‘The Creep who Lived on Raven Lane’ by Amelia Ramsden

The town was small. It was quiet and tidy. The town had a main street. On the main street was a diner, gas station, market and a series of other shops. On the edge of the main street there was an old clock tower which was the tallest building in the town. The houses were really colourful and small.The town went by the name of Stone Wood.

Many years ago in the small town of Stone Wood was a series of murders. They all took place on the 23rd day of each month. They usually occurred in the late evening hours, when everyone was sleeping. People said that the old woman who lives in the small wooden shed at the edge of town was responsible for all of them.

According to legend, the old woman wanted revenge on the person who killed her son, back in the year of 1958. An unaware driver ran over the small boy when he was just three years old. The older townsfolk knew fragments of information about the old woman. But no one knew her real name so we just call her The Creep who Lived on Raven Lane…


It was three days until summer vacation. At this time of year, Stone Wood was always covered in flowers and bunting so when the children come home from school, it looked all nice and summery. Most of the kids run around the streets screaming and having fun. At least that’s what the normal kids do.

Me and my friends went straight to my house and tell spooky stories. The first one we decided to tell was The Creep who Lived on Raven Lane. This legend is 100% absolutely true; the scariest one of them all, because it is about the town we live in. Stone Wood.

It was late that night. Me and my friends trembled to the end of town where the old woman slept. The moon was full and the light reflected on the lake and the streets were silent.The trees were black and lifeless.No wind was forming. All we could see was darkness.

As we arrived at the town sign, we stopped. This may just be the last time we see this sign. We carried on walking down the lane. Then we saw it. Crows circled the rooftops.We had arrived.

The shed was old and rickety. The windows were full of mud and the thin glass was smashed. The door was wooden and chipped around the hinges.The door handle was embedded with cobwebs and filled with spiders. The door creaked open. We saw a room that looked like a living room. There were old toy cars and trucks lying on the dusty rug.The old fire place was dusty and covered in cobwebs. There were still ashes in the fire and a stack of logs and coal either side. The room smelt of danger and death. It was cold and lifeless. There were black and white photos hung on the patterned, mouldy wallpaper.

Stumbling towards a small opening at the end of the living room, we saw what was a dark room. It looked like the kitchen. It was all broken and rats were obviously living there. The floor was all cracked and the doors were hanging off their hinges. We walked into what looked like a pantry. In the middle there was lots of firewood and there was something in the corner. We shone a torch on it and ran. It was a set of bones from a human body. There wasn’t just one – there were many. We ran for the exit.

A loud crash came from the room above us. We were startled. A light shone down the stairs. A shadow appeared on the wall. We were looking for the exit, but we were trapped in a corner. There was no escape. The figure came down the rickety staircase. It was wearing a black cloak and a muddy white dress.

Spookily, angrily and viciously, the old women staggered down the staircase. Her face showed signs of death and fury. The old woman had brown crooked fingernails. Her hand was all red and burnt. She wore odd socks and her legs were wobbling.

My heart was beating rapidly. My hand was shaking. I could feel her breath trickle down my cheek. The light of the candle flickered on her face. It was all wrinkly and she had a large wart on her chin. Her eyes were electric blue and she had a evil looking smile on her face.

We came across the door. Pulling as hard as our bodies would let us, we yanked the door handle off and shot out into the darkness. The woman was following us. We ran as fast as our legs would carry us. Our lungs were telling us to stop. But we couldn’t. Eventually, we lost sight of the old woman.

Turning the sharp corner onto the main street, we dashed home. This was definitely a legend never to be told again.

Photo by Lennart kcotsttiw from Pexels