Suspense writing

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Posted by bpsmrscrofts | Posted in Uncategorized | Posted on October 27, 2023

This week in Year 6 we have been learning how to create suspense in our writing. Our stories use a closed door as the stimulus. Have a read and see whether they leave you on the edge of your seat…

The Door

The trapdoor was embedded in the forest floor. As the sunlight weaved through the tree leaves, it showed that it had been hidden; twigs sprawled across it, and the edges were splintered, decaying from the years of forgetting it had even existed.

The lumberjack placed his axe on a tree stump, reached for a key that hung across his neck and slid it into the keyhole. “Hurry up, you old man!” the visitor snarled. “I haven’t come here to watch your little pantomime!”
The woodcutter smirked. He knew hesitation when he saw it. He twisted the key with a hand and the door creaked open. Its stiffness seemed as though it was unwilling to reveal its secrets. The smell of oil squeezed through the tiny gap that the door had allowed to open. The visitor strained his ears; was it footsteps he could hear? He wondered if he had made the right choice.

The stranger paused; a breeze drifted through the forest and he gazed back to the muddy trail as if he longed for the laughter of his neighbours.  And from what I’ve heard, the woodcutter thought, you won’t be hearing much of them ever again. Then the stranger lowered himself down the trapdoor. The lumberjack watched his face carefully in the dim light and his rough hands as they grasped a crucifix that swung from his neck. The visitor went in, cautiously. The trapdoor slammed shut.
By Elva (6D)

 

The Door 

The door to the abandoned caravan was covered in masses of rust and grime. As the sun shone onto the roof of the caravan beams of light flickered over the top of the door, revealing mysterious red liquid that had been smeared over the edges. Surrounding the handle were studded black nails, making it nearly impossible to open it.

The teenager stumbled and stared, reached into her backpack and pulled out a dirty crowbar. Breathing heavily, she quickly turned around .“Get on with it,” the older boy grumbled. “Are you scared to open it or something?”

The teenage girl glanced at the boy and his unique skull tattoos that were all over his arms. She lodged the crowbar into the door and pulled at it as forcefully as she could. The look on the boy’s face made him seem not so scary after all.

The door opened, just a fraction, and the hinges screeched like a screaming child. The stench of decaying flesh wafted through the air. Was she smelling dead bodies? She retched, backed away and pushed the young man closer to the door. She wondered what the owner kept hidden on the other side of the wall…

He paused, clamping his hand over his mouth and nose, wishing the stench would fade away. A gust of wind sent a chill down his spine. He resisted the urge to shiver; he didn’t want her to know he was afraid.

Then he took a deep breath, put out his hand and pushed the door. The girl watched intently as he muttered a silent prayer under his breath.

He went in hesitantly. The door slammed shut…

By Sumaya Aslam -Hulme (6D)

 

The Door

 

The door to the cellar was at the bottom of an eerie staircase. It had an unknown language scratched on the iron and cracked stained glass. There was a rusty steel handle which had not been used for decades. Dim-lit torch light flickered on the damp wall which seemed to sweat.

The bald inspector shone the flashlight on the creepy door. He looked through his keys and with a trembling hand, dropped most of them on the dusty floor. The assistant sighed impatiently. “Hurry up.” he spoke with a gruff voice, “ I haven’t got all day!”

The inspector smiled; he knew that the other man was afraid. They both turned the key, then tugged and tugged. The assistant’s narrow eyes glanced like a lightning bolt, his jet black hair swayed in the draught and he had bony long- fingered hands.

It opened, just a little bit. Quietness and a rotting odour came out. He took one step back. The inspector gave the torchlight to the assistant and pointed to the scary door. He had no tongue to speak with; he was frightened. He was curious about what she kept on the other side … 

The assistant gulped, a light breeze shivered down his spine and he saw the inspector. He whispered in his head “ Don’t do it.” The inspector thought “I won’t have an assistant after this.” The assistant shone the flashlight and pushed the door. It creaked wider and wider. The inspector watched his assistant intensely in the light of the flashlight. He tightened his black necklace.

The assistant went in slowly. The door closed.

By Jasleen Kaur  (6D)

 

The Door

The door was the one and only one in the flight of stone steps with carvings along the wall. Beneath the decaying oak door was a carpet, which used to be bright red, but now was as grey as cement. Cobwebs danced on the hinges of the door. Moss crept up the door like a crawling baby.

The police officer was alarmed, he shone his torch at the stranger and hesitated to recognise him. As soon as he realized who he was, he searched in his belt, brought out a key and placed it in the keyhole. “Hurry up you old man,” he rattled,“ I would already be in there if it weren’t for your trembling old hands!” 

The police officer glanced at the stranger and the marks that surrounded his eyes. He knew fear when he saw it. His smiles were so small it was easy to tell that they were fake.

He twisted the key and the door opened, just a fraction. He knew he would be punished if he told the secrets. The foul odour filled their lungs. They struggled to breathe fresh air. The only thing they smelt was… suffering.

The stranger paused; he looked up and felt the warmth of the sun for a moment. He knew his home was far away.

He crossed his fingers, took the torch and pushed the door. It swung open. He stepped in the room of darkness. The door closed.

By Gajan Saravanabavan (6D)

The Door 

The door to the boiler house was at the bottom of a flight of stone. Cobwebs cohere the ways. Paint flaked off the old ‘ dusty door. Moss covered the corners. At the top was a roust latch . The brass handle were masked in stains of blood.

With his big strained eyes. The big man glanced at the door and grabbed the rusty key from his shopping bag . His bong , long fingered hands  dropped the key to the ground . A child , with little puffy brown  eyes, looked on. “Excuse  me, do you need any help?” said the anxious child.

The big man looked at the child who felt as  cold as a skeleton. He panicked when he saw it. The key turned, the hinges squeaked and the door creaked open slightly. Something and clipping liquid echoed. The big man’s heart was thumping. He wandered unattended.

Not the other side… The big man gulped , child grinned he Kew the man was terrified. 

Putting his hands together, he closed his eyes and muttered words. After opening his eyes, he took a big sigh and pushed the door open.

The big man went in. The door closed.

By Dilraj Singh  (6D)

 

The Door

The door was the only one without a number. The corridor in the derelict prison stretched for almost a mile and every door had a number apart from this one. Sharp nails stuck out from the middle and it was covered with rusty metallic bars. 

The guard limped, he had been walking just to get to this cell. “Hurry up I don’t have all day to waste here,” bellowed the former prisoner. The guard fiddled in his pocket as the former prisoner sighed, “I could have been in there by now you stupid guard.” The guard grinned, he knew what would happen next…

He took the key and pushed it into the keyhole. He didn’t dare say a word.  The former prisoner started to sadden.  Suddenly, the door opened. It opened just a third.

A stench of blood filled their nostrils. He handed him the key and started to back away. The former prisoner hesitated as liquid dripped on his hair. He stared at the fire exit as if it beckoned him to go home. And from what I’ve heard you won’t be going there any time soon, thought the guard.

The former prisoner held his mom’s ashes that were in a necklace that swung at his neck.

He went in slowly never to be seen again…

By Muhammad Sheraz (6D)

 

The Door

The door was the only one in the tunnel under the graveyard. Flames flew right and left as the howling sound got louder and louder. The door had some symbols that were hardly seen; oozing blood covered them all. Thick cobwebs full of poisonous spiders were as big as a cloud.

The watchman got his lantern as his hands shook like jelly. He looked right and left before he got out the key(which was as old as the dinosaurs). The bossy visitor from the east controlled his anger as the watchman fiddled with the old rusty key. “Come on l am not waiting all day!” commanded the stranger, “I want to see why this place is so special.” The watchman looked at him suspiciously.

The watchman smirked; he knew guilt when he saw it. Sweat dripped on his forehead and trickled down his neck. The watchman knew that, he was excited to go in but anxious to never come back and see the light and feel the warmth again.

With his weak hands, he twisted the key, then slowly got the key out, as the door creaked. The door opened just enough to let a person in. Squeaking and a sour smell spread out of the door. He jumped back; the darkness was enough to make someone blind. He gave the lantern to the visitor, as he slowly went backwards. He had no ears to hear with; the landlords knew he was dishonest.

The visitor stood like a statue for about an hour; he knew there was only a little chance he could come back as he stared back carefully, remembering his happy moments up there.

After that, the man quietly prayed for protection. He pushed the door as the door creaked loudly. The stranger secretly went in, quickly. The door shut.

By Ranjot Singh (6D).

 

The Door

The door was carved into a rotting tree in the centre of the cemetery. It was dimly lit with flickering lanterns which showed it was overflowing with cobwebs. Rust chipped off the nails from the bottom and blood covered the cobbled- stone floor. The large brass handle was engraved with a poisonous spider. 

The wizard trembled with fear and reached into his rugged, old cloak. He took out a key with the same poisonous spider design as was on the door. His hands quivered as he slowly reached for the decaying key hole.

“Hurry up, I didn’t come here to sit around! I would be in there if you weren’t so slow.” The witch growled as she drummed her long bony fingers on a gravestone. The wizard glanced at the witch and saw her reddish curls that cascaded down her back. Soon he knew that her hands quivered as she glided her hands across her hat. He knew that she was horrid on the outside but terrified on the inside. 

The key turned… the door groaned open as the stench of rotten flesh consumed the whole cemetery. Was that screeching I heard thought the witch. The sound of cries and liquid dripping gradually seeped out as a bitter chill fell upon them.

“Tell me what that dreadful lady keeps in there” cried the witch.

The witch gulped; she stepped back as her arms shivered and looked at the road; no one could save her now. The wizard’s face formed a smile. 

The witch held a tiny lamp close to her face, kissed the floor for luck and went in. The door slammed shut…

By Sanaya Kaur (6D)

 

The Door 

The door in the forgotten hospital was the last one to survive. Unusual drawings carved on the mouldy, wooden plates had been taken over by smeared blood. Sharp needles stuck out by the rusty hinges. Cobwebs surrounded the steel handle; it has not been opened for many years. Dimmed torchlights shone from behind the door.

The inspector stopped and thought as the scientist reached into his pocket. He pulled out a filthy key and extended his arm, then placed it in the rusty keyhole.

“Pick the pace up! I don’t have all day!” Snarled the inspector.

The inspector gazed at the scientist’s peculiar looking piercings that were spread across his face. He knew trouble when he saw it. The scientist didn’t look scary after all.

The scientist turned the key in the lock, then tugged the handle, the door opened only a fraction. A foul smell of rotting flesh snuck out. The sinister sound of heavy breathing caught their ears, they wondered what she kept on the other side…

The scientist froze; a blow of cold air moved his hair, he glanced over to the inspector. He longed for warmth and joy. And from what I’ve heard, you won’t be seeing those anytime soon. The scientist held a candle to the door and pushed it open. The inspector watched his face nervously in the darkness, and his fingers, which were crossed. 

They went in, the door closed behind them…

By Vada Alfaro (6D) 

 

The Door

In the abandoned storage room, was a door covered in mysterious ancient symbols. Beneath the heavy oak door was moss, cobwebs and spiders. The dying fire flickered on the old wooden wall that was covered in cracks.

The caretaker came to the door in fear searching for a key that led to a mysterious pathway. The stranger said in frustration “Get on with it, I didn’t come here to play!.” The caretaker trembled as he heard her voice echo.

After a few minutes, the caretaker found the key hanging on a fraying rope. When he touched the key a stench of rotten smell oozed through his nostrils. A big gust of wind hit him and overcame him.

The key turned and the door glowed green; it wasn’t like a normal door opening. A loud screech came from the other side of the door, the man wasn’t sure where it came from, the caretaker stepped back as the stranger smiled; she knew he was afraid to go in.

The caretaker did the sign of the Cross and went in, the stranger thought “you won’t be able to see your family again”…

By Emmanuel Ifeanyi (6D)

 

The Door

The door was carved into the back of the hospital building, faded ancient drawings and symbols spread across the rusting metal. Clumps of moss covered the chains and locks that made it almost impossible to open the door.

The old man grunted, stumbled towards the door, reaching into the darkness and put his trembling hand into his pocket. He brought out a shining silver key and extended his arm to the lock. The massive,  man hit him on the back and bellowed, ”I don’t have all day get a move on,”

The small man turned to face the stranger tower above him and stared at the messed up piercings that took over his face; he knew trouble when he saw it, this man wasn’t normal.

The stranger snatched the key from the old man’s hand and fitted it into the keyhole; the door opened slowly with an ear-piercing screech. A horrible smell oozed out of the door and replaced the fresh air with its odour. The sound of dripping liquid and heavy panting could be heard in a distant. The old man wondered to himself, what could be behind this door?

The big man doubted himself as he stepped on the first step of the long spiral staircase; he didn’t look so big anymore as he glanced back at the tiny man with plead in his eyes “I just know you are scared”, the old man murmured to him self as he rolled his eyes. So the big man started his long journey down the everlasting stairs.

 

By Lael Fashawe (6D)

 

The Door

The door was the only one with the name of the classroom. It was surrounded by cobwebs and moss; nobody had been there since it became abandoned. Strange old rulings were carved into the rust. Sharp nails, which looked like devil horns, were embedded in the handle, which made it hard to open. 

The old teacher paused and lit a candle from the flaming torch on the wall. Then she put her hand in her pocket, reached for a key, took it out and placed it on the lock. The woman sighed impatiently. “Get on with it,” she moaned, “ let me see what he keeps in there!” The teacher glanced at the woman and the unusual piercings that covered her face. She knew fear when she saw it. The woman wasn’t so brave after all.

With both hands she turned the key, then opened the door just a fraction. A shower of dust waved in the air. The smell of death oozed through the room. She felt her neck tightening. The woman strained to listen; what was that dripping she could hear? She wondered what was kept on the other side.

The woman took a deep breath; she shivered and her hair stood on edge. She felt a long way from home. The teacher grinned. She gave the torch to her. The woman held the torch above her ears, and slowly started to open the door. She clutched the necklace that her mother has given to her before she passed away and whispered a word to herself.

The woman went in, slowly. The door closed

By Amelia Majid (6D)

 

The Door

The Door was deep down in a narrow path. Mysterious ancient symbols were carved into the ivy covered door and cobwebs danced around the handle; it had not been used for many years many. Lanterns flickered on the gloomy walls.

The elf stumbled in the darkness, took a lantern from the wall and reached into his heart. He brought out an odd key and inserted it into the trembling lock.

“ Get on with it” the wizard granted and with a whack he hit. The elf stared at the wizard’s unusual Sapphire eyes. He knew stress when he saw it.

The wizard pushed the elf into the door, which opened just a fraction. The wizard listened closely. He heard footsteps, and his heart is pounded. He paused, a breeze move his fingers, he looked back at the jewel corridor as if he lungs for a happy thought. From what I’ve heard, you won’t feel well of those for long, the elf thoughts. The wizard took a deep breath held of the lantern and pushed the door.

He went in slowly. The door swung shut.

By Christina Yankey (6D)

 

The Door

The door to the boiler house was at the bottom of the flight of the stone steps. Cobwebs covered the walls. Paint flaked off the old dusty door. Moss covered the corners. At the top was a rusty latch. The brass handle was covered with blood. 

With nails like claws, the tall woman took out the key slowly out of her hand bag (she got it from her mum before she got kidnapped at night). A little child with ocean blue eyes said “Excuse me, can you tell me the way out of here”? The tall woman with golden coloured hair turned around and said “ Sorry little child but there is no way out”, she said quietly. Her veins like rivers on a map. And the little child with toy weapons in his pocket glanced.

The young woman turned the key. It  opened a little. A smell of death oozed through, they could hear a loud scream echoing. The young woman felt her heart thumping. The little child realised  big secret. 

She took a big breath, the little child crossed its tiny fingers and looked like he was about to cry.

The woman went in with the little child holding her hand.

By Casey (6D)

The Door

The gate in the back of the garden was there only one there. Eerie vibes came from it, mass covered the gate, a old metal chain blocked it and the was a rotten smell leading to the gate. The floor was made from marble and rust surrounded the bars of the gate. 

The dwarf looked at the elf’s wrinkly face. He knew stress when he saw it. The elf wasn’t so scary after all.

The dwarf opened the door, then kicked it open but just a little. It seemed like it didn’t want its secret to be exposed. A nasty rotten smell sneaked past them. The elf froze as he looked at the door, he made sure that the dwarf kept his secret. He looked at the door as he heard heavy breathing.

He froze; the wind moved the elf’s hair, the elf looked at the exit as his eyes begged for warmth and light. From what I have heard you won’t be seeing those again.

Slowly, slowly the elf went in. Before he could speak, the door closed. Screams were heard from inside. Blood leaked out..

By Amelia J(6D)

 

 

To be continued…

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