The Christmas Tale

[Mike]

Hello all,

Your all probably aware of how this works. One person posts a paragraph each of the story and we see where it goes. I thought it might be on interest as there is a lot of language discussions current at the moment.

I shall start.

Paragraph One
In the final days before Christmas the tale begins. The location, a small hillock in Lancashire. Upon the hill sat a modest dwelling, single storey in height with a thatched roof, further detail lost in a flurrey of snow ebbing and flowing around the building.

[Fez]

paragraph two:

stumbling down the frozen garden path, a figure wrapped in heavy black robes to guard against the cold coughs violently and has to pause to regain breath. glancing up into the full fury of the wintry gale, the stranger is just able to pick out the front door of the cottage through the melee of snow, and begins to search for something hidden within the folds of black cloth before continuing to stagger forwards.

[Claire]

Paragraph 3:
The garden offered no more refuge than the desolate moorland waste beyond the fence. With laboured movements, he appeared as a charcoal smudge in the virgin snow; his footsteps lingered behind him. The path was not often tred. Having been walking through the snow since the early afternoon, his robes had become saturated and burdensome. He coughed again and gazed onward to the cottage. The journey had been long. He felt himself to be walking ever more slowly but, given the lateness of the hour, knew he would not stop to rest. And he doubted yet what comfort he would receive on arrival when suddenly, his senses were risen above whiteness and cold by a man slamming the cottage door and hurriedly running past him.

[Mike]

Paragraph Four Second revision due to stupid internet connection!

The man turned to berate the other mans haste, but as quickly as he arrived, he was gone. 'Typical', thought the man, 'No respect for their elders!'. Harrumphing, he gathered his robes around his wizzened frame and struggled up the remaining path to the cottage door. Raising his walking stick high he pounded three times on the ancient wood. The sound reverberated into silence beyond the portal and shortly afterwards the sound of aproaching footsteps could be heard. The ancient door peeled inwards with a howling cry of pain from the rusted hinges to reveal. . . .

[johnriley1uk]

.....a cold, empty interior, dark with a sense of neglect that dripped its ancient message across the man's consciousness.

Fear that had lain deep in his soul rose like a constriction to his throat as he took one trembling step across that eternal threshold......

[Fez]

...the house of his birth seemed alien, indeed the very sight of such familiar surroundings with nothing remaining of the furniture or fittings set his heart into an erratic panic. he gasped in fright as the wind slammed the door shut behind him, plunging the room into an eerie twilight. trying to steady his nerves by grasping tightly onto his cane, the man began to shrug off his heavy sodden clothes but froze as he heard a floorboard creak behind him. spinning round in shock he saw...

[Mike]

Paragraph Seven

. . . . A fresh wreath hanging neatly on the inside face of the door, the wreath was wrapped in a neat circle and decorated with fresh berries and holly. The fresh picked feel of the wreath gave the old man a refreshing feeling of renewal. The house shifted again causing another eary creaking. Muttering under his breath he moved down a long corridor and confidently took the third corridor on the right. Despite the unevenness of the floor he managed to walk unfalteringly to the stecatto(?) beat of his stick on the ancient wooden floor. After passing several doors he paused at an area of wall and peered into the frame of an dirty oil painting hung on the wall depicting. . . . .

[johnriley1uk]

....a long familiar image of himself as a young boy. Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed at that echo from his past.

He turned, and, as always, the same young boy stood watching him in the corridor.

The boy asked the same question he always asked, "Who are you?" before fading irretrievably from the man's ancient eyes.

[mr_e]

He closed his eyes tight, opened them again. He felt a slow sense of dread as a light-headed feeling crept over him. As ever, the house always seemed too big on the inside for an apparently modest dwelling, like a brooding continuity error in his life, something outside of space and time. He sunk to his knees to steady himself, letting go to the dizziness, his stick falling to one side, making a distant, hazy clatter. Black and white static crept washed over his field of vision as he hastily crumpled himself onto his side and down, down to unwilling sleep.

[Mike]

Upon waking he found himself ensconced in a overlarge upright chair, covered with a thick blanket. Grouchilly he pushed back the blanket and sat more upright pretending to ignore the arthritic pain in his back. The room was filled with his family and friends, they were all quietly chatting by a roaring fire which cast an eary redish light over the whole room. In the far corner sat a large douglas fir christmas tree, covered head to toe in decorations, treats and underneath, well, underneath lay a mountain of pressents all wrapped in a carcophany of brightly coloured papers, ribbons and bows. He smiled to himself and sat quietly enjoying the warmth of the room and the silly chatter of the youngsters.

[Mike]

Was it a dream, can he re-awaken and generate another paragraph?

[liz.brownlloyd]

However there was a sudden crack of thunder, the air outside the cottage sizzled with lightening, and the front door was banged open to reveal the young man who had returned from his walk. 'Uncle, you are our only hope and must come with me immediatly. It may be Christmas, our family may be around us, and there may be chestnuts roasting on an open fire... but all of us are in great danger and we must gather up our remaining strength to fight the triffids. Will you help...? Will you come with me now...?'

[BarcelonAl]

The old man shifted uncomfortably as the gaze of everyone in the room turned upon him. His shoulders dropped and he suddenly felt twenty years older than he really was. Sighing, he began to speak.

"Can you not see that I'm an old man? I served my time on the frontlines, there's no way you're dragging me out of retirement now. Leave me in peace to live out my days here. There is one piece of advice I can give you though..."

Another coughing fit interupted the old man's speech, this one far worse than before...

[Mike]

'If you are going to go Triffid hunting then you really need to make sure that you take a good sword and a hamper with your aunts Mince Pies'

'Mince Pies?!' cried the young man 'What in heavens name are Mince Pies going to do about it?'

'Well, two things. Firstly it gets us out of eating them and second is they are hard as a thousand year old rocks! Can't beat em and the Triffids hate em!'

The grumpy old man harrumphed to his feet and started gathering up the mince pies. . . .

[liz.brownlloyd]

Soon a band of Triffid hunters had gathered up in their winter cloaks and mittens, gearing themselves up for the fight ahead. The weapons of mass disruption (mince pies) were gathered up and extra helpings of aunt bessie's deadly custard and squirty cream included in the meelee of weapons.

Suddenly there was an explosion as one of the security gates came down, taking the electricity pylon with it...