When I was a little girl there was an old house not far from my mothers. It was a large house built just before
the civil war. During the hot summer months my older brother and our cousins use to play at a creek that ran by
the old house. Every time when they would return from playing near the house they would tell me chilling tales
of the scary house. Some people have even said that the house was owned by a young family until it was forcibly
taken over by soldiers and used as a hospital for the injured and the dying. One tale that made the hairs on my
arm stand up was when my brother told me that he saw something moving and even looking out through a broken
window.
As I got older the stories died off and the curiosity of going into the house stayed with me. I felt
drawn and even pulled to see things for myself. Then on a hot summer afternoon I decided to go to the old house.
It was rundown and neglected as I remembered. I carefully walked towards the house. I noticed how the yard had been
unkept. It was overgrown with weeds, sticker bushes, and vines that twisted and tangled across the ground. I pushed
myself on towards the house and began to slowly walk up the wooden steps. They were broken, lose and with every
step I took the steps would creak and crackle. I held onto the rails for support. They were once painted white but
were now stained by the passing years of weather.
The paint from the rails would flake off into my hands. I took a deep breath and before me I saw a large
wooden door. I reached with sweating hands for the blackened heavy metal door knob. You could hear it sing
out a loud squeaking echo into the house. It was a wrenching sound you could almost feel deep inside of you.
It alerted the ghost of my very presences. My heart was now racing and I could feel the adrenalin running and
dancing though my veins. I stood there for a few a seconds unable to move. My eyes began to move about the room. The
ceilings were high but the windows felt hypnotizing. They
were large like eyes watching you from inside. But you
could barely look though the windows because of the dingy
haze of dirt that covered them. The air smelt musty and
stale. I began to wonder around the old neglected house.
Dust covered everything from the ragged draperies to the
few remains of furniture that was broken and tossed about
the rooms. But what caught my eye was an old wheel chair
that sat easily in a far corner of the room. It brought
back all the blood curdling stories of when I was a little
girl. I did not feel as if I was alone. The house had a
presence of its own. But my curiosity was driving me on. I
started up the stairs. The stairs were steep and narrow
and with every step I took the house creaked and echoed my
foots steps. When I got to the tops of the stairs I could
see 4 rooms surrounding a small sitting area. I looked
around taking in all the details from the peeling
wallpaper to the moldings that decorated the door ways. In
the back of my mind I could see how this house must have
looked before the war. I could picture children running up
and down these stairs. At that moment I felt a cold
chilling breeze that made my skin crawl and the hairs on
the back of neck stood up. Then I remember the tales of
the injured and dying soldiers. I began to feel uneasy and
nervous. I noticed that it was getting late and I better
be going. I turned to go down the stairs. When up above me
I could hear something being dragged and being pulled
across the floor. I hurried to the door but before I left.
I turned my head over to glance at the wheel chair in the
far corner. To my surprise it was not there instead it was
over by the window as if someone was sitting there to
watch me leave. I then grabbed the door and ran out and
down the broken steps and towards the end of the yard onto
the road.
I looked back at the house. Now I too think I
have seen something or someone moving in the windows and
looking out at me.
I ran home never again to return to the
old house.
Contact me here: zoyablue@hotmail.com
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