The Abandoned House

And so there we were, at the top of the stairs, with him grinning like a madman. I knew this was the end. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristling; every nerve in my body was more alert as if waiting for the impact. I thought back to what seemed like hours before, when we were stood outside the house.

It was cloudy, and the first few specks of rain were exploding on the dark gravel. We were in the park, and I knew that we were going to get drenched if we weren’t careful. A major storm was coming on.

The problem with the park was that, although it was a beautiful setting of lush, green trees surrounding vast areas of grass criss-crossed with paths like a crazy maze of dead, stony snakes, the only problem was that it was so open. You had a 5-minute walk to reach the edge and the shelter of the trees. Or you could chance it behind you and down the road, but that would take 15 minutes to reach home, and we would be truly sodden by that time.

Thunder clapped overhead, and the heavens opened up. I looked at Mark, and shouted

"What shall we do?" He pondered over it for a second, then cried

"Follow me!" He set off, sprinting back towards the road. I wondered what he was doing, running back that was slower than towards the trees. But still I followed.

We were almost at the road, but he suddenly veered off to the left. I went with him.

And then I saw it. The abandoned house.

It stood, 3 storeys high, with boarded up windows and a menacing look about it. Dead trees that had once grown around it looked like giant mortifying claws, as if poisoned by the evilness of the house. Its door had been boarded up too, but there was no need, you could easily push it open and clamber between the planks at the bottom. Not that you would want to.

Some say that it is haunted; others say that its all propaganda, but one thing was for sure. What had happened there years before. No one speaks of it, and no one, not even a madman would go in. It had an evil air about it; a terrifying feeling crept up inside you whenever you saw it.

I don’t know why, though. After the stabbings, it got cleared up, put on sale and nobody would buy it, so it just fell into disrepair. It was just an old abandoned house.

I looked to my left, and saw Mark kicking at the door.

"No…" I stammered. "Perhaps… Lets just…"

"What’s the matter, Peter? Scared?" He sneered, questioningly.

"No, but…"

"Well come on then!" He said with patronising smirk on his face. I couldn’t turn back now even if I tried. It was the sort of thing where you want to run, but you are stuck between fear and fear of humiliation.

A crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and the creak of a door being pushed open on rusty hinges. I took one last look at the fearsome house, the glorious outside and the now comforting rain splashing down around me, and then I had ducked under the planks of wood and was inside, peering about in the darkness.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, the hall slowly came into view, the long, bare corridor with several doors leading off to unknown rooms. But Mark wasn’t there.

"Mark?" I quavered.

I started forwards.

"Mark?" I said again. But nothing was moving. Something was wrong. It was all too still.

"Mark!" I shouted. I heard a squeak.