Hey. I went

Chatterbox: Inkwell

Hey. I went

Hey. I went back and looked at my really old stories from 3rd grade. I was obsessed with horror stories then. Look at how I revised them! Did I do well? (These are exerpts.)


The black cottage gave me a bad feeling. It was on a cliff. There was an evil curse on it.


Over the swirling waters of the cold ocean, a cottage clung to the hard rock, straining against the winds that tugged it down to the sharp rocks below. There was an eternal darkness cast over the house, and with it an eternal silence. An ancient curse. A curse none dared to comprehend. If you asked anybody from the nearby village, they would say the same..."Stay away from the cottage of the Seafarer."  

Want me to post the whole story? Get ur blankies, it scared me to death, and I was the one writing it! Isn't that right, teddy-weddy? *squeezes teddy bear*


submitted by Kit Kat
(January 14, 2009 - 6:05 pm)

I want to hear the whole thing! The first part is really good... well now that you revised it! :)

submitted by Zoe, age 12, Standish, Maine
(January 15, 2009 - 1:58 pm)

I just need to refinish the ending, and then I'll post it!

submitted by Kit Kat
(January 15, 2009 - 3:23 pm)

YAY, I can't wait!

submitted by Zoe, age 12, Standish, Maine
(January 15, 2009 - 6:37 pm)

I can't wait to read the whole story.

submitted by Meadow K., age 11, IL
(January 15, 2009 - 8:50 pm)

Are you kidding me? I want to read that story.

submitted by Meadow K., age 11, IL
(January 15, 2009 - 8:47 pm)

Okay, here it is...but the ending didn't turn out as well as I hoped...

On the coast of old Ireland, there are rumors of an ancient curse, too terrible to comprehend. At the center of these mystical forces was an old cottage, that clung to the hard rock of the cliff, straining against the winds that tugged it down to the sharp rocks below. There was an eternal darkness cast over the house, and with it, an eternal silence. If you asked anyone from the nearby village, they would say the same... “Stay away from the cottage of the Seafarer.”

An old man came into view, hardly visible against the background. He was stumbling wearily down the overgrown path that led to a broken down cottage. The townspeople hurried out to greet him, for he was one of their own. An old seafarer, whose vessel had met an untimely end at the very heart of the ocean. It was unknown how he had reached land, but he had, and the townspeople had taken him in as one of their own, for twenty years as of the day I write of, September 14, 1798. He lived, some say, in the old cottage, balanced on the shifting sands of the cliff. He was charming, yet remote. It was a treat to have him come to the village...he was an amazing storyteller.

Greeting him heartily, the villagers led him down the street to the meetinghouse. They expected a grand story, one of the ancients and their knowledge of St. Patrick, of the Lord. But what they got was far different. Settling down, he began.

“Twenty years, a month, and two days.” He rubbed his calloused hands together, staring out at the audience. “That is how long one has before the evil of the universe comes down upon them. How long after they were rescued by evil. How long after the spirits grab a ship and spin it down into the depths of the ocean. At the stroke of midnight, the evil comes. His soul is taken, woven like cloth into a ghost, a spirit. It is eternal anguish, and eternal anger. He does not rest like the fairies of old. He is active, he comes screaming from the grave, scattering mortals like the fools they are! Each morning, those that go near his dwelling at night shall be found dead; do not mourn. They perished because they must. Those that are taken, they are my toys. My puppets.” With each sentence, the great clock behind him ticked toward midnight. Mothers gathered their children in their arms, casting scared glances at the man transformed with silent rage. “Do not disturb me! STAY AWAY FROM THE COTTAGE OFTHE SEAFARER!” The clock struck midnight, the great clanging of bells barely disguising the old seafarer's scream of anger and anguish. Through the windows and doors flew long fiery ropes, stripping the man's soul of his body. The man's soul, blackened and tarnished, was left. Then it disappeared, to wait in his cottage, silently brooding, for eternity...

But today, the death toll at the hands of the ghost is rising. He is leaving his cottage for the first time, spreading himself over the earth. He strikes at night. As a child lies sleeping upon their bed, he suffocates them with his mist. He takes them for hostage. And the worst thing of all he does, I will mention not. But beware, when midnight falls...


submitted by Kit Kat
(January 16, 2009 - 9:29 am)

WOW that was a MEGA improvement!:)

Good job!:D:D:D

submitted by Zoe, age 12, Standish, Maine
(January 16, 2009 - 6:19 pm)

Oh. My. Gosh. *peeks out from under blanket where she was hiding*. That was so good it made me shiver! The descriptive language is amazing.

submitted by Allison P., age 12, Florida
(January 17, 2009 - 11:00 am)


submitted by Kit Kat
(January 19, 2009 - 11:56 am)

That's a really good improvement! I like it! I still have some of my school essays and stories from 3rd grade, and they are so funny. 3rd grade is when we were starting to learn about description, expository writing, etc. Once we had to write a whole 5-paragraph essay on our favorite food and why we liked it. I was obsessed with macaroni and cheese, so my essay went something like this: "First, I love macaroni and cheese because of its cheesiness. The melting, warm cheese tastes so good in my mouth." I have some other really funny stuff from back then besides that, too. Laughing

submitted by Allison P., age 12, Orlando, Florid
(January 16, 2009 - 11:06 am)

That was GOOD!!!!!!!!!!:D:D:D

submitted by Kimberly B, age 13!:), California
(January 18, 2009 - 11:31 am)