.Org Mystery Writing Competition.

[King Henry V]

Ladies and Gentlemen, fellow .Organisms, I humbly present to you the .Org Mystery Writing Competition, with special thanks to Ludens for his approval and hopefully help. I know it is long past Hallowe'en, but since when has that stopped people having fun?
The idea of the contest is to write a story or lengthy caption which is spooky or that has something to do with the supernatural. As this is not an official contest, merely an officially approved competition, there is unfortunately no prize, just the satisfaction of winning the contest. Rather like Mastermind (without the glass bowl ).
However, since the prize is less, the rules will also be less stringent.
The Rules:
1) The submission must be completely original. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

2) The maximum number of words is 2000. Word processing programmes such as Microsft Word have a word wount option (you will probably find it under Tools).

3)Editing one's text will be allowed, but only if it is done before someone else posts their entry. We do not want any cheating going on.

4)The content and language of the entry must abide by the laws and customs of .Organia (i.e forum rules).

5) All patrons are allowed to take part in the contest.

6)One submission per member only.

The contest will be open for one week, from Wednesday 8th November to midnight GMT on Wednesday 16th November, after which the thread will be closed.
On Thursday 17th November a poll will be opened and will run for five days after which a winner will be announced.
I, as Master of Ceremonies, reserve the right to disqualify an entry if they break the afore mentioned rules of this contest. It's my perk for having come up with the idea for this type of contest.
Happy hunting.


Edit: As to the somewhat limited response, the contest will remain open until Monday 22nd November.

[Aenarion]

Hmmm, sounds interesting to me. Might take a try! Just wondering...do we post our stories here on this topic?

Thanks,
Aenarion

[King Henry V]

Hmmm, sounds interesting to me. Might take a try! Just wondering...do we post our stories here on this topic?

Thanks,
Aenarion

Yes, right here. It would be a bit hard for poor Ludens to run around all over the place closing the threads he thinks are the contest ones when the time comes.

[King Henry V]

Since Junior member cannot post in the Mead Hall, any who are interested could PM me with their story and will post it for them.

[Aenarion]

Thanks King Henry V for ur reply...I shall enter this challenge and should post my story by not later than this weekend...thanks!

[Kaiser of Arabia]

I'm prob. in, if I can find the time.

[edyzmedieval]

I'm probably in, if I can get my laptop back....

[King Henry V]

Everyone, if you are good enough to enter this competition, please say so in the Flash of Inspiration thread. This is supposed to be where the stories are posted.
Thank you.

[Ludens]

In order to kick this competition of, I am posting an sample story. As AM I cannot participate. It is not true horror, as that never has been my thing, but it contains some of the elements of horror. The structure is borrowed (again) from The Shadow One.

Any comment will be appreciated, though preferably through PM.

Good luck to all participants!


Afterwards

  “Paul! Paul! Have you found him?”
  “No! And keep your voice down.”
  “Then where is he?”
  “I don’t know. All these bodies look alike. Are you sure the captain fell here?”
  “Yes! Can’t we make a light?”
  “For God’s sake, Michael, keep your voice down! Light’d make the other looters spot us and with these uniforms on, we’re dead! Are you absolutely sure he fell here?”
  “Yes!”

  The regiment loaded their guns, listening nervously to the rumbling noises of the battlefield. On the other side of the field, the enemy cavalry lined themselves up for a charge.
  “Okay you bunch of cowards, listen up! We’re going to give them two volleys, one when they are far away and one when they are up close. Now I know all of you have the courage of a sick rat, but if we hit them at point blank range they’ll bolt like rabbits. So you are going to stand here no matter what, and give them that second volley! And remember that if any of you does decide to run, I’ll personally remove his guts with my sword!”
  In the distance, the enemy horsemen were cantering towards the regiment.
  The captain waited a moment and then shouted “Raise your weapon!”
  Fifty harquebuses were pointed at the horsemen.
  “Fire!”
  The blow of the volley was deafening. Smoke obscured the vision of the approaching cavalry.
  In apparent silence that followed the blast the captain’s voice could be dimly heard. “Reload your weapon!”  

  “Paul! Paul! We’ll never find him! Let’s get out of here!”
  “Shut up. The bastard’s got all our money. I am not leaving without it.”
  Michael anxiously watched a group of torches approach. They were probably carried by a band of looters of the other army. “They’re coming closer! Let’s get out!”
  “Shut up! If you’re such a coward, why did you want to come with me?”

  The thundering of the hooves drowned out all other sounds. Michael felt his heart beat like mad. With sweaty hands he put a bullet into the barrel of his gun and stamped it down.
  “Raise your weapon!”
  The ground seemed to shake under the weight of the horses as they charged towards the regiment.
  “Fire!”
  Michael closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The harquebus did not fire. But those around him did. The whole first line of horsemen was blown of their horses. But the second line charged on. Michael turned, and ran.  

  “Paul! They’re getting really close! We should – What the hell are you doing?”
  “Searching for their purses. What do you think?”
  “But that’s stealing of dead men!”
  “Better than stealing of live men. If I can’t get my money, someone else’s will do.”

  Michael heard shouts behind him as he ran, still clutching his harquebus. He kept running, looking over his shoulder to see the entire regiment being scattered by the horsemen. Then he tripped over something and he hit the ground hard.  

  The torches were getting uncomfortably close. Soon, their light would give Michael’s and Paul’s presence away to the looters.
  “Paul! We don’t even know if the captain’s dead! He may just have been wounded and crawled away.”
  “You said you saw him die!”
  “No! I said I saw him fall!”
  “Damn! Why didn’t you say so before? Let’s get out of here fast.”

  When Michael regained consciousness, the cavalry had passed him by chasing the remains of the regiment. He stood up unsteadily and picked up his gun.
  “Michael! You poxed coward!”
  Michael whirled round to see the captain running towards, sword drawn. In a reflex, he pulled the trigger of his harquebus.  

  For the second time that day, Michael and Paul ran away from the other army. Michael only stopped running when he reached the edge of the forest. That day the trees had saved them both from the cavalry’s sabres, now it saved them from the looters knives. Michael paused a moment to regain his breath, but when he looked up he could not breathe. Right in front of him stood the captain, sword raised, a bloody hole gaping in the middle of his breastplate. Michael went rigid, unable to move.

  When the smoke from the gunshot cleared, the captain was lying on the ground, his chest a bloody mess. In his right hand, he still clutched the sword. From his throat came a gurgling sound as he tried to lift his left arm.
  Michael threw away his gun, and ran.  

  The captain did not blink. He just stood there. Michael’s heart was beating so fast that it felt like it was about to explode. He had to breathe, so he coughed, but still the captain remained motionless.
  Slowly, very slowly, Michael brought his hand up and touched the captain’s armour. It did not feel like metal at all. The image of the captain faded. In its place stood an old and gnarled tree. Only with a great deal of imagination could the outline of a man with a sword be made out.
  Michael took a deep breath, and waited until his heart rate went back to normal.
  “I think we are safe here.” He said.
  There was no answer.
  “Paul?”
  Something creaked.
  “Paul? Where are you?” Alarmed, Michael looked around.
  Behind him, the leaves rustled.
  Michael whirred around, but was too late. The last thing he felt was a blade thrust in his belly.
  ...
  ..
  .