The Children in the Garden (Sunday Mercury 'Chiller' Competition)

This was written for the Sunday Mercury, a newspaper published in the West Midlands. My late grandparents, like the rest of my family, were extremely supportive of my decision to write full-time, and were always presenting me with outlets I might like to try and get published through.

The Mercury were after stories of 500 words with a "chilling" theme, and I had three really good ideas which I subsequently submitted. One Monday night when my sister and I were visiting them (it was always Mondays), they opened up yesterday's newspaper, and there in the middle was one of my chillers. I was amazed. I can't recall if that was my first post-university printed publication, but it must have been close if not. It was called 'Hole in the Wall', and I was chuffed.

The Mercury published all three of my stories on their website, which sadly can no longer be found. Here is one of them, probably my favourite of the three, because it is so close to a feeling I myself had. My grandparents used to live in a huge, crumbling house in Aldridge made of Stafforshire blue brick. It's a listed property now. When I was growing up, I couldn't stand the place. It had for me an eerie feeling - I would never go upstairs, struggled to spend the night, and more than once ran in from the toilet at the end of the verandah screaming about some ghoul in the darkness. At the bottom of the garden, there was a tree with a buried well underneath it. Whether there was or whether there wasn't, I was never sure, but they moved in 1994 and I think I'm the only person on the planet who was happy.

The Children in the Garden

By Chris Stanley

   ‘Can I go outside and play, Mum?’
   ‘If you want to. But don’t make a lot of noise.’
   Ben was visiting his grandparents. They owned an old blue-brick house on the outskirts of town. How long it had been there Ben couldn’t say, but his grandparents were old too, so it must have been a long time.
   He collected his football, and began kicking it up against the fence. The best thing about the house was the huge lawn; he dreamt of being a footballer and playing on a proper football pitch. 
   But Ben didn’t like the house much. It was cold, and creaked too much. When everyone was sleeping off their dinner, Ben would explore. The front room was full of china and never used; if you stamped on the floor you could hear the echo in the cellar below. 
   One place Ben never went was upstairs. He’d stood at the bottom many times, looking up into the gloom. But after two or three steps he’d feel panic. It was almost as if he was being held back by something. He was grateful for the summer, when he spent as much time as he could out in the huge garden. He was safe here, and wouldn’t come in until it was time to go home. 
   Lining up a shot, he felt a tap on the shoulder. It was a boy of his age, standing next to a weaker-looking girl. Ben guessed they must be brother and sister. He’d never seen them before, but his grandparents weren’t friendly with their neighbours.
   ‘Hello,’ said Ben, idly rolling the ball.
   ‘Would you like to play with us?’ said the boy. ‘We’re ever so lonely.’
   ‘That depends. I’ll just ask my Mum.’
   They looked frightened. ‘No, please don’t! If our parents find us, we’ll be in terrible trouble.’
   Ben decided they couldn’t be much harm. ‘Okay,’ he replied, ‘but I don’t play with strangers. I’m Ben; what are your names?’
   The two children were called Jim and Betty. They looked strange to Ben, with clothes he’d never seen; a flat cap and dungarees for him, and a grey dress for her. They wouldn’t play football. Instead they seemed nervous and tired.
   He’d chase them, laughing, but they didn’t seem to enjoy it. He followed them into a group of trees. He was having so much fun he didn’t notice the ground beneath him give way.
   Ben was covered in dust. He looked up; there was a circle of light above him. He felt the tap on the shoulder again. 
   ‘Did you fall in, too?’ asked Ben.
   ‘Yes,’ they replied.
   ‘We’ll have to shout for help.’
   ‘No,’ cautioned Jim, his eyes lighting up for the first time. ‘They’ll find us then.’
   ‘But, we want them to find us, don’t we?’
   ‘We’re playing a game,’ said Betty timidly. ‘If they find us, we’ve lost.’
   Ben felt a chill go through him. ‘What game are you playing?’
   They answered together again. ‘Hide and seek.’