Ghost story – Creative Writing
It is the year 3000 ad. Mankind has progressed. They have explored so far into space, yet there is so much they do not know. They have found that mankind is not alone, and technology has advanced to unprecedented levels.
However. With new advances, come new problems, and Earth is threatened by menacing Martians from far off worlds. So, Earth is protected by a elite squadron of warriors, known only to the public as B-19.
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However, the malign influence of the supernatural never leaves, and the ghost of a court marshalled sergeant is back to wreak havoc, and seek ultimate revenge!
Colonel Jack Gardner was a small middle-aged man, his face scarred from years of conflict. However a boyish glint sparkled in his eyes, like a window to his immortal soul, still in pristine condition and unaffected by the combat he faced.
He lowered the Z-2 fighter down to 20,000 feet. He sliced gracefully through the sky, like a knife through butter.
Suddenly, the sky darkened, a far off thunder rumbled menacingly, and a cold, icy chill trickled down Jack’s spine. He snapped around to his nephew, Private Sam Gardner and muttered
‘Something does not feel right’.
‘Your paranoid’, retorted Sam, rolling his eyes.
‘I am a man who has survived by listening to my gut feeling, do not doubt me!’
An awkward silence ensued.
They drew nearer to the secretive and secluded camp, tucked neatly away from the ever present media’s prying eyes in the foreboding, jagged and mysterious mountains of China. From the back Kyp quipped up,
‘Shall we take the rations to the store sir?’.
Yes, replied Jack absentmindedly. He obviously had his mind elsewhere. He landed his craft on the smooth, shiny landing strip. It was a stark contrast to the run down wooden buildings this proud unit had been based in for centuries.
They took the rations into the store, and reassembled at the ship.
‘Right, be up bright and early tomorrow morning Privates!’ Barked Jack.
‘Yes sir!’ they chorused.
Kyp retreated to the privacy of his quarters. He turned off all the lights in the moldy cabin. That night he drifted in and out of inconsistent sleep.
At roughly 10pm, he was once again awoken from his slumber by a nightmare. Beads of sweat dripped down his brow. His chest heaved, and he breathed deeply as hail crashed suicidal into the reinforced roof. Then, the door slowly creaked open.
‘Stupid draft!’ thought Kyp as he made his way agonisingly slowly to the door, stumbling slightly as he made his way to the door. He shut it, and it flew open again. Bewildered, he closed it and trooped back to bed.
‘Kyp!’ a gravely voice boomed out of the abyss. He spun around. Nothing was there, no apparent source.
His heart raced. Adrenalin shuddered through his body like a humongous earthquake. He looked around the dimly lit room. The holovision gleamed eerily. He cautiously pushed the creaky door open.
As he switched the light on, he was puzzled, scared and disoriented. Slowly, he headed down the stairs to the mess.
He stayed, and gradually put his mind to rest. However, a seed of doubt was firmly planted in his thoughts, and was threatening to germinate at the slightest provocation. He went back to his quarters, and managed to drift back into the dream world.
The next morning, he had to mindlessly strip and unstrip rifles and learn how to check if the lasers will work.
Over and over and over. The repetition was mind numbing. The morning droned on and on and on. He had not come here for this. He was a soldier. He should be out fighting, winning wars and glory. Or at least learning to. How old did they think he was, five? It disgusted him.
After that was lunch. It consisted of a multi vitamin pill, a protein pill, and a canteen of filtered water. It was tasteless, but sufficient.
After that it was orienteering around the map and surrounding mountains. They went to the firing ranges. This is where he wanted to be, doing something useful.
Then he saw a shadowy figure slip across it. Kyp shouted to him, be more careful, this is where the firing squad practiced. Then he literally disappeared. Evaporated. Into thin air.
Shocked, Kyp rubbed his eyes and looked again. He could have disappeared. Could he? No! Kyp must have been mistaken, an error caused by lack of sleep.
That night, as he lay in bed, pondering the strange events of the day, the voice came back.
‘Kyp’ is whispered horsely.
‘W w who are you?’ Quipped up Kyp nervously.
A voice boomed back. ‘I am sergeant Tom Henderson.’
‘What do you want from me?’ replied Kyp, a steely determination reinforced in his voice.
‘I want you to fufil justice for me!’
‘Justice?’ inquired Kyp.
‘Once, a long time ago, me and colonel Jack Gardner were squaddies. It was in the great war, and rations were in short supply. We were starving. He stole some ration, and planted the empty packets under my bed. I protested my innocence, but no wanted to know, the firing squad gunned me down ruthlessly. You must exact my revenge. You must kill him!
Suddenly, Kyp stopped thinking. He robotically got out of bed. He advanced down the corridor. The clap of his boots echoed off the floor. He reached his target.
His eyes glazed over, no emotion was present.
He smashed his foot into the door, splintering the wood. He barged through. Jack was on his feet easily, startled. Kyp smashed a fist into his nose, the pain jarred up his arm. Jacks nose squashed like a tomato. He went down to his knees. Blood trickled down his face. A right boot connected to his stomach. Jack keeled back in agony. Another swift kick toppled him. Kyp knelt on his chest, his hands were bloody. They connected onto his throat. Jack struggled. Kyp held on. He weakened, then his body went limp.
A second later armed guards burst in. They fired a shot to Kyps head. Darkness engulfed him.