Parisha Mostafa's Story

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The day my brother died started as any other. I woke up, got dressed and went to school as I usually would. The first signs of peculiarity started during my last lesson of the day, my head of year came rushing in, panting. “Ah, Charlie, you need to go home this instant!” she gasped. I knew this was weird; she didn’t even give me any information. All the same I ran home just in time to hear my dying brother’s last words. “She’s waiting in the woods by the school. If you don’t go then she will come to you…”


[Author- Parisha Mostafa, aged 13]

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