Kids Rule! magazine short story competition
Calling all top storytellers! Write us a short story using an English myth or legend as your inspiration. Write whatever you like – as long as it’s your story and no longer than 500 words.
If you’re feeling stuck, you can use this prompt to get started:
‘One day in the 12th century, two children appeared in a Suffolk village. Their skin was green and they spoke a language no one else understood.’
Things to think about: How did they get there? What happens next?
Once you are finished, scroll down this page to see how to enter.
Announcing our winners
Congratulations to the winners of our spring Kids Rule! magazine short story competition: Evie and Freddie Farrar! Their story is called Dracula's Grand Party and is set on Halloween after dark...
You can read it below, along with stories from our runners-up, Taryn Maiden, Bryher Martin, Yossi David and Oakley Fudge.
Dracula’s Grand Party at Whitby Abbey
By Evie Farrar (age 6) and Freddie Farrar (age 8)
High on the cliffs of Whitby, where the wind blows a spooky tune and the waves crash like thunder, stands the old Abbey. By day it was a peaceful place to visit, Evie often went with her family, but at night it became altogether different.
At night, particularly Halloween night, the Abbey, lit by the pale silver light of the moon, became a party spot, and no one threw a better party than Count Dracula!
Dracula, with his flowing black and red cape and cheeky smile, sent out magical invitations to all of his friends—including werewolves from Hull, witches from Suffolk , ghosts from York and a skeleton band. As the clock struck eight, the Abbey began to glow with the light of hundreds of floating candles which flickered light on the ancient stone walls. Glitter pumpkins lined up on the pathways to guide guests in.
The witches with pointy hats with glittery stars whooshed down on broomsticks. The werewolves marched in, with their tails wagging. The ghosts swirled in the air and through the walls of the Abbey.
Bats, Dracula’s little helpers, were in charge of drinks – pouring bubbling green liquid into goblets for thirsty guests. At the centre of the Abbey on long tables there were chocolate cakes, sweets and treats for everyone. The skeleton began to play dance music with their bone xylophones, cobweb violins and bone drums, while bats flapped their wings in the candlelight to create a dance of light around the room.
The guests danced and twirled and jumped to the music —werewolves spun each other around in circles, ghosts swayed and twirled, and Dracula began to dance on the ceiling. Even the gargoyles perched on the Abbey walls seemed to be grinning as they watched the party.
Then, a little girl called Evie wandered into the Abbey, her torch flickering in her hand. She had heard stories about Dracula and wanted to creep in to see if they were true.
Evie thought she could see without anyone seeing her, but Dracula noticed Evie and, to her surprise, smiled, showing his sharp fangs, but he didn’t seem scary.
“Welcome, young visitor!” he said. “Would you like to join our party?”
Evie gulped, looking around nervously. The witches waved, the werewolves offered her cake, and the ghosts swirled around her in a dance. Were they really monsters? Or were they just magical creatures having fun?
So Evie joined in, laughing and dancing with her new monstrous friends until just before midnight. Then, Dracula stood tall and clapped his hands. The skeletons stopped the music, the bats and all the guests stopped still.
“The party is over, my friends! Back to our hiding places until next time!”
Evie waved goodbye, promising to return next Halloween. As she walked back to town, she was sure he heard Dracula in the wind, whispering,
“Until next time…”
The Crockern and the Rich Businessman
By Bryher Martin (aged 9)
Once upon a time, there lived an ancient Spirit called The Crockern. The Crockern is the guardian of Dartmoor and gives bad luck to anyone who sees it. A rich young man that had lived in London had, only a few weeks before, moved to the edge of Dartmoor. He had come to Dartmoor so that he could make even more money and he desperately wanted to strip the moor and turn it into farming land.
When The Crockern found out about it he was FURIOUS!
One day the Rich man went up, up, up to the very top of High Wilhays so that he could plan where and how to put everything. Just as he began to sketch out his ideas, a grey man the colour of the Tors, with hair, dark green like moss, with fungi and ferns clinging to him like clothes, who of which had a scratchy beard of dried thorns, appeared beside him. He stared off into the distance with a faraway look on his face.
The Rich young man wondered who the old bloke was and vaguely remembered a local telling him about the legend of The Crockern but he knew it was just untrue mish-mash to scare off visitors. Just as he’d had that thought, the stranger said something
“It’s beautiful isn’t it.”
“Nah.” He replied.
The old man now Knew that this was the man he was looking for.
“Well,” he continued, “It will be once it’s all farmed and tamed by me, my animals and my equipment.”
“You will regret it. And you will pay.”
“Noooope, nope, nope, nope. You don’t understand. People will pay me, I won’t pay
them, silly.”
“If you touch even a speck of this land I will find you and you one hundred percent will pay and you will definitely regret it.”.
They sat in silence after that.
Through their entire conversation, the stranger had not taken his eyes off the now darkening horizon or raised his voice at any of the words, not even the words that he really wanted to imprint into the young mans brain.
The wealthy man was begging himself not to believe in the locals legend.
A Few Days Later…
Every night after that the young man had terrible nightmares about big storms and pick-pockets and homeless people in the snow.
Despite the nightmares, he still tried to farm on the moors but whenever he would let his sheep and cattle onto the moors they would get ill and fall to the ground but yet when he would wake up the next morning they would be back in the stable as lively as ever.
After about a week, the man realised what was happening. He realised this would keep happening unless he respected the moor. Every morning he’d go up on a rock and whisper to The Crockern about his kind deeds. From then on he became known as the wind whisperer.
Robin Hood
By Yossi David (aged 9)
Knucker
By Oakley Fudge (aged 5)
Once a Knucker lived in Sussex in a pond that did not have a bottom. He ate everything that passed by. He was a dragon that had a long body and no wings.
One day (there was) a brave boy called Oakley. He got rid of the Knucker by blowing it away with a big fan! And the knucker was never seen again!