Scratch

Here's a little story to freak you out before this year's Halloween.

Ghost

   A large, family sized car drew up against the curb, gleaming silver dusted lightly with snow flakes. It contrasted eerily as it stopped under a orange streetlamp, the light spilling down to the windows. There was a click as the driver's foor swung open, and Tracey got out. She slid across the gentle brown leather and stepped onto the pavement, in one deliacte movement. Martin opened the passenger door, and got out. More light, stumbled out. Compared to Tracey's graceful movement he was clumsy and untidy. Tracey made her way to the Eagle Tavern, the small pub on the corner of the road. She was dressed formally; a 3/4 white sheepskin coat, modern black trousers finished of stylishly with glossy black highheels. She clicked and clacked as Martin casualy strolled behind. He was dressed in a dirty gray Adidas jumped, torn jeans and scruffy white sneakers.

   The Eagle Tavern was like a remote cottage. Small and compact, it was a picturesque view. The thatched roof was like pines on a Christmas tree, heaped with snow. The door held in all of the laughter and chinkling of glasses. As Tracey pulled it open, heat spilled out like a rush of water, thick with ciggarete smoke. The bar was decked out with all the traditional top shelf brand drinks, an oak bar table with stools spotted around. Many people gathered around the soft chairs, the deep green felt comfortable andn warm. Tracey smiled and laughed, making her way over to a bunch of woman talking and drinking delicatley out of crystal shot glasses. Martin made his way over to a group of men, laughing heartliy and making dirty jokes, throwing occastional glances at the woman.

   Nearly two hours later, Tracey waved her goodbye's and made her way outside. Something smelled, strong and sour. She turned around, in the direction of the stench. She nearly gasped, but gagged, which kept her fright back. A man dressed in tattered clothes stood facing her, a face that looked as if made by a drunk chef with dirty hands; lopsided, all of his features out of place. In his hand he held a metre long sythe, in its sheath, the black metal twinkling in the star light. She noticed his lifeless eyes gazing at her, so she spoke.

"Can I help you?" She tried to speak politely, but it sounded more adrupt, her shock clearly drifting in her voice.
"I recognize you. I had a girlfriend just like you..." His voice was deep and a strange gurgling came from his throat.
"Excuse me?" Was all Tracey could say, confused she blinked at him.
"She was called Tracey," She went cold. "Beautiful she was. I regret that I never told her so. Especially after she died. I was so upset."
"I'm... I'm sorry..."
"A year ago. Exactly. Not far of midnight today. I miss her I do..." Even more confused and scared, she asked,
"If you don't mind me asking, how did she... pass?" Her voice was shaky, uneasiness creeping into her stomach.
"She got into the car with me. I was driving, and we crashed. She died, but I survived. It was all my fault, just weeks after I was done for drink and driving." He mumbled.
"And what is your name again...?" She spun round as Martin emerged, drunk as sin unable to keep his balance.
"Martin." Eyes wide she returned to the strange man, to she him gone.

"Darling, let's have the keys.." Martin said. His voice was heavy, the words sloshing around in his mouth. Tracey felt the truth sink in.
"No." She dropped the keys into the gutter and looked up. "I'ts a fine night for a walk."

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I think it's pretty good, for something thrown together of my head in 10 mins. What do you think? Did you get the story?