamas even though it was well past noon and another sitting on the edge of the mattress still in her dress suit from work. The ghost circled, eying the second person, who was saying, "Come on, that's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. There’s no way you’re responsible!" But her voice got high and frustrated towards the end and fell short of sounding convincing.

The ghost knew her. Jo had never been much of a people person; ending up in Human Resources had either been a cosmic joke or darkly fitting. She was more of a tough love gal when she bothered to be kind so she seemed out of place here, trying to offer comfort when she was clearly bad at doing so. Still, the ghost appreciated that she was trying. Someone ought to. The ghost walked over and sat next to Jo, kissed her cheek, and the woman shivered without looking away from the cocoon of blankets.

It was fitting that the two of them were both here, the ghost thought. That cheered her up a little. Her two longest-held conquests... Although Jo had only been an on again off again affair when she was bored. Those flings had eventually trailed off into nearly nothing once she’d met Hazel, though. Now there they both were, still treading water and being tossed around in her wake. A strange sort of pride swept through her and she basked in it, feeling important and almost warm.

Hazel peered out of the blankets, her curly brown hair disheveled and falling in her red and puffy eyes. Though she was looking at Jo, the ghost pretended that she was looking at her instead.

“But she’s dead. Ariel is dead,” she rasped, sending a crack running through the ghost’s pretending. “I can't believe she's really gone...”

Ariel. The ghost shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her name, the one she’d almost forgotten just as she’d ignored being dead. Whatever warmth she'd briefly felt drained away with the reminder. A part of her knee passed through Jo’s leg and the woman shivered again.

Then, to make matters worse, Jo reached out and touched Hazel's cheek. Just like that, the ghost remembered in a flash of jealousy why they'd only had the one threesome. Of course Hazel was kind and sweet to everyone and it was painful to see her so wounded, but that was no excuse for Jo to get ideas and touch things that weren't hers. After all, it had only been a year since the ghost had last been in this apartment, and a year was nothing to the already dead.

“She's been gone a long time, Hazel.” Jo licked her lips nervously and her harsh tone became softer. “Look, I've known— I knew her longer than you did, and she was already fucked up when I met her. You’re a saint for wanting to help, but she was too far gone already.” Her hand slid tentatively from Hazel’s cheek to tuck some of the other woman’s unruly hair behind one ear. “She ran off and overdosed, for christ sake, she made her choice. Sorry, but that choice just wasn’t you.”

The ghost bared her teeth invisibly. She remembered meeting Jo, cutting her in on an illicit break room poker game as incentive not to report it. The bitch had cleaned up at that game and not been invited back again, but she had been fun for other illicit things. The three of them had even been together once, with the normally tightly wound Jo in the middle and gasping with pleasure under their hands and mouths. Hazel had been gentle; the ghost had been relentless. The ghost had held court over them like a queen commanding her subjects, and that was fine. But not this. Never this.

A moment passed while they both dropped their eyes. Jo dropped her hand, and the ghost was just about to untense when Hazel sat up and kissed Jo. There were tears in the kiss, but they already seemed to be drying. Rigid with surprise, it was a second or two before Jo began to kiss her back.

Furious, the ghost lept up and grabbed thoughtlessly for the nearest thing she could reach — a half empty glass of water on the bedside table. Her anger was a tangible force, flowing into her hand and giving it just enough solidity to grip, to throw. She threw it at the wall with all her strength and felt a deep satisfaction at the way it shattered.

Ariel was home and she was determine to defend what it had been, what it should always be. 
#lgbt  #ghoststory 
5
2
1
Juice
11 reads
Load 1 Comment
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to sandflea68.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by sandflea68 in portal Paranormal

Can You See Me Now?

A house stands upon a shady hill,

jaded shade of bloody veined moon,

lightning strikes of knotted intestines,

bleached bones leading my destiny.

Deafening claps of thunder resound -

be still – your flesh and blood is his prize.

Black nightmares sold to highest bidder,

Ghastly ghostly spirits waving in mist

invade and twist my thought waves.

Residents of the dark snatch my soul,

trees wearing monster masks twitch

skeletonized arms like spider webs.

Crazy, cackling laughter at midnight hour

entices spooked neck hair to stand on end,

pleading to escape wrath of nameless souls,

splashing sanguine stains seeping from walls.

Twilight bends into night as mortality

come to life tiptoeing on broken glass

I cringe in the corner and cover my face,

ask the blackness, “Can you see me now?”

17
6
16
Juice
52 reads
Donate coins to sandflea68.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by sandflea68 in portal Paranormal
Can You See Me Now?
A house stands upon a shady hill,
jaded shade of bloody veined moon,
lightning strikes of knotted intestines,
bleached bones leading my destiny.
Deafening claps of thunder resound -
be still – your flesh and blood is his prize.
Black nightmares sold to highest bidder,
Ghastly ghostly spirits waving in mist
invade and twist my thought waves.
Residents of the dark snatch my soul,
trees wearing monster masks twitch
skeletonized arms like spider webs.
Crazy, cackling laughter at midnight hour
entices spooked neck hair to stand on end,
pleading to escape wrath of nameless souls,
splashing sanguine stains seeping from walls.
Twilight bends into night as mortality
come to life tiptoeing on broken glass
I cringe in the corner and cover my face,
ask the blackness, “Can you see me now?”

#challenge  #GhastlyGruesomeGhosts 
17
6
16
Juice
52 reads
Load 16 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to RowRow1990.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by RowRow1990 in portal Paranormal

Smoke and mirrors

A house stands upon a shady hill,

An empty box left on the windowsill,

Sighs whisper through the lonely halls,

As blood drips down the white washed walls.

Screams in the night beg you to unveil,

The truth of the horror in this tale,

Bloody footprints lead to the truth,

Of a terrible life gone wrong in its youth.

In just the right light,

Something will appear in the corner of your sight,

Just a glimpse of blonde hair,

But enough to make you turn and stare.

There’s a flash of black, a beckoning sound,

Unwittingly following a hell hound,

A door made of wood pushed aside,

As you sign the death warrant on your own suicide.

Tremors of the past flash before your eyes,

You try to untangle the web of lies,

Watch in horror as her throat is ripped,

Torn apart as her body is stripped.

A young woman lying on the floor in just skin,

You know this isn’t a tale you’ll win,

You turn as their mouths fall to her chest,

Feelings so overwhelming you try to keep them suppressed.

Another woman enters and blood sprays,

The bodies tortured and abused for days,

Feasted upon by the beasts,

Who are waiting for the next bite of their feast.

Blue eyes flash as another is pushed to the floor,

Your screams echo as you run for the door,

Crying and screaming as you try to leave,

But inside you’re starting to grieve.

Another flash as claws pull out her hair,

An overwhelming feeling of despair,

A rip to your arm and the blood starts to well,

Exists all gone, you’re trapped in a hell.

Mouths lowering down to the bodies of the others,

Not to kiss and not to smother,

A wisp of light drawn out from their soul,

Leaving the bodies with a gaping hole.

Stare down at your chest and see smoke rise,

A hand to your mouth to stop the cries,

Unbidden they rise to a scream,

As you realise this is definitely not a dream.

Fingers close against your wrist,

They pull you in and force you to be kissed,

Your lips blister and skin burns,

As the shadows take it in turns.

Running away you leave bloody footprints on the ground,

Your screams now the only sound,

Into a room with only a box to see,

Until the door closes and in enters something beastly.

The mouth lowers again to yours,

Causing you to fall down on all fours,

A pain you’ve never felt as your soul is ripped away,

Added to the box you’re here to stay.

Your life drains as your throat drips,

You were drawn into a never ending script,

Now you’ll bring in more as they catch a glimpse of blonde hair,

And they turn to the window and stare,

And follow your journey through the haunted house,

Joining in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

A house stands on a shady hill,

A box full of souls on the windowsill,

Screams bounce around the murderous halls,

As a new body adds their mark to the blood stained walls.

© Rowanne S Carberry 16/04/17

7
3
2
Juice
39 reads
Donate coins to RowRow1990.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by RowRow1990 in portal Paranormal
Smoke and mirrors
A house stands upon a shady hill,
An empty box left on the windowsill,
Sighs whisper through the lonely halls,
As blood drips down the white washed walls.

Screams in the night beg you to unveil,
The truth of the horror in this tale,
Bloody footprints lead to the truth,
Of a terrible life gone wrong in its youth.

In just the right light,
Something will appear in the corner of your sight,
Just a glimpse of blonde hair,
But enough to make you turn and stare.

There’s a flash of black, a beckoning sound,
Unwittingly following a hell hound,
A door made of wood pushed aside,
As you sign the death warrant on your own suicide.

Tremors of the past flash before your eyes,
You try to untangle the web of lies,
Watch in horror as her throat is ripped,
Torn apart as her body is stripped.

A young woman lying on the floor in just skin,
You know this isn’t a tale you’ll win,
You turn as their mouths fall to her chest,
Feelings so overwhelming you try to keep them suppressed.

Another woman enters and blood sprays,
The bodies tortured and abused for days,
Feasted upon by the beasts,
Who are waiting for the next bite of their feast.

Blue eyes flash as another is pushed to the floor,
Your screams echo as you run for the door,
Crying and screaming as you try to leave,
But inside you’re starting to grieve.

Another flash as claws pull out her hair,
An overwhelming feeling of despair,
A rip to your arm and the blood starts to well,
Exists all gone, you’re trapped in a hell.

Mouths lowering down to the bodies of the others,
Not to kiss and not to smother,
A wisp of light drawn out from their soul,
Leaving the bodies with a gaping hole.

Stare down at your chest and see smoke rise,
A hand to your mouth to stop the cries,
Unbidden they rise to a scream,
As you realise this is definitely not a dream.

Fingers close against your wrist,
They pull you in and force you to be kissed,
Your lips blister and skin burns,
As the shadows take it in turns.

Running away you leave bloody footprints on the ground,
Your screams now the only sound,
Into a room with only a box to see,
Until the door closes and in enters something beastly.

The mouth lowers again to yours,
Causing you to fall down on all fours,
A pain you’ve never felt as your soul is ripped away,
Added to the box you’re here to stay.

Your life drains as your throat drips,
You were drawn into a never ending script,
Now you’ll bring in more as they catch a glimpse of blonde hair,
And they turn to the window and stare,
And follow your journey through the haunted house,
Joining in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

A house stands on a shady hill,
A box full of souls on the windowsill,
Screams bounce around the murderous halls,
As a new body adds their mark to the blood stained walls.

© Rowanne S Carberry 16/04/17
#horror  #poetry  #death  #fairytale 
7
3
2
Juice
39 reads
Load 2 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to RamonElCamino.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by RamonElCamino in portal Paranormal

Lightless denizen

A House stands upon a Shady Hill.

Like a lady in waiting. Like a child still born. Like the cries one would hear from a doll gagged and scorned.

And in it's parlor built for song and dance. Rots a dance floor never had the chance. And the nursery built for suckling son. Saw the sun shine never on living one.

Was too shady for lady? For garden?For love? So forlorn was its story think cursed from above.

From its Yves to its Gables and it's rocking less cradle. Sits an illness a stillness unholy. Death labeled.

That gaze you dared not. A malaise I now share. Thought?

Like a corpse caught, In a hangman's frayed knot.

But still plenty a strand.To send many ill man.

To the boat man. Two shillings . Wind not.

Would you dare spend a night?

Do I dare as I write? As the shadow grows closer I fight.

The urge to take flight.

From my penance my plight.

To be silenced by the feature less night.

@Fortbruce Night stock-R.R.

14
6
3
Juice
34 reads
Donate coins to RamonElCamino.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by RamonElCamino in portal Paranormal
Lightless denizen
A House stands upon a Shady Hill.
Like a lady in waiting. Like a child still born. Like the cries one would hear from a doll gagged and scorned.

And in it's parlor built for song and dance. Rots a dance floor never had the chance. And the nursery built for suckling son. Saw the sun shine never on living one.

Was too shady for lady? For garden?For love? So forlorn was its story think cursed from above.
From its Yves to its Gables and it's rocking less cradle. Sits an illness a stillness unholy. Death labeled.

That gaze you dared not. A malaise I now share. Thought?
Like a corpse caught, In a hangman's frayed knot.
But still plenty a strand.To send many ill man.
To the boat man. Two shillings . Wind not.

Would you dare spend a night?
Do I dare as I write? As the shadow grows closer I fight.
The urge to take flight.
From my penance my plight.
To be silenced by the feature less night.
@Fortbruce Night stock-R.R.
#paranormal 
14
6
3
Juice
34 reads
Load 3 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to Mnezz.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by Mnezz in portal Paranormal

On a hill far away

The witch takes her nightly task

To summon her spell book at dusk

She's making a portion

In her house

That stands upon on a shady

Sandy eerie foggy hill

In goes the tail of a dragon

With a dash of a pinch of

A spider's web

& an eye of a golden eagle.

The lightest feather from

A laying hen.

She throws a baby's

First laugh into the cauldron,

And a frog's croak too.

Then she adds a part of a twig

Later, a mix of crushed ol' dying

Brown oak leaves.

A few extra rusted iron nails

Mix of crushed berries:

Strawberries, blueberries

Even blackberries

For a different kick

To this unusual concoction

She gives it a short while

For all the ingredients

To fully react

To form something new

with a soft poof

She knows it's ready

Into a tiny bottle

All the juice goes

She places a label

It's a new brand of:

Cough Syrup

For her sneezing dear chap

Her sweet loving dog

Quite sick

Under the broomstick

Watching his Mummy

Prepare medicine for him

What a lucky lil fella.

15
5
10
Juice
35 reads
Donate coins to Mnezz.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by Mnezz in portal Paranormal
On a hill far away
The witch takes her nightly task
To summon her spell book at dusk
She's making a portion
In her house
That stands upon on a shady
Sandy eerie foggy hill

In goes the tail of a dragon
With a dash of a pinch of
A spider's web
& an eye of a golden eagle.
The lightest feather from
A laying hen.

She throws a baby's
First laugh into the cauldron,
And a frog's croak too.
Then she adds a part of a twig
Later, a mix of crushed ol' dying
Brown oak leaves.

A few extra rusted iron nails
Mix of crushed berries:
Strawberries, blueberries
Even blackberries
For a different kick
To this unusual concoction

She gives it a short while
For all the ingredients
To fully react
To form something new
with a soft poof
She knows it's ready

Into a tiny bottle
All the juice goes
She places a label
It's a new brand of:
Cough Syrup
For her sneezing dear chap

Her sweet loving dog
Quite sick
Under the broomstick
Watching his Mummy
Prepare medicine for him
What a lucky lil fella.

15
5
10
Juice
35 reads
Load 10 Comments
Login to post comments.
Advertisement  (turn off)
Donate coins to EmilyS129.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by EmilyS129 in portal Paranormal

The House Upon A Shady Hill

A house stands upon a shady hill 

But don't come close or you're in for a thrill 

The place that burned, where people died

One fears to think of what's inside

Where tombstones lie upon the ground

And the wind creates a deathly sound

And the only song the birds can sing

Is the daunting sound of an eerie ring

Where doors creak open, windows crack

And something lurks behind your back

Where those who enter won't come home

For unholy souls shall always roam

Where restless beings never sleep

Where spirits fly and shadows creep

Any tour of it will make you scream

Like waking up from a frightening dream

The bravest ones shall venture here

But will quickly know great deals of fear

When nighttime falls upon the skies

One will find a ghastly surprise

The last who entered, last who dared

Had surely been quite unprepared 

They walked upon the creaking floor

And passed into the corridor

And what had they soon been met by?

A specter with a glowing eye

And before they could have ran

It's vengeance quickly then began

Foolish it may surely be

To wander where a phantom's free

In that house upon a shady hill

Creatures search and creatures kill 

5
0
4
Juice
17 reads
Donate coins to EmilyS129.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by EmilyS129 in portal Paranormal
The House Upon A Shady Hill
A house stands upon a shady hill 
But don't come close or you're in for a thrill 

The place that burned, where people died
One fears to think of what's inside

Where tombstones lie upon the ground
And the wind creates a deathly sound

And the only song the birds can sing
Is the daunting sound of an eerie ring

Where doors creak open, windows crack
And something lurks behind your back

Where those who enter won't come home
For unholy souls shall always roam

Where restless beings never sleep
Where spirits fly and shadows creep

Any tour of it will make you scream
Like waking up from a frightening dream

The bravest ones shall venture here
But will quickly know great deals of fear

When nighttime falls upon the skies
One will find a ghastly surprise

The last who entered, last who dared
Had surely been quite unprepared 

They walked upon the creaking floor
And passed into the corridor

And what had they soon been met by?
A specter with a glowing eye

And before they could have ran
It's vengeance quickly then began

Foolish it may surely be
To wander where a phantom's free

In that house upon a shady hill
Creatures search and creatures kill 



5
0
4
Juice
17 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to MsH.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by MsH in portal Paranormal

Be home soon —

A house stands upon a shady hill. It beckons with girlish trim. A fitting façade, for what might have been. Through the autumn leaves it beckons: Come closer. Stillness, broken by dainty footsteps and giggles, reminiscent, amidst curtains and spindles. Come closer still... peer within to find emptiness behind the windowsill. Folded, torn, paper thin—just lacy exposure from film. Not a photo; more than that. A card with postage kissed upon its back. A turning point, very concrete: a Name, a Street. An urgent message scrawled in scripted hand—signed with passionate blotted Initials. Faceless people and unfamiliar places; no date, but a Moment that makes the pit of the stomach ill. A smear of blood and tears—or was it just the ink and rain? So eerie that it's real. No one left to console, though the artifact evidences that it happened not so very long ago. A relentless wind whips around a desolate imaginary figure. Tragic and timeless standing like some warrior upon an empty hill, I see him holding out his bleeding heart... red stamped white flag fluttering in retreat. Utterly alone, so far from home.

—Return to Sender, Address Unknown.

10
3
7
Juice
72 reads
Donate coins to MsH.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by MsH in portal Paranormal
Be home soon —
A house stands upon a shady hill. It beckons with girlish trim. A fitting façade, for what might have been. Through the autumn leaves it beckons: Come closer. Stillness, broken by dainty footsteps and giggles, reminiscent, amidst curtains and spindles. Come closer still... peer within to find emptiness behind the windowsill. Folded, torn, paper thin—just lacy exposure from film. Not a photo; more than that. A card with postage kissed upon its back. A turning point, very concrete: a Name, a Street. An urgent message scrawled in scripted hand—signed with passionate blotted Initials. Faceless people and unfamiliar places; no date, but a Moment that makes the pit of the stomach ill. A smear of blood and tears—or was it just the ink and rain? So eerie that it's real. No one left to console, though the artifact evidences that it happened not so very long ago. A relentless wind whips around a desolate imaginary figure. Tragic and timeless standing like some warrior upon an empty hill, I see him holding out his bleeding heart... red stamped white flag fluttering in retreat. Utterly alone, so far from home.

—Return to Sender, Address Unknown.
#fantasy  #fiction  #romance  #horror  #mystery 
10
3
7
Juice
72 reads
Load 7 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to EstherFlowers1.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by EstherFlowers1 in portal Paranormal

The Orphanage.

A house stands upon a shady hill

With wolves in the valleys around.

Of a night-time wolves oft get their fill,

For children sneak out, not a sound.

The orphanage is run by an old grumpy nun

Who fills all the children with dread.

The wolves aren't the only ones having their fun

When the kids venture out of their bed.

The nun, sporting logic sadistic

Thinks what she's doing is right.

Her skill with an ax is artistic.

"They shouldn't have strayed out at night."

15
3
4
Juice
38 reads
Donate coins to EstherFlowers1.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by EstherFlowers1 in portal Paranormal
The Orphanage.
A house stands upon a shady hill
With wolves in the valleys around.
Of a night-time wolves oft get their fill,
For children sneak out, not a sound.

The orphanage is run by an old grumpy nun
Who fills all the children with dread.
The wolves aren't the only ones having their fun
When the kids venture out of their bed.

The nun, sporting logic sadistic
Thinks what she's doing is right.
Her skill with an ax is artistic.
"They shouldn't have strayed out at night."


#challenge  #ghoststory  #fortbruce  #shadyhill 
15
3
4
Juice
38 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.
Donate coins to chainedinshadow.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by chainedinshadow in portal Paranormal

Nightmare

A house stands upon a shady hill. That's the first thought that pops into Ali's head when she sees the ramshackle building perched precariously above her on the overgrown hill. Ali was always trying to put things...poetically. It was something silly she'd been doing since she was seven. Her father was a poet, her mother was a song-writer...Ali wanted desperately to follow in their footsteps, but her attempts at poetry and music were not only disconcerting, but down-right terrifying in the case of trying to play the violin. Animal control had shown up once, with reports of an injured cat.

     Ali had been so mortified she hadn't wanted to go to school. But here she was, finally able to run away from the jeering pack of predatory teens who seemed to follow her around these days.

     With a sigh, Ali shielded her eyes from the sudden glare of the sun and stared at the house. It was falling apart, with its gutters barely hanging on, and its shatters hanging at odd angles. One or two of the windows on the large house were broken, and the gardens were overgrown. The front porch pillars were covered with ivy, and one of them was broken, and had fallen over, causing the rotting roof to sag.

     Ali was adventurous by nature, but when she heard the sounds of a hurt animal--it sounded vaguely like a kitten--she perked up.

     Looking around quickly to make sure no one was around in case she did something stupid, she hurried up the hill as fast as her strong legs could carry her.

     Reaching the top, she paused once more to survey the house. A sudden gust of wind caused blonde hair to blow in front of her eyes. When she brushed it away, the air seemed colder and the sun had slipped behind a cloud.

     The sound came again, and Ali followed it across the sagging, rotting porch (avoiding the large holes in it as she went) and into the entry way. 

     It was silent again as she surveyed the entry way. It was rotting, and the once ornate wallpaper now hung in tattered shreds. The carpet on the floor looked like rats had chewed it away, and the paneling on the wall was battered and splintered. The solitary window was covered with cobwebs and so thick with dust and dirt just a dull bit of sunlight pierced the shadowy depths of the room.

     Her eye was drawn to the dark red stain in the corner. Curious as always, Ali leaned down and touched it with her fingers.

     Horror made her shiver as she drew them back and saw them covered with blood.

     Animal blood. The injured animal you hear, Ali.

     Everything seemed to slow down. She could hear her thudding heart, and also the creak of a door opening somewhere down the hall.

     Everything was going fuzzy.

      "Stop it!" she shrieked, slapping herself. Hard.

      Surprised, she stopped, and gradually her breathing slowed down.

     "It's just animal blood and it's a drafty house."

      That explanation would have worked, except it didn't explain the knife blade that was now at her throat.

13
5
4
Juice
38 reads
Donate coins to chainedinshadow.
Juice
Cancel
I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by chainedinshadow in portal Paranormal
Nightmare
A house stands upon a shady hill. That's the first thought that pops into Ali's head when she sees the ramshackle building perched precariously above her on the overgrown hill. Ali was always trying to put things...poetically. It was something silly she'd been doing since she was seven. Her father was a poet, her mother was a song-writer...Ali wanted desperately to follow in their footsteps, but her attempts at poetry and music were not only disconcerting, but down-right terrifying in the case of trying to play the violin. Animal control had shown up once, with reports of an injured cat.
     Ali had been so mortified she hadn't wanted to go to school. But here she was, finally able to run away from the jeering pack of predatory teens who seemed to follow her around these days.
     With a sigh, Ali shielded her eyes from the sudden glare of the sun and stared at the house. It was falling apart, with its gutters barely hanging on, and its shatters hanging at odd angles. One or two of the windows on the large house were broken, and the gardens were overgrown. The front porch pillars were covered with ivy, and one of them was broken, and had fallen over, causing the rotting roof to sag.
     Ali was adventurous by nature, but when she heard the sounds of a hurt animal--it sounded vaguely like a kitten--she perked up.
     Looking around quickly to make sure no one was around in case she did something stupid, she hurried up the hill as fast as her strong legs could carry her.
     Reaching the top, she paused once more to survey the house. A sudden gust of wind caused blonde hair to blow in front of her eyes. When she brushed it away, the air seemed colder and the sun had slipped behind a cloud.
     The sound came again, and Ali followed it across the sagging, rotting porch (avoiding the large holes in it as she went) and into the entry way. 
     It was silent again as she surveyed the entry way. It was rotting, and the once ornate wallpaper now hung in tattered shreds. The carpet on the floor looked like rats had chewed it away, and the paneling on the wall was battered and splintered. The solitary window was covered with cobwebs and so thick with dust and dirt just a dull bit of sunlight pierced the shadowy depths of the room.
     Her eye was drawn to the dark red stain in the corner. Curious as always, Ali leaned down and touched it with her fingers.
     Horror made her shiver as she drew them back and saw them covered with blood.
     Animal blood. The injured animal you hear, Ali.
     Everything seemed to slow down. She could hear her thudding heart, and also the creak of a door opening somewhere down the hall.
     Everything was going fuzzy.
      "Stop it!" she shrieked, slapping herself. Hard.
      Surprised, she stopped, and gradually her breathing slowed down.
     "It's just animal blood and it's a drafty house."
      That explanation would have worked, except it didn't explain the knife blade that was now at her throat.
13
5
4
Juice
38 reads
Load 4 Comments
Login to post comments.