The Haunted House

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this as a school essay. Please feel free to comment!

Someone is exploring a supposedly haunted house, but what they find there may be more than they bargained for.

Submitted: March 25, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 24, 2017



I refuse to go any further.

Well. That's not exactly true. I'd love more than anything to carry on, to explore further into this black abyss in which I find myself. The adventurer in my yearns for it, craves it, needs it. But against every command from my brain, my legs refuse to budge an inch. It's as if they've become encased in invisible concrete, ensnared by some vile creation of supernatural origins - which, considering where I am, might not be too far from the truth.

The door I wish to open isn't ten feet from me. I could easily make it in three, four steps. Imagine the wonders that could be behind that door - it could be the discovery of a lifetime! Of course, if it follows the pattern of every other door I've opened, it probably won't be a discovery of any kind, but, then again, what door has the paralysing gaze of a basilisk?

Now that I think about it, that dull thumping's stopped. Hm. Strange. In this peculiar place of unparalleled abnormality, it had been the only consistent occurence yet, like a distant metronome, each tick revertebrating through empty halls and foreboding archways with a certainty that, right now, I lack.

But then it starts up again. Of course it does. The universe has an impeccable sense of comedic timing. Except now... Now, it has a strange tone to it - the voice is no longer that deep, throaty boom of war drums, but faster, higher, almost like a heartbeat. My own heart has matched its rhythm by now, pumping blood and adrenaline through me, preparing me for a situation I have yet to understand.

And then, suddenly, my legs lost that lethargic sensation and I can feel my nerves tingling. I cheer in excitement as pins and needles rush up my muscles, but the yell dies in my throat when the heartbeat stops. Simultaneously, and without any warning, every light in the corridor snuffs out, drowning me in a blanket of oppressive silence.

With the light gone, and my sight with it, my other senses begin to take over, a musty smell wafting into my nose, a bittersweet taste of rot lingering on my tongue, my entire body prickling with anticipation.

And even before the handle on the door begins to turn, I'm already turning, accelerating down the corridor, legs pumping into soft carpet like pistons in an engine. The thick air, almost tangible, slows my escape, but I keep running.


A few minutes have passed in a blur, as fast as the walls on both sides. Still running. Not sure where to. A soft whisper fills my ears from behind, but I don't dare look back. I may be adventurous, but I'm not an idiot.

Every corridor I turn into brings no recognition to the surface; every memory I have of this house is deep, deep in an ocean of dread, drowning.


Another minute. Or has it been three? I can't tell, all the clocks in this blasted house tell me midnight, their faces jeering and brutish as I speed past them, determined to escape. I've forgotten what I'm running from.


Tired. Still running.


Okay, I've stopped. My lungs rack my ribs for air. I'm certain I'm in a new section of the house. In fact, I seem to be on the floor of a toilet, my back to a wall and as far from the exit as possible. I'm unsure of how I entered. I never even opened any doors. Especially not the one to this bathroom - this imposing pair of double doors, tall, ominous, made of a dark oak and encrusted with tarnishing iron. The moon's blueish light, comforting in just about any situation other than this one, casts itself over the rusted green of the handles, like a sunken ship. Old. Forgotten. Dead, but teeming with life. A living death, almost. My thoughts are turning to mush right now. The adrenaline crash really did a number on me, it seems. A few more seconds of rest wouldn't hurt anyone.


I am reborn to the sound of creaking. Off to my right, a little way down the corridor. Instantly, I am alert. Again. I stand up, slowly, quietly, cautiously. Listening for the creaking. Aware that the slightest of movements or the smallest of sounds could give away my position. The creaking aside, nothing stirs. Without warning, the sunken ship resurfaces in my mind, bringing back a whole mess of memories from the first chase. I try to pay it no heed, try to put it out of my mind, but my limbs begin to tremble nonetheless.  Deeply unsettling, this atmosphere.

The creaking is closer now. Much closer. I start to properly panic now, as if what I was doing before was a mild startling. Silent prayers to every deity known and unknown escapes my lips like a breeze. And the creaking stops. Right outside my door.

a soft sniffing picks up. it seems almost... hungry. like a shark. sharks can smell blood from a mile away, can't they? the sheer proximity of whatever the hell is outside messes with my brain. my vision fills with static at the edges, and my thoughts begin to decay, my sentences begin to lose their logic. slowly but surely, i glance about for everything, anything that might help me. nothing.

the sniffing outside has been quiet for a while now. maybe it's passed me by? but it's when i'm about to think "too quiet" that the door's haft beings to turn.

sweat drips from every pore as i freeze in place. terror, pure and unbridled, takes me by the head and gives me a good rattling.

and the door opens and suddenly im turning around and climbing through a window i didnt know existed and im cutting myself on broken glass but i dont care as long as i get out and oh god i can feel it right behind me grasping for me and i jump and im


I land on a flowerbed, hard, forget to roll. My hands and knees are sliced open, gashed by fragments of glass, my forearm splits with pain, my heart is hammering and I pick out the vague shape of a car and I sprint. I get in, turn the key, slam the gearshaft into first and damn near break through the floor with my foot.

My whole body is shaking. Tears brim my eyes. A thick warmth drips over my arm, but the adrenaline masks all sensation. I can barely see straight, much less drive.

But inside, the fire of passion in my heart, passion for danger, for exploration, for discovery, burns ever brighter. The adventurer in my yearns for it, craves it.

Needs it.

© Copyright 2018 Avery Greyfield. All rights reserved.

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