Booooooo! Thank you to everyone who participated in our first Iggle Ghost Story writing contest! It was a BLAST to read all your scary stories, and was really hard to pick a winner. You camp directors have voted and picked one story that was our favorite!
Congratulations to Katie for her story Lydia. We got chills down our spines! You can read Katie’s story below!
If you had a good time and want to participate again, or if you missed the first round, there will be another contest with different prompts starting tomorrow, Thursday, August 21st at 10pm Central time! Stay tuned to the blog for more info!
And a BIG thank you to Leslie at Stationerdy who provided the fabulous prize pack for this contest!
I was practicing my violin in front of my bedroom mirror when I heard a crash downstairs.
“Sarah!” I groaned. “What was that?”
“Lydia did it!”
I sighed and went downstairs, the floorboards under me squeaking the whole way. Our house was “historic,” (meaning old and decrepit), so whatever my sister broke this time, it was staying that way.
“Oh Sarah,” I groaned, covering my face when I saw the broken coffee table.
“It’s not my fault,” Sarah mumbled. “Lydia told me to get on it.”
“She did! She said it’d be fun to swing from the chandelier, but we couldn’t reach, so we moved the table but we were too heavy and it’s her fault because it was her idea.”
“Swing from the chandelier? Where did you come up with that idea?”
“I told you, Lydia said…”
“Fine. Whatever. Just pick this up before Mom gets home.”
Speaking of Mom, she’d be home from work soon, and we usually had a cup of tea before I left for my night shift. I had just poured the water when I saw her car pull up. I heard the door slam and some muffled conversation before she trudged in the kitchen.
“I just don’t know what to do with her,” she said. “That Lydia has got to go. Sarah’s too old for an imaginary friend.”
Sarah had had Lydia around since we moved here three years ago. Sarah always had trouble making friends, so it seemed normal that she develop one of her own. Lately, though, “Lydia” was getting out of hand. Sarah had locked herself in the attic, gotten lost in the woods behind our house, and fallen out of a tree twice, and that was just these past two weeks.
“Mom?” Sarah said, skipping into the kitchen, “Can we go outside? Lydia wants to show me her old picnic spot.”
I rolled my eyes when Mom glanced at me. “No, sweetheart,” she said. “It’s going to storm, and I don’t want you getting lost again.”
“Please? She says it’s not that far! Just across the pond!” She leaned to her left. “Yeah, and we’ll probably be back in time for dinner!”
“Probably?” Mom half-laughed. “Definitely not, then. Go finish cleaning.”
Sarah slumped her shoulders and turned to leave, then stopped. “No, Lydia, don’t be greedy.”
“What?” asked Mom.
“Lydia wants some tea too.”
“I suppose,” said Mom, raising an eyebrow. Sarah smiled and grabbed her purple mug out of the sink. “Purple is Lydia’s favorite color,” she said as she poured the tea, left the mug in front of the empty chair, and ran out.
I sighed and went to grab the mug, but I must have bumped it because it shattered in my hand.
I came home during the 4 AM storm just in time to see Mom run off the porch in her nightgown.
“What is it?” I yelled, jumping out of the car, struggling to keep my eyes open in the tempest.
“Sarah! She’s on the pond!”
I sprinted with her to the edge of the water, where I saw a small white blur about fifty feet out, lurching in the waves.
“She took the canoe!” Mom yelled, struggling to dial 911 on her cell.
“SARAH!” I screamed, wading in as far as I safely could. I could only watch as I saw her thrown about until she finally disappeared altogether. I only remember my screaming for an eternity until I saw a flash of white near the shore. I raced to find Sarah’s limp body, and as sirens wailed into the yard and paramedics rushed to get her breathing again, I held her clenched hand. When she finally choked for air, we hurried to the hospital, and it wasn’t until I heard Sarah mumble “…pushed me” as she woke that I realized she was clasping a ripped purple cloth.
It had been two weeks since the incident when I finally found time to practice my violin. Sarah had gone to live with our dad, and with Mom was at work, our house was too quiet; however, as I tightened the bow, I thought I heard the stairs creak. As I began to play, I looked in the mirror to see a girl in a purple dress behind me.
“My name is Lydia,” she said. “We’re going to be friends.”
I spun to see no one, but I felt a breath in my ear.
“Want to go for a swim?”