‘… here we go round the mulberry bush on a cold and frosty morning …’
Francis watched his cousins: Ivy’s primrose hair tumbled from its ribbon; Johnny’s socks were wrinkled, scuffed white from the gravel path. As the oldest, Francis would be in trouble for the grass stains, for the smudges of dirt on rosy cheeks.
‘It’s a box hedge,’ he muttered. ‘And it’s June. No frost in June.’ They didn’t hear, just kept on laughing and skipping.
He could write his name in perfect copperplate scrolls by the time he was four; had known his times tables by six. At each fresh achievement his parents had shown ghost smiles, eyes soon drawn back to the morning paper. No ghost smiles for the twins. Everyone adored them.
Almost everyone.
‘Let’s go into the maze,’ called Francis.
His pocket felt heavy and he smiled.
***
This story was originally written for What Pegman Saw. Visit here to see what you’re missing.
Word Shamble 
Oh dear…
Not how I was hoping this would go at all.
Wonderfully descriptive- I could picture the scene.
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Thank you Dale. It’s an old one but I guess part of me felt creepy works at Christmas – love a ghost story at this time of year for instance. And who knows, maybe he’s only playing … Thanks for reading
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Absolutely does work!
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I love some of the old ghost stories – Dickens and MR James are a couple of go to guys here in the UK. They were low on gore but James especially was brilliant at dread!
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