Enter our Halloween competition here

We’ve got a massive prize for the winner of our competition – a whole library of spooky books which will provide you with enough reading to last until next Halloween.

Add to that a voucher to spend in Waterstone’s donated by the Wool Exchange branch in Bradford, and an exclusive and original signed sketch by Bradford artist and author Chris Mould.

Two runners-up will receive a selection of books and a Waterstone’s voucher.

Our three main winners will be printed in the T&A and have their work displayed in the children’s section of Waterstone’s bookshop in the Wool Exchange, Bradford.

All you have to do is read the story we present to you here – Mist In The Graveyard. The only trouble is, it isn’t finished – which is where you come in. We want budding authors aged between eight and 11 to tell us what happens next in no more than 250 words.

You’ve got until Monday, November 21, to get your entries to us.

So without further ado, we present to you...

Mist In The Graveyard

You have got to be kidding me.”

Katie stood at the big curtainless window, its corners grimy with ancient spiderwebs and the outside of the glass greasy with rain. Her mum stood in the doorway, wringing her hands. “You don’t like your new room?”

Katie looked around. The room was fine; it was big enough, and once she’d got her bed in and her One Direction posters up, and covered up that weird looking water stain in the middle of the carpet with her rug, then it would be liveable. It wasn’t the room that was the problem.

It was the view.

“I’m not going to sleep with that outside,” she said, folding her arms.

“That” was a sprawling, unkempt graveyard which rambled as far as she could see in the thin fog that was descending. Ornate gravestones clustered together unevenly, large, shadowy crypts loomed out of the gloom.

“I’m sorry,” said Mum. “There are only two bedrooms and we need the bigger one at the front...”

“I don’t know why we had to move here anyway,” said Katie, for the thousandth time.

Mum sighed. “You know very well why. We had to come here for your dad’s new job. He couldn’t turn it down, not after he’s been out of work for so long.”

“I know that,” sighed Katie. “I mean here - this house. Could you actually have found anything creepier?”

“It’s all we can afford, for now,” said Mum. “Anyway, I’ve got to see to the removal men. Why don’t you explore?”

“Out there?” said Katie, thrusting out her bottom lip at the graveyard. Was there someone moving about out there in the fog? “No thanks.”

There was a small garden separating the house from the graveyard, not much more than a yard with a bit of yellowing turf at one end and some paving at the other. Katie stood there, shivering without her coat, arms folded. Just over the rickety fence was the graveyard. Katie couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched.

“Hello.”

She was being watched. To her left a small face was peering at her over the wall. Katie said, “Hello back. Who are you?”

“Leon,” said the boy, pulling himself up on to the wall and arranging himself in a sitting position. “Have you moved in next door?”

“Duh,” said Katie. “What does it look like?”

“Are you starting at my school?”

She sighed again. “I suppose so. Half term finishes on Monday.”

“Halloween,” said Leon.

“Halloween doesn’t bother me,” said Katie.

“It should,” said Leon. “You live in the Spook House.”

She started to say something, but Leon had gone. Katie shivered and told herself it was because she had no coat on. She decided to go back inside and find Mist.

“The removal men better not have let her out,” said Katie.

“She’ll be around somewhere,” said Dad. “Have you looked in your room?”

Katie stomped upstairs and found Mist, her small, black cat, curled up on the bare mattress where the removal men had dumped her bed. Katie lay down beside the cat and tickled her ears.

“I hate it already,” said Katie. “Why do you think that idiot boy called this the Spook House?”

“Miaow,” said Mist.

“No, I don’t know either,” said Katie. Outside it was almost dark. The graveyard seemed to glow in the fog. Katie said, “I wish Mum would put the curtains up.”

Katie started school on Monday morning. It was all right, she supposed. Everyone was nice to her in the new class. She didn’t like the uniform much. At break she saw the boy, Leon, from next door.

“Ouch,” he said when she punched his arm. “Why did you do that?”

“Why did you say I lived in the Spook House?” demanded Katie.

There was another boy there, who opened his eyes wide. “You live in the Spook House?”

“This is Anwar,” said Leon, still rubbing his arm. “Tell her about the Spook House, Anwar.”

“Somebody died there,” said the other boy. “Then he came back from the dead and turned into a werewolf.”

“It was a vampire,” said Leon.

“I’m pretty sure it was a werewolf,” said Anwar. “Or a mummy. A werewolf or a mummy, definitely.”

“It was a vampire,” insisted Leon. “And he died on Halloween. Every year on October 31 he comes back to his old house. That’s why no-one’s lived in it for years and years.”

“And that’s tonight,” said Anwar.

“Liars,” said Katie.

After her tea, Katie took Mist into the garden. It was dark but Mum said the cat had to get used to their new home. Katie said, “Stay there, on the grass. Have a sniff around.”

Mist padded around the damp grass, her eyes reflecting the light of the full moon. Just over the fence was the graveyard.

“Hello.”

Katie nearly jumped out of her skin. It was that Leon, peering at her over the wall again. And he had Anwar with him.

“We’re waiting to see what happens when he comes back.”

“When who comes back?” said Katie crossly.

“The vampire,” said Leon.

“The werewolf,” said Anwar. “Or mummy.”

“Where’s your cat going?” said Leon.

“Oh no!” said Katie. Mist was jumping around the edge of the grass. “She’s seen a mouse!”

Mist pounced and missed, her keen eyes following a dark shape at the bottom of the fence. Then the cat squeezed herself under the rotten fence panels, and disappeared from view.

Leon said, “She’s gone into the graveyard.”

“On Halloween,” said Anwar.

Katie stood on her tiptoes and peered over the fence. The graveyard looked very spooky in the dark, foggy night. She shouted, “Mist! Mist! Come back!”

The cat stayed wherever she was. Katie looked at Leon. “Right. You two, get over here.”

“Where are we going?” asked Leon.

“Into the graveyard,” said Katie. “To find Mist.”

“But the vampire...” said Leon.

“The werewolf... or the mummy...” said Anwar.

“I don’t care if all three are there,” said Katie. “We’re going to rescue Mist...”

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? IT’S UP TO YOU!

How to enter

Read our story and decide how it ends. Write up to 250 words telling us what you think happens.

If you can type your entry on a computer and have it printed out, that would be great. Please make sure your name is on every piece of paper in case it gets separated.

The closing date is the end of Monday, November 21, when all entries must be with us. No late entries can be accepted.

Either post to us or drop them off in person: Halloween Writing Competition, Telegraph & Argus, Hall Ings, Bradford, BD1 1JR.

Each entry must be accompanied by an ORIGINAL entry form as printed in today’s T&A, with your full name, age and address.

Photocopies will not be accepted. Please get a parent, carer or teacher to fill in a contact telephone number and e-mail and to sign saying it’s all your own work. We’re sorry, but we can’t return any of the entries, so make sure you have a copy yourself if you want to keep it. Entries will remain the property of the T&A for us to possibly use in relation to this competition. The winning entry and two runners-up will be printed in the Telegraph & Argus. We may also put other entries up on our website.

By entering, you agree to take part in publicity for the competition, and winners will be asked to have their photographs taken and appear in the T&A and associated titles/websites.