Abigail Knight, a girl with chestnut hair and bright, anxious eyes, stands gripping her crumpled pages. Her classmates fidget in their seats, some whispering, others glancing toward the back of the room where she prepares to read. Mrs. Draker, the kindly teacher in floral attire, gives a small encouraging nod.
"The Pumpkin’s Candle. By Abigail Knight, aged twelve," she begins, her voice trembling but determined. Abigail continues, "The pumpkin had been at the front of number 8 Clarence Road for all my life. My name is Abigail and I’m twelve years old, and here is my story of the pumpkin candle at 8 Clarence Road." Her classmates lean in, curiosity piqued by her mysterious tone.
"I was seven when I first noticed the pumpkin," Abigail reads, the memory vivid in her mind. "It had always been there, but that year something changed. Its carved face seemed to flicker with a candle that never burned out, no matter the wind or rain." The audience imagines the stoic pumpkin, its glow a beacon in the gathering dusk.
"People said all sorts of things about number 8 Clarence Road," Abigail continues, glancing at her classmates. Tommy Brooks, the class joker, shifts in his seat, eager to hear more. "Some said a witch lived there; others, a lonely old man who only came out at midnight. But no one ever saw anyone enter or leave, except sometimes a flicker behind the curtain when you walked past."
"One night, I crept closer than ever before. The rain was pouring, but the candle inside the pumpkin glowed brighter than ever, as if it was waiting for someone. I wondered who could possibly live there, and why the pumpkin never changed, not even after Halloween was long gone." The classroom is silent, entranced by the mounting mystery.
"I thought I saw a shape, just for a second, behind the curtains—a tall, thin figure holding something glowing in their hands. Maybe it was the candle itself, or maybe it was just my imagination. I never found out, but I always wondered if they were watching over the street, like a guardian, behind their pumpkin light." Mrs. Draker smiles softly, sensing the story’s heart.
Abigail[/@ch_1] lowers her papers, cheeks flushed. Her classmates break into applause, some whispering about the mysterious house.]
"That was a wonderful story, Abigail," Mrs. Draker says, her voice gentle. "I suppose the kind of neighbours I’d like are the ones who leave a little mystery, and maybe a little magic on our street." Abigail beams, the secret of number 8 Clarence Road safe—at least for now.
