Stories for intermediate-level students, equivalent to CEFR B2.
Steve hadn’t been joking. There was a circle of thick candles on the floor, and a table had been placed in the middle, with expensive cloth on top. Elisabeth was impressed. She’d been in professional productions with far worse sets than this.
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Xu hated lots of things. She hated burnt toast, ugly sweaters, and tiny loud dogs. But more than anything, she hated spiders.
And the attic was full of them.
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Rosa stared at her renters, and her renters stared back at her. They were all gathered in the living room of her house, sitting on the ancient sofa, looking very annoyed at being there. Xu probably wanted to be outside taking pictures of traffic lights and dogs, and Elisabeth had been loudly rehearsing Macbeth in her bedroom when Rosa called them all down. She didn’t want to know what Steve had been doing, but he looked the same as always, like a naughty child.
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I was sick, sick with the feeling of death. I heard the mutter of those who had questioned me, the Inquisitors. I saw the lips of the black-robed judges, and they were whiter than the paper that I am writing this on. They were thin, and tight, and they whispered things I could not hear. I saw seven candles on a table beside me, and they shone like angels, but I knew there was nobody to help me. I thought how sweet death would be, and then the men around me disappeared, and the candles faded into darkness.
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She knew what she was doing was wrong. She had known the moment she saw him. But love didn’t care about what side of a wall you were on, even if she was on the side of the palace gardens and he was stood in the ruined fields.
The war had gone on for years, but it only took a moment for her to lose to his eyes. They stared at her through a hole in the wall. She knew he was from the other side. He had the eyes of the Others, the Enemies. They were so bright that she could see her reflection in them.
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Once upon a time there was an old man called Cılbak Baba. Cılbak lived in the village of Güre, in Turkey, next to Mount Ida. He looked after cows, pigs, and geese, and he was well-known and well-liked throughout the village. But Cılbak was foolish.
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I don’t expect you to believe what I am going to tell you, but hopefully you will understand. I’m not sure I believe or understand it myself. I’m not mad, and this is not a dream—it is stranger and more horrible than any dream I have ever had. But maybe a clever reader will see my story, and find an answer to the madness. That is all I can hope for.
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‘I guess it could’ve been a coven of v-vampires. But do you think this place is really…?’
‘Poorly looked after? It appears to be. Suppose we go to the kitchen and try to find some food?’
He began hopping towards the door, but then there was a strong gust of wind and it slammed loudly, putting out two lights with it. Pelha screamed.
‘Oh well, I suppose a vampire’s kitchen would be empty.’
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Once upon a time, in old Japan, there was a Buddhist monk named Zenchi. Zenchi was well-known at the temple where he lived because of his nose. It was about five or six inches long, and it hung down his face, from his upper lip to the bottom of his chin. It was fat at the top and fat at the bottom, and looked like a long sausage, which hung off his face and swung from side to side.
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