This is a little ghost story I wrote with my friend D.J. earlier this year for a fun little assignment. Hope you like it!
It’s been a week since we moved into the old house. I used to bike past it every day on my way to school and marvel at its lonely atmosphere. Then the for sale sign went up. Again. It wasn’t a wonder as to why. Its the same all the time. New families come, and then they go. Just like that. This house has had a long reputation surrounding it; a dangerous one. When its occupied, nothing good happens. People go in. Thats it. They don’t return. Stranger still is that the victims are never the parents of the family. SO. Why have we moved here? Well you see, my dad doesn’t really bring in a huge income and my parents are divorced. So push goes to shove and we had to move out of our old house into, you got it, le house de creepy. Why is this bigger house a better option? Well it just so happens that due to its reputation for weird occurrences, the mortgage decreased. A lot. On the bright side, its closer to school, and cheap new house equals new places to explore, and personally, this house suits my tastes just fine. Settling down here won’t be that bad, that is if I don’t die first or something. Wouldn’t that be funny?
I sat up quickly, knocking my pillow on the floor. Danged crow. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes I slid out of bed. The coldness of the hardwood floor shocked my senses awake. Being the weird person I am, I had chosen the exclusive attic as my living quarters. Traipsing down the stairs to the kitchen, I inhaled the frigid December air. Unpacked and packed cardboard boxes were strewn everywhere, waiting until some poor soul came to tend to them. My breath came out in a cloud. Why the furnace was not on full blast eluded me. Oh well, time to forage for breakfast. On my way to the cereal, I stubbed my toe on a box. Grrrr apparently it’s going to be one of those days.
Heading over to the dining table, I spied yellowed scrap of paper with writing addressed to me. I scanned the sheet.
Daniel, I’m working late again. Don’t wait up for me.
Lovely. Alone again. No matter. I’m used to it. And I’m pretty sure a 17 year old boy can do perfectly fine on his own. I rolled my eyes.
My stomach growled. Sighing through my nose I continued my quest for cereal. After a wrestle with the cereal box, I ate in silence. As usual.
I froze. A rustle came from a nearby unpacked box. Putting down my spoon I tiptoed over to it. I nudged the box with my foot, curious, but unafraid. Nothing happened. Giving the box another prod, I waited for some reaction. Well, cue the creepy violin music. I’ve been in this house for only a little and I’ve seen no supernatural dangers. I don’t believe there are. But I guess it’s not too late to be haunted out. Not that anything would drive me away. Impatience conjured a frown on my face. I opened the flaps of the box.
A cat launched itself into my face with a vengeance. I fell back in surprise.
It was only my cat Pickles. I rescued him when he was a kitten.
“What happened to your crate? You don’t like it? I dont blame you.”
Pickles backed away spitting and hissing at me, and disappeared from sight. Back to my meal, I gulped down the remains and put the dishes in the worn, stained sink. Well, that didn’t really taste as good as I thought it would and I was still hungry. As a matter of fact, I felt….empty. I tapped my fingers on the countertop thoughtfully. I’m bored.
Then I got an idea. There’s nothing better to do in a new house, that’s weird as heck, than to go exploring! Yes. Going on a mini adventure; that sounds interesting.
Making my way out of the kitchen I carefully sidestepped a box, only to collide with another much larger one. Wait a minute… I’m pretty sure that box wasn’t here a second ago. But where did it come from? Sure there’s tons of boxes around but it’s not like they move on their own. At least not in my experience. Shrugging I moved on, concluding that Pickles probably bumped into it or something during his hasty exit.
Spying a closed door I jiggled the knob. It didn’t give. Throwing my shoulder at it, I was suddenly in the room with the door showing signs of aging. I coughed cautiously at the dust that gathered as the breeze I created kicked it up. Luckily none inhibited my breathing that I could feel. Looking about the room I spotted large sheet covered item. Curious, I attempted to grasp the sheet in order to remove it from the mysterious item. It wouldn’t budge. How odd. It’s a light sheet. It should come off easily. Perhaps it’s a fake. Trying again I reached for the sheet. Instead of successfully moving it, I lost my balance and toppled over onto my butt. Surprisingly it didn’t hurt though. I stood up hastily and brushed dust off my clothes. Sighing, I abandoned my rummaging of the abandoned room and backed out of the room through the door. Which was interesting, because I didn’t actually make the motion to open the door. But whatever.
Without a sound I continued my tour of the house. I found my way into an old parlor and sat down at a rotting writing desk. It’s drafty, I thought to myself. Laying my head down on the desk I squinted. What was that? Something caught my eye.
An old newspaper was nestled in between a couple books and an old pen. Glancing at the headline, I read:
“Another tragic disappearance. Teenage victim assumed dead.”
Blowing dust off the wrinkled paper, I spied a date near the top-2013. Wrinkling my brow I contemplated. Isn’t it 2013 this year? Thinking some more I thought about what I had seen. Everything was old, squeaky, dusty, as if it hadn’t been occupied in a few years at LEAST. What is going on? This paper can’t be right. Maybe it’s a misprint. Hitting my head with my fists I tried to concentrate. I turned my head to the side and in doing so, my eyes fell on a for sale sign up in the front yard of the house. Wait. What? Why is that still up? We occupy this house now! Me my dad and Pick-
Then I remembered. The note from dad was from that morning. And I had done the same thing. Gotten bored and with my scepticism of the supernatural, went to explore. To explore the dreaded backwood. I know no other memories of occurrences after that. I understand now though. My father is never coming back. He already moved away. Far away from me. And what I have become.
My frantic flitting eyes caught movement in my peripheral vision. Out the cracking parlor window, I spotted a man and a woman with a young girl walking up the house’s walkway. Panicking, I waved my hands in large frantic motions as I tried to capture their attention to warn them not to come. They paid no heed to my useless attempts and yells. Why couldn’t they see me? If they can’t see or hear me, then it can only mean one thing. That article in the paper was about me; my death. I can’t be dead! Thats just not fair. Filled with rage I slammed the door behind them.
“That was strange. Must have been one helluva wind.” Said the father uncertainly.
If I couldn’t enjoy my life, then why should they? It was then that I realized the cause of the families disappearances. I was responsible, and I felt good about that. I will make them pay for their good fortune. The family shrugged off the phenomena and commenced walking through the house. MY HOUSE. They were still smiling as they walked unwittingly into their new Hell.