RTE Guide/Puffin Books Short Story Competition Runner Up!

Megan Wynne blog

Clever Abbie Alwell (age 12), who attends my teenage class in Malahide, has come runner up in the RTE GUIDE and Puffin Books story writing competition for ages 11-14 year olds! Abbie wrote a brilliant story about a cyber stalker and will be attending an awards ceremony in RTE with Puffin Books Editor, Claire Hennessy. Well done Abbie!

You can read Abbie’s gripping story below.

Megan Wynne Creative Writing's photo.
                                                                                                                                                                          Stalker
One comment. One tweet. One picture.I swerve tree stumps and duck under branches, my heart racing. I run as fast as my legs can carry me. The night air is freezing, but my make-up still sweats rapidly down my face. I keep going. I can still feel his rough touch, his tight grasp on my hips, my shoulders…Five comments. Three tweets. One friend request.

Oh, God, how could I have been such a thick? To think, that some ‘gorgeous’ boy wanted to get with me? To have a life with me?

I’d been warned about all this kind of stuff before, don’t get me wrong. “They’re not who they say they are,” this, and “Be careful what you put on there,” that.

But…I just thought…

The purr of an engine revving sounds in the distance, followed by crunches and thuds. My legs are numb, but I manage to sprint just a little bit faster, despite the clenching pain running up my leg and the stitch forming in my hip. Tears stream down my cheeks. My breathing is sharp and gaspy, but I don’t care.

I just want to get home.

Seven selfies. Five saucy tweets. Two exchanges of numbers.

I’m dead, I think, I am so, so dead.

I know I’m going to have to tell my parents about the whole thing, one way or another – or do I? Can I possibly find a way to keep this from them?

Can I possibly think of a way to keep this whole nightmare buried deep, deep down, forever?

Twelve secrets shared. Ten flirty texts. About a million talks of meeting up.

No, I stupidly gave him my address, when we first started ‘dating’. What if one day, this man, this awful, disgusting man, arrived on my doorstep? Imagine, poor Mam’s face, ifhe was the one to tell her that I’d been texting this middle-aged man in secret. She’d bedisgusted with me. But if I told her about how I thought he was only fifteen, and arranging to meet up, and scarcely getting away from his-

A scruffy, black jeep pulls up in front of me, the headlights white and blinding.

The brakes screech to a halt. I stop dead in my tracks, my heart thumping.

It’s him.

One meet up.

One meet up.

One meet up.

One stalker.