Ghost Stories at Arnold Hill

13 May

Last week at Arnold Hill, we played a bit of Story Tennis, in groups of three.

(For those who don’t remember, Story Tennis is a narrative-generating workshop exercise Ioney posted up a while ago)

Tonight, I realised that I still had one groups stories in my bag. I quite liked them, so thought I’d put them up here. Each of the following stories has three authors, who followed on from one another. Ghosts were not a pre-determined theme but do seem to play a prominent role.

As always, give us your thoughts.



Pablo the Llama

Pablo the Llama is really obnoxious. He is just an average llama. However, he places himself above all other llamas. He is plain white, just like most llamas really. He just strolls around fields in Derbyshire all day, demoralising the other llamas.

However, today was not like every day for poor Pablo. As he awoke, nose high in the air, above all the other llamas, he was greeted by an unusual sight. All of Pablo’s fellow llamas had gathered in a straight line across the centre of the field. The largest llama, Barry, kicked all of Pablo’s possessions (mainly just llama food) until they lay at Pablo’s feet. It was clear to see what was going on. His fellow llamas were sick of being downtrodden and had kicked Pablo out of the field.

The farmer saw what was going on. The farmer himself was sick of Pablo. He was kind enough to let him live when he found him in bed with his wife. Now, feeling sorry for Pablo, who was about to take a bloody beating, the farmer aimed the shotgun at his head. With a thud, Pablo fell to the ground but his soul rose above him. He felt empty, which is usual for a ghost.

As he began to float upwards towards what was supposedly llama heaven, Pablo laughed. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I’m above all the other llamas!’ Suddenly, he was not floating. He was plummeting straight into Llama Hell.

Well, Llama Hell was not how Pablo had expected it would be. Rather than a burning pit, he was faced with a larger monstrosity. All he could see for miles was rough, red brick. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, everything! How Pablo had entered, he did not know, as there didn’t appear to be any opening. No food, no friends, no water, nothing!

‘Hey friend!’

Pablo turned around and before him was a llama but with devil horns.

‘If you want to escape you must change, become one of your other llamas, a friend, someone loved.’ The devil smiled with pointy teeth. Pablo wanted to get rid of this terrible world of brick.

‘Okay, anything, what do I have to do?’

The devil smiled.

‘Wake up.’

Lewis the Ghost

There is a ghost called Lewis Tanker. He is stuck in a world where only few people can see him. He’s quite an average height and has curls, dark brown curls. He’s a handsome lad and is only 22. He was murdered because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s in love, but she’s alive and he’s not. She had some feelings for him but banished them when he died. He has green eyes the colour of ivy. He’s in London, looking for the girl he loves who’s gone travelling. He’s from New York.

Travelling through London, he searches high and low but he can’t seem to find her. He finally arrives at the flat they planned to move in to, only to find she’s with another man, his arch enemy Henry.

Henry wasn’t any normal enemy though – Henry was a ghost hunter. Lewis felt instantly angry. How could she fall in love with the one being who would do anything to abolish him? Well, Lewis wasn’t having any of that. He stormed (as much as a ghost can storm) around London, trying to seek inspiration for a revenge. That’s when he bumped into Simon – a fellow ghost who often attended Lewis’ death day bashes. Simon gave Lewis an idea for revenge.

‘Resurrection,’ Simon said. He told Lewis it was the only way in which he could have revenge. However, the only place known to have the power to bring back the dead was all the way in Transylvania, and the witch who did it only did it for a special reason. Also, Simon said that it was probably a myth, otherwise he wouldn’t be a ghost.

Lewis considered this news. He’d made up his mind.

‘I really can’t be bothered to travel to Transylvania,’ he thought, ‘so instead I shall haunt Henry for the rest of eternity!’

At first his idea was successful. But how could Lewis expect Henry, the pro ghost hunter, not to notice he was being haunted? The mere details of the battle between them are too awful to write. So let’s just say, Lewis no longer has to worry about who the love of his life is into . . . he’s too busy trying to escape from the vacuum cleaner.

Dave’s Motorbike

Long brown hair scraped up into its usual ponytail, Dave pulled on his big clumpy boots and slumped down the stairs into his hall. Around three years ago, Dave had had the brainwave to turn the downstairs of his house into a cafe. Around six months afterwards, he realised that it hadn’t been so much of a brainwave as a silly idea which resulted in him having little to no money and being stuck in a grotty area, full of grotty people who had grotty, half-started businesses in the downstairs of their houses.

His motorbike was leant against the wall of the downstairs cafe. Unlike the last one, Dave now had another brainwave which for once was a good idea. He had emptied his house of everything of value (which was little) and had taken it to the nearest pawn shop. Now, with just enough money, he planned to travel across the world. He wheeled the bike into the bright sunshine. He was off to India.

He had arrived. Looking around, he was flabbergasted by the strange sights and sounds that surrounded him. Then he saw her. The old lady was staring at him. He stood transfixed as she hobbled over to him. She grasped his hand in her own and pressed into it a small, rusty key.

‘But, what on earth?’ Dave stammered, looking down at the key. However, when he looked up again, the old woman had gone. Re-mounting his motorbike, key in his pocket, he made it his plan the lock to match this key. With no idea where to start, and factor 50 sun cream smeared across his big, pale arms, he set off on his hunt.

He found the place. It had helped that the key had ‘imaginary possibilities’ written on it. The place was an underground building but Google Maps still knew about it. He flicked a switch. His motorbike thrived. And with that, it jumped on him, crushing him with one blow. Poor Dave. He didn’t stand a chance. He died in hospital three days later. Some say his ghost is still searching for the key. Others say he’s dead. Who knows? Personally, I just think he’s dead.


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