GOTHIC WRITING GOTHIC WRITING COMPETITION WINNER COMPETITION WINNER

It was midnight, the moonlight illuminated the long stretch of beach in Whitby. The cold damp air and the cool salty water clung to my skin. The waves crashed against the rocks and crawled up the beach in a trance like state. The salty smell of the sea wafted into my nose as I looked up at the cliff. My feet sunk into the soft sand. I was unable to move. It wasn’t the sand that left me paralysed but it was the agonizing fear and dread that clenched my heart to the point breathing was difficult. Tears gathered behind my eyes hindering my ability to see.

My heart thumped in my chest. My blood vessels were on the verge of popping. I trembled so hard, and my hairs rose. Terrified, petrified and confused, I pulled myself together. The thought in my head sent shivers downs me. There on that cliff stood a strange black figure and where that things head was supposed to be, wasn’t there. It was headless.

I blinked hard, maybe I hallucinated, and as I opened my eyes I was lost for words. I stopped, not wanting to move a single muscle. It wasn’t there, it disappeared. Gone as it was never there. The air around me suddenly got colder, it was like I was caught in a tunnel of tepid ice. Dull, grey, sombre clouds gathered up above and it started to rain. A thick, choking layer of sea fret set on the beach.

My clothes were damp with a veil of moisture. Through the blinding fog, I saw it again. Watching me. The sea fret made it hard to see but I was sure I could see another figure too. It had long bony withered legs. They were so thin it looked like they would just snap in two like a twig.

Rain now soaked me, and the clouds got even thicker plunging Whitby into complete darkness. It was as dark as a moonless night. The waves crashed on the shore more aggressively. It was as if the sea had some kind of rage swirling inside.

Sounds of seagulls faltered, their shouts growing weaker. The heavy black clouds gave off the sound of thunder. That uncanny figure I saw radiated nothing but fear and death, and from where it stood were gravestones. Old, rotting, decaying, ancient ones. They leaned together like old friends and had elaborate carvings. The graves were said to never have been touched for decades, moss taking over them. Nature spread along the walls of the nearby monastery like long tenacious fingers, enveloping the ruined building slowly and stealthily.

I’ve heard many stories and hauntings before but never experienced it. Trees without any leaves stood still against the raucous wind. Their roots looked like skeleton claws. The sea fret now seemed to dissipate. The mysterious figure with uncanny legs was clearer. It had long silky lustrous hair with pure black skin. Its eyes were like an endless void.

The figure, though, reminded me of someone utterly familiar, a horse called Lila: my best friend. I had many memories with her; we ran on the beaches and played in the water. Her soft hair made me feel safe and happy. We loved each other’s company. However, things took a dramatic turn, something I wish never to experience again.

It was a fine Saturday morning during summer, and I saw Lila lay dead in the stable. I never found out how she died, and not a day passed without a moment of dread. My life felt like it was slowly disintegrating. Now she was here, I was sure of it, alive but something felt odd. Something disturbing about her presence frightened me to my very core but I couldn’t work it out. My heart thumped louder, and my eyes widened in horror. It wouldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Something was very wrong.