Idea for a short story/imaginative essay? ?

Idea for a short story/imaginative essay? ?
I’m suppose to write a short story or imaginative essay for my English class. What would you write about if the story was called:
The Stranger
Into the Darkness
The Fog

What I need is ideas for story’s that would go with one of these titles thanks 🙂

For The Stranger, I would write a story about a little girl who walked home from school in the country, and each day with her friends, they see a strange, twisted little silhouette in the window of a strange, twisted little house, whom they call the Stranger. They make up play-stories about him, and he could be an old man or a young one, horribly ugly or dreadfully handsome, depending on their mood that day. And one day, the little girl’s friends are ill, and she walks home all alone, and there is no silhouette today, and near the mailbox is a strange old man with a wandering eye and a withered hand. He invites the little girl to hear a story, and she says no, and so he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “Now miss, I know you’re not supposed to talk to strangers, but please indulge an old man with too many stories in his head. Sit in front of the fence while I sit behind it, and I will tell you a tale.” The little girl nods, and he says, “I’m going to tell you a story. It is a lie. But not all of it is false…” and he tells her a story. She lags behind from her friends so she can hear the Stranger’s stories. One day, her mother finds out and is furious at her talking to strangers, so she asks the police who lives in that house. They respond that no one had lived there for years, but an old storyteller had lived there long ago. The mother is adamant, and when they search the house, they find no signs of life, except for a small, neat stack of papers on the floor, ink still fresh and gleaming. On the top of the first page, the title is written in elegant, spidery writing. It is “The Stranger”. The first line is, “I am going to tell you a story. It is a lie. But not all of it is false.”

For Into the Darkness, I would write about a man in the prime of his youth, handsome and debonair. One day, he meets a beautiful woman who has lost a precious ring in the deep woods. In an attempt to impress her, he declares that he will find it for her. He packs and sets off into the woods, winding his way through the trees, and it starts to get very dark, and when he thinks he can go no further, he sees a gleam on the forest floor. It is the ring. When he leans to pick it up, there is a horrible howl, and a figure that seems to be cut out of pure darkness descends on him. “How dare you steal from me!” it shrieked. Terrified, the young man explains his plight about the woman. He begs for his life. The shadow thinks for a while, and finally says, “All right. Take the ring for your lover, thief though she is.” The man thanks the shadow profusely, but it holds up a hand. “But as punishment for your insolence, you will never be able to stand in the dark again. Not nighttime, nor shadow, nor shade, lest my servants rip you to pieces. This will start at midnight. Go. Go!” And the man runs back to his house, lights every lamp, and presents the ring to his sweetheart. They eventually marry, but the man always has lamps. He never steps in the shadow of a tree, even on the hottest of days. But the shadows whisper to him. He becomes haggard and somber, always listening to the whispering shadows. Eventually he is sitting in his bedroom, alone, the only light a candle. A wind gusts through the window, snuffs out the candle, and plunges him into the darkness. The last thing he hears is the familiar laugh of the shadow.

For the Fog, I’d go for something more sci-fi as opposed to the fairy-tale-types I’ve presented to you. In the city, where the smog is dense and one cannot see a hand-span in front of their face in the early morning. People wear gas masks if it’s the wrong color. No one is to leave their houses if the fog is black, as that is the deadliest kind. However, there’s been reports of a mysterious knocking on the doors during these “blackouts”, and sightings of a little boy in a gas mask. One day, a kindly old woman lets the little boy in, and asks him to take off his mask. He refuses. She insists, until she reaches towards him and gently pulls it off. The boy’s face is not a face at all, but a roiling, tumbling expanse of black smog. “Thank you,” he says, and the black smog dissipates, and there is nothing left of him but his clothes. There is never smog in the city again.

I don’t know if you like those kinds of stories, but there you go. Good luck!