Another Extra Credit Opportunity - Due 10/16/09

The Post-Standard is sponsoring a Halloween Story contest. Children's writer Bruce Coville, of Syracuse, has written the beginning of a scary Halloween story, and he needs children to finish it. A winner is chosen in each of the three age groups: kindergarten through third grade, fourth through sixth grades and seventh through ninth grades. (Each winner receives a $25 gift certificate to Dougherty's Masquerade and an autographed copy of one of Coville's books. Winning entries will be published Oct. 29 in the CNY section of The Post-Standard.

Students are required to submit their ending of the story by next Friday, October 16th, to Ms. Short. Ms. Short will then forward all entries to the Post-Standard.

(Please note that submissions can be no longer than 250 words.)

Here is the story:

The reason Mark Anderson wasn't supposed to go into the old Washburn Cemetery was simple - old Gnarly Carker, the cemetery caretaker, didn't like kids.

The reason Mark often went into the cemetery anyway was also simple - it was between his house and his school, and it was a lot faster to go through it than it was to go around it. And as long as Gnarly didn't catch him, it was no problem.

Today - Halloween, of all days! - Gnarly had caught him.

Mark had been creeping along behind the tombstones, pretending that he was on a secret mission behind enemy lines, when he felt a cold, rough hand clutch him by the neck.

"Gotcha!" said a familiar voice.

"Let me go!" cried Mark, trying to twist his way out of Gnarly's grasp. But years of digging graves had given the old man a grip of steel, and Mark was held tight.

The old man turned Mark around so that they were face to face. This did not improve things, since Gnarly's face was one of the more frightening things about the cemetery. It was lean and craggy, with a hawklike nose and a single fierce eye. (The place where the other eye had been was covered by a black patch; according to the older kids at Mark's school, the only thing under the patch was an empty socket.)

"So, it's you," said Gnarly. "I thought it might be. You're the sneakiest of the lot, always cutting through here, disturbing the graves. Disturbing the dead."

"Let me go!" said Mark, struggling to break free from Gnarly's grasp. "I don't think so," said Gnarly. "Not tonight. I think it's time you found out why you shouldn't cut through here."

"What do you mean?" asked Mark nervously.

Gnarly began to laugh. "I think it's time you spent the night in Washburn Cemetery. Then you won't laugh so much, boy. Then you won't be sneaking through here. Then you'll know why Gnarly Carker wants you to stay away!"

Thunder rumbled in the darkening sky as Gnarly hauled Mark between the white tombstones, toward the little shed at the edge of the cemetery. Scarlet leaves fell all around them, seeming to whisper of the night to come, and the terrors it might hold ...