Annual Ghost Story Competition

In the beginning I saw her only in my dreams. I would lay my head down on the pillow at night and close my eyes to sleep. Many times I could not go to sleep. Many times I would lay awake and stare up at the dark, dark roof. It was dark like the night sky. But there was no moon and no stars in it. And then I would think how dark is the world. In the morning I would be very tired.
But sometimes, because I was very tired, I would fall into a deep sleep straight away and that is when she came.
Always it would be the same. Always she would wear the same dress. It is a red dress and over it she wears a bright yellow cardigan. The colours suit her dark skin very well and she is very pretty, this little girl, although she does not smile. I do not know why she doesn’t smile.
It is morning now and I get out of my bed. I look in the mirror. I see a dark face. It does not smile. I do not know why it does not smile.
Sometimes I wonder why I dream of this little girl. What does she want I ask myself. Why does she come to look at me? I am not so very special.
And then one night, in my dream, she speaks to me she asks me who I am. In the morning I am upset because I do not know the answer to this question. And then I think, when the Red Cross man comes I will ask him. He is my friend. Perhaps he will know. And this makes me feel better.
My name is Claudette. I am sixteen years old. I am a refugee. I have lived here, in this city of tents, for ten years. My friend does not know where my family is. But as I did not know I had a family this does not count. I like my name, I am happy to be called Claudette.
Who gave me this name? I lie on my bed and I think about this all day.
The next time that I dream about my little girl, she calls me by my name. She says ‘Claudette, you must get up, you must stop lying in this bed it is not good.’
So I think, she knows my name now. But I do not know hers. And how can I ask, ‘what is your name?’ when she is only a dream.
After this I see her in my mirror also. This changes things. This makes her real, except that nobody else can see her. I believe now that she is a ghost child. She is standing just behind my left shoulder. I turn around very quickly but she has gone. I think she must be very shy…or perhaps very frightened.
So now I pretend that I also do not see her and I think, because of this, she follows me around everywhere I go. Soon I will be able to ask her, ‘what is your name?’
My friend says it is all right to have these dreams. He says it is quite in order. And I must not worry about them.
However I am beginning not to like this little girl, this ghost child. She is becoming a nuisance to me. Whenever I see her now she is beckoning me to follow her. I do not want to go with her. I do not know where she wants me to go. This frightens me. She frightens me. And all I want to do is sleep. I want to get in my little bed and curl up into a tight round ball and close my eyes so that I cannot see her. But it is no use for even here; in this tight dark place, she follows me.
My friend says that I must not be frightened. He says that perhaps the little girl is trying to help me. I am thinking about this.
Now I am having this letter. It is from my aunt. She is very glad to have found me. She wants me to live with her. But I do not know this ‘Aunt’ and I am not sure that I am so glad to be found. I am thinking about this also.
Perhaps if I go to live with my aunt then I will leave the ghost girl behind. Perhaps she will not know where I am. I tell this to my friend and he says ‘perhaps Claudette, perhaps.’
My aunt is very pleased to see me although she cries a lot at first. She says this is because I look so much like my mother. Apparently this makes her happy and sad at the same time. I do not understand this so I just look at her. I do not smile. I do not speak. Then she takes hold of my arm and brings me to her home.
My aunt says we have everything we need here, a fire on which to cook our food, clean water from the new well and a roof to keep us warm at night. We are very lucky she says to have each other. I wonder if she knows that her eyes do not say the same thing as her mouth.
It is many weeks before my little ghost girl finds me.
This time though I see her in a photograph. She is standing beside a very beautiful lady; they are holding hands and they are laughing and next to them is a tall man with a kind face and next to him are three very handsome boys. As you must guess this is very shocking to me.
She says this is my family. And one day, perhaps I may find my father and my brothers. She does not mention my mother.
She thinks it is a good thing if I keep this photograph. I look at her and I do not speak. I do not smile.
But afterwards, when she has gone, I get out the photograph and I look at the little girl. And I wonder: ‘who is this little girl who is so happy?’ And I think also how special she must be to have a family like this. I too would wish to be special like her. And that is when I decide that next time my little ghost girl asks me to go with her, I will.
This is a very beautiful place. It is very green and in the distance I can see mountains rising up through the clouds. The sky is very blue. I am very glad to have followed my little ghost girl here. I think perhaps she is going to show me more good things.
‘Claudette, come here quickly.’ It is my mother’s voice. She is shouting to me from inside the house. She is frightened. I can tell she is frightened because her voice is high and thin and she speaks to me roughly. She does not normally speak like this. I stand up and wipe the soil from my red dress. I do not want to leave my game but my mother is gathering me up in her arms now and running into the house with me. My brothers are already inside. Someone is banging on the door. My father says we must not answer. But my mother says that we have no choice.
There is much shouting and lots of men. They are telling my father that he must get rid of his wife. She is a Tutsi and he has done a very bad thing in marrying her. This is no way for a Hutu to behave. He must think of the safety of his children. I do not understand what they mean. Nobody notices me. Nobody tells me what is happening.
I know some of these men. They live in our village. But even so they do not look at me. They keep their eyes away from my face.
And now my mother and father go alone behind our house. My father carries his big spade that he uses to dig in his vegetable plot. They are gone for a long while and I think that no one is watching me so I quickly break free of the men and run behind the house.
And now I see. I see what they have been doing. My mother is lying on the ground. I know it is my mother because my father is standing over her and there is no one else there. He is covered in blood. It is my mother’s blood. It is bright red, like my dress.
And now, I tell my aunt, I know who this little girl is. But I am not sure if there is anyone that can mend a broken heart. ‘Aah Claudette,’ she says, ‘you are making your mother very sad.’
Now how can that be I ask myself?
And no matter how hard I try, no matter how tightly I close my eyes I can still see her, still see her wearing the dress that is the same colour as my mother’s blood.
But then a wonderful thing happens. One day I am outside and I see a tall young man walking towards me and by his side is my mother. She is holding the hand of the little girl. My aunt tells me that the young man who approaches is my second oldest brother. He is singing a song. It is a song that I know. It is a song of the people.
The story of his journey takes many hours; it has taken him a long time to find me. And all the time we are sitting my mother is watching from a corner of the room. Neither my aunt nor my brother seem to know she is there. But I can see her. She is smiling at me and I am beginning to understand. I listen to my brother’s words, he says many things, that our father needs us, that we must try our best to make his sadness go away, that we must have the courage to let the past shape our future. He says that we must sing together, that his voice is my voice and that together our voice is the voice of those no longer seen. And still I can see my mother’s face. It is radiant. It is golden, like the sun; it is the same colour as my cardigan. Bright yellow, the colour of life.
And now you know what I am thinking? I am thinking I am so glad to be found.

Runner-Up and Shortlisted
The runner-up in the Annual Ghost Story competition was Margaret Campbell from Paisley, Renfrewshire.
Entries shortlisted to final judging stage were from Carol Barker, Amersham, Buckinghamshire; Josephine Constable, Callington, Cornwall; Lesley Groves, Denbury, Newton Abbot; Arnult Handley, West Bergholt, Colchester; Cheryl Holland, Corfe Mullen, Wimborne, Dorset; Rebecca Kershaw, Low Burnham, Epworth, Lincolnshire; Susan Lane, Guiseley, Leeds; Sara Lee, Whitefield, Manchester; Sheila Lockett, Hinckley, Leicestershire; Bruce Parkin, Pentre Halkyn, Holywell, Flintshire; Annette Reader, Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire; Rachel Sargeant, Shrewsbury; Mike Smail, Warter, York; Lisa Wright, Stithians, Truro, Cornwall.