Spooky Short Story for Halloween

Once again ,my publisher Cranthorpe Millner are running their annual spooky short story competition. This year they are asking for a spine-chilling, blood-curdling short story, not more than 500 words. See their Facebook or Instagram pages for details which, spookily, haven't materialised on their website yet.

I decided to have a go, In fact I have put in two entries, though I think the one below is the better of the two.

SPOOKY SHORT STORY FOR HALLOWEEN.

‘Graham! Graham err…’, Steve struggled to recall the surname of his former school friend. ‘Lovely to see you, it’s been a long time.’

They were both standing in the crematorium car park, having just attended the funeral service of another school friend, Dave, who had died unexpectedly.

Graham had been the only one of Steve’s class mates to have become famous, though most of the group had lost touch after school. Graham had been a bright lad, the only one to go on to Oxford University. He resurfaced a few years later when elected as an MP for somewhere that Steve and his friends referred to as ‘down south’. Even though he had only served couple of terms in Parliament, and had subsequently disappeared from view, Graham was still regarded as one of the few who had ‘made it.’

‘It’s new job,’ Graham replied, ‘Takes me all over the country. Or rather it will. This is a sort of trial run, first time out on my own. But it has gone well.’

‘What is it that you are doing? You know since you stepped away from public life?’ Steve neatly side stepped the issue of Graham’s fall from grace after claims he was involved in some dubious religious cult. Steve was curious, albeit in a morbid way, about Graham’s life after Westminster.

‘Oh, I work for a sort of executive placement company. Quite a big one really, though few would recognise the name. Lord and Hisson. Takes me all over. Been back a couple of times in the last few months. You know, it’s only a few weeks ago that I bumped into Dave. On a bus, strangely. I got on and he was the only other passenger. We must have been fated to meet.’

A shiver shook Steve’s body. ‘Did you know he was found dead on a bus. The driver thought he had fallen asleep and went to rouse him when they reached the last stop. Heart attack apparently.’

‘So sad’, was Graham’s only response, ‘But when your time is up… Look, why don’t we meet up. I have almost finished my work here, just the one job outstanding, but I’ll be finished tomorrow and then I have to head back to base.’

Although it was a little rushed Steve agreed to meet up that very evening. Partly because Graham had suggested a local restaurant which had a growing reputation, and partly to satisfy his curiosity and catch up. They hadn’t been great friends at school, but there was something different about Graham. Something Steve couldn’t put his finger on. Something almost other worldly.

That evening, as he was driving to the restaurant, he put the radio on and caught the end of the news. Something about the decomposed body of a locally born, former MP being found in remote farmhouse. Grim news, indeed.

Then it came back to him, Graham’s surname. It was Reaper. Graham Reaper, though he had always been known by his nickname. Grim.