Ghostly Youth Anthology: Volume One

By Plaisted Publishing House

Ghostly Youth Anthology is full of shocking surprises, hidden among nine short stories overflowing with exciting adventures, mysterious moments, and of course, ghostly encounters.

Sit back and enjoy the works of the ghostly rites crew - Natan Annabell-Hansen, Melaine Weiner, C Weave-Lane, Mary R Woldering, C A Keith, Mara Reitsma, Cathy-Lee Chopping, Michael Lynes, and Elizabeth Green

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plaisted Publishing House
• Release date: Oct 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005393205

Plaisted Publishing House

Plaisted Publishing House was founded in May 2014 due to the need of one author wanting to help others get their books formatted and out into the market. We will format most types of genres from childrens, adults and even family history books. Please feel free to contact us.The self-publishing service we run, shows good quality formatting and if an author wishes management of their profile on smashwords. Our costing are low and it will be a pleasure to work with youBelow are some web-links of one of our first author and founder of this business.You can now find us on Pintrest!http://www.pinterest.com/rotosis/plaisted-publishing-house-limited/

Book preview

Plaisted Publishing House Presents

Ghostly Youth Anthology

Ghostly Rites Crew

Copyright 2020 Ghostly Writers Group

All Rights Reserved

Plaisted Publishing House Ltd

License Notes

No part of this book may be reproduced,

scanned, or distributed to any printed or electronic form

without permission.

Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted

materials in violation of the author’s rights.

If you feel you have received a pirated copy

of this book, please remove it and purchase a copy legally.

www.plaistedpublishinghouse.com

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ISBN: 978-1-71664-213-5

Imprint: Lulu.com

First Edition 2020

Acknowledgements

A bit thank you to all our Authors for participating in this Anthology. Also a huge thanks to Melanie Weiner & Natan Anabel-Hansen our Teen Authors who joined us for the first time this year.

Thanks go to Mara Reitsma for preparing and organising all digital media, including the remake of the book cover, designing and making teasers & video

Original Book Cover Designed by K Mossman

Thanks also go to Cathy-Lee Chopping for Proofreading

Interior Design by Claire Plaisted of Plaisted Publishing House Ltd

Contents

Hands of Time

Blueberry Birthday

Camp Hogst

Retribution

The Call of the Elders

The Creature of Eternity

The Ghosts of Halloween Past

The Green Cabinet Door

The Cards Awakened

Outside My Window

Trees that Whisper

Author Links

Hands of Time

Hands of time tick by

Like whispers of things to come

Things that have been

Things that are

Long vines caress stone

In a loving embrace

As ghosts flicker on by

Lovers and fighters

Young and old

Leaving marks engraved

In ancient trees

And crumbling stone

The earth remembers

Even if humanity’s memory

Is gone

Kyrena Lynch

Blueberry Birthday

Michael Lynes

At the bottom of the garden, next to the great road and right in the middle of a thorny briar, there was an old abandoned bird nest. It was quite hard to see. Zoe had to stoop and scrunch in just the right way, but she was the right size for that. Her bright blue eyes had spied it that morning, bare toes squelching in the mud from last night’s rain, as she’d trodden towards the forest path to gather twigs for the cookfire.

She had smiled, because her mind had not been on birds, or finding nests. She was rather preoccupied, in fact. Her birthday was today, and she was very excited.

"How funny... she thought. Today, I shall be seven, and I’ve never been seven before! I wonder what Grandmother will give me for my present?"

Last fall, as the leaves had swirled and the ground frosted, sending the spiders deep into their tattered webs, she had remembered that this coming spring would be her Blueberry Birthday, and she had asked her then.

Grandmother…when the winter ends, and the bulbs swell and sprout from the damp earth, and my birthday comes…what gift will you give me?

The old woman had pretended not to hear. Grandmother, she had always called her, never Mother. She had lived with her in the Cottage of the Shining Glade since…since how long? Ever and ever and ever…her whole life, it seemed. But she knew that she was not her mother.

Stir the pot child! Grandmother had replied in a sharp tone. And mind that you pay attention to your work. The spring will come soon enough.

Grandmother almost never answered questions, and she never spoke to Zoe about her Mother. The few times that she had asked had been met with either stony silence or chiding. "But…I must have had a mother, she reasoned to herself as she went back to her task. She had seen kittens born, bunnies in their burrow, piglets and chicks in their nests, and all had had a mother. She shook her head, sending her golden curls flying. Everything else has one, so I must have had one too!"

The winter passed. Spring had come, and the days had grown warmer, but it had been a long cold season. The cupboards in the little cottage were bare, and naught but a few wrinkled apples and some sacks of half-moldy roots were left in the cellar. That morning Grandmother had risen with the dawn and sniffed the moist spring air, newly washed from the night’s rain.

Go, child, she had cried. Hasty now, and don’t be a wandering! I need sticks for the fire, short and dry. And do be quick!

Yes, Grandmother? she had said as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and blinking in the level beams of the dawn. She raised her chubby hand to cover her cherub lips as she smothered a yawn. Oh my! Has the rain stopped? She sprang up from the corner of the room where she had her nest of sacking and rags. She ran to the window, pressing her button nose against the dust-streaked pane, and brushing her hair from her forehead as she peered out into the rising morning mist. The rain-washed blue sky peeked through the low clouds that still clung to the upper boughs of the trees that surrounded the cottage.

The old woman’s home sat upon the eaves of the Forgotten Forest, near the crossing of the great Eastern Way and the long-disused North Road. In years past, traders used to travel through the forest, coming from the Coastlands. Their carts would trundle by during the summer season, laden with goods and trinkets as they made their way towards the Fairy City.

She remembered that the cartmen would avert their eyes, making signs with their fingers as they would hurry their horses past the cottage. And that they would never camp near.

Sometimes, after they passed by, Grandmother would leave her alone in the evening. When the morning came, she would be in a very happy mood, and she would sing strange songs and caper about. But that had been long ago when she was very small. She could not recall how many summers it had been since she had seen one coming from either east or west, and there had never been any from the north.

Never…never-ever-ever. she murmured, half sing-song as she gazed at the mist cloaked road. Her eyes traced its route into the swirling gray. A bright flicker within the mist caught her eye, drawing it onward. Into the wood… she whispered. Into…

Child!

She startled as Grandmother’s voice broke into her reverie. Dress now! Don’t dawdle and daydream as is your won’t! She turned, eyes widening as she caught sight of the old woman. Both of her gnarled hands gripped the heavy iron handle of her biggest stewpot. She groaned as she hung it on its hook over the dying embers. Come, come! The morning is wasting, and the fire is cold. Dress and fetch me my kindle.

She nodded, and wordless, she drew on her shift. Grandmother had been getting more and more cross of late. But no matter – it was her birthday, and the sun was up. Excited, she ran out of the door shoeless, not even stopping by the rain barrel to splash her face, and she smiled as she exited the shadow of the cottage rick and danced into the cool sunshine. "Perhaps Grandmother has a special surprise for me!" she thought. The pink of dawn matched her cheek as the fresh air enhanced its bloom.

She passed by the old nest and the briar that held it and continued on. She’d gathered up a few twigs, but she did not expect to find many along the path, not this close to the cottage. She had already picked them all during the winter. No, she would have to cross the open road and follow the winding deer-track into the forest. She shivered a bit as she paused beside the gully just outside the gate, looking in both directions along the dew-soaked road. The ancient throughway was level, hard-packed stones, and earth, with nary a cart-track in it. The old woman had told her stories of those who had built it long ago.

She noted that the mist clotted more thickly, and the cool breeze of morning was becoming chill. "I should have worn my boots! she thought. But it was too late now, her feet were already muddy, and even the hem of her shift was damp from dragging through the dead grass thickets. She clambered up the bank and continued on, collecting another twig as she came to the far side. The sedge grass was even higher, and she fancied she could hear a trickle from the ditch below. I’ll get soaked if I try to cross here. she murmured aloud. I’ll go down the road a bit, and see if there’s a drier spot."

She faced away from the dawn and walked on, keeping a sharp eye as she left the crossroads and came under the forest eaves. The shadows grew as the mist closed round, and her hair hung lank, chill upon her neck. The cottage disappeared into the gray gloom behind her. On her left, there was a break in the ragged wall of brush, a clear patch where she could see a faint track. She stepped into the gap, and as she did, the mist parted before her. A glimmer from above must have found its way through, and rosy-gold light filled the air.

Heartened, she continued, following the slanting beams, and as she came upon the familiar deer track, she smiled. The rain had brought down many small boughs, and she scampered along, filling her arms. At last, she paused.

"This will be enough. I’m hungry now, and I wonder what Grandmother has to cook? Maybe she will make me a honey-cake! she thought as her stomach rumbled. She turned, retracing her path, slowing her steps, and balancing so as not to trip. On either side of her, the boles of the trees were still clotted with mist, and she could not see under them, but the track was plain enough. She hummed a soft tune as she walked, looking for the bright opening that should mark the road. I must have gone further than I realised." she thought, as the track wound on without end. The mist, which had been lifting, seemed to close in once more, and she could hardly make out the trees. The path before her was hidden behind a gray wall, and she could hear nothing but the beat of her heart. She began to be afraid, when all at once, a golden glow began to fill the mist before her, reflecting from the wet fingers of brush and lighting the damp path.

Zoe! a soft voice called from the distance, high and faint. Where are you? Zoe! She began to run, heedless of her burden. Here I am, Grandmother! she cried. I am coming!

She raced along the path, which began to slope downhill. "I don’t remember thi…" she was thinking as her feet skidded on the wet leaves and flew out from under her. She threw her arms wide, twigs scattering in all directions as the path plunged, and she tumbled headlong into the golden light.

She rolled and sat up, blinking. She was near the bottom of a green sided hollow. The sky above was bright blue, giant mushrooms grew on either side of the grass-covered path, and tiny bell-shaped flowers nodded in the breeze between them. Ouch! she cried aloud, rubbing her elbow. Her brows rose. Why…this is a fairy-circle!

Yes.

The voice sounded high and clear, and its words seemed to form within her ears. Who’s there? Her breath came short, and her voice was soft with wonder. Her eyes searched the green dell, seeing no one.

I am here! said the voice with a laugh. Her eyes widened as one of the blue-bells twinkled. Its flower-petal head turned up, becoming a cap. Bright green eyes regarded her, above a merry smile in a pixie face topped with locks of silver-blue hair. Its green leaves lengthened, becoming a spring frock that wrapped around its elfin body.

The flower-person stepped forward, holding a short silver rod, and then made a deep bow. Dimplebright, at your service, my princess, she said as she made a right courtesy.

Zoe stared, unable to make sense of the apparition. The fairy continued as though she had replied in kind. It is my great honor to meet with you, at last, my fair Zoe! We have been searching for you all your life, but only now, with your powers rising, were we able to penetrate the binding spell and locate you. Her expression became thoughtful. We do not have much time. Today is your birthing day, and the Witch will be wondering what has become of you. But we may have enough.

Zoe shook her head once. Her limbs felt light, and her head was buzzing. "How does this creature know my name? she thought. She isn’t a witch, she began to say, she is my Grandmother, and. . ." but the sprite cut her off.

"She is not your Grandmother, she is your jailor! She replied, with a stamp of her foot. She tucked the silver rod in her belt and placed her hands on her hips. Oh, you poor thing! You have been trapped in this terrible dull world for almost all your existence." A shining tear formed in her eye, sparkling like a jewel.

"You are Princess Zoe Starstorm, the daughter of Kedrin Starstorm, the Fairy King. Your mother is dead, captured by this foul sorceress, and eaten after she had birthed you, her only child. She stepped closer, and Zoe gasped as her wings unfolded, transparent and tinged with rainbows, like those of a summer dragonfly. Oh! she cried as the fairy fluttered into the air, hovering before her and staring into her eyes as she continued. There is no time to explain. But you must try to understand. Today, on your seventh birthday, as the full moon rises, your powers will awake! The Witch knows this. Even now, she plans to cook your flesh and nobble your bones." Her eyes grew wide as Zoe sprang to her feet.

No! she cried, and fear made her voice piercing. Grandmother warned me against the Fairy Folk. You seek to enchant me and take me away! I will not go!

The fairy’s brows lowered. You must! The Witch plans to kill you this day. And you cannot run from her, for she is swift beyond measure. The only way is . . . She drew her silver wand, and its tip brightened into a scintillating star. She raised it high.

Zoe! The harsh voice of Grandmother resounded in the air, breaking the circle. What ails you child! she cried, her voice echoing and re-echoing within the glade. Zoe’s heart leapt, beating like a drum in her chest.

I must go! she cried. She shied away from the fairy, ducking her head, and gathering up her scattered sticks. A long shadow fell upon her from above. She looked up.

Grandmother stood at the lip of the hollow, her back to the risen sun. In one hand, she clutched her crooked staff of yew, and she sniffed the air, snuffling like a bloodhound.

Ah! There you are. she cried, her voice harsh. Come away from this place, you dratted whelp! Her fingers clutched onto Zoe’s shift as she staggered out of the dell.

G-g-grandmother…th-thank you! she said as the old woman dragged her upright. I was gathering sticks, and I got lost in the fog. she continued with trembling lips. Then I fell down and bumped my head. Her voice died as the old woman held her in her gaze for a breathless moment, and then she nodded, still keeping hold of the girl’s shift.

You should be more careful. . . she growled. There are many strange creatures that live in the forest, and the mist is a tricky thing. Zoe nodded but made no reply.

Together they marched down the mist-shrouded trail, and before long, the light grew once more. The road appeared out of the swirling gray, and she could see the bramble-fence and the cottage beyond. As they entered, and the gates closed behind them, a sudden shiver came over her. The witch was aware in an instant.

Are you well, child? she hissed, placing a sere hand upon Zoe’s forehead. Yes…yes, Grandmother, she replied in a soft whisper. I am just hungry.

The old woman favored her with a tight smile. Why do you imagine I sent you for the kindling? she laughed. I must start the fire. Soon our bellies will be full to bursting. She cackled again, and Zoe’s blood ran cold. She gestured with her staff. Now, scamper! Give me the twigs, and fetch me three buckets of clear water. She nodded as Zoe passed her the bundle of faggots. Quick now! I must get the pot hot, and the morn is a-wasting.

Grandmother stood, watching her as she drew on her boots and picked up the oiled leather bucket. Zoe could feel her gaze on her back until she turned the corner of the cottage, heading for the rain-barrel. She drew the water, taking care not to slop it all over. The bucket banged against her shins as she carried it back to the kitchen.

Good. the old woman murmured. Pour it into the pot, dear, and fetch two more. Zoe’s eyes widened as she noted the cleaver and skinning knives on the board, but she continued at her task. The water sizzled as it hit the hot iron.

Her heart was pounding as she made her way out to fetch the second bucket. "Grandmother is a witch!" she thought. "But how can I…?"

Hisst! Zoe!

Zoe’s head snapped up. She looked in all directions, seeking the soft voice, but saw nothing. I can’t see you, she whispered as she stooped over the barrel.

I am hidden. There is no time to explain. You are in great danger, Princess. The Witch has closed her gates. Only my spirit can enter.

I have seen the pot and the knives. her voice choked. Oh, Dimple…can I not run?

There was a pause. No, there is no escape from within her hedge. The fairy’s voice was filled with anguish. Zoe, she needs your essence to restore her evil life. She weakens, and since all have shied away from this place for many years, she has had nothing to reverse her decay. There is but one thing that can kill her. . .

Zoe!

She startled, terrified by the witch’s cry. Grandmother stood in the doorway. Who are you talking to? she screeched, advancing forward. Zoe shook her head, too terrified for speech. N-n-no-one. . . she stuttered at last, as the witch loomed over her. She laid a claw on her shoulder and pushed her aside. Peering behind the water cask and snuffling like an enraged bull. I saw you! she shrieked. "Saw and heard.