The end is a bit rushed because i didn't realise i was meant to write a short story not any story! I hope ytou still like it though! It's not very good.. Submitted by Ciara ( 53), age 12
I froze inside the bag in horror. Fear shot through me like a searing dagger. I felt the steady beat of the evil man’s footsteps thud against the ground. I tried to work out where we were going but I had lost my orientation in my panic. Instead I began crying, even with my mouth gagged my huge racking sobs pierced the air. I thought of my mum who will say ‘good morning’ to an empty bed, my dad who will frantically dial 999 and most of all my sister who will race around the house calling my name then sob on her bed. I felt a sharp jab in my side that broke my thoughts and a sharp pain rushed to my head that paralyzed me. I could no longer move a muscle. A shiver ran up my spine warning me that these men were powerful and dangerous men with absolute no mercy; not even to a 12 year old girl. Just my luck.
I fell with a thud on what seemed to be a hard van floor. A soft click of a door and I was locked in. Locked inside the blood- curdling place with two horrifying men who for all I know could be capable of murder. And these were the ‘happy’ thoughts that lulled me to sleep.
I got jolted awake by a thick hand shaking me and I happily realised I was no longer in a sack, gagged and bound by rope. Only a thin red line marked that they had ever been there. I daringly looked up to see the man who was keeping me hostages face. I jolted with surprise; it was not a ‘he’ at all it was a young women. Her pointy chin jutted out, her cat like eyes darted around the room. They came back to stare at me with what can only be described as venom. Her mouth was settled in a thin grim line and her nose was sharp and pointy as if it was impersonating a pencil. Her grim expression reminded me of the ice queen in ‘Narnia’. She raised her bushy eyebrows as if studying me the quickly and suddenly she slapped me, hard. My hand flew to my throbbing cheek as I yelped in pain and as quick as lightning she jabbed a sharp needle in my leg. I gasped at her in anguish and hatred.
“To distract you from the needle. You look like you would try to resist it” She said in a strong Russian accent to my questioning face. I gave a slight nod, but I was still wondering what was in the needle. A poison? As if reading my thoughts she said,
“ You’re tagged” My eye’s widened in horror as I realised this meant I couldn’t escape without cutting into my pink skin. I glanced around the room; 1 door, 0 windows, 1 bed and… that was it. In movies there would be a trapdoor or they would suddenly be able to do some amazing Kung Fu move or something. Which meant for me I might as well wait for someone to start chopping bits of me off and asking the government for a million pounds or something. I hope they choose the ‘something’.
Every day was the same. I woke from yet another torturous nightmare early in the morning. I was then given some tasteless bread and a glass of orange squash that gave me banging headaches for the rest of the day. A similar meal would be served for lunch and dinner, then I would have to force myself back to bed telling myself that tomorrow would be better than today. Occasional a visitor or the woman who kidnapped me would grace me with their presence. They usually sat in a corner for about ten minutes or so just staring at me with their deadly gaze. If looks could kill I would have been dead ages ago. I’m guessing I’ve been here for around ten, eleven days maybe more maybe less. To be honest I don’t think I cared anymore, I think I just wanted them to do something. In films sometimes the prisoner got killed, brainwashed or tortured. Me? I just got dirty looks and a worry that my heart rate was going ten times faster than normal. I yearned for something to happen or even better for a chance to escape. I can’t pretend I wasn’t scared though throughout these long hours of boredom. I felt as if I was living a ghastly nightmare. Every time I heard a creak of a floorboard the hairs on the back of my neck stood so high I thought they were going to take flight. My hand instantly balled itself into a fist when someone walked in and when they left I let go of my breath without knowing I was holding it in the first place. But even with these days of panic I wasn’t prepared for what my only chance of escape would be.
Sniff, sniff, sniff A burning aroma filled the room. Smoke seeped under the door, swirling around my feet grabbing at me. They were trying to burn me to death! My eyes were already stinging, my nose was stuffy I knew I didn’t have a lot of time before I would lose consciousness. I hammered on the door, “ Help, Help! Please! Help me! Please, please, please-” I burst into floods of sobs. Tears streamed down my cheeks as if I was a waterfall. My lungs cried with me screaming for air. I rushed forwards once, twice, three times but the door wouldn’t budge. I tried one more time pushing all my weight into it. Yes! I stumbled out of the room turning my head blindly. I clutched at the wall edging along it for support. There was a bright light at the end of the corridor. My tears were now caked to my skin. My feet were feeling numb. I dragged myself towards the wooden exit it felt as if the smoke was pulling me backwards like a strong currant. It seemed like forever but I finally reached the door. I yanked hard on it like my life depended on it, well it did. I burst out of the door and took desperate gulps of air. Gazed around at my surroundings. And then I remembered I had no idea where I was; how was I going to get anywhere without that tiny but of information. I felt a sudden rush of adrenalin and put one foot in front of the other and started walking, then running. I raced down the path that had been moulded into the grass and ran. I knew I had good stamina if I carried on running I would eventually end up somewhere. Wouldn’t I?
My story is nearly up and I only have one more thing to say really. Well two if you count what happened next. I did just what I said and I ran all the way to London, I was only about 6miles away after all! When I arrived I found an old woman who had seen me on the news. She sent me to the police and I was reunited with my ecstatic family. But, I won’t bother to tell you about that, because my point was I was never really missing. Yes, physically, I was missing but I would always be in everyone’s heart and minds for the rest of their life. My point is I wasn’t ever missing in fact being missing, I have found myself. Found that even when you’re stuck in a room with nothing but a creaky iron bed and a vile woman’s criminal eyes boring into you, you find the strength and hope within you.
I thought this was my story of being missing, but it wasn’t.
It was my story of being found.
Ciara says: Thank you!
Sent on Mon 28th May 12
Fay says: This is brilliant! And you're only 11 - WOW! XXFayXX
Sent on Fri 25th May 12
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Saturday 18th May 13
Too much enlarging in artists house.
How many people are looking at the site?
Monday 29th Apr 13
Unbelievable....nearly a quarter of a million pages looked at on PHMe last year!!
Monday 29th Apr 13
The Site has had its facelift.....
Sunday 16th Sep 12
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Praise for PHMe from English Heritage
Friday 13th Jul 12
The current English heritage e magazine contains great praise for one of our regular contributors, Harriet, and how their properties can provide inspiration for writing and artwork