Poetry competition CLOSED 27th October 2021 00:28am
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Campfire Tales

Twisted Dreamer
United Kingdom
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Joined 4th Oct 2021
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Poetry Contest

Write a ghost story

A little something for Halloween. A few ground rules:

- A maximum of 3,000 words.
- Short stories preferred, but poems okay.
- The story has to have a ghost in it, “ghost” here defined via Google as “an apparition of a dead person which is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image.”
- No graphic rape or torture. Implied is okay, though I do ask that you put trigger warnings out front if you're going to bring in themes of sexual, child, and partner abuse. These ideas aren't fantasy to many people.
- It doesn't have to be horror! Your ghost can be friendly, helpful, or just sad.


Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 4th Apr 2019
Forum Posts: 69


     He still worked hard, mending things about the place, though you wouldn't know it to look around.
      He remembered the big garden.
      Chickens in the back yard.
      Taking pigs to market.
      He liked to stroll along the banks of the cow pond and doze sometimes in the heat of the day under the big sycamore on the far side of the pasture where Jessie couldn't see from the house.
      At night he slid between worn cotton sheets to lay next to his wife.
      He seldom woke her, but thought she was somehow aware of him.
      It was, he felt, where he belonged.
      On that land, in that house, next to Jessie.
      So it was a relief that she hadn't remarried.
      Selfish thoughts, he knew.
      Because she needed someone.
      He imagined that if he left she might have a chance. She was an attractive woman. Somebody would see in her what he saw and win her heart.
      And take care of her.
      Because hard as he tried, he couldn't.
      And yet he stayed, as though anchored, and the place just seemed to grow up around his beloved -- the yard going thick with laurel and scrub oak.
      Paint peeling off the siding.
      The roof leaking.
      The plumbing slow.
      She wanted to hire a man to clean the place up but money was tight, and it frustrated her. Sometimes, as the day faded, she sat on the dusty old sofa and cried while the television droned and her supper went cold.
      And, God, it tore at his heart. And he would try to comfort her.
      On bended knee, pleading, his hand resting on hers, saying anything he thought might ease her pain.
      But she didn't hear a word.
      And the night would finally come, and the two of them would rest awhile and then, too soon, the sun would rise.
      And so it was through years that passed like days.
      The place disintegrating.
      The barn falling in.
      His old truck rusting in the driveway.
      And Jessie slowing down. Going grey. And frail.
      Tiny, he thought.
      So thin.
      And inevitably they showed up, their little bean-shaped vehicles waking him from a deep sleep, stirring up dust -- a woman and a young man from the Department of Health and Human Services. Notified, they said, by the boy who delivers groceries.
      And the next day a van arrived to pick her up.
      And just like that Jessie was gone.
      He wasn't sure how long ago.
      A week?
      A year? Last summer?
      And he was so lonely he ached, and he wanted to look for her but didn't know where to begin.
      And so he often set out with her in mind, walking down the dirt road toward Highway Six, hoofing it in the heat for what seemed like hours yet always ending up there.
      At the abandoned house.
      Or by the cow pond.
      Under the sycamore.
Written by javalini
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poet Anonymous

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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
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Ghost Town

What was once a thriving town
Has withered into the remnants of history
And if you take a closer look around
You can’t help but feel its story covered in mystery

You can walk through the old and restored buildings
The scent of ancient things
The smell of aged wood
The hot desert air
It gives you the feeling that someone else too is still there

Now its a museum
An amusement park of sorts
Where trinkets and ornaments are sold
So you can take a piece of the past with you

You can see the worn out pictures
Faces that never smiled
Ghosts still living
Hiding behind creaking doors and dirty windows
Watching visitors from another time
Come through their space

Behind each glass display case
Shoes, gloves and jewelry
Belongings of the dead
They have become stories without words
For the public’s curiosity and pleasure

And the cemetery…
The names on the graves are so faded
You can feel the sadness of harsh conditions
They are now attractions for visitors
To dwell in the things that are old and gone

But the ghosts remain in the desolate town
Reminding us that us too one day
Will be like them
Voices echoing through the chambers of time
Written by wallyroo92
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Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 9th Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 61


Have you ever felt eyes giving a stare
When finally all alone
Turning around but nothing is there...


Seems it likes seeing you by yourself at home
Secluded in the moments change...

Making no importance to your chills
You want to be brave
The ghost is nothing to get scared thrills
Always have bragged of it in a grave
It's all in the mind that one feels...

You watch your late-night flick
As finally made some buttered popcorn
Everything is cool and slick
As watching a baby be born
How red the child looks...
As there's a bad lighting storm
It rumbles the house giving you the spooks

Suddenly you hear a hiss
Hearing it startles you
Reacting saying who is......
Acting with courage and searches around too

You go to the bedroom and turn on the light

Inch by inch...

And not a thing in sight
Her arm then feels an itch
Left clueless she goes back to sit





It all changes as now you darkly know...
The clock keeps going as it keeps it's ticking counts...

You cry in franticness
As you realize now it's not a game or a prank
In complete scare of the presence
Your mind can't think well it goes in a blank

So what now???
What will you do?

Can you manage it somehow...
You try walking to the kitchen but you trip with a shoe
Ouch, that isn't good
with a bump, you got on your head too...

In pain and all driving you insane
In terror to even make movement
In the end, it draws to you the same
It will show the same treatment
Now it starts to get better with some pouring rain...

So until then...

You're on your own
Your family won't come till ten

Who knows when...

As in the meantime, It will haunt you again and again...

You on the floor close to the couch and then you hear
A girl giggles how it gives you shivers...
You then say weeping I don't want to be here...
Terrified and you know you can't hide,
it will find you and show its sinister and all it will deliver

Hush little baby don't you scream.....
You better trust me
Cause if you don't.... mommy will be mean...
And you don't really want me..... TO BE..... Hahaha.....

Shaking and panting in high disturbance
She is very solidified in experiencing such terror
Encountering paranormal occurrence
This isn't a mistake or fake and not an error...
Not a soul knows what's going on with her.....

Thundering roars as it continues to rain in deeper vain
hearing its tip taps, tip clacks, and splats
Hitting sharply against the poor windowpane
Calmness fills her in a slight short dash...

After minutes of no intervene
Things give an odd cessation that's not the same
She suddenly sees a shiny gleam to her face
That moves her out of her place
She stands to gaze at the window once more...
Her complexion is completely pale
Even stronger then it was before...
She is frozen to the core
As her stare gives that creepy glare...
Her body giving a huge red glow
What is all the shining show?...


In darkness, the thunderstorm views at the window...
Two surreal red glowing horrific eyes

What could be there, even behind low?

Her stance is in a trance
It's like it wants to continue to hypnotize
She has no idea what is going on or can even realize

The unknown creature is to seriously fear
It growls and then it strangely ceases
She unfreezes and she seems to reappear
Unaware of the incident she then herself dismisses

The home is now silent
with her family now present
The house doesn't need a consent
Only resentment and that's it's pleasant...

--Nothing is for certain if she remembers what she saw--



Is it again here???
This place is haunted...
It is near...
Careful, it lures anyone taunted....

It's now a year...
The evilness has fled
No more anything to dread
Did it really disappear????

Going down the residence below
There's secrecy no one yet doesn't know
In the ground many resting in their bed
Welcome to the cemetery of the dead...

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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 191

Which is witch?

''So the witch died....''
    ''Excuse me, which witch?''  
Amanda, the lovely and lively  
Wiccam asked  
As they were sitting around  
The glowing fire  
While listening to soft  
New Age music.  
''The one with the Black Schwatch''  
     ''You mean Dora was with the Regiment?''  
''No, no, that's Dora, with the Golden Broom,  
She follows the vegan regimen of course. No,  
The 'Black Schwatch' we call her because  
Of her unpronouncable name, due to  
The Ghost in her ancestry. That is why she  
And her family tried to escape  
But the Ghost followed them all  
In  a cloud of smoke to Salem''  
     ''Wow! She smoked as well?''  
Prospera was getting tired of  this  
''No, no, dear Amanda,  But the Ghost cast a spell  
On her clan. It comes around every  fifty years  
The Black Schwatch laughed at this, never paid heed.  
 So she was flying around, carelessly as usual,  
Failed to observe the signs and,  
In a nutshell she hit a maple tree.  
Lots of blood, no syrup.
Written by robert43041 (Viking)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 21st Aug 2013
Forum Posts: 689

White Roses

Awakened by loud knocking drowsily she calls, “one moment please.” With a flourish she leaves her bed,  wraps her nakedness in a dark green robe before swinging wide her bedchamber door. “What is it Mary?” “Begging your pardon ma’am. It’s master Eric...he’s home from the war!” In a rush she descends the stairs. Enveloping the weary young man in her arms “Dear Eric how good to see you home safe! What news of Sir Cyril? “Oh m'lady I am the reluctant bearer of truly sad news. The Duke, your husband is dead.” The color drains from her face as stumbling backwards she sits down hard on the cold marble floor. Tears cascade down her cheeks as she screams “NO! NO! This cannot be!”
After several anxious moments she collects herself. “My dear boy I am remiss. You must be chilled to the bone. Come, sit and warm yourself by the fire. Please, if you are able, tell me what befell my husband. “I will m’lady. Know this first that he died a hero and that I am the humble benefactor of his valor. In the midst of an awful skirmish I was set upon by three strong swordsmen. I was no match for their ferocity and was preparing myself for the inevitable when seemingly out of nowhere Sir Cyril came to my aid. He quickly dispatched two of the monsters and valiantly engaged the third when, alas, he was mortally wounded whilst sending the devil's back to hell. I cradled his head in my arms as he drew his last breath but not before he proclaimed his undying love for you m’lady and bidding me to bear to you, personally, the tale of his tragic demise. With all my heart I would, m’lady, that he instead of I was sitting here before you.”
Silhouetted by the blazing fire for a long while they sit in silence save her quiet sobs. He patiently waits on his mistress and cannot help but recognize how even in her time of sorrowful distress he still thrills at her beauty. She was much younger than the Duke and still retained the flower of youth. As a boy he dreamed of stroking her long raven hair, gazing, mesmerized, into her sapphire eyes while passionately they kiss. “Must you now return to the front?” “Excuse me m’lady?” His sensuous reverie shattered. “Oh no. I was wounded in the chest and was therefore discharged from further service.” Will you stay on as groundskeeper of the estate?” “It will be my pleasure, m’lady, to continue in your service.” “As I am now bereft of a male presence in the household I may also need your assistance with other affairs.” “I am, in  all, your humble servant.” “Thank you for your courage in relating the heroic circumstances of my husband's death and fret not his sacrifice for he loved you as a son.”  
Weeks passed and Eric would see the Duchess daily walking in the garden. She struggled still with the news of her beloved's death and seemed paralyzed with grief. He yearned to see her beautiful smile. Snipping a white rose he approaches her. “Good morning m’lady!” Presenting the flower. “Oh hello Eric.” “And how is your Grace this fine Spring day?” “Not very well I’m afraid. I sorely miss my husband and I cannot bring myself to sleep at night.” “In what way can I serve you?” She gave him a melancholy smile while thanking him for the rose. “Can you read?” “Yes I can m’lady.” “Good then come to my bedchamber tonight and read to me. Perhaps it will help me to sleep, “I will come to you m’lady.”  
For three consecutive nights Eric went to her bedchamber and dutifully read his mistress to sleep. Each night, before leaving, he tucked her in while tenderly kissing her on the cheek. On the fourth night, to his surprise and delight, she asked, “Eric will you lay with me? Hold me?” “If you wish, I will m’lady” He lay behind her encircling her body with his strong arms.  Contentedly she sighs pulling him close.  She thrills with the sensation of her neck bathed in his hot breath and his inability to contain his growing excitement. Yearning for his touch she prays that he will be so bold.  
The sweet, intoxicating scent of lilac greets him as he buries his face in the raven hair he had so longed to touch. She shudders and blushes as he kisses her neck and caresses her milky white shoulder. “Oh m’lady I am overcome by your beauty” he exclaims upon discovering her nakedness. Breathless she whispers, “I had been so very lonely and frightened but now with you by my side touching me I can finally glimpse brighter days on the horizon.” Now facing one another they lovingly, voraciously kiss. In ecstasy she moans as he kneads her breasts suckling her swollen, dark pink nipples. His strong hands feel their way along her voluptuous curves, exploring her every secret recess.  
Hovering over his mistress goddess, his hips cradled between her soft cream colored thighs, Eric thrusts deep into her core eliciting screams of pure joy. In synchronous bliss they move together consumed by the desire to banish forever the pall of grief that had threatened to suffocate all things good in their lives. Running her finger over the still pink and swollen wound on his chest she asks, “are you still in pain my dear?” “Oh no m’lady your love has cured me of all pain.” Her genuinely happy smile transports him to paradise.  
Eric awoke early. Leaving a token of his love on his lady’s pillow he quietly slipped from her chamber fearing that, if found out, their love would be subject to cruel rumour. Sometime later the Duchess stirred roused by the warm rays of the April Sun peeking through her window. Her attention is drawn to a white rose atop the pillow where just had lain the head of her lover. Smiling broadly she girlishly giggles. Waves of ecstasy flow through her body as she recalls their night of sublime passion. Anxious to see him again she hurriedly dresses and rushes down to breakfast only to find him not there. Her heart sinks slightly but she knows that he must be about his chores. “Good morning m’lady.” “Good morning dearest Mary.” “I must say that I am happy to see you smile again, your grace.” “Yes I do feel most cheerful this fine Spring morning.” “One can’t mourn forever don’t you think?” “Yes ma’am I surely do.”  
Drifting to a window overlooking the garden. Gazing down she spies Eric tending to the White rose bush. He glances upward and their eyes meet. His glorious smile sparks a tingling sensation deep within her and she longs to feel his hands caressing her breasts, their lips pressed tight. Still holding the gifted rose she holds it up where he can see it and he blows her a kiss. Her eyes are suddenly distracted by the sight of a carriage lifting dust as it passes through her gate and proceeds down the lane. “Mary, she calls, are we expecting visitors?” “Not that I know of m’lady.”  
She sits down to breakfast and a cup of tea when she hears voices in the entryway. Mary quietly enters. “Begging your pardon m’lady. There is a Sir Mider here to see you.” “What is the reason for his visit?” “He would not state his business only to say that he needs to relay some urgent news. He is dressed in a military uniform.” “Show him in.” He enters bowing. “Good day, your grace. I am sorry to interrupt your breakfast.” “Not at all dear sir, come and sit. Mary, please bring our guest some tea.” “Thank you m’lady. I am a Lieutenant with the Fifth Cavalry and I served under Sir Cyril’s command. It is with much sadness that I bring to you news of your husband’s death.” The Duchess listens seemingly unaffected by the news. “Your Grace the Duke is dead” he says again as if perhaps the first time she couldn’t hear him. “Oh dear sir I apologize for my cool response but I have known of his death for some weeks now.” “How can that be m’lady for we are only now returning from battle and have sent no messengers before us.”  
She stands and walks toward the window. “The groundskeeper of our estate was wounded while on the front line and was sent home to us bearing the sad news. He told us of how the Duke died a valiant death defending him on the field of battle.” “Your Grace I know nothing of this man of whom you speak even so he is sorely mistaken for Sir Cyril was stabbed in the back. Cruelly murdered by one of his own. The cowardly villain was quickly identified by another cavalry officer and the blaggard was by a saber run clean through.” Confused and horrified by this new account she turns to gaze again on Eric in the garden. He is gone. “Madam I assure you that your husband died a hero.” She was too stunned to reply and then she began to shake. She screamed and the color drained from her cheeks as she remembered while making love how Eric had winced when her fingernails dug into a scar on his back. “Your Grace are you alright?” The room spins and all is black.  
Written by Gahddess_Worship
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The winner of this competition and any runners up were decided by public vote.

Thank you to the following members for voting:

Billy_Snagg, ReggiePoet, Phantom2426, ANATNOM_GNIREFFUS, Insiderew, MadameLavender, Razzerleaf, wallyroo92, LoveHound, gifteth, Northern_Soul, SweetKittyCat5, Tallen, lepperochan, JohnnyBlaze

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