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1.

DESCRIBE A HAUNTED HOUSE



Number 9 deadly street - the place of tears, fright and fears! Anyone that walks into this place never
walks back out, and that's all we know about this deserted land.

It was Saturday 17th July, the day my life changed, and the sun was shining beautifully. I looked all
around me and saw nature's beauty showing off its magnificent colours.

I was nearing deadly street when I saw a change in nature; the sky began to turn grey and not long
later did it begin to threaten all that was beneath it with its impenetrable lightning. The gates of 9
deadly street shot open giving me a sudden shock. I was scared, frightened, horrified and I had no idea
what to do. As I dealt with the fear in my head, I felt something pulling me towards the house - Was it
my curiosity? Was it the house? Or was it something else?-I really did not know.

I was at the door of the house, as I lifted my finger towards the doorbell I heard a shriek from inside
the house. It was like the house was calling me in. So I slowly opened the creaky door - it felt wet and
dirty and the handle was hanging off by one screw. When the door was fully opened I felt a dreadful
smell rush by my nose, it was like one hundred rotten corpses. The smell was disgusting. I did not
want to keep on going but I felt as though I had no choice, so I entered the house. I was shaking with
fear inside, my blood was rushing through my veins and I felt my temperature rising. My face was
drowning in my own sweat, my eyes could not stop moving they were looking everywhere with fear
that someone may have been watching. I had never been so scared in my life; I had just realised why it
smelt so revolting - I was standing in a graveyard...

Everyplace in sight was covered with dead bodies, there were piles of them; their blood was the red
blanket that enveloped the floor. I felt sick. Making sure my feet would not touch the corpses or
skeletons, I continued my ghastly journey.

All that was in sight was a damp, old looking door at the far end



2. I am going to write about my many memories of Mill Hall Primary School and my operation. I am
also going to write about my relationships with my family and pet cat Cedric.

I remember leaving my family and moving to Newbury with terrible, tearful goodbye when I had to
stay at Mill Hall. My relationship with my family was very strong and it was the first time that I had to
slip steadily away from my closely connected family. Have you ever had to do anything like that? I
shouted 'No! No! No!' to my parents because I felt miserable, mournful and melancholy when I was
told that it was a boarding school because I had never stayed there before, this was totally terrifying.

On the first day of the winter season, I travelled by taxi to Mill Hall, upon arrival I immediately saw an
enormous building surrounded by ivy covered walls. As the car stopped, I imagined it wheezed its
deathly cough probably from its sorry engine. I suddenly took a quick glance at a large, ligneous door
in the middle of the building which looked like it had been locked for centuries. My curiosity was quite
overpowering. I wanted to know the deepest secrets of this mysterious mansion. My taxi driver
shouted 'We're here!' I stepped out of the car as slowly as I could and I could feel the wind howling its
mighty objection. As the winter fell, I noticed the trees, as tall as a giraffe, found themselves wearing a
white snow coat. I saw the birds flying; they were probably tweeting loudly in early bright morning
sun.

I then picked up my suitcase, struggling, as if it weighed a ton. I rang the bell. 'Ding' No answer 'Ding'.
The door protested as I opened slowly and the creaking noise tried to whisper to me but I didn't reply.
Inside the reception room, the silence crept into the hall and it smelt stale. My eyes were widely
opened and were looking around inside the building that looked scary, spooky and strange. The carpet
was dark red and the polished, peculiar wood panels covered the walls from floor to ceiling with the
exception of large windows. I looked closely towards the clock tower that was ticking irregularly; it
stared intensely at me in eagerness to find out who I

3. Describe a person you admire.

Though I have lived a colourful and varied life, the event which had the greatest effect on my well-
being was the day I came of age, for it was on this day that it had been arranged that I should be told
that my father was a loaf of bread.

It was a shock at the time and I still believe that my mother could have waited until my birthday
guests had left before she told me, but looking back on it today I can see that I should really not have
been so surprised after all. Dad had always been small in stature and concealed himself with heavy
clothing, and sometimes I would find crumbs where he had been sitting. However, in my childish
naivety, I attributed this behaviour to eccentricity and never asked him about it.

Other clues that I can see with the benefit of hindsight are numerous. Birds were always fond of him,
and he would always refuse to sit by the fireside. What a fool I was not to have read the signs. Surely
nothing else could account for his love of butter, but in my youthful ignorance I never made the
obvious connection.

Finally knowing his secret has affected me profoundly. Where as before I could badger him incessantly
insisting that he come into the swimming pool instead of staying dry by the side, I now know how
better to accommodate for him. It is a tribute to his strength of character that he never wavered in his
good humour during these times.

Situations such as these were not only limited to affecting him exclusively, however. It is with no small
amount of shame that I admit to being so insensitive as to repeatedly use the phrase 'born and bred'
in conversation with my mother, even though she would burst into tears every time. It is only now
that I appreciate the tension and difficulty that my father's condition must have caused.

When I was first told of his problem, I viewed it in a shamefully negative light. I was at first
dumbstruck, and when he lifted his hat and I saw the crust for myself and I ran from the room in
confusion. I did not

4. A Foreboding Night

Ian sat on the curb, his hands buried deep inside the pocket of his jeans. Puddles of rain filled the gaps
between the uneven concrete, reflecting the eerie glow of the streetlamps. The oppressive night air
never failed to release its grasp on him. The hairs on his arm tingled as the chilling wind breathed into
his face, whispering unnerving secrets into his ear. He glanced at his wristwatch. At last, with its
headlights flashing, a taxi broke through the end of the street. Ian sprang up and waved frantically at
the car. The tires screeched as it skidded to a halt.

Ian opened the door and felt a rush of relief as he plopped himself onto the worn-out leather seat. A
faint yellow glow emanated from the lights on the peeling ceiling. The taxi driver peered at him
through the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, devoid of all emotions. "Where to?" he rasped.
Ian glanced around uneasily. "Where do you want to go?" the driver repeated. The harshness of his
tone struck Ian into silence. His throat felt tight as he struggled to think of a place. Sweat began to
trickle down his neck. Something wasn't right.

Trees, bushes, and streetlamps whirred by as the car sped along the streets, its headlights piercing
through the wilderness of night like the eyes of a wolf. Spilling out its light onto the ribbon of slick
concrete, the crescent moon followed the car and never left it out of its gaze, despite the car trying to
outrun it. Streetlamps stood tall and wary along the street, some barely able to keep hold of their
flickering lights. Far behind the car a stray cat stepped onto the pavement, as if it could smell the
loneliness emitted by the gloomy roads.

Ian leaned against the window of the car, his arms folded tightly across his stomach. The fear that tied
his gut in knots crept up slowly, tickling its way up to his neck. That pair of eyes shot at him again
through the mirror. Now his fear rolled up furiously inside him like a tsunami. An image of him
sprawled out in the open, blood spilling out of his open flesh and seeping into the cold cement flashed

5. (Descriptive Writing) Describe the sights and sounds of a market place

It was past 5:30pm and was almost getting dark. We had run down like hooligans which made us
breath so heavily after we arrived. All the stalls were open now, lit with their lanterns, lamps and
hanging bulbs that attracted a lot of mosquitoes and other flying insects. There were lots of pigeons
on top of the opposite building and you could hear the constant cawing of the crows. We stood at the
edge of the left hand side road as people passed by. The noises were very loud; people talking in all
sorts of languages, the daily noise of traffic, constant horns of cars and buses. Both of us were a bit
dazed with what we were actually sent down for and got back to work as it hit us.

First we walked by a women in an old yellow sari who was sitting on her plain mat on which she had
laid out all her vegetables. She shooed the flies every now and then which sat on her vegetables. We
glared at the list in my hand that read "4 good tomatoes and potatoes". We hardly searched for the
good ones the women was already set to it and asked us how many. Her hands were dark and wrinkly
as you could see the faintly visible tattoo on her arm which kept reappearing as she picked out the
best potatoes and tomatoes. She handed us the blue plastic bag in which she had just put the
vegetables in. She smiled and you could see her wrinkly face twist and her broken brown teeth glow.

We passed a couple of stalls this time; vegetables, fruits. We were told to look for the one with the
number 4 on it and so we did. There it was before us his standing one man shop. He was selling fruits;
bananas, mangoes and oranges in particular. We told him we wanted 6 oranges and a bunch of
bananas. He went right to it wearing a white shirt and grey pants and slippers, he assembled the items
and put them in a bag which was re-checked by a younger boy who was probably about 10 years old,
wearing shorts a shirt and some slippers. He asked us if we were from here...we lied and quickly
carried on ignoring

6. The well sparkled in the moonlight. The bucket was heavy, but that compensated for the hard and
tiring work I had done in the factory. The water was cool on my lips which was contradicted the heat
in the shack. I closed my eyes, and heaved a sigh. Sheila once told me how she dreamed of one day
going to Mumbai to go to study and making her parents proud. She always wondered if her parents
were alive, they would be proud of her or not. This thought never left my mind. At the end of the
bucket, the magical moment of freedom will be lost and back in the shack again.

'BOOOOOOMM!' the peace of the night was broken, pandemonium, pieces flying everywhere. The
grandiose flames rose up, lay a beast within the earth, accompanied by an aura of smoke. Before I
knew it the smoke encompassed me, like a tornado. I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe, I ran, ran far
away, ran away from this lunacy. Running, running for my life but then I stopped. Sheila!

My fear had vanished. I lost all sensation. I froze. I turned and ran towards the scorching conflagration.
I ran towards the ferocious beast of fire and grime. Sheila, Sheila, Sheila. That was the only thought in
my mind. The deafening noise of crackers, which was the only thing I could hear, seemed to roar in my
ear. The fire stood like an unbreakable wall between Sheila and me. I couldn't do anything. All I could
hear were screams and shrieks. I knew I had to save Sheila but wondered how to. This fiend was
smoldering away my only support. "Sheila Sheila, I'm coming for you, hold on." I took a deep breath
and prepared myself to enter the vicious inferno that might even absorb me in the bargain, but
nothing could stop me from saving Sheila. I could feel my heart beating in my mouth as I prepared to
go in. My life flashed before my eyes but my fear just disappeared when I heard a cry. "Save me
someone please!" I knew that was Sheila and thought no more about myself but only about Sheila.

7. A slave's Diary

Day 1

The worst possible has happened I have had my home stricken from me by a white skinned demon
and am now delimited to a water bound hell. Each lapping wave from the tempestuous sea that
carries us to our unknown destination takes a small part of my resolve in its wake. I am fettered to a
long pole and my movements are restricted by a chain which runs through the various binds of my
neighbours. Once the white men took one of our number out of this place, although I think that it is
not out of any form of kindness as he came back pained the smell of burning flesh following close
behind. I sit here next to members of the mugimbi tribe and as such there is not much for
conversation; the chafing of my binds burns me just as many a question burns my mind. What is this
place? Why are we here? Is this hell? Am I dead? I hope that the answers will come to me before long
because I sense that I will not be leaving this place soon.

Day 12

I am still locked in this place. It has become difficult to distinguish night from day, to distinguish the
smell of decay emitting from the first of our number to pass away, mostly children, and the smell of
our own excrement. But it is not the smell that bothers me it is the cacophony of children's screams
and women's cries, this is inhuman! These white men must come from hell. It has become unbearable.
If I do not leave this place soon then I shall truly lose what little sanity I have been able to rescue from
the abominable power of the waves. I have yet to be taken out and burned by the hand of the white
demon, it is happening more frequently now, as if they do this to us in order to pass the time.
Monsters. Recently I have found a form of salvation. It was so obvious I cannot believe it took me up
to this point to realise it. We could call upon the Gods through tribe song. Prayers must not have been
heard but when we sing I can feel the power of the Gods flow through me once more.

8. You have been stranded on a desert island. Describe your first 24 hours alone on the island.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. Even before I opened my eyes, I knew where I was. The
tantalizing scent of washed-up waves and bananas all rolled into one. I felt the millions of grains of
sand, hot against my fingers and the cool breeze against my face, - a relief from the sweltering sun. I
heard the sea crawling onto the sand and, further away, the same monster dashing against the rocks.
As I opened my mouth to take in a gulp of air, I tasted salt in my throat. Not the same taste as on
Brighton Pier, when you look over into the sea, but a fresh, clean one, as if taking in pure oxygen. Only
then, when my four other senses had taken in their share of my surroundings, did I allow myself to
open my eyes.

I was amazed at how easily fantasy and reality intertwined at that moment. It was like continuing a
dream after waking up. As I lifted my eyelids, as the barrier between my imagination and actuality was
removed, the accuracy of my prediction astounded me.

As I sat up and looked around, I realized that I must have been asleep for a long time, as my sopping
wet clothes were completely dry. I could just see the island on which I had been staying, a strip of land
on the contrasting horizon. The rubber dinghy, my means of travel, was almost flat now, having
carried my body weight so far across the sea. This place, where I had ended up, was the best case
scenario. I didn't really have any idea where I wanted to go, but anywhere was better than that resort.
You know when you see holiday disaster programs on television about families who had to stay on a
building site or put up with drunken neighbors? Well think of those and imagine it ten times worse. I
hadn't bargained for a brothel as an apartment building or Ibiza style clubs, it was pretty much my
idea of hell. When I let myself drift away on the inflatable, all I could think of was the peace and quiet
of somewhere like

8.


Prepositions: on top, surrounding, next to, below, beside, above
Nouns: coffin, grave, spooky tree, terrifying skull cave, evil crow, owl, a witch, broom, black cat, castle
Other words to help: Clanked, clouds, creepy, crept, dark, dismal, eerie, gloomy, grim, lurked, oozed,
rattled, shivered, slimy, howling
If you want you can use my idea to help you start. Copy and past into the blog or use your
own brain and your own ideas!
Mr Brown stood petrified at the end of long, cobbled pathway. The howling wind shivered down his
spine as he stared at the terrifying site in front on him. On top of the gloomy mountain was a haunted
house filled with evil white ghosts, floating around the outside. Surrounding it was a spooky village
with

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