Young Writers Society

The house was old. At night it melted into the shadows like a black cat. Gnarled trees and dead plants invaded the overgrown garden. Shutters hung loosely from their posts beside the broken bay windows. One side was of the house was completely covered in ivy, while weatherworn grey planks lined the other. Old-fashioned buttresses supported the once lavishly detailed pergola covering the porch. The small steps leading up to it creaked underfoot when someone dared climb it. All the original furnishings are still being kept in the large mansion. They are covered in dust, now merely a reminiscence of their past glory. The musty smell of fabrics decomposing filled the air once near. Everything placed in this vile habitat grew into the scenery, becoming just as shadowy as the walls. Children used to run through the well-furnished halls, their laughter echoing in the now silent mansion, but it wasn’t long before they went silent. The oppressive energy of the house was so mused in undercurrents that they didn’t realize what was causing the depression until things started to go wrong. It had always been a place of heartbreak for the families who lived there. No one lasted long in the painfully quaint home. It spoke to them, telling them their deepest desires and darkest fears, turning on them as soon as the lights went out. One begs the question if it were merely coincidence that such families always chose to stay there, or if it has a certain allure to the dark and depressed. Lights haven’t shown through the shattered windows in sixty years, leaving the time ripe for another tragedy to grace the deep-rooted dwelling.

I sat on the crumbling roof, closing my eyes and just breathing the fresh air and wondering, when, where else can you get such an exhilerating feeling? The house groaned under my weight, not used to carrying someone upon its shoulders. I felt mighty and powerful; I was so high up here, nobody had better mess with me. There was a small gap in the roof, and I slowly, carefully inched my way over it, the wheathered and soiled tar roof tiles blackening my hands. I looked inside the house, taking everything in, like a kid's first visit to FAO Schwartz. Far below me, rats scampered across dust-covered wood floors, and busted-up furniture draped in grubby covers looked like cartoon ghosts, their creakings and moanings even sounding somewhat like boos. Something flickered, and moved. Something big. I looked closer and...

"Hey Seb!" Turner Neils yelled up at me. My real name was Sebastian Crowan, nobody called me that. Those people who didn't call me Crow, called me Seb.
"Can't you get a move on? I'm freezing!"
Distracted, I quickly glanced back down at him. Roger Griffith and Dex Harvey were standing a little behind him, keeping look-out. They needn't have done, seeing as the town was always empty this time of year.
I looked back to where the flickering had come from, but saw nothing. I sighed. My imagination was very vivid. So vivid infact that it often got me in trouble.
"Can you get in or not?" Roger yelled, stepping forward. I could see he was growing impatient. Roger was the mean jock all the geeks were afraid of. We were all on the basketball team, one of the reasons we were here tonight.

"there's a space on the roof we can get through." I bit my lip, afraid. Why was I so nervous. "But it's, uh, a long drop..."

"Can't you use the rope?" Turner yelled.
Oh yeah, I thought, the rope. I sat up again and rummaged in the backpack I brought along. Glancing around quickly, I saw an iron cock on the pitch of the roof. It was rusty, and I wasn't sure it would hold me.
"You might as well tell us if you're too scared to do this now Crow!" Roger yelled, "I don't want to spend the rest of the night freezing just so you can chicken out!"
Anger gave me courage I wouldn't usually have. I climbed upward to the rickety cock. it stood out in the moonlight, framed by the dark sky. I fastened the rope and slowly scaled back to the hole. Thanks to the endless hours of practising for basketball, my arms were very strong. I slowly lowered myself through the space. I could hear the roof creak under my weight. The process was very slow. I was only about half-way when a loud creak made me worry.
Oh God, I thought desperately. It sounded as though the wood was splintering. I tried to go faster, but one last huge crack sounded as part of the roof fell in on me.