Year Seven students have really enjoyed the beginning of their study of English at Wilson’s, with all classes in the year group currently working on writing and reading ghost stories. We have been so impressed by the quality and ambition of the students’ writing; it’s clear that very many students have a love of and a facility in the written word.

Below you can see a showcase of some particularly ambitious work from students in 7B (pictured), aiming to describe a spooky setting. It must be said that many other students’ work could also have been selected, both from 7B and across the year as a whole. Well done to all Year Seven students for producing such imaginative, accurate and original writing!

Yoyo
That night, it was exceptionally stormy. The bitter winds lashed out at the vast walls of the church, and blew hard over the fence surrounding the graveyard, nearly knocking it over. The clouds above the church spires were gloomy and wide, like an angry grey face roaring loudly with thunder. Lightning flashed over the church and graveyard, illuminating it with an ominous glow.

The church was an enormous box of brightly coloured bricks, with elegant, slender spires standing proudly on top. In daylight, the church was cast upon by the Sun's warm rays, giving it a grand look with a golden hue. Unlike in the light of day, the church was a truly sinister place at night, being a nasty concoction of everyone's worst fears. Every night, it was covered with long ivy and a thick layer of dust. The spectacular drawings on the windows were turned into pictures of menacing wolves and bears, and the spires were changed from their beautifully decorated selves into grime-coated towers, complete with massive cobwebs. Worst of all, the church was secretly inhabited by ghastly white creatures, floating a few inches above the ground, and with two black circles for eyes - ghosts!

Gus
The cottage was dilapidated: the front door and windows had been stolen by robbers. The sky roared like Zeus as he battled his father Kronos. Sheets of grey rain flooded the moor enveloping everything greedily. It was as if the marshland had been ripped in two. Against the wind that howled like a dying soldier, the grass was flattened as if begging for mercy.

The cottage's interior was a fragmented memory of its once beautiful self. Like the spirit of the house would remain forever restless longing for the glamour of its past facade. The once luxurious wallpaper had been torn apart. Behind it were crusty crimson stains along with claw and fingernail scratches.

Jas
The cottage we had chosen for the holidays was and looked horrible during the day, but at night you could swear it was haunted. From the front vines and ivy plagued the walls, constantly stretching its fingers further around the walls. The cottage itself was rotting like a bug infested apple, something that could never be turned to its glorious state. The windows were shattered inwards as if some beast had clawed its way in. Every time it rained, the house was flooded, leaving nothing dry and at night, coldness spilled into the room like a river, leaving me shivering under my blanket. It was a miracle that the house was still standing as when the winds blew the house shook and swayed like a drunken man.

At night, it was a possessed house. The winds howled like wolves, ready to bite you to shreds. The door banged and banged, as if some creature was trying to enter. Shadows danced around the room and crashing and thumping was heard. Every single night, I shivered uncontrollably with fear, unable to sleep. It was the worst holiday I have ever had.

Boya
A tree's branches cracked in the cruel wind like a vicious slave owner's whip. All around it, sneering, devilish-looking shrines of evil in the form of tree bent over the murky swamp that called itself a graveyard. Shrivelled headstones jugged out of the gooey wasteland, as malnourished as the helpless souls underneath. The blood-red moon invaded the sky, asserting the dominance of its bitter, totalitarian regime, while and owl savagely ripped out a rabbit's liver and reduced it to a mere ghost.

Malik The alley was eerily quiet. Not a single sound could be heard, not even from the main road nearby. A jagged line of lightning lit up the night sky, and the building in front of Max as well. The heavens rumbled, a cloud covered the starry sky, and suddenly a torrent of rain unleashed itself on Max. Rain didn't hit the ground lightly, it gushed down with tropical force. Within seconds, Max was soaked. The building seemed like his only cover. He sprinted towards his salvation.

Andrei
At last, he reached it. The cottage looked no different to your average rural shack you would find in a field, but something was off. It did, upon closer inspection, however, look slightly worn-out. Most of the wood was either damaged beyond repair, had devastating cracks going through it or was completely missing. It was a huge surprise that the house was still intact and on its feet, and had not been converted into a pile of rubble smothered unevenly across the marshy terrain. The ramshackle doors all addressed their obsoleteness to Andrei by letting out a lethargic groan as the wind gently danced upon them, and most details could not be seen as the sunshine was lulled by the trees. Everything seemed to be making some sort of sound, and it was as if the house was almost… alive.

Even though Andrei was pretty sure that no one was dwelling in the mysterious residence, he thought he heard a low whisper somewhere in the second floor, beckoning him to come closer... He thought it was just his imagination, hoped it was all just in his head. But there were so many sounds. The truth was inevitable. As he approached the front door, hands spasming sporadically, he gasped hoarsely, and there was only one word in his head at that moment in time. Run.

Nishanth
The school, which once emitted the sound of laughter, tears, and children, now stood still, empty of all noise and void of all colour. The full moon shone with the brightness of two suns and illuminated the cold, lifeless night. A long spine-chilling howl broke the silence. Not one streetlight was lit that night; the darkness seemed everlasting. Now, there was no light- none but the moon's yellow glow. The otherworldly howling had turned to silence; a moan began the long, eerie sound erupting from the courtyard.

Devayan
Sajit had been looking forward to his holiday in Cornwall. As he descended from his car, after a long, tedious, journey, he went out to behold his rented cottage. It was quite a wonderful cottage, with a quaint, little, thatched roof patched with bright, yellow, buttercups, and fragrant, scarlet roses. The main base was constructed of sturdy logs, attached to robust rocks. The entrance was a large, brown door with rusty hinges.

Sajit sighed in awe at the landscape around him. A lush, green meadow, dotted with daisies and clover. Suddenly, a strange sight caught his inquisitive eye.

Nilansh
It was just a regular school day. The sun was shining, it was mid July, school was just about to end-the usual, everything was perfectly normal. Everything was normal, except for one thing-the school itself. In the classrooms, the cheap, dilapidated wooden chairs were all either demolished to splinters or smashed beyond repair. The lockers were swinging shut and back open again, even though there was no wind whatsoever. There was concrete, pencils and what seemed to be the remains of a desk. The plaster on the walls had been ripped to shreds and some places even had holes in them which were as deep as the Mariana Trench! As if there was a monster putting down all the weight it had on the classroom above, the not-so-sturdy tiles on the roof were slowly losing grip from their given place.

Anvith
I was trembling with fear, the wind swaying me side to side as if I was a leaf. The aroma of wet mud hung in the mist and raindrops violently and relentlessly were beating down on my head. I could feel slimy, gooey fingers brushing my spine, so I abruptly swiveled around, only to see a church.
This church was engulfed entirely in black soot and dust; windows with smudged silhouettes and broken glass. The rickety building seemed ancient, as if it would collapse at any moment into a ripple of smithereens. It was at that moment that I realized I was lost.

Nikhil
It was a dark, winter's night and the sky was a perfect shade of ebony. Richard Crank Hoarser, a famous cowboy, was looking for an inn to spend the night in. As he rode his trustworthy horse down the hard, cobbled street, he realised the only sound was the clippety-clop of his horse's hooves, which eerily faded into the inky blackness of the night.

"Strange..." he thought to himself. But then, just as he was passing an old, half-collapsing church, something caught his eye ; a gravestone, saying 'Richard Crank Asoel Hamilton Hoarser : 1887 - 1936. Died on 28 June from unknown causes.' But today was the 28th of June...

Vishruth
Wherever I stepped, a slight 'crack' made me jump due to the crumbling, powdery remains of bricks lying collapsed on the floor. As the cold mist dug into my bones, owls hooting outside set off an intimidating vibe confirming that I was being monitored by every step. The belly of the cloudy sky was ripped apart by lightning and a bucket of rain torrented on me, making my teeth clatter. The smell was damp like a coal mining cave except that this place was foreboding, and I had a sudden tingling sixth sense which warned me to be wary of my surroundings.

Abruptly, I heard a whisper behind me, which made me stand rooted to the spot, numb with disbelief. With my heart in my throat and my pulse pounding harder than kettle drums, I ventured forward, hoping to see no one which was the worst, and probably the last decision I'd ever made...