This is the fifth sample article candidates of the ECPE examination (Examination for the Certificate of Proficiency in English of the University of Michigan) My first post to deal with articles , explains what needs to be present in this type of piece of writing. As stated, examiners are looking for articles that elaborate on ideas and have solid arguments; are well organized; make use of a wide lexical and grammatical range; have an original ring to them (in other words, readers are able to distinguish the author's unique "voice"). Before reading, take a look at the following post if you haven't already done so. It will help you focus on the vital aspects you need to be aware of while reading the article and what you should make sure to use when you write your own. The question appeared in Practice Tests for the ECPE Book 1 (revised 2021 version) and is accompanied by the following three writing prompts:
It is, naturally, appropriate for creative writing assignments as well -- especially early October, with Halloween right round the corner -- that should give students and teachers alike the opportunity to get ideas. Ideally, it should be used to show students and ESL / EFL exam candidates what is expected of them when they encounter this type of question, even though it is rather lengthier than required.
As you read, note the various elements a short story should have: dialogue, use of adjectives and adverbs to create atmosphere, use of the senses, organization of paragraphs, conflicts that heighten the action, narrator, and the like.
For further information, read my post Writing Stories: Where to Start. It should help you tackle a story from the ground up and make you aware of the different things that should be included so that the story is worth reading.
The assignment is a simple one: Write a story entitled The Haunted House. Based on this simple rubric, the following tale was produced. Enjoy!
The Haunted House
It was a cold October evening and it had just started drizzling on the sleepy country village I lived in. I was coming back from soccer practice, exhausted after the drills and our coach had kept us longer than usual so night had already fallen on the deserted streets surrounding my school. My house was ten blocks away and all the other kids had left in their parents’ cars. My favorite TV show was about to begin, so I decided to take a short cut through the fields I had never taken before. Little did I know what that decision would bring.
As I trudged wearily up the hill, I almost felt the icy wind telling me to stop and go back, but reaching the top and looking down, I saw the warm lights of my house far away to my right among my neighbors’ cottages. What I also saw took my breath away. A large ghastly-looking mansion fell right across my path downhill and there was no other way for me to get home but through the overgrown garden surrounding it.
I crept warily among patches of rotting vegetables as I inspected the outside of this colossal building, its gray walls covered in ivy and dark windows with broken shutters drooping on rusty hinges. The silence seemed as thick as fog, coating everything and everyone near the house. Glad to reach the garden’s wrecked outer wooden fence that no longer stood, I told myself it was just my imagination playing tricks on me that made me so nervous. What a silly fool I must seem to a bystander. It was at that moment I heard a low moan coming from the depths of the house behind me, which grew stronger with every step I took, until it became a piercing shriek.
I ran. I ran as fast as my tired legs would carry me. I ran until I reached the safety of the lit street that led to my house. I must have been panting so hard that old Mr. Jones, the village eccentric, who was just coming out of his barn, stopped and asked me if I was okay. I told him about the house. “Ah, you saw it too then,” he said with a crazed look in his eyes. “Only few have seen it. Only those the house chooses are the unlucky few. Go tomorrow and it won’t be there, but know that once it’s let you seen it, it won’t let you go.” With that, he turned. “Wait, Mr. Jones,” I cried chasing after him. “What do you mean it won’t let you go?”
