The winner of our M.R. James ghost contest is...
, for his two submissions "Haunted by the Ghost of a Life Unlived" and "Haunted by the Ghost of My Needs"!
Congrats! TheDreadfulPencil brought his own unique perspective to the ghost tale: a more metaphorical view...lives unlived, youth long gone. A very bleak and dark view on life...
"I am a haunted man.
My ghost is the grim spectre of my dreadful self, haunting me every day with sorrow, unfulfillment and regret.
Its deformed, kneeling figure grins at me and mocks my failed and futile life as my body begins to slow down and tire, with its inevitable progression into middle age.
It knows all hope has gone and laughs at the misguided path of martyrdom I chose a long, long time ago.
It is searching for my suppressed passion in one of the openings of a human body an entity can gain access.
It haunts both night and day and brings with it the memories of a youth long gone.
It is the most dreadful of ghosts and haunts me continuously without respite, taunting me with the unspeakable memories of a life never lived. There can be no exorcism and I cannot escape its terrible unforgiving wrath for it is always with me, a part of my very being.
My escape from its clutches will come only when this wretched and weary man finally succumbs to the release and freedom of death.
Until that day it will remain with me, its appalling presence grinning mercilessly at my failures, sorrows and regrets. It will continue to haunt and mock my futile perseverance that edges me only ever onwards towards my approaching grave.
I am a haunted man...
...and my ghost is myself."
Dark, depressing, and disturbing, these two entries combine a fascinating philosophy that won me over.
In a month or so there'll be a CLARK ASHTON SMITH contest, so start checking out his work!
The Ghost of Symon's CrossingThis is, like all the best ghost stories, a true and factual account of what happened in a house on Symon's Crossing, a quiet street in a town I shall not name...
It was a modest family house; two and a half stories, with an attic and a cellar, old creaking staircases that prevented the children from sneaking down for midnight snacks, and finely polished hardwood floors. The family who lived there had moved in five years prior to the start of this story, and were quite content--even Cecilia the oldest daughter, who at thirteen was developing a rather critical attitude. It was Cecilia who first encountered the ghost.
Cecilia was out in the backyard, slouching on a chair in the gazebo where she often went to get away from her noisy younger siblings, Oscar and Belinda; her diary was open on her lap, and she was thinking of a really crushing phrase to describe her parents' refusal to let her go to the local cinem
The CallerThe Caller
A poltergeist at my doorstep
Lo! When the night falls like a pall;
And not a living soul is about;
I hear loud footsteps outside my door,
And a voice calling, like a shout.
But, though it calls, it never calls to me;
It never calls my name.
Yet it seems to hover very near to my room,
And it unnerves me just the same.
Then its footsteps recede into the night;
And I can breathe once more.
But I vow to Heaven and to Earth,
To never again stand by my door.