1st prize: Lynette Teo (Raffles Girls Primary School, 11 years old)
The Shadow at Midnight
Sleeping has never been so difficult. Yet ever since I moved into the attic alone, it has. Dread fills me when it is lights out. For the darkness envelopes me in such a cold embrace that makes me shiver.. The occasional slapping of the window panes on the wooden poles startle me, as do the cool wind that cascades over me.
These have kept me awake till the witching hour. Midnight. And that is when the shadow appears. It is a darkness that I cannot explain. A darkness by itself that is enough to instill fear in anyone and everyone. And this fear roots in your heart once it sets in.
I tossed and turned, but nothing could lull me to sleep. With a heavy heart, midnight approached. The ticking of the clock was running through my spine like icy fingers of fear. My eyes were tightly shut as my heart was filled with apprehension. Then I heard it. A single whistle that pierced the night air.
Nights pass and I have not mustered the courage to peer out of the window.
But today, I know I need to do it. I need to peer out of the window. My legs turn to jelly at 11.59pm. My hands turn clammy. I wish the clock would stop ticking. But something inside me tells me, just do it! So, despite my qualms, I advance tentatively toward the window sill, clutching tightly to my pants.
12 midnight. I wanted to forget about everything and collapse back on the bed, closing my ears. But the shadow has rooted such a fear that will just grow worse if I try to ignore it. So I steel myself to remain calm. Somewhere inside me I hope that the shadow will not come. Not today.
Speak of the devil. The faint whistle comes into earshot, coupled with the rustle of dried leaves. He is here. Through half open eyes I hold on to the window sill, looking out. A man dressed from head to toe in black. And he was riding a black bike. Then he was off.
Long had I forgotten about the shadow, or what I now call the night cyclist. I presume that I had thought far too much, that I had let my thoughts run wild, that I had simply been not used to living in the attic. Weeks passed and I rested well, growing accustomed to the sounds I heard in the attic.
Or that was what I thought. But when the news that little children and toddlers from my rustic fishing village were going missing dawned on me, the memory of the shadow started to haunt me again, causing me to have my reservations about the shadow simply being a fervent night cyclist. My suspicions aroused, I knew that I had to do it.
The night was still. Dark as it could be. The deserted streets were empty. A single streetlight eerily gave the street a dim glow. A cold sweat trickled down my forehead. The sweat from fear. I was afraid that I was walking into peril. I was going to be on the trail for the shadow.
There was no turning back now. He was here. I couldn’t just walk back like that. I was dying to unravel the mystery of this odd cyclist cycling along in the middle of the night.
There he was. He whizzed past me within seconds. I licked my lips. Crouching down behind a thorny rose bush, I peeked out from over my shoulder and cast a glance at him. He was rounding a bend, one that hardly anyone goes.
There used to live a man that had died many years ago. Since then, the house had been abandoned. Dusty and descript, hardly any villagers walked that way in belief that it was haunted.
Thoughts raced through my mind. I was in two minds about following the shadow anymore. Eventually, curiosity triumphed the battle.
The house’s roof was covered with greenish moss and caved in at one of the corners. Windows that lined the house was dark and grey, streaked with accumulated dirt while ivy clung to the walls where paint was flaking off.
Why would anyone want to enter such a gloomy place? No. I would turn back. But somewhere I knew I had come this far. And I was going to be on his trail. Right to the end.
I watched as he snickered mockingly and sauntered out of the hut through a back door. Something was amiss. Ducking behind the tall grass, I made sure I was out of his sight.
Why would anyone want to enter such a gloomy place? No. I would turn back. But somewhere I knew I had come this far. And I was going to be on his trail. Right to the end.
I watched as he snickered mockingly and sauntered out of the hut through a back door. Something was amiss. Ducking behind the tall grass as he cycled off in a hurry, I swatted off flies that were circling around me. It was time to enter the hut.
For the first time in my life, I was facing my deepest phobia- ghosts and haunted houses. I ensured that the coast was clear before scrambling toward where the shadow had entered. A single tiny door which camouflaged into the rest of the wooden structure caught my eye. Fiddling with a small latch beneath the door, I managed to push the door which opened with a creak.
My surroundings caused me to stagger back for a few moments. Once unblemished curtains now hung limply on some poles. Grey streaks of mold from the years of damp nights began to seep in. The musty smell penetrated my senses, startling me.
Then I saw them. The corpses of unfortunate children lying on the hard floorboards. But the next thing I noticed would be etched in my mind. Forever. They were headless. Never before had I seen such a gruesome scene, not even in the scariest horror movie. The bodies lay motionlessly there, surrounded by pools of fresh and dry blood. I reeled back in horror, screaming yet having a constricting weight over my throat, restricting me.
I heard a whimpering noise close by, then a slight rattling. My heart skipped a beat. Advancing with sweaty palms to another room, I was shocked to see rows of rusty metal cages that were urine stained. Inside were children. Thin, rugged and in every aspect malnourished.. To them, doomsday was near as they could witness the gruesome murder of their friends. I picked up the phone to dial…
Blaring sirens come into earshot. They are safe. Those who are lucky to be alive perk up at the familiar sound, suddenly sighting me, Their colourless lips curl into a faint smile. Rescue is coming soon. I am a hero.
The shadow beheaded pitiful children to contribute in the construction of a bridge. Till today, I cannot forgive him and his inhumane acts. Never.
2nd Prize: Alisa Binte Zainal (Damai Secondary, 13 years old)
My subconscious has a conscience.
It was late. At around three o’clock in the morning. She was driving me insane. Bills, of all sorts. The tabs at the grocery, the credit card bills, the senseless shopping spree.
She told me to earn more. More, more, more. We both knew that no matter how much more I earned, it would never be enough for her. How could it? She wanted fur coats, villas, holidays to Bora Bora.
She caused all my troubles. Yes, sure I had a gambling problem but I could pay off the loans slowly. She added more loans to the already growing debt.
How dare she. How dare she complain to her friends I was incapable. How dare she say I didn’t earn enough. I’ll earn enough if she would stop spending every cent of it. How dare she accuse me of being lazy. How dare she.
It was too much, I would finally snap. It was too much pressure, too much stress.
One day I did. I snapped cleanly into two.
I went to the kitchen and took out a carving knife. Running it across the kitchen marble table, I sharpened it. The moonlight shone on it. The gleam of the knife was enough to push me over the edge and do it once and for all.
I started walking to the master bedroom. There she was sound asleep. Lucky her. I couldn’t sleep a wink every night thanks to her and here she was sleeping as if she had no care in the world.
I step backwards, trying to memorise why I was doing this. Breathing in and out, I compose myself. Stepping forward again, I blanked.
________________________________________________________
I awoke in a white room. Where was this place? A door, a black window, a table and chair. The chair opposite me was out of place, like as if someone had just sat down and got out after a few minutes. Why? The table had pieces of paper and a pen lying around. I touched the pen, still warm. I tried to get up, but my hands won’t let me. It appeared that I had been handcuffed to the chair.
Click.
The door opened. A burly man of middle age walked in. As he did, I memorised his features, dark green eyes and a short moustache. His mouth set in a thin line. Fair skinned, he was balding a little, had a mix of white and black hair. A prominent mole on his upper left cheek. He wore a faded red shirt and black trousers. Shiny black shoes completed his look.
He took a seat on a chair opposite mine and asked me was I ready to speak.
Speak? About what?
Murder, he said.
Murder? Who? What? Where?
You. You murdered.
What? Me? When? Who did I murder?
Do you remember anything Mr Adams? Anything at all?
No. Wait. Tell me about this murder.
I shall tell you in time to come. Right now, do you remember anything of last night, 14 August 1989, at three o’clock in the morning?
No. Tell me now.
Well, Mr Adams, you are either a very good liar or that you really didn’t remember anything.
I am telling you the truth. I don’t remember anything. What are you talking about?
You, Mr Adams, killed on 14 August 1989, in the wee hours of the morning. You tried killed your wife but had underestimated her. She was stronger than you thought. She ran away from you and dialled 911. You caught up with her and slit her throat. However, it was too late. The operator had heard everything.
When the police arrived, you were in the middle of faking a burglary to cover up your vicious deed. Yet, though you were caught you still said that you were innocent and that the two men who broke in were the ones that killed her.
…
What do you have to say, Mr Adams?
I remember the two men well. They had masks over their faces and wore black clothing. They took my money, killed my wife and injured me. They framed me. They are still out there. You have the wrong person!
I told you, Mr Adams. You were faking the burglary. There were no men. It was only you.
IMPOSSIBLE. I couldn’t have been the TWO men. How do you dispute that?
You are hallucinating, Mr Adams. It could only be you. You are charged with first degree murder.
What? You have the wrong person! Let me go! I am a free man. How can you arrest an innocent?
Lock him up.
________________________________________________________
I was brought to the lock up in the police station. It was hopeless. How could I convince them that it wasn’t me? I tried to think of a way out of this. No way. They were convinced I did it. Maybe if I slept on it the answer might come the next morning.
________________________________________________________
That night, I had a very vivid dream. There, were the two men that got me in all this trouble. They framed me. I looked closer at them. They warped. There weren’t two anymore. Just one. I awoke. Confused.
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I spent the next night in jail as well. It was terrible. The food was disgusting and cold. How could the police lock me up? They had no proof.
________________________________________________________
I dreamt again. Another dream of the burglar. I could see the face of the burglar, though not clear… It seemed so familiar. So terribly familiar.
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Third day in the lock up. Terrible. I hadn’t showered in three days. I smelt. I was hungry, the food was horrible. I hate this.
________________________________________________________
Another night, another dream. His face was clear now. Familiar. Those eyes, nose and mouth. So familiar. Wait…
________________________________________________________
The burglar was me. I killed my wife, faked a burglary and said that I forgotten. How could I have done such a vicious thing? I loved my wife. Yes, she gave me troubles. But she didn’t deserve this. I did the only thing I could think of.
________________________________________________________
I, Jake Adams, plead guilty to the murder of my wife, Lily Adams. I lied that I didn’t remember anything and faked a burglary to cover up my crime. Now, I ask the United States of America, to give me the capital punishment for my deed.
________________________________________________________
On the 21 of December 1989, Mr Jake Adams, age 47, is to be hanged for the crime of murder.
________________________________________________________
3rd Prize: Wang Xin Yan Lloyd (Victoria Secondary, 13 years old)
The Hijack
Trevor Smith was on Bus 8. Deep in his mind, he was reviewing his well-thought plan amid the loud rumble of the vehicle and the annoying chatter of the passengers on board. He was serious and focused, in spite of all the interference around him.
Trevor was young and handsome. He had a pair of large, sky-blue eyes behind his thick black spectacles. On top of that, he had smooth and luxurious black hair. He always carried a sense of maturity and an aura of intelligence and pride. His thin lips were the only visual indication that he was not only an eloquent, but crafty and sophisticated speaker. He had the ability to con judges, lawyers and politicians into supporting him to get away from various crime offences that he had committed. Therefore, he has undisputedly become the leader of the group.
The bus was turning into Ruby Lane, a long and desolated stretch of road with nothing but vacant, old and run-down huts and trees with rusty leaves scattered all over the ground. Patches of grass lined the spaces between each hut and beside the road, which was filled with huge potholes and thin crack lines which spread across the road. Trevor turned to face the two men sitting behind him and they all nodded. Trevor raised a .45 caliber Ruger pistol and fired a bullet which entered the driver’s skull. Instantly, the passengers scurried below their seats and used their hands to cover their heads. Some were screaming and some were praying and sobbing at the same time.
Adam Brown, tall and menacing, stood up from his seat, followed by his younger brother, Steven Brown, who was handsome and of medium height. With dagger-like eyes, Adam used his commanding presence to gain authority and said,” Shut up! ” He revealed a glossy and lethal Desert Eagle, and aimed at a frantic child. He spoke calmly,” Or die “. After confiscating all forms of digital equipment from the passengers and ensuring that there was total silence, he then replaced his pistol and sat next to Steven.
Meanwhile, Trevor was in charge of steering the vehicle. He lifted the dead driver off his seat and pushed him on the floor, before pulling the bus to the side. The bus screeched to a halt when he braked. After wiping off the blood on the windscreen and the seat, he called the police.
” I demand a ransom of 20 million dollars in cash. Or else these 24 people on board will die.” Trevor said. ” Sir, do you know that this is a very serious matter and if this happens to be a hoax, you will be charged in court?” The lady on the line said. ” I don’t care! Get your head of department here! This is absolutely serious!” Trevor yelled. Soon, George Banner, the head of department, was on the line. ” What is your location?” He asked. ” I’m on Bus 8. Get yourself right here at Ruby Lane in 10 minutes. Only you and the money. Every minute late, 1 hostage dies. You hear me? Remember. Only you and the money.” The line went dead.
George was in a daze. His assistant searched the location of Ruby Lane. It was 20 kilometers away. ” How the hell am I going to get there in time?” George thought.” I had better get going now!” He notified all the police stations nearby and he left for Ruby Lane.
Trevor was checking his watch every now and then, his impatience mounting. He returned to his seat and surveyed the passengers, careful not to let anything go unnoticed. It was already close to the ten minutes he had given for arriving here but there was still no sign of anyone.
Furiously, Trevor dialled the police again and he shouted into the phone,” So you think this is a joke! You think this is funny? I show you what is funny!” He took aim at a woman and put a bullet into her shoulder. Her blood-curdling scream echoed in the receiver. The assistant on the line gasped. Soon, the scream ended. “Another minute, and you will hear another scream.” He cut the line.
The passengers, all frightened by the horrifying scene unfolding in front of their eyes, turned to face away. Some were silently praying. They were choking on their tears as they did not want to alert the hijackers.
Tt was close to the eleven minutes mark when a car appeared. There was only one person inside. The trio smirked as they realised that their pot of gold was here. Adam and Steven left the bus after the car had pulled over to the side. Trevor remained inside. George was searched through thoroughly for any weapons. Once clear of the quick check, Trevor proceeded out of the bus and asked,” So where is the money? I want it now.”. George returned to his car and opened the boot, before lifting a huge sack onto the ground in front of Trevor. ” Here it is,” George said. Steven untied the rope around the sack and inspected a few notes inside, ensuring that they were all real notes.
” They’re real.” Steven said, showing the proof to Trevor. Trevor nodded his head and produced a wide grin. ” Ahaha. I didn’t know that it was so easy to fool hijackers. Look around you. What do you see?” George let out a triumphant crackle. There were about two dozen policemen with safety gear all hiding in the bushes around them, carrying assault rifles which can kill at that very moment. ” Damn! ” Trevor said heatedly. ” Drop your weapon!” A policeman yelled. Adam and Steven took out their pistols and dropped them onto the floor.
Trevor, however, refused to give in to the police and the years of imprisonment awaiting him. He fished out his deadly pistol and shot George. The crack sent the latter collapsing immediately. A crossfire broke out. In the end, Trevor was shot too. The police moved in and arrested the three hijackers.
George survived, fortunately, as the bullet narrowly missed his heart by a centimetre. His heroic act has earned him a huge promotion.
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