Creative Writing: Colloidal Silver

It was a dark and stormy night. I, Jonathan Harker, was shaking and I didn't know what was going on. I was seeing terrifying shadows around my room. Also, last night, I thought a person or a thing was behind me, but I couldn't see its reflection through the mirror. I didn't know what to do, so I started packing.

The blazing light was shining in my face and a slight breeze blew through the arched windows. I spotted an open chest in the attic, whilst spring cleaning. The outside rim of the box was covered in dust and cobbled webs; the hinge was rusty, making a creak noise against the ghost-quiet room. Rummaging my hand around the chest there was a scratchy-substance digging against my fingers. As the sun faded from my sight I lifted up the mysterious object. It was an old rustic book; I flipped through the delicate pages, every touch made a crinkling

It whispered and shook and was taller than her head… through the maze now… then there was something tall, dark, and skinny there, moving before her. At first she took it for a man… but she stood and listened, and it did not make a sound. It was as silent as a ghost… who be you the ghost of?... you scarecrow… the track crossed a swampy part… sleep on alligators… overhead the live-oaks met, and it was as dark as a cave… a black dog with a lolling tongue came up out of the weeds by the ditch… she only hit him a little with her cane. Over she went in the ditch. (1,2,3)

In late May during the wee hours of the morning a rapid knock at the door woke Anna from another horrible nightmare. She sat straight swimming in her bed, crying, and drowning in the torrent of blankets. Suddenly there was a second knock, but before she could completely rub the sleep from her eyes the door was opened and in stepped a very thin, tall stranger with soft curly dark brown hair and golden eyes hidden behind spectacles.

The room was musty and dimly lit. A heavy curtain was drawn across the only window, allowing only a slight and pathetic slant of balmy sunlight to slip in. Faintly, the air tasted of dog urine and stray fur—a fusty undertone hovering beneath ghostly.

For days he stayed there, curled up by the wall. The sun would rise, somewhere, illumine the mouth of his pitiful den, grace the cold rock in front of him with a soft blue sheen, and set again, immersing his life in empty darkness. One day, two, three, he stopped counting, buried his mind in the chambers of his soul where a soft dim warmth still glowed. Waves of grief passed through, turned him over in riptides of hungriest despair, roaring death pounded nightly at his door, and then, hearing no answer, tore away again, letting warm comfort envelop him and soothe his damaged

I barely notice the cool hardwood floor on my back as I bask in the early dawn light seeping through the gap in my curtains. As I stare silently at a darker version of my yellow ceiling for what feels like the hundredth time, I strain my ears to hear the voice again. I miss it like a friend; my only friend in this hollow abyss where I’m imprisoned between the tips of my husband’s claws.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

Charlotte Gilman, through the first person narrator, speaks to the reader of the stages of psychic disintegration by sharing the narrator's heightened perceptions: "That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don't care--there is something strange about the house--I can feel it" (304). The conflicting

I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be

wind. It was as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be

I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all too obvious and I felt the need to vomit… that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind? Curiosity would get the best of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered, maybe there were more things in the room that hadn’t been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I had ever seen. Huge fly-like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped ‘face’. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not

The very setting of the fireside at which Griffin's guests swap stories establishes an atmosphere with which many of us are familiar. We can all relate to sitting around a fire exchanging ghost stories. By employing this particular narrative frame James encourages the reader to abandon their scepticism and give themselves over to a belief in the ghosts. The reader shares in the eagerness of the guests to be frightened; to be delighted by horror. Upon seeing Douglas' distress at the thought of the tale he must tell, and its "dreadful - dreadfulness", one of the female guests actually cries, "Oh how delicious!"5

In the black of the night in the bushes behind us we heard a hair raising murmur right after that a face appeared or at least I thought it was the body was transparent it blended in with the fog I welled “ghost” It also looked like a pirate so I said Pirate” the loud noise of my yelling caught the attention of something even more dangerous splash a 30 foot gator jumped out of the water in-shock I stood still I was petrified then lucy slapped me it hurt the sting was horrible I looked over it wasn’t lucy it was a bat the wigs were horned I held my face in pain and fell to the ground completely forgetting about the 30 foot gator that lurked below but it didn’t forget about me it lunged out of the water I covered my head closed my eyes waiting for the pain then a loud bang the pain never came I opened my eyes there was a very large man at least seven feet tall with a large black beard he extended his arm down to help me up it took his arm and

My day begins again with a drone of the same ringtone of the alarm. Getting up to open the window forgetting about the same old raven bird that stares at me with its whole black eyes sending you into a black spiral. The sense of nostalgia hits, rain leaves its own scent like the scent of an ex-lover’s. After all eternity doesn’t wait for the past to catch up, you just keep on going with your life as I have. Making my way to the kitchen I avoid all the papers on the floor scattered like a tornado threw up and shredded its life. My hands twitches to grab the phone eager to check for the ghost messages and calls. Putting down my arm as soons as it raises “don’t do it”. I turn in circles to find someone but in its leave was nothing. “ I know” I whispered to no one. The hallway was filled with darkness except for one room whose light was slowly dimming. Darting past the shadowed hands reaching for me I went into the room. Searching for that dark grey raincoat that was hung up on a hanger in the half empty closet.