#ghost steps

[furryalligator]

(via Chinese school principal teaches students shuffle dance during break - YouTube)

A video of a Chinese school principal performing a shuffle dance with his students has gone viral, and he does it with them every day to keep them active via @thisisinsider http://bit.ly/2G8RQ5U

[random-metropolis]

[basmathgirl]

Fic: Ghost Steps

Summary: the Doctor and Donna turn up in 1818 to help a family escape a ghostly presence.

Disclaimer: I own nothing here, not even the Wikipedia page that provided me with vital information.

A/N: I’ve omitted a few things from the headings because I want them to be a surprise.

It was the whispers on the breeze that woke up Edgar from his deep slumbers. The house was silent and in complete darkness around him as he sat up in bed, but he was sure something was in the room with him. Waiting. But he didn’t know what for.

Muscling up every ounce of bravery, he forced out the words, “Is someone there?”

There was no answering call or movement as he sat listening intensely. Perhaps it had all been a dream?

Then the wind whipped up outside his window, and rattled against the pane, startling him. Carefully, he lifted his legs over the side of the bed, smoothed his bare feet over the cold floor until he located his slippers, and then slowly walked over to the window in order to look out.

The moonlight wasn't particularly bright, but he could easily make out the mail box by the front gate. As he peered out, the whole mail box quivered as though it beckoned him. Surely not, his mind reasoned. But a near branch of a shrub was blown close as though pointing to the box in emphasis. Then a shadowy figure appeared on the front path that led up to the entrance door. He couldn’t make out much more than that the figure wore a black heavy cloak which shielded the figure’s hands as it too pointed towards the mail box.

As he stood agog at this image, the sound of a strange engine ripped through the howl of the wind, and time itself seemed to stand still. The figure instantly disappeared; leaving the mail box opened. Edgar held his breath as he tried to reason it out, still staring out of the window.

“What are you doing out of bed?” a loud gruff voice demanded behind him.

Edgar turned, and took in the appearance of a stout man glaring at him. “I’m sorry, sir. Something outside awoke me.”

“What sort of something, boy?” the man unsympathetically enquired, and crossed to look out of the window too. “There’s nothing there,” he declared.

“There was, sir,” Edgar insisted. “It wanted me to go to the mail box.”

“It?” his guardian questioned, as he rested his gaze on the boy. “You are letting your imagination govern you again.”

“I am not,” Edgar countered as politely as he could; for he feared a severe thrashing at any second. “There was someone standing by the gate.”

The man’s gaze turned cruel as a thought to teach the boy a lesson came to him. “Then you’d better go and check the mail box. This instance.”

Fear gripped young Edgar. He really didn’t want to go. “Must I, sir?” Unfortunately the quiver in his voice was all too evident.

“Not unless you want to feel the weight of my belt on your back,” the elder of the two threatened. “We will prove there is nothing there, one way or another.”

“But…but… sir, it is the witching hour,” Edgar tried to plead.

The man merely smirked at his ward before leaving him alone. “Then you will have company after all,” he proclaimed, “I shall send Sarah to help you dress.” And with that, he swept out of the room.

Edgar stood panting for some seconds. How could he get out of this? How would he face what was out by the gate? His heart raced violently in his chest, making him feel queasy and a little faint.

A creaky floorboard brought his attention to the woman standing in his doorway.

“Sarah, I…” He stammered to a halt. “You’re not Sarah,” he stated, distracted and bemused by the weird looking woman. “Who are you?”

She stepped closer, holding her strange candle directly in front of her face for him to see her better. “Hello. I’m Donna. And you are?” she softly queried.

“Good evening, I’m Edgar,” he supplied. “Pardon me for asking, but why are you dressed so peculiarly?” He pointed to her trousers.

“Am I?” she wondered, looking down at herself. “I suppose I am. Never mind. ‘Why not’, is what I say. Have you seen the Doctor yet?”

“No. I am not unwell,” he stated.

“I didn’t mean like that, you prawn!” she retorted, and stepped nearer. “The Doctor is my friend. He fixes things; so he’ll get rid of those creatures out there. Promise.”

Edgar blinked up at this kind sounding woman. “And what will you do?”

“I’ll hold your hand while you walk out to the mail box, if you like,” she offered, giving him her most reassuring friendly smile. “We can go together. What do you say?” She held out her hand in invitation.

“But I’m still in my night attire,” he pointed out lamely.

“Then put on something,” she encouraged. “The faster you do that, the quicker we can shut your dad up and have you back in bed.”

“Very well,” he agreed, “but he isn’t my father, Miss Donna. He left us long ago,” and reached out to find his dressing gown.

Donna bit back her normal retort about looking single. “Sorry to hear that,” she sympathised. “And the name is just Donna. Nothing fancier than that.” She assisted him putting on his housecoat, and soon they were descending the stairs, aiming for the front door.

It loomed large above him, and Edgar gulped.

“It’s alright,” she whispered into his ear. “Nobody else knows I’m here so it’ll look as though you did this all on your own; you brave boy.”

“I’ll know,” he quietly answered and eyed her opening the door with some trepidation.

She merely put her finger to her lips to shush him, and confidently led him outside.

The clouds had lifted a little bit, allowing some more moonlight to make the landscape clearer, but it all looked so alien in the half light. Edgar froze on the top step of the porch that led down onto the path, so Donna tugged on his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she consoled him, holding up her special candle again.

A strange blueish light shone out, and several dark shadows whipped away; seeming to jump over the picket fence.

“Told you,” she smugly confirmed, and was glad to see the first smile of the night appear on his young face. “I’ll get the buggers before they can get you.”

Taking small footsteps, they gradually edged their way towards the gate, through the howling wind that threatened to tear the very clothes off his back. The blackness seemed to press in all the tighter as they battled on. Something lurched towards them, invisible to his eyes, but he could certainly feel its movements. Donna waved her candle about to ward it off, so Edgar allowed himself to relax a little.

“What manner of creature is it that haunts us?” he asked her.

She grimaced. “Let’s just say that it isn’t of this world. They’re like wasps; useless and bloody nasty. But the Doctor knows how to get rid of them permanently. I came here to help you.”

“Why me?” he wondered, suddenly puzzled.

“Because you’re special,” she pleasantly declared. “Those things would have skinned you alive. That’s just an expression,” she hurriedly added when he looked stricken with worry again. “Or maybe not, but that doesn’t matter right now.”

“You talk in riddles,” he noted as their battle against the wind was almost at an end. The mail box was less than two feet away now. “ARGH!!!”

His shriek was due to something lunging at him in a last ditch attempt to cause harm. It fluttered above his head and then he could feel it wrap itself around his throat, constricting his airways; until he suddenly flew sideways.

She had snatched him out of harm’s way, and stabbed at the unseen threat, mumbling, “I name you, Ravlacrawn, and shall send you back!”

There was an answering screech that filled the air around them, adding to the cacophony. Edgar cowered as a mini hurricane tried to grab him, battering his body as he held onto Donna’s legs as she gently patted his shoulder. Seconds later all the noise had abated, leaving them in a relative calm.

“Told you we could do it,” Donna stated, getting him to stand up. “Now check that mail box for your guardian then we can go back in.”

Cautiously, he peeped inside the box before shutting it. “W-w-what about the creature?” Edgar asked.

She merely waved that off. “It’s flown. The Doctor is dealing with the rest of them this very second. Come on, mister, let’s get you into bed.”

He took her hand more willingly this time, wanting to flee this awful situation. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Just make sure you dedicate your first work to me….” She glanced at the name on the brass plate to check she had the right person. “…Mr Allan.”

“I’m Poe.” Edgar frowned in confusion, but she didn’t seem fazed at all.

Alright, keep your hair on, Mr Allan Poe,” she playfully mocked. “D’uh! I got it wrong; so shoot me.”

He giggled at her words. “Your words are weird. Are you a witch from around these parts?”

She thought for a second or two before commenting, “I suppose you could say that I am a witch connected to Boston. Yes, I like that idea. Here…” She rifled through the pocket of her jacket and handed him a small sprig of flowers. “Have this as a memento of winning against your fear.” There was a scurry of footsteps from within the house as Edgar briefly glanced at his gift and held it tight in his other hand. “Oh look! There’s the Doctor!” she pointed out and released his fingers.

Turning his head to look in the same direction, Edgar saw a tall, thin, man with thick grey eyebrows and wavy hair, wearing a long dark frock coat. The man ran into the hallway, closely followed by a young petite woman.

“Ah! There you are,” the Doctor declared on seeing the boy re-entering the house. “Your guardians said you would be around here somewhere. I’m the Doctor. Are you okay?” He got out a small device and swept it up and down Edgar’s body before he could utter a word.

“I am very well, Doctor, thank you,” Edgar politely answered, warily watching all this.

“Good. Good,” the Doctor absently remarked to himself. “Did the creature try to touch you?”

“Yes, sir.” Edgar nodded. “But your friend was able to protect me.”

The Doctor instantly frowned and turned towards the woman standing by his side. “When did you do that, Clara?”

“I didn’t,” Clara confirmed.

“Oh no, sir,” Edgar continued. “It was your other friend. She is behind me, there.” He pointed before he looked; and it was only then that he realised that she was no longer standing on the front porch. “I do not understand,” he faintly murmured. “She was right behind me.”

Seeing his confusion, the Doctor bent down to kindly ask, “My friend; what was her name?”

“Donna. She gave me this.” Edgar opened his hand to reveal a stem holding six forget-me-not flowers.

“It cannot be,” the Doctor denied.

“Doctor, are you alright?” Clara quickly asked with concern as he visibly paled. “That isn’t a name from your list of past companions I am familiar with.”

“You should be,” the Doctor bit out, straightening himself out. “She is very important to this face.”

When he didn’t supply any more information, but instead stood in thought contemplating the empty doorway, Clara suggested, “Why don’t we get the boy into bed and then we can go home ourselves?”

“Yes,” the Doctor muttered.

Making for the stairs, Edgar turned to ask the Doctor, “Your friend Donna, is she a witch or a ghost, sir?”

The Doctor did his best to smile. “To some she is both. In a way she is always with me and haunts me when I do something stupid.”

Clara threw a quizzical look at Edgar and then led him upstairs.

She didn’t get to see the Doctor walk to the open door and say into the darkness, “Thank you, Donna. We saved one more.”

[pd-lyons]

Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue, by pd lyons/ Eleutheria: The Scottish Poetry Review (3. September. 2008)

Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue, by pd lyons/ Eleutheria: The Scottish Poetry Review (3. September. 2008)

Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue

words someday someone might say to you unimportant memories aroused to beauty non-the-less like cobwebs beaded up with dew brass fittings on a cedar door

The days debris randomly swept into a banked up fire before to your own black iron bed you’d slowly go.

w/all our coming and our going will we ever meet again? fragile as the moth is the flame one slight breath an…

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[vi-langdale]

Ghost Steps || Patrick&Violet

They'd only been in Vegas for a couple of months now but it seemed as if half of Violet's nights were spent wandering the streets just around the hotel suite she and her brother were staying at. Typically it was nothing more than to learn the city. She might be trying to quit the hunting business but it still couldn't be helped. It was embedded in her brain. Learn your surroundings. Highest points in the city, easiest escape routes and the most likely places something would be lurking in. And in a city like Vegas that could be anywhere. She hardly trusted her doorman much less the creeps in the back alley ways.

Tonight was different though. Instead of walking the streets for her benefit she was out patrolling through bars attempting to track down her brother. He was already late getting home and chances are potentially found someone else to spend the rest of his evening with. Joel had a good head on his shoulders, smarter than he'd ever give himself credit for but he was still a guy after all.

Violet stopped in front of the third bar that night. Her second one was a bust not even able to get in. Turns out some places actually gave a damn if you were the legal age or not. One more year to go and that wouldn't be a problem. She could follow her brother through the bars like the annoying sister that she was all she wanted. She stepped through the doors, the smell of booze and cigarettes instantly hitting her. It was actually something that smelled familiar and if it wasn't for the loud music and swaying, sweaty bodies it had potential to be a comfort.

"Excuse me," she touched the arm of a stranger on a bar stool beside her. "I'm looking for my brother." She described Joel knowing it was a long shot. "Seen him around anywhere?"