The Winner of Our 'Introduce Your Villain' Competition

All the entries were a great read, so thanks to everyone for contributing. However, these three villains really stuck with us.

We hope our winning entries entertain you, frighten you and – most importantly – intrigue you.

You can read the winning entries, alongside some commentary from Laura below – prepare for shivers down your spine!

And the winner is…

Struan Murray

This one really leapt out at me from the submissions pile – for one thing, the ending creeped me out like no other! The unsettling atmosphere is strengthened by well-judged changes in pace, from shocking violence to quiet menace to surreal horror. Tight story-telling means the extract feels self-contained, and the final twist left me wanting so much more. - Laura

I caught up with Jack at the end of the corridor, where he seemed to have lost his nerve. His fingers trembled beneath the weight of the gun.

“It must be a trap,” I pleaded. I did not want him to shoot anyone.

“Will you try and stop me?” he said, an edge of threat in his voice.

“How do you know it’s even him?”

“I know,”

But we had never seen the man. “You’re not a killer Jack,” I said, but Jack did not seem to agree; a look of hate and darkness crossed his features, made him ugly for a second, and then his hand was on the door handle and my mind had time enough for just one rational thought: killing him could not be as easy as this.

The door swung open and Jack levelled the gun and fired, a deafening blast that made me collapse to the doorframe.

And I saw the man then, at his table.

A hole had appeared in his chest, but he had not recoiled nor shaken nor fallen backwards into his chair. Blood seeped into his clothing, but he did not seem to mind. He stared up at us both – and that was enough to make me feel ill – and spoke in a friendly voice that sounded sickly and struggling for breath. It was as if his lung was punctured.

“Come and sit with me, boys,” he said, and pointed to the chairs before him. There was a bottle of wine on the table, and three glasses.

Shocked, and not knowing what else to do, we both sat down like obedient schoolchildren. Jack seemed to have forgotten that there was a gun in his hand.

“Let us pretend for this moment that we are friends,” he said, his grey eyes glinting as he poured. He looked like a man who had been washed of colour, thin grey hair and pallid skin that was somehow wet. His suit was grey and his sharp, bird-like face seemed greying too. The only colour on him was the growing patch of blood. It matched the colour of the wine.

“Please drink,” he said, his face draining still, his breathing coming harder. One of his hands fell limply to his side, trembling as it fought to stay alive. We sat in silence for many long minutes, but only he drank.

“I’m sorry about your sister, Jack,” he said eventually.

Next to me Jack put a hand to his head. Some of his golden hairs fell out. He frowned.

“Her death was necessary,” the man continued. “As necessary, I’m afraid, as yours- ”

This last word barely escaped his lips as he slumped finally onto the table, spilling wine across us.

But I could only stare at Jack.

All of his blonde hair was falling out now, and its place new, grey hairs were forming. His skin paled.

And behind his face, something grey and bird-like was already pushing its way through.

Runner-up: Jennifer Moore

You can tell there’s a lot of carefully planned world-building behind this extract. I can see so much potential in a world of green-eyed misfits, snow-pumas and totalitarian school assemblies. Masks are always really uncanny and a great dramatic device; I’m not sure I want to find out what the Slettseeker is hiding behind his… - Laura

And then all thoughts were forgotten.  He was here. 

The Slettseeker strode into the school hall, his long red boots clicking against the wooden floor.  He was taller than I’d imagined him, towering above the headmaster as they stood together at the front.  The entire school fell silent, collectively holding its breath as the Slettseeker rapped his long, metal spiked cane on the floor for our attention.  But he already had it.  He exuded a cruel authority which had us sitting up straight in our seats, eyes fixed firmly ahead, no one wanting to stand out from the rest with anything less than perfect behaviour.  He had, in short, that which all teachers long for and so rarely achieve – our complete concentration.

It was only to be expected - everyone knew what kind of power he wielded.  We’d all heard about the marked babies taken screaming from their mothers, dragged to the forests to face the wolves and snow-pumas and certain death.  Some people said that most were dead long before the wolves found them – frozen stiff – and it was kindest that way, but there was nothing remotely kind about the figure before us.  It was easy to imagine him sniffing out his victims through the curved, beak-like mask that covered his face.  There was something eerie and unhuman too about the black lensed eyes staring out beneath the broad brim of his blood-red hat.  When he lifted his arms inside the long crimson cloak they looked like wings on a great bird of prey. 

“You boy,” the Slettseeker rasped, pointing a thin, gloved finger straight at me.  “You with the funny eyes.”  His voice was low and scratchy as if the words came not from his mouth but somewhere deep in his throat.  They echoed round the waiting hall, amplified by the hollow contours of his mask.  “What’s your name?”

He must have sniffed out my otherness, all the way back on the thirteenth row – the one green-eyed misfit in a school of dark-eyed conformity.  The one pupil with something to hide.  Maybe he’d smelt me out, breathing in the acrid scent of fear and secrecy through his great curved beak.  I forced myself to keep eye contact as I answered.  I had promised I wouldn’t draw attention to myself.  I was just a normal boy, from a normal family, living a normal life.  

“Janeck, sir,” I answered.

“Tell me, Janeck, do you know your enemy?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Who is your enemy?” asked the Slettseeker.  I felt a roomful of eyes turning now, from him to me.  Of course I knew the answer. I knew it inside out, I knew it forwards and backwards.  I could recite the whole thing in my sleep. 

And yet as I sat there, before the impenetrable gaze of those black glass lenses, I could feel the words clogging at the back of my throat, muddling together in my brain until I scarcely knew where to begin. 

Runner-up: Nev Willis

This was different to most of the entries in that it read like a psychological thriller or crime novel. When done well, depictions of “ordinary”, non-supernatural evil can be the most frightening of all. Even though the extract’s written in the third person, we are right inside the head of its manipulative protagonist. Chilling! - Laura

She stared, mesmerised by the swirling, angry river below and slowly inched her thigh over the steel barrier. It wasn’t the highest bridge in the area, but it was high enough and there was no traffic to worry about at this time of night. No one to see what she was doing and try to talk her out of it - or play the hero.

He watched, holding his breath as she carefully eased her other leg over the barrier so that now she was standing shakily on the narrow parapet, inches from oblivion. It was an exquisite moment. It had taken time and painstaking subtlety, but he had become her true friend. The only one who really understood. He was the only one she trusted now and he felt enormously proud. Little by little, and with infinite care, he had taken her down this road and helped her to see that this really was the only solution to her problems - to the drugs, the baby, the cutting and the shame, the whole miserable mess that she had made of her short life.

All of his hard work would soon be rewarded and the world would be rid of another damaged, hopeless burden. He could almost taste the satisfaction of a job well done as the wind whistled and the rain spattered against his cheeks.

“I’m scared” she said suddenly, turning to look at him with a flicker of doubt in her big brown eyes.

“Of course you are” he replied softly “You knew you would be, didn’t you? But I’m here to help you, just like I promised”.

His mother had done this too he remembered. She had faltered when the final moment drew nigh, trying to cling on to her pointless existence. That had made him angry.

At fourteen he had already realised that he was unique and destined for much better things than a run-down council estate and an overweight, wine-sodden excuse for a mother. She had promised to get her act together of course. Time and again she would crush him to her fat blubbery bosom and swear solemnly that she was going to change - that things would get better. She would get a job, she'd promised and sort herself out - find them somewhere better to live. But it was all just words and weakness. He'd had to help her in the end, just as he would help Katie if she needed it, but he was rather hoping she would take that final step alone.

That would be the perfect testament to his skill.

Katie looked down at the dark, forbidding water, her tears mingling with the cold rain. Just one more step, she thought and it will all be over. She tried not to think about her parents or about the hurt that they would feel. They would be hurt anyway, and at least this way there would be an ending - for everyone.

Congratulations to all our winners!

Find out who made the shortlist here, and take a look at our other competitions here.