Ghost Story Essay Example For Students

Ghost Story Essay Shed passed her driving test just a week ago, and couldnt yet afford her own vehicle, yet the 17-year-old still enjoyed cruising around in her Fathers Fiat Punto. Shed spent the day enjoying a shopping spree in the busy town centre of Hailsbury, and had then spent a subsequent hour and fifteen minutes in a Chinese restaurant with a close friend. She looked down and admired her new figure-hugging beige top, which was low-cut and revealing. Not something my parents will like! She thought to herself, chuckling. The dynamic teen held out a manicured and pampered hand to put the current song on full volume, as she threw her head about to the beat, whilst singing along. She loved being 17, and as far as she was concerned it was going to be like this forever; plenty of friends, steady boyfriend, a car whenever she wanted, money, and an enjoyable job what more could anyone want, she asked herself? As the song came to an end she switched to the contrasting, sensible Charlotte. She switched her radio off whilst throwing her deceased chewing gum out of the window, as she approached her home. Her car moved steadily down the last road before her house, as she gazed ahead, feeling alert. A young girl was propped at the side of the road about 50 metres ahead, and she had her thin arms wrapped around herself for warmth and comfort. Poor girl, thought Charlotte. Maybe shes lost? She reflected. The girl looked about the same age as Charlotte, yet seemed rather impoverished. Her ill-fitting clothes appeared slightly grubby, and extremely old-fashioned. However, her large, pleading eyes melted Charlottes heart, as she decelerated, getting closer to the girl. The peculiar character seemed frightened, and it looked as thought she had been crying. She had great, soulful dark eyes, and long hair, that perhaps could look seductive to a male, if it were cleaner. As Charlotte stopped the car, about a metre away from the girl, who remained in position, she wound the window down. Would you like a lift? She yelled. The girl continued to stare ahead of her, at the opposite side of the road, but gave a slight nod of her head in acknowledgement. Jump in then, Im going to Meadsbury, is that where youre going? The girl gave the same nod in response, whilst slowly and carefully climbing into her car. As she sat down Charlotte noticed just how petite she was. Her legs were a lot longer than hers, yet were almost half the size. They were attached to a pair of unsightly black leggings. As Charlotte began to restart the car she noticed her passengers long, claw-like finger-nails, making her shudder. She also became aware of the sudden drop of temperature in the car. She grabbed her denim jacket from the back seat and began to wrap herself in it, when something slashed her face. She immediately put her hand to her face in absolute agony, as the stranger opened her mouth snaring her sharp, pointed teeth. Her claw-like fingernails were now smothered with blood from Charlottes face, as she stabbed her arm with them, and then dragged her hand right down to her wrist, leaving four elongated vertical wounds, each pouring with rich red blood. As Charlotte screamed for help she realised how isolated she was on the road that barely anyone used. She struggled to open her door and escape, as five fingernails appeared in front of her eyes. As she trembled with fear, a hand attacked her left eye, gauging out an eyeball. Her last memory was of redness, danger and blood. As Stephen lay in bed half-awake, the loud shrill noise came from his bedside phone. He picked it up mid yawn. Ello? He said, trying to disguise the fact that hed been asleep at 6pm. Stephen, its Dad. Ive got something to tell you. I think you were very lucky. That girl you. ran over. Yeh Dad, I tried forgetting about that, but carry on. Stephen replied with an annoyed tone. Well, I, er, I think you had a lucky escape. Shes just killed someone. .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad , .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .postImageUrl , .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad , .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:hover , .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:visited , .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:active { border:0!important; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:active , .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u569166af405f8d83ba9e649842f045ad:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Close Examination of the Text show EssayYou know Charlotte Bartholomew, lives down the road from you? Shes dead. It happened exactly where your accident was. Stephen, something strange is going on. Weve got to get out of here before she strikes again. Yeh Dad, I didnt hear any of that the doorbell went. Hold on a minute Ill just let whoever it was in. As Stephens dad waited, he heard shouts and screams from the other end of the phone, before an elongated help was heard. He paused in shock, stiff and rigid, as he realised that the phantom teen had struck again, this time in innocent Stephens house.