MY EXPERIENCE IN THE HOUSE.
I drove down the never-ending road, and saw that I was running on empty. A big, red sign passed that read, "NEXT GAS STATION - 100 MILES." Angry, my fists slammed into the steering wheel like a hammer hitting a nail into a new block of wood; I obviously had taken a wrong turn. The concrete road soon turned into dirt. After several minutes my dirt-covered car began sputtering and almost immediately began to slow down. Before long, there were thick, creepy trees surrounding me. "Weird.." Thinking to myself.
There was a distant light on top of a close-by hill. I opened my car door as I covered my eyes to prevent dirt getting into them. The sun was setting, and the moon was already high up in the sky. It was chilly; reaching into my backpocket, I pulled out my cell-phone and my matches. I put the matches back into my pocket. My cellphone was almost dead and had no service. "Oh my god! What are the chances of this?!" I yelled angrily. Walking up the hill, I saw the house -- it was in horrible shape, it was similar to a medieval castle in a way. My body began to shake - I knew I had to enter the house, unless I wanted to die out here in the wilderness.
Walking up the big lawn, when I reached the front porch, I solemnly noticed that all the aged windows were boarded up. I began to have second thoughts about entering this house - all the signs pointed out that it was long ago abandoned and who knew what awaited me in there. Before long, my fists thrashed against the decaying door, in hopes that maybe someone was still living there.
Waiting for someone to answer, I heard the sound of an old gas-guzzler approaching. I ran towards the dirt road. Just a few feet away, the gas-guzzler sped on by without noticing me.
"Wait, help me!" I shrieked after the truck, seconds after I heard the wail of a far-off, deadly animal. My conscious was screaming at me - telling me not to go in the house, to stay far away, though I did not listen. I had no choice now, I had to enter the house. Walking back up the big lawn, once I reached the front porch again, I creaked open the door and shouted atrociously, "Hello, is anyone home?!"
After waiting a few seconds there was no answer, I caught sight of a candle light off into the house; walking into the house, the door behind me slammed closed, a quick gasp escaped from my mouth. I was holding my breath now, frightened. I searched along the ancient walls for a light switch. I finally discovered a light switch, flipping it up the room suddenly made the transition into a blinding, luminous, blazing sun.
The room suddenly felt like it was one thousand degrees Fahrenheit. I yelled in aching grief, falling to the ground.
When I had awoke the room appeared ordinary. The light-bulb was flickering on and off; some wallpaper was easing off the crumbling walls, and the carpet was stained with big, circular, red stains. The room was depressing, dark, and a bit eerie. There was something wrong with it. I visualized myself in Washington, in a nice, warm house, eating some hot soup and socializing with my dear friends. I wonder if they had noticed my absence - or even if they cared.
My deep thoughts were instantly interrupted with a high-pitched screech, my instincts kicked in and before I knew it I was running up the deteriorating staircase. Once I reached the top, a blood-drenched man was holding a butcher knife, just waiting for my arrival.
I screamed suddenly, and within a seconds notice he dove for me - I barely dodged him. He tumbled down the staircase like a log rolling down a big, steep hill until he regained his balance. I ran like hell through the narrowing hallway and reached a room, there was a woman with fiery red hair lying there and blood splattered everywhere. I did not realize that she was dead until I saw the piercing wounds, apparently from a knife. Her eyes were wide open and looking at the ceiling, just frozen solid.
I cringed, holding back the tears. I had to make a quick decision - I could hide in the closet or look for another spot; I just had to get out of sight and fast. Hurdling into the cramped closet, I tried to get comfortable but that was virtually impossible. How could I get comfortable when I knew there was a murderer looking for me, possibly knowing where I was?
Now was the time to get out of the house. I should have listened to my conscious, if I would have I would not be looking Death right in the face. I felt something tugging at my jacket. I peered behind me, in disbelief I saw a young child on the floor. He had been sliced up, and there was a huge red stain underneath his body. I departed the closet immediately, I was horrified.. I sneaked pass the woman's body and found myself in the hallway again running right into a little boy, similar to the one in the closet.
Screaming, I saw the man right behind the little boy with a chainsaw. He started it and I witness the boy's horrific death. My mind was going insane. When I opened my eyes the boy and the man had disappeared mysteriously. I ran down the crooked staircase, almost falling all the way down the stairs. I thought I was crazy, I didn't see how any of this could be real.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs there was a giant, growing, dark hole in the floor with bodies in it. The walls had collapsed in and bodies were flooding in. A hand from the hole grabbed my ankle with a tight grip, pulling me in. I shrieked and panicked. I pulled out the matches in my backpocket... fire. I threw it into the hole and there was a huge explosion. The house began to fall apart and I ran through the big lawn. Looking back, the house looked ordinary once again but still had that freakish glow. I walked down that dirt road, one last time... And I can still hear the diminishing screams of the tortured souls in the house to this day.
*Updated x2* A great thanks to all the reviewers to help me improve me story!
I only scanned this passage but I noticed in the first few paragraphs that you wrote that I did this and I did that. You told us what you were doing not showing us. 
The very first issue that jumped out to me is rhythm. A lot of people think that rhythm is only applied in poetry, but that's definitely not true: stories, especially short stories, need just as much of a steady flow as poems.
Gender:
Points: 5541
Reviews: 29