Narrative Writing Skills

At the dead of night the hollow halls and empty walls were filled with an ear-piercing scream so deafening it could shatter the thickest glass pane. There was only one inhabitant of the lonely Ablewood Forest, James Blythe, the man who inherited the only lodge in the whole forest.  He awoke with a fright, his hair standing up straight.  He reluctantly crawled out of bed and slowly crept out of his room.  Panic and fear ran up and down his body like the blood in his veins.  He tiptoed towards the room where the deafening scream had been heard from.  The forgotten room at the end of the hall.

James had never been so frightened.  He knew nothing of ghosts or robbers.  One thing he was certain of was that he was alone, or so he thought.  Closer and closer he got to the forgotten room at the end of the hall.  James wanted nothing more than to go back to bed or to abandon the house entirely, however, his curiosity was a more powerful negotiator.  The door knob that had been shiny gold the previous day was now coated in black soot.  James used the sleeve of his blue and white stripy nightgown to open the door of the forgotten room at the end of the hall.  The door knob rattled because of James’ jittery hand.  He entered the forgotten room at the end of the hall and … nothing.

The forgotten room at the end of the hall was just an old sitting room.  The fireplace was covered with soot and the sofa looked dusty and used.  He began to leave the room when he spied an old oil lampoon the fireplace shelf.  There were only two things James was afraid of and those were noises in the night and being alone in the dark.  He hurriedly snatched the lamp off the shelf, praying it worked, and miraculously, it did.  Relieved, he turned around to leave, when in a terrifying turn of events, he looked around the room in horror.  The floor was covered in black powdery soot.  Black handprints were all about the furniture and walls.  James was in shock and worry, several thoughts were going through his mind faster than a Pontiac.  All of a sudden he looked up and saw a most fearsome sight.  Scrawled on the once empty wall were the words that were bone chilling enough to send James in to a dizzy spell.  Three words.  Three words in the black, powdery soot.  James fell to the floor with a heavy thud, followed by a cloud of sooty particles in the air.  The poor man didn’t know what to do when he read “I’m back Blythe”.

The next morning James awoke to the sound of twittering birds and trees blowing in the wind.  He then remembered last night’s horror and sat up with a jolt.  He took in his surroundings and noticed he was sitting in a clean sitting room.  James knew what he had to do now.  He marched back to his bedroom and swiftly changed into his best suit.  James swung the door wide open and slicked back his hair as his eyes locked on to the landline, sitting on the side table, net to the sofa, in the living room.  He picked up the receiver and dialled nine, nine, nine.  10 minutes went by and there were faint sirens drawing near.  James spotted a panda car with twirling blue light sat on top.  James peered out the window to see a stern looking policeman marching towards the house.  Not a single bird nor worm interrupted his focus.  The policeman didn’t even have to knock before the door was forcefully opened, crashing into the wall beside it.  The policeman couldn’t even get a word in before James blurted out all his experience, but not before trying to convince him to come and see the forgotten room at the end of the hall.  The policeman reached back to confirm he had his baton while James was frantically bleating on about ghosts, intruders and several other hard to believe threats.

They approached the door and as James reached for the doorknob, he hesitated.  In utter confusion James claimed that the doorknob was coated in black powdery soot just last night, whereas now it looked shiny and new.  James was still determined to prove his story was no fictitious fantasy.  The police officer rolled his eyes as James opened the door to reveal an old sitting room.  He scoffed as James began to tear apart the room searching for one spot of black powdery soot.  Suddenly James spied the sofa leg was a different colour to all the others.  He dragged his finger along it and his finger was black and powdery like the soot.  In an instant, James bounced onto his feet and screamed in delight like a five year old.  As he was celebrating James heard the door close behind him.  James panicked and followed after him, repeatedly showing him the ‘evidence’.  When the police officer actually looked, his stern face erupted with laughter like a joyful volcano.  The police officer laughed so much he didn’t even realise that he dropped his notepad.  The police officer drove off so fast James didn’t even have a chance to give it back to him.  He defeatedly went back inside.  As he was sitting on the sofa in shame, James’ curiosity got the best of him and he looked in the notebook.  The front read ‘Officer Myles, Kent Police 1962’.  He discovered that the notepad was two years old.  He flicked through various notes trying to find the ones from today.

‘Stolen purse 21^st Feb 1962: criminal arrested’.

‘11^th March 1962 noise complaint: no arrest needed’.  He skipped a large amount of notes to get closer to his notes.

‘7^th June 1963: local toy shop reported theft of ideas booklet: no evidence found’.  ‘16^th June 1963: parking ticket duty’.

‘31^st July 1963 reported aggravated assault: victim sent to hospital needing stitches.  Attacker was nowhere to be found’.

‘2^nd August 1963: Lookout for the detectives for toy shop assault case.’

At this time James got distracted and decided to read on.

‘5^th August 1963: interview from Toobridge Cottage Hospital.  All information in case file.’

‘9^th August 1963: Attacker from toy shop assault case found dead at the train station.  The cause of death is unknown at this time.’

James was left with answers, but it’s almost as if he didn’t want them.  He skipped on to the future notes; noise complaints, pick pockets, thefts and then,

‘29^th July 1964: Mr. James Blythe, founder of Blythe’s Tots Toys had supposedly gone mad.  Frantically explaining some nightmare he had the previous night.  No action needs to be taken.’

James started going a bright red, like he was going to burst with rage.  He couldn’t stand the fact he was, in simpler terms, being called crazy.  In that moment he hatched a plan.

A couple of days go by and James had split his easy earned (to him) money in half.  At this point he had a notes booklet just like the police officer had.  He had hired detective after detective, private investigator after private investigator, all in the hope that someone would say something other than ‘It was just a nightmare’ or ‘are you sure you aren’t making this up?’.  Nobody would listen to him.  So James decided he would be his own Sherlock Holmes.

James thought about his past and thought back to those that may not have been so keen on him or his success.  He thought about his sister although she moved to France 7 years ago and didn’t really stay in contact too much.  It could’ve been an employee, however he didn’t believe any reasons for them to write ‘I’m back Blythe’ on a wall in his house.  He’d never met them.  They never met him.  Not one person came into his mind.  Not anyone who didn’t trust him, but once did, no one who used to respect them, but did things that had them lose that respect.  No one single person.  No anyone whose life he destroyed.  Day by Day.

The day was 5^th of August and James had not slept since 30^th July.  His eyes were droopy but determined and his body moved like a wild beast hungry for nothing but knowledge and answers.  He needed everyone to know that he was right.  That he wasn’t crazy, but everywhere he looked and every piece of ‘evidence’ he found was nothing but a dead end.  The next three days went past with the same feel; hopeless and sadness.  He suddenly had what he believed to be a perfect idea.  The police solves cases right?  They help people right?  So he once again went to the landline, although this time he was barely standing.  He then roughly grabbed his hair then used that hand to catch and hold his balance.  James, looking like he just fell out of a tree, yanked the receiver and aggressively dialled nine, nine, nine.  A different police officer appeared about 10 minutes in an almost identical car.  Same panda car look, same blue twirling light, different officer and number plate.  But James took no notice.  He only wanted someone to believe him.

He started to tell the police officer that he had evidence this time, and was laughing maniacally.  The police officer looked skittish, like she had been warned.  James did the same sorry routine.  He led the police officer to the forgotten room at the end of the hall, he showed what he had gathered and when he had finished she did nothing but give him a psychiatrist’s business card.  When he received it he stopped.  His face began to go red, his eyes popping out of his skull.  James crushed the card with his fists and burst in to a fit of rage.  He screamed at the police officer and pushed her out of his lodge.  James slammed the door and marched back to the no longer forgotten room at the end of the hall.  Everywhere he looked he saw the word crazy.  Every sound he heard was calling him crazy.  Even the birds and the leaves on the trees were mocking him.

‘I AM NOT CRAZY!!’ James cried with hate and and anger.

James stormed into his room and attempted to calm down.  He then realised he had left out his night gown, like an animal.  Something odd happened when he picked it up however.  His hands had been clean before and now they were stained black.  James began to question everything.  That if it were a strange nightmare, how was the back of his nightgown stained with black powdery soot?  He began to tear apart the room, flipping over furniture, tearing the wallpaper off the walls.  Nothing could stop this man.  His mind had snapped like a twig under a child’s foot. Silence filled the forest for the first time in a while, but not for long.

A new day had come around.  The 9^th of August 1964.  An engine could be heard from the forest.  It was approaching.  A woman with shiny brown hair and a beret was driving towards the lodge.  She gracefully stepped out of the car once she had parked and confidently called out for a ‘Mr. James Blythe’.  She had a slight French accent, was not afraid to be heard.  When she strutted up to the front door to knock, she spotted the handle was broken.  She pushed the door and to her surprise it creaked open.  The woman must have felt nervous.  Everything had an eerie feel and look to it.  She carefully walked to wards the hall and saw the no longer forgotten room at the end of the hall door.  It was open.  The woman called James’ name, but no reply was heard.  She got to the room at the end of the hall and a horrid sight filled her eyes.  Furniture was broken, the walls had rips and hand prints all over them and worst of all … James.  He was no longer breathing.  I suppose he got what he deserved in the end.  Oh drat.  I see what I’ve done.  We our little game wasn’t going to last forever.  Let’s start again then shall we?  Hello, reader.

I believe I should introduce myself.  My name is Edie Walker and yes, I had it out for Mr. Blythe from the start.  Let me tell you a story to make sense of this conundrum we have ourselves in.

So, it’s 1963 and it’2 two weeks until my eight birthday.  My mother’s business is doing well.  On this day we get a visitor who looked very posh and fancy indeed.  He walks around our shop and asks mother many odd questions.  He introduced himself as a Mr. James Blythe and starts to be a nosey nelly with mother’s work.  She awkwardly chuckled when he asked what her secret was.  After he left, Mother looked stressed.  She was trying to hide it but I could tell.  The next day rolled around and the paper round had been done because there was a newspaper at the door.  I picked it up and was going to give it straight to Mother but my eyes caught the headline, ‘Millionaire James Blythe starts modern Toy Company, Blythe’s Tots Toys’.  Mother was suspicious from the beginning.  Those two weeks got gradually worse.  We lost all of our money.  All our ideas looked as if we copied them from James, and when Mother was ready to release new and exciting ideas for her little homemade business; her ideas booklet was stolen.  The next day on 31^st, Blythe came out with a new line of toys identical to the ones my mother spend hours designing.  Unfortunately, that was the day my Aunt was visiting.  My poor Mother.  She couldn’t hold in her rage.  She charged at Aunt Lillith and attacked her like a cat hungry for fish.  It escalated and Mother went so far as to throw her at the shop window.  The glass smashed and shards went everywhere.  It was like tiny blades all over the floor.  The police got called, but Mother had vanished.  No trace of her.

I was sent into care and my life had fallen apart in a matter of weeks.  Everyone started calling me loony and when my birthday finally rolled around, my Mother had been found dead.  Left to rot in a train station.  The ninth of August was supposed to be my good day, but now I make sure that everyone who ever did me wrong understand s my sadness on that day.  Ten years later I’m booted from the home and left to fend for myself.  I found his evil lair and hid in the air ducts.  I set up the room exactly as I planned.  One thing didn’t go to plan however, there was a spider crawling on my hand.  I screamed and clambered up the chimney as fast as I could.  I was going to leave footprints of soot to guide him to the room, but I suppose the scream worked in my favour.  Thank you little arachnid.  The next part of my plan went better than expected.  It was his need to be right was what sent him mad.  It was his stupidity that killed him though.  I believe I hear the chimes of a grandfather clock and the screams of seeing our dead brother.  It’s the ninth today.  Go on then.  Aren’t you going to wish me Happy Birthday?