Ghost stories and strange tales

 My sister scours the rockpools at dusk just as the sun makes its evening journey over the horizon. She is barefoot, her long, straggly hair draping over the back of her t-shirt and skimming the waist of her shorts. She is searching for crabs or tiny fish left behind by the tide. I do not see her face, or the fear I imagine flashes through her eyes as she stumbles. Her head makes contact with a jagged rock and plunges face-first into cold, salty water. I stay by my window. By the time I have run down to save her, I know she will already be dead, and as I reach the edge of the  rockpools, her ghost will have faded away. 

"Was he hiding in the bushes again last night?" asked Sheena. I shook my head. "It's hard to tell, but they shook so violently, and there was no breeze to speak of. But it's usually dusk, not nighttime, when he's there, and his visits are increasing. Last week, I had just left the house when I spotted him by the garden wall. He'd stretched himself flat alongside it, his arms and legs splayed out like four thick branches. Ivy covered every part of his body except his eyes—bright yellow eyes. I took my gaze off him for a moment, and that's when he got me." Sheena's hand recoiled from mine. "You never told me." "I'm telling you now, aren't I? He didn't so much grab me; he rushed past, and his fingers brushed my bare arm - look." I lifted up my sleeve, and Sheena's eyes filled with tears as she saw the mouldy green hue of my skin and the tendril-like veins snaking just below the surface. "It's growing,...

Hey, Marlon, did you write on my board again? I told you it's only for groceries.'  'No, Mum.' I rubbed it out, certain that Marlon was lying. The chalkboard hung high on the wall by the fridge, and I didn't want him to keep climbing on the barstool to reach it. I rubbed out the stupid message—"GET OUT"—and thought no more about it—at least until the next day, when I saw another message written—"Get out now!" 'Marlon,' I said. 'I told you. If you keep on scrawling on it, I'll take away your PlayStation. It's not your board.' I hid the chalk in the back of the kitchen drawer, but I thought Marlon must have found it and hung it back up because, on the third day, the message said, "Beware—it will kill you." Only this time, the writing was all flowery and ornate, nothing like my Marlon's. I tore the board down and threw it in the trash can. I thought that would be the end of it, but when I came into the kitch...

I open up 'the Daisy Chain' each morning at 9am, and it takes about an hour to clean before the chefs come in. The cafe caters for yummy mummies and ladies who lunch - you know the type. Before I started, it was known as 'Jennys.' It closed and rebranded, but still sold dishes I could never afford. I used to zip around with the hoover in no time, but now the customer numbers are growing, and so is their rubbish. Anyway, I go in one morning and there's this highchair thrown down in the middle of the restaurant. So I blame Nicky, the night cleaner. Next day, the same thing has happened again, and on the third day, the highchair is up on one of the tables. A week later, and it's still moving around the cafe, and I'm sick of it. I call Nicky, and he tells me 'Get rid of that goddamn highchair. A year ago, a little kid choked to death in the restaurant, and that's why they renamed it the Daisy Chain.'

No one wants a clown anymore - too creepy, too scary. Only you were stupid enough to love them. You see, I remembered that hideous bedroom of yours. All those ornaments and Pierrot dolls. My first date gift to you -  a trip to the circus. How you laughed at their pathetic tomfoolery. Then you dumped me for that boy in the Sixth Form. But I bided my time and stalked you on Facebook. I think you'd even forgotten you'd friended me. I saw your post 'Does anyone know a clown for a party? I told my friend Helen, and she told you. Of course, you didn't recognise me when I turned up on your doorstep.  'Hello there, it's Bobo, the clown. Do you like the flower on my lapel? No -  it won't squirt you in the eyes. Come closer. There's no water in this flower.'  And there wasn't. The flower sprayed a liquid of a different kind.

  Me and Kim were ‘the hot chicks of Carshalton,’ holding out for handsome hunks.  We dreamt of Jacuzzis  and Michelin star restaurants – not an oik offering chips and a pie by the ponds. I knew Nathan liked me because he was always in the Co-op buying scratch cards. He’d lurk in the street when my shift finished - just passing, obvs.  Or I’d bump into him in the coffee shop, and he’d pester me for dates. Of course, I’d turn him down. Sweet, but not my type. On the night (when I almost die), me and Kim head off to karaoke at The Woodman. Rain’s falling like nails, but we never miss a session. We’re halfway through Abba when in slopes, Nathan. “Hi, Kath,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Sure,” I say, playing it cool. “I’ll have a vodka and Coke, and Kim wants a cider.” “OK,” he says. Me and Kim shimmy away and sing our hearts out to Little Mix. Eventually, we go back over to Nathan. “You clocked the weather?” he says. “Reckon the ponds will flood. ...

“I think there’s something wrong with your cat,” said Mathew as his friend Riley came into the living room with a jug of coffee. “She was acting really weird. She lay down in front of me, and her head kept twisting like she was having some sort of seizure. She’s run behind the sofa now.” Riley didn’t look overly concerned. “Oh, that’s normal. Lulu always acts a bit crazy when we have friends over. Sarah keeps asking me to pick up one of those cat-calming aromatherapy things, but I think they’re a con.”  “No, really, I think you should take a look. I’d get her checked out at the vet.” The two friends watched as Lulu squeezed herself out through the gap between the sofa and the armchair. She paraded up and down in front of them, her green feline eyes unblinking and staring, and her fluffy brown tail waving from side to side. It was almost as if she was trying to hypnotise them. “Lulu,” called Riley. “Come over here and get your belly rubbed.” But instead of trotting over to...