Congratulations to Ellen Jardine in Year 10 who has won The Times Goosebumps competition. She beat 400 other entries when her story was chosen by RL Stine, the author of the Goosebumps books. Ellen wins £100 of books for herself, a camera and headphones. The school also receives a box of books.
Entrants had to complete The Ghost Car story started by RL Stine. Here is Ellen’s winning entry:
The Ghost Car by Ellen Jardine
To my horror, I quickly realised that none of these ‘decisions’ were really mine to make. My foot was swiftly pulled down on to the clutch as I felt my hand push the car into gear. It roared ferociously as it sped out from behind the garage. I felt it rock and shake with laughter as it hit Ashley, who was still only feet away. I heard her scream in agony as she fell to the ground. I screamed too, but no sound came out.
The old car had sprung to life with shocking energy and it now raced urgently towards the open road. I was terrified and powerless, but I was not driving this car, it was driving me! My hands, feet and torso felt cemented in place; only my eyes were free to wander around the steel cell in which I was now imprisoned.
A cacophony of hums and purs escaped the newly resurrected engine and they echoed in my ears. I could feel them like loud heartbeats throb inside my head. It felt as if they were trickling down my throat towards my body and trembling heart. As the speed of the car increased, I felt myself grow weak.
My eyes fell desperately to the dashboard. The heavy dust had blown away, and what I had assumed was old leather stretched across it, was in fact, human skin. The stained and torn seats dripped with blood and fingernail fragments. My stomach lurched and twisted at the thought.
“Very clever Ben,” the voice from before hissed, “Very observant”. The voice was malevolent but intoxicating. Every word seemed to be thirstily absorbed by my skin. A strangled sound fell from my lips, but I still could not move.
As my thoughts slowed down and my mind became less foggy, I understood why Grandpa wouldn’t touch this car. It had enchanted him, and now it had taken me. As the miles increased I realised that I was never getting out of the car. I would never see Mum, Dad, Grandpa or Ashley again. Though perhaps “I” was the wrong word…
I was no longer pushing down on the accelerator…. My eyes were no longer looking around the car, my hand was no longer gripping the gear stick, my eyes couldn’t see the skin on the dashboard…
My leg had morphed into the accelerator, my eyes were the headlights, my hand was the gearstick, it was my skin stretched across the dashboard. The rips and the stains and the tears were all mine.
I was the car. I am the car.
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