Tombstone shadows creep towards Cherry as the sun bleeds out. She loves ghost-hunting in the churchyard. It smells of grief and mulchy leaves. A bony hand rakes her shoulder, so thin she feels the knuckles. "Silly cow," she says, looking round. "Tree branch." Behind her, his breath forms clouds.

The soldiers prodded the hay with their bayonets. I smiled, knowing the family had escaped. Paul would have taken them south during the night. A child screamed. Then a woman. I heard him shout there were two more and felt sick. "Paul? What's going on? Why is there a pistol on your belt?"

A musky, animal smell. A shape in the darkness holding its breath. Your heart beats so fast it hurts. You reach for your phone and slowly, silently, you dial. A ringtone in the corner of the room. Your husband's ringtone. "Steve can't answer right now," says a voice. "You can chat to me instead."

Branches like gnarled fingers on the unlit road. Creatures scuttled, eyes caught in the headlights. Rain thumped on a land that smelled of slaughter. The passenger moaned as they took a sharp corner. Here was the barn where they would bed him down. Where no-one would hear him screaming. #WriteCBC

The professor’s apartment is just as she expects. Wood floors, bookshelves for days. Real coffee, wine, beeswax. Motes of dust dance in sunlight and Louis Armstrong drifts in from the street. A stain in the corner. Dark red, ferrous-smelling. The door clicks. She doesn’t have the code to get out.

We made a deal, me and your mum. No pressies, no chimney malarkey, not the merest sniff of ho ho ho. I've always done exactly what she wanted. But I've been watching over you these past 20 years, love, and I think it's time. You know who I am, right? #5ActFestiveStory #WritingCommunity