The Beck of Roses Red
Yesterday, I visited a beck. Not very interesting, you might be saying as you read this. But it is nobig wow whatsoever. This particular beck is haunted by a ghost who was brutally slaughtered in the War of the Roses. Why did I go there? It was because of a stupid dare from my friend, Jerome. He said I couldn’t go to the beck without being afraid. So, to prove that I wasn’t, I accepted the dare.
I decided to go to the beck at night, so I would be cloaked by the darkness of midnight. I also brought with me a knife (not a butcher’s knife, but a penknife) just in case the beck was really haunted. My street at night is terrifyingly spooky.
When I reached the beck, I dipped my fingers into the sparkling ink that was the beck turned scarlet. Blood trickled down my fingers. I screamed!!! I turned around and saw a figure wearing armor and holding sword. The figure raised the blade above its head. I couldn’t move a muscle. Its eyes were glowing like hot coals.
I turned and ran, the horrible ghost running after me, laughing manically. I crashed into an Oak tree, busting my nose. I fell into unconsciousness, the figure fading away.
I woke up, beads of cold sweat trickling down my forehead. I realized it was all a dream. But the dream seemed too real, too vivid to just be a nightmare…
Just to make sure the encounter with the ghost was not just a figment of my imagination, I decided to go back to the beck after school.
I walked across the road leading to the beck, afraid that the demon of a Tudor Warrior would appear as soon as I touched the beck. I dipped my fingers in the beck, trembling. No blood. No ghost. I was convinced it was a dream, but when I saw something next to five red roses, my dream theory disappeared. Because next to those roses was…
© 2003 Joseph Kerry