Suspense
Model Text
The Manor House One step at a time, Lara crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she paused but all that she could hear was blood thumping in her ears. She’d be back before they awoke. Twenty minutes later, she entered Harrow Woods. Her torchlight found the path and occasionally flashed to show her the black, quivering leaves. Dark clouds had muted the moon. Before long, she came to the ruins of the manor house. In the front garden, the fountain was still and smothered in years of moss. Overgrown rose bushes blocked the path painted thick with fallen petals. Warily, Lara perched on the edge of the fountain, took her camera from her bag and faced the trees. It was here that she had first seen it. This time she’d be ready. After a few moments, she heard the wind awaken in the woods. The water rippled, the trees rustled and a damp petal landed on her cheek. Lara shivered. Behind her, a door slammed. What was that? She whipped round to face the house. A shadow moved through the downstairs room. A light flicked on. Lara ran, shoving her camera back in her bag as she scrambled away from the fountain. She was sure she could hear something cracking the dried twigs behind her as she sped through the woods. She didn’t stop until she reached Meadow Drive, where she paused by a lamppost to catch her breath. Next time, she thought. Next time, I’ll be ready. Written by Jo Pearce innovated from The Old Mill – © Pie Corbett, 2016
The Manor House One step at a time, Lara crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she paused but all that she could hear was blood thumping in her ears. She’d be back before they awoke. Twenty minutes later, she entered Harrow Woods. Her torchlight found the path and occasionally flashed to show her the black, quivering leaves. Dark clouds had muted the moon. Before long, she came to the ruins of the manor house. In the front garden, the fountain was still and smothered in years of moss. Overgrown rose bushes blocked the path painted thick with fallen petals. Warily, Lara perched on the edge of the fountain, took her camera from her bag and faced the trees. It was here that she had first seen it. This time she’d be ready. After a few moments, she heard the wind awaken in the woods. The water rippled, the trees rustled and a damp petal landed on her cheek. Lara shivered. Behind her, a door slammed. What was that? She whipped round to face the house. A shadow moved through the downstairs room. A light flicked on. Lara ran, shoving her camera back in her bag as she scrambled away from the fountain. She was sure she could hear something cracking the dried twigs behind her as she sped through the woods. She didn’t stop until she reached Meadow Drive, where she paused by a lamppost to catch her breath. Next time, she thought. Next time, I’ll be ready. Written by Jo Pearce innovated from The Old Mill – © Pie Corbett, 2016
Beowulf
Long ago, King Hrothgar of the Danes built his great banqueting hall on the edge of the swamps. Every night, torches blazed and songs pierced the icy night air. The scent of roasted ox drifted over the water. The sounds and smells reached Grendel in the depths of the swamp, and he felt hunger gnaw at his belly like a rat in a trap. He waited until the voices fell silent in sleep; then, Grendel came stalking through the marshes to feast. In horror, the King abandoned the hall. It stood deserted until Beowulf arrived in the land, declaring he could slay the monster. So, the Danes returned to their hall to feast. The sounds of singing and laughter shook the dust from the rafters. Eventually, they fell asleep – all but Beowulf, who lay awake and watchful. Gradually, the shadows crept from the corners and stole across the floor. The light from the fire retreated and died. Like a dark plague staining the fields, Grendel dragged his terrible soul up to the hall and through the heavy wooden door. Grasping a sleeping soldier, Grendel raised him to his mouth and crunched his bones. Then he reached for Beowulf, crouching in the dark. Beowulf seized Grendel’s arm, who howled and writhed. Waking, soldiers rushed to stab the monster with their swords, but the blades slipped through as if Grendel was made of smoke. With one last terrible wrench, Grendel pulled away. Beowulf’s grasp tore Grendel’s arm from his shoulder. Moaning in pain, Grendel slunk back into the swamps. Beowulf nailed his grisly trophy to a beam, where it rotted away. The Danes and Beowulf celebrated; little did they know that Grendel’s mother had watched her beloved son die from his injuries, and now she wanted revenge…
C/ Pie Corbett (adapted)
Long ago, King Hrothgar of the Danes built his great banqueting hall on the edge of the swamps. Every night, torches blazed and songs pierced the icy night air. The scent of roasted ox drifted over the water. The sounds and smells reached Grendel in the depths of the swamp, and he felt hunger gnaw at his belly like a rat in a trap. He waited until the voices fell silent in sleep; then, Grendel came stalking through the marshes to feast. In horror, the King abandoned the hall. It stood deserted until Beowulf arrived in the land, declaring he could slay the monster. So, the Danes returned to their hall to feast. The sounds of singing and laughter shook the dust from the rafters. Eventually, they fell asleep – all but Beowulf, who lay awake and watchful. Gradually, the shadows crept from the corners and stole across the floor. The light from the fire retreated and died. Like a dark plague staining the fields, Grendel dragged his terrible soul up to the hall and through the heavy wooden door. Grasping a sleeping soldier, Grendel raised him to his mouth and crunched his bones. Then he reached for Beowulf, crouching in the dark. Beowulf seized Grendel’s arm, who howled and writhed. Waking, soldiers rushed to stab the monster with their swords, but the blades slipped through as if Grendel was made of smoke. With one last terrible wrench, Grendel pulled away. Beowulf’s grasp tore Grendel’s arm from his shoulder. Moaning in pain, Grendel slunk back into the swamps. Beowulf nailed his grisly trophy to a beam, where it rotted away. The Danes and Beowulf celebrated; little did they know that Grendel’s mother had watched her beloved son die from his injuries, and now she wanted revenge…
C/ Pie Corbett (adapted)
Tool: Bring a setting to life to create a scary atmosphere
Example from the model text: Gradually, the shadows crept from the corners and stole across the floor. The light from the fire retreated and died.
How does this description make you feel? How does it make you feel this way?
Example from the model text: Gradually, the shadows crept from the corners and stole across the floor. The light from the fire retreated and died.
How does this description make you feel? How does it make you feel this way?
https://www.onceuponapicture.co.uk/the-collections/the-thinking-collection/
What is in the picture (not the person or alligator)?
Use these headings
Use these headings
Use ideas from the Word Banks to create sentences. Examples: Hauntingly, the thunder growled from the clouds and stabbed through the air. The grass cowered and fainted.
Example 2: the Hand
Claire grinned at her twin sister, Sadie. It was almost the end of the last lesson of the day. Outside, the wind whipped dried leaves and crisps packets across the playground. A gaggle of mums and dads gathered shivering at the school gate. Inside, the lesson drew to a close. Mrs Sondhi sent the class out one by one. The two girls rushed across the playground and up the High Street. They could hardly wait to get back home. Claire marched on, almost running, only stopping to tug up her socks. Sadie looked back and laughed. “Don’t waste time with that!” she shouted and dashed on. By the sweet shop they turned up Filcher’s Alley, to take a short cut to the estate. Suddenly Claire stopped. “Oh no,” she groaned, rummaging in her bag. “I’ve left it behind! I’ll have to go back. Tell Mum I might be late. See you later!” But there was no reply. Sadie had raced on down the dark alley. Panting hard, Claire raced back to school and across the empty playground, already growing gloomy as the sun was beginning to set. The school was still open, so Mr Jakes, the site manager, had to be somewhere. She paused and listened but could not hear him. “Now, where was it?” she asked herself as she searched through her tray. There it was! Claire picked up her brand-new gold pen. Mum would not have been pleased if that had been lost. She smiled to herself, remembering her birthday party a week ago. BANG! Claire jumped. What was that? It was not Mr Jakes because she could now hear him whistling at the other end of the playground. Out of the silence, she heard steps. Somebody was coming. Closer. Somebody or something was coming down the corridor. Nearer. She stood still, so still even the chairs and tables froze with her. A shadow slipped, quick as a knife, into the next-door classroom. Claire clenched her fist around her pen, her heart racing fast. She glanced around the classroom for another way out. She could see one of the widows was slightly open! Trying to make as little noise as possible, she shoved it further open and scrambled through. A moment later she was out in the playground. It was quite dark where she was standing; she stood motionless, listening. Behind her the window opened even further with a sudden squeak. Claire gasped. A hand came up and grasped the window sill. Someone was about to climb through! Without thinking, Claire raised her pen and stabbed at the hand with all her might. The nib dug into flesh and there was an ear-piercing scream. Immediately, Claire ran like the wind, across the playground, through the gate and back up the High Street, her coat flying behind her. About 5 minutes later she reached home and burst into the kitchen to find her mother. Puffing and panting, Claire gasped out her story like a fish out of water, punctuating each word with another deep breath. Just as she finished, the door slammed open again and Sadie dashed in, her hand bleeding! “You two,” tutted Mum, “Dashing all over the place, never stopping to think!” She finished tying the bandage on to Sadie’s hand. “You were right to go back to school, love, but trying to scare her was daft!” She shook her head. She knelt down to open a large cardboard box that was on the kitchen floor. “I suppose this was what all the rush was about,” she said, smiling at the twins. Opening the box, she took out a tiny puppy.
Claire grinned at her twin sister, Sadie. It was almost the end of the last lesson of the day. Outside, the wind whipped dried leaves and crisps packets across the playground. A gaggle of mums and dads gathered shivering at the school gate. Inside, the lesson drew to a close. Mrs Sondhi sent the class out one by one. The two girls rushed across the playground and up the High Street. They could hardly wait to get back home. Claire marched on, almost running, only stopping to tug up her socks. Sadie looked back and laughed. “Don’t waste time with that!” she shouted and dashed on. By the sweet shop they turned up Filcher’s Alley, to take a short cut to the estate. Suddenly Claire stopped. “Oh no,” she groaned, rummaging in her bag. “I’ve left it behind! I’ll have to go back. Tell Mum I might be late. See you later!” But there was no reply. Sadie had raced on down the dark alley. Panting hard, Claire raced back to school and across the empty playground, already growing gloomy as the sun was beginning to set. The school was still open, so Mr Jakes, the site manager, had to be somewhere. She paused and listened but could not hear him. “Now, where was it?” she asked herself as she searched through her tray. There it was! Claire picked up her brand-new gold pen. Mum would not have been pleased if that had been lost. She smiled to herself, remembering her birthday party a week ago. BANG! Claire jumped. What was that? It was not Mr Jakes because she could now hear him whistling at the other end of the playground. Out of the silence, she heard steps. Somebody was coming. Closer. Somebody or something was coming down the corridor. Nearer. She stood still, so still even the chairs and tables froze with her. A shadow slipped, quick as a knife, into the next-door classroom. Claire clenched her fist around her pen, her heart racing fast. She glanced around the classroom for another way out. She could see one of the widows was slightly open! Trying to make as little noise as possible, she shoved it further open and scrambled through. A moment later she was out in the playground. It was quite dark where she was standing; she stood motionless, listening. Behind her the window opened even further with a sudden squeak. Claire gasped. A hand came up and grasped the window sill. Someone was about to climb through! Without thinking, Claire raised her pen and stabbed at the hand with all her might. The nib dug into flesh and there was an ear-piercing scream. Immediately, Claire ran like the wind, across the playground, through the gate and back up the High Street, her coat flying behind her. About 5 minutes later she reached home and burst into the kitchen to find her mother. Puffing and panting, Claire gasped out her story like a fish out of water, punctuating each word with another deep breath. Just as she finished, the door slammed open again and Sadie dashed in, her hand bleeding! “You two,” tutted Mum, “Dashing all over the place, never stopping to think!” She finished tying the bandage on to Sadie’s hand. “You were right to go back to school, love, but trying to scare her was daft!” She shook her head. She knelt down to open a large cardboard box that was on the kitchen floor. “I suppose this was what all the rush was about,” she said, smiling at the twins. Opening the box, she took out a tiny puppy.
Word Banks
The names of scary places • Names of MCs • Types of monsters that might be seen • Empty words e.g. things that the MC could see/hear 7 • Ways our bodies change when we are scared • Time phrases • Ways to show the reader that it is dark • Personification of the trees, moon, pond
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The Old Mill
Stealthily, Jo crept down the stairs, dodging the fourth step in case it creaked. At the bottom, she paused but all that she could hear was a silence that filled the house with sleep. The cat wound its way round her legs, begging to be let out. Twenty minutes later, she entered Deadman’s Forest. Tall trees towered overhead, and sunlight filtered through the branches, casting ebony shadows. It wasn’t long before she came to the ruins of the old mill. The pond glittered in the sunlight. A few bees buzzed busily. Jo sat down under the trees and watched as the dragonflies flitted across the mill pond’s surface. It was here that she had first seen the unicorn. All morning she waited, till in the end her eyes closed and she slept, dreaming of crystal towers and goblins. Later, she woke with a start. The sun had slipped behind the trees, casting charred shadows across the water’s oily surface. A cold breeze whispered through the reeds. Jo shuddered. A twig broke, leaves rustled, and something moved towards her! What was it? Cautiously, Jo stared into the darkness between the trees where her imagination warned her that anything could exist. A vague silhouette darted! Again, Jo shivered but not from the cold for, at that moment, she heard a sudden hiss and a red eye flickered. Jo gasped. With her dreams of unicorns left behind, Jo ran. Branches whipped at her face and brambles tore at her feet. She was sure that she could hear something behind her, feet thudding through the undergrowth. Something breathing … It was only when she reached the road beyond the tree line that she stopped. She stood, listening but only her heart thudded. The trees were quite still. Nothing. Silence. It was as if the forest had swallowed its secret. © Pie Corbett 2016
Stealthily, Jo crept down the stairs, dodging the fourth step in case it creaked. At the bottom, she paused but all that she could hear was a silence that filled the house with sleep. The cat wound its way round her legs, begging to be let out. Twenty minutes later, she entered Deadman’s Forest. Tall trees towered overhead, and sunlight filtered through the branches, casting ebony shadows. It wasn’t long before she came to the ruins of the old mill. The pond glittered in the sunlight. A few bees buzzed busily. Jo sat down under the trees and watched as the dragonflies flitted across the mill pond’s surface. It was here that she had first seen the unicorn. All morning she waited, till in the end her eyes closed and she slept, dreaming of crystal towers and goblins. Later, she woke with a start. The sun had slipped behind the trees, casting charred shadows across the water’s oily surface. A cold breeze whispered through the reeds. Jo shuddered. A twig broke, leaves rustled, and something moved towards her! What was it? Cautiously, Jo stared into the darkness between the trees where her imagination warned her that anything could exist. A vague silhouette darted! Again, Jo shivered but not from the cold for, at that moment, she heard a sudden hiss and a red eye flickered. Jo gasped. With her dreams of unicorns left behind, Jo ran. Branches whipped at her face and brambles tore at her feet. She was sure that she could hear something behind her, feet thudding through the undergrowth. Something breathing … It was only when she reached the road beyond the tree line that she stopped. She stood, listening but only her heart thudded. The trees were quite still. Nothing. Silence. It was as if the forest had swallowed its secret. © Pie Corbett 2016
