Write a short story in which a ghostly presence plays a significant part.

#625Lab. Corrected by Ms Shannon Boyle, who corrects for SEC and mock providers, graded as 80/100 with feedback on how to improve below. You may also like: Leaving Cert English Complete Guide (€). 

She exited the world abruptly, a tiny spark flickering and then going dark. All around her as she left, she heard the muted sounds of screams, sirens wailing and the agonised shrieks of a mother acknowledging the loss of her child. The attack had come unexpectedly; there had been talk of a ceasefire, celebrations and parades filling the city with laughter again. She had even been to a street party. Today, however, a car bomb had shattered the fragile illusion of peace, an ugly reality seeping through the cracks. (Nice opening with some good descriptive language.)

She was mourned, like the other victims of violence had been in the past, and then those who knew her got on with their lives, or at least pretended to. (Sentence structure slightly awkward). Her mother ferociously scrubbed the dishes, blocking painful memories with £1.99 dish soap and scalding water. Her father took to going down to the pub for longer than usual every Friday evening, being careful not to wake the household as he stumbled home at two or three o’clock in the morning. Her brother, Jimmy, spent most of his time in his room, burying himself in grief and vengeful anger. (Maybe use a more “show – don’t tell” approach here.) Her baby sister, Sadie, was still young enough to ask when she would come back.

In public, her family kept up appearances; her mother chatted to her next-door neighbours as she hung out the washing, and they went to church regularly. (The church part doesn’t really flow here but I like the idea of the family trying to keep up appearances).They endured the sympathetic glances of their friends, the whispers as they passed in the aisle of a grocery shop; “Ach, sure, isn’t it a terrible tragedy” and the inevitable reply “Aye, so it is” or “Right you are, I just don’t see how Sarah can bear it”. (Good sense of setting here, just watch structuring)

By the time a year had passed, their lives had returned to some semblance of normality, with joyous laughter filling the house when Sadie had friends over. However, all of them, at some point, felt that they were being observed; that their lives were being manipulated by something outside of their control. Sadie felt it first. It was the day of her sister’s memorial service, and she had been bought a new black dress for the occasion, a real treat. She had also been told that she didn’t have to go into school that day, which was exciting because school bored her and she hadn’t done her homework for that week. It was a murky, grey February morning, and Sadie’s almost new patent leather shoes were sodden from jumping through the puddles on the winding road that led to the church. Her mother had given out to Jimmy for letting her get muddy splashes in her pristine new outfit. Sadie had not been to the viewing the night before; her mother thought it would upset her too much, but the neighbours were less impressed. They pursed their lips and tutted when they saw her skipping down the road to her sister’s funeral. (Good details here)

The bell tolled at 10 o’clock that morning, beckoning the crowd milling around the porch into the relative warmth of the church. Almost everyone Sadie knew was in the church that day, watching her as the soles of her shoes clacked on the hard stone flags towards the front pew. Her favourite uncle, Pat, crept up beside her. Most of the family barely tolerated him, because when he was younger he had been engaged to a (all one paragraph?)

girl from the other side of the city, but Sadie overlooked this as he always gave her cinnamon lozenges when she visited.

“’Bout ye, wee Sadie, eh?” he whispered in his impenetrable accent, his normally jovial features contorted into an expression of concern. “Dead on” she replied with a cheeky grin, imitating one of the older girls in her school. (Don’t forget to use commas when using dialogue) She was surprised when her uncle did not smile, just patted her on the shoulder. Her mother shot him a warning glance and he moved back two rows to let the family be by themselves. Jimmy arrived five minutes late, and in the cold rush of air which accompanied his entrance, Sadie felt it; a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. And then for some inexplicable reason, she burst into tears, because she knew now that her sister wasn’t coming home. (Some nice descriptions in this paragraph)

Sadie never told anyone about her experience in the church; it felt too personal, a moment between her and her sister, saying goodbye. She was old enough to know, also, that her parents would only laugh at her, or worse, exchange worried glances across the dining room table. She kept her experience to herself, and, after a while, she began to forget the sound of her sister’s voice or the exact colour of her eyes.

Strange events continued long after most people had ceased mourning. Her mother stood in the kitchen one day staring through the slats of the blinds opposite the cooker and she was almost sure she heard the laughter of a teenage girl bubbling down the stairs, but she shook off the feeling almost immediately. Her father saw her bright blond hair glinting in the sun every time he passed her old grammar school but always mistook it for a trick of the light. Sadie was busy with other things at this point; it was coming closer to July and she had to perfect her baton twirling before the big parade, otherwise Ms Aiken would never let her perform. (I’m not sure how effective listing the events is here. Try to create a sense of atmosphere by providing detail of one of these accounts, perhaps).

Jimmy was the most drastically affected by his sister’s death. He had just finished school and his father had got hi m a job at the Harbour Commission, where his family had worked for generations. One fateful afternoon he had been dragged to the Harbour Office for another tedious meeting with the manager about his job performance. He had been missing quite a few days when he should have been down at the docks, his manager informed him, in the same tone his teachers had used at school when he wasn’t paying attention. He was only just able to stop himself from handing in his resignation and storming out of the office. (Again, I’d like to see a sense of atmosphere and mystery here. Try varying sentence length and being more descriptive)

That evening, instead of going straight back home, Jimmy wandered the streets between the harbour and the safety of his neighbourhood on the east side of the city to clear his mind. Not for the first time, he began to think of his sister and the life she could have had if she hadn’t roamed unwittingly too far into dangerous territory. The red white and blue of the kerbstones reminded him of the ribbons she used to put in her hair, when she felt particularly patriotic. He sensed her presence everywhere he went, and again he was struck by the unfairness of it all. Anger, which had been building inside him for months, began slowly to surface, and his fists clenched.

Without realising, Jimmy had left the familiar confines of his ordinary route home and was now surrounded by a sea of green. Tricolour flags dangled from almost every windowsill and the soldiers in the murals here wore different uniforms to those he was used to seeing (and, for a short time, even considered wearing). On an ordinary day, (all one paragraph?)

Jimmy would have retraced his steps, quickly and quietly, trying not to cause any trouble. Today, however, hatred simmered inside him, and for a fleeting moment he thought that he would willingly burn down every house in this squat council estate if it meant hurting the person who caused his sister’s death. He felt her presence here, more strongly than ever; he could hear her breath echoing off the sparse trees in the breeze, and he thought he could smell the perfume she used to borrow from her mother when she thought no one was looking. (Better sense of atmosphere and mystery provoked here)

Suddenly, a shadow passed by him; he could see a bobbing figure up ahead, a girl in a dark blue bomber jacket and jeans, the same outfit she was wearing the day she died. He followed the apparition recklessly, running at times and then almost catching up until it disappeared again down another side street or alleyway. Finally, she stopped at a dead end, facing a red brick wall. He could see her more clearly now, her blonde hair pulled back into an uncomfortably high ponytail, hoops hanging from her ears. He heard a sound from the end of the alleyway; a gruff voice shouting “who is it?” into the silence. Jimmy felt triumphant; finally, he thought, a chance for vengeance. But just before he stepped into the path of the other man’s torch and revealed himself, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that the ghost of his sister had turned, and was looking directly into his eyes. It was unmistakably her, and she communicated more in one glance than she could have in a thousand words when he was alive. He stepped back into the shadows and waited. His sister disappeared. A few moments passed and he heard footsteps, and another voice, younger sounding than the first, say “it was probably just the Donnelly’s wee cat”.

Jimmy let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and, in his mind, laid his sister to rest. (Nice ending).

This is a good short story which linked well to the question. There is evidence of good descriptive language and a sense of atmosphere and mystery. The short story is generally well structured and cleverly confined to a singular plot and a single family. I think the story could have been stronger by focusing on Jimmy’s character and his experience a little more. The concept of a ghost representing grief works, but I would have liked to have felt that a little more through the character’s response. In the exam, I would create a stronger sense of characterisation – but a great effort overall.

P 24/30

C 23/30

L 23/30

M 10/10      80% H2

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