Ghosts? Really?
That's what I usually think when somebody claims to have one lurking in their hallways when it's dark. I never believed in orbs of light, screams in the night, or miscellaneous objects moving on their own. Not real, I used to say.
Not anymore. But, contrary to what they say –‘you’ve got to see it to believe it’-, its worse when what you fear most is what you can’t see. You just know it’s there, hiding in the dark. My monster is like that, I’ve never seen it, but its presence is oppressive and solely unpleasant. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
So I first met Jake a few years ago when he nearly ran me over in his shabby convertible. From his idiotic lapse in concentration, came our long standing relationship. At the four year mark we made the decision to buy a house together, marriage not really being something we cared about. We didn't need some rings and legal documents to tell us we loved each other. A big, lavish wedding was out of the question for us (too expensive). However a small one seemed to not be making an effort. Go big or go home, right? We happily decided to go home.
It had been the first property we viewed. Large, covered in chipped white paint and greeted us with a generous front porch, it seemed amazing it was at least half what we expected it to be. Surrounding it was a reasonably large expanse of yellowed grass, crooked trees skirting around the edge of the space. For what seemed to be an old house, I could not see one measly weed. You’d expect to see them slithering through the cracks in the porch’s’ floorboards, but no. There was not even a spec of that black mould that infests wood after a good bit of weathering. Determined and unfaltering, we had just moved on to view the inside.
The front door swung open with a small squeak, facing us with a long hallway, the walls painted a dull white and the floor was a lovely, dark, wooden sea of creakiness. Every step was like the house was squealing at me to stop walking. The whole place seemed to breathe, and seep emotion from its walls. Sadness, maybe – but a part of me felt an onerous feeling of anger, or hatred. The feeling of being watched was discomforting, I was constantly looking behind me. Every time I brushed past something, it felt like the house was making a grab for me. At the time I thought I was just being silly. I pushed it to the back of my mind, where is sat nagging me like an incessant child. This was too good a find to let juvenile inclinations get in the way.
By far, the staircase was the most impressive feature; facing you as you walk in, it swept up to the second floor in an elegant curve, carved beautifully by hand. Some talented soul had adorned the banister with delicate flowers, blossoming with a shiny, smooth finish. The steps were only slightly worn down, a mere speck of imperfection on this piece of grandeur. Of course, this too screeched in the presence of my weight as I ventured upstairs. Similar to the ground floor, my steps triggered a symphony of creaks and whines as the wood complained. A quick sweep told me that there were six rooms, two with en suites. Such an amazing home, and so cheap. Five minutes. That's all it took for us to agree that this was the house for us. Yes, there were only two of us, and such a large abode seemed unsuitable, but it seemed to be a waste not to go for it. Jake said we could use it as a B&B.
"Good luck with your new home" the estate agent had said, a week later, handing us the keys. It seemed so wonderful, a new chapter in our lives about to begin, for so little money too! I suppose I should have apprehended her words. ‘Good luck’, was, when I look back, rather odd to say. Yet another warning sign I ignored.
A few days later something changed. I could feel something negative in the air, something that wanted us gone. But it was almost as obvious as if somebody had shouted it in our faces - we weren't wanted. Slowly, like watching the minutes tick by on a clock, I began to see things. The carvings in the staircase seemed to turn into vicious faces, glaring at me as I ascended and descended the stairs. What were supposed to be pleasant flowers were malevolent grimaces, burying there after-image deep into my memory. Of course, as things got more peculiar, like the sudden disappearance of my favourite coffee mug - which I used every day - I asked Jake if he had experienced anything odd. He had. He too agreed that something ominous was hovering over this house, like a Jenga tower about to collapse; its pieces scattering chaos. Anxiety built up inside me, clawing at my chest as things progressed. Jake claimed he couldn’t find his razor, and that he had made the bed, only to find it had been messed up minutes later.
The next day, barely a week into the move, I felt a presence behind me whilst washing dishes. Something was looming over me, creating an explosion of nervousness in my stomach. It was so strong, so... hateful. Repressive, obsessive, it would not stop, it would never give up. That’s what this indignant ubiety felt like. It was just so real, so terrifying, despite nothing being there when I turned around. The house was vacant and quiet, void of sound. I could still feel it. It was there, getting closer… Suddenly, a heavy fog wrapped itself around my mind, pulling me into darkness.
"Sophie? It's a bit early to be taking a nap" Jake shook me slightly, chuckling. As my eyes adjusted to the light streaming through the living room window, the sofa creaked as I sat up. Wait. My heart skipped a beat, white noise filling my ears as I registered where I was. Jake's face turned concerned as he saw the horror on my face.
"What's wrong?" he asked, holding my shoulders firmly. I struggled to speak.
"I-I was washing the d-dishes..." I mumble. How. How did I get here? The living room was on the other side of the house. I was horrified at the idea that I had somehow walked to the living room from the kitchen, to then take a nap. In the middle of doing something. That was certainly out of character. I was a very tidy person, and definitely would have finished the few dishes that were left before taking a nap. But I don’t remember being so tired.
What scared me more is that there was a possibilitysomethinghad moved my unconscious body. When this possibility hit me, I felt sick. I could even feel the memory of a cold touch on my arm.
"Sophie, what’s wrong?" Jake was getting increasingly confused. As I explained my predicament, his face paled. With each word his eyes became deeper pits of terror. When I finished he did not speak, the silence a cacophony of the fear he emanated. We were doors to this thing. To get rid of us, it had to unhinge us, and to be honest it was succeeding. I don’t know why we didn’t just up and leave. I really have no clue what possessed us to stay in this abhorrent place.
It never happened again, thankfully. Gradually more items of ours went missing, including the TV remote. No matter how hard I tried, not a single flower I planted in the garden wanted to grow. The grass refused to be nourished and remained a dead yellow. I hung a bird feeder from the porch. What a waste of money. No birds, no squirrels, not even a ruddy pigeon. It seems that life avoided this place. I didn’t blame it.
Then I started to hear faint footsteps downstairs at night. Each time, they seemed closer, louder. One night I lay awake, unable to sleep, I heard them again.
Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.
However something was different. The familiar sound of the staircase moaning gave me goose bumps all over and caused my chest to clench with unease. I didn't even breathe as it ascended the stairs, slowly making its way closer and closer and closer, the moments dragging out, each second more terrifying. Heart racing, I flinched as whatever was out there reached the top, as the last step had a very distinctive EEEEEKK to it. Blood banged on my eardrums that thing crept along the hallway, nearing our bedroom.
CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK, CLUNK.
The footsteps stopped, right outside the closed wooden door. Jake slept peacefully beside me, unaware of the horror movie now taking place.
Knock, knock, knock.
Dear God, I almost vomited; dread consumed me, it was suffocating. After that I heard nothing else, but I knew it was out there, waiting.
Over the next few days this continued, more knocks, and no sleep. Each time the knocking would be more urgent, angrier, ominously threatening to open the door, but it never did. It was always watching. Waiting. As I stared into the dark each night, that evil lingered outside. A week of knocking followed and this thing was getting impatient. Then, one of the most frightening and bone-chilling experiences of my life slapped me in the face on the evening it had had enough.
"LET ME IN!"It screamed in a strangled, almost in-human voice. This woke Jake up. You know, that was the first time I ever saw him cry, as it banged so violently on the door that it shook. It screamed and screeched, for hours, whilst we sat there huddled together, staring at the door. Again, like everything else, this continued for days and days, this entity begging for entry after creeping up the stairs and dragging itself to our door. It cruelly tortured us each night. Leaving would have been a smart thing to do, but we stuck it out, stupidly thinking the door would be its unyielding impediment. Then, like flicking a switch, it stopped. No more screaming, no more knocking, and no more footsteps. There wasn't anything for weeks. Jake said that it must have finally given up and gone away.
I didn't think that was the case. I think its waiting. I'm not being fooled here. No way.
This brings us to now, and I was right, you know. I knew it was waiting. It was hanging around long enough for us let down our defences. And I had now idiotically given it what it wanted. I wish I had closed the bedroom door. Now, eyes tightly closed, the footsteps travel up the stairs, but they are rushed, eager.
Why, why did I not close the door?!
With every step my heart travelled faster, the pit in my stomach growing larger. I'm such an idiot. That bloody door. It groaned as it opened farther, but nothing happened. Seconds dragged on as the anxiety inside me grew like a tumour, making me feel ill. Then, a sound I never realized I didn't want to hear - a footfall, reverberating through my head as it occurred inside the room. So close.
Cold air prickled my skin as it stood at my bedside, listening to my stammering heartbeat. Trembling, I kept my eyes firmly shut. The entity knew it had shaken my core completely away. I no longer had any resolve, no stubbornness other than my un-opening eyes.
I am watched, every night, for every waking moment. No sleep, I don't know what it will do if I fall asleep. I know that I can't open my eyes either. Never. I know its waiting. It wants to pry my eyes open, force me to look. It wants to hear my scream. Sometimes I feel cold, chapped fingers brushing over my tightly closed eyelids. It whispers to me too, sharp claws of cold air scraping over my ear.
"Let me in...”
- Scribble
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139,691 Literary Works • 672,653 Reviews
Hello!
First of all: SHIVERS!
Seond of all: Why would they stay in the house? Are they stupid? I would pack my bags the day the flowes seemed angry! But, okay, your characters want to die, not my problem.
Third: Thanks, didn't want to be sleep tonight anyway.
Okay, I only found one thing wrong with it.
" Of course, as things got weirder, like the sudden " WEIRDER? You can do better than that, come on, It just broke me from this amazing trance you put me in.
And last but not least: This was good, terrifying, but in a very good way.
- Lau.
I know! Whenever i read or watch horror, I can't believe they actually stay in the house, or 'investigate'.
Thanks for the review, I'll look over that.
-Scribble
Hey Scribble,
Myjaspercat here to review your piece.
Ok so overall this was interesting. I really like the idea that you have behind it even though you do need some work.
First, since this is supposed to be something like a horror/mystery, it would be a whole lot better if you slowed it down a little. Don't transition to fast, as your reader, I want to feel the thrill of reading something that keeps me on the edge of my seat. If you write the story fast I don't get that full thrill. If your reasoning for it being fast is that it is a short story, don't worry; some short stories can have multiple parts. Trust me I had to do that with a story of mine as well, just so I got every idea down. But anyway, what I am saying is, take your time, elaborate so your reader can get the full affect.
Second, you have a small issue with telling rather then showing. In every story, especially short ones, you should show not tell. The reason behind this is simple, it just overall makes it a better reader. However, I'm going to break it down a little...
First, you need to know the difference between TELLING and SHOWING.
Telling is abstract, passive and less involving of the reader. It slows down your pacing, takes away your action and pulls your reader out of your story.
Showing, however, is active and concrete; creating mental images that brings your story -- and your characters -- to life. When you hear about writing that is vivid, evocative and strong, chances are there's plenty of showing in it. Showing is interactive and encourages the reader to participate in the reading experience by drawing her own conclusions.
Here's a list of quick tips to keep in mind that should help you show, not tell:
1. Use specific details.
2. Use sensory images
3. Use good comparisons for your metaphors - not clichés.
4. Vary Your Sentence Structure
5. Use specific actions to make your point.
6. Use dialogue as a showing tool
7. Don't pad it too much. Don't overwhelm the reader with description either.
8. Don't be afraid of telling sometimes, too
Anyways, besides what's in the line-by-line that is all I have to say. If you have questions feel free to ask. I do want to say that I'm not a professional writer (I'm still a high school student and still learning) that being said I don't know everything, and I'm not an amazing writer but what I gave you were my expert opinions. These are things that I too have been learning for a long time and things that I am getting better at (or so I want to believe). What I'm trying to say is you don't have to take everything in like it is scripture but you also shouldn't blow it off (not saying that you will but I've had some people recently do that). Anyways, good job. Good luck and continue writing ---Myjaspercat
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Thank you, I was thinking of editing this today, and your review will really help with that. I agree on the rushing part. I did feel that i needed to slow down but wasn't sure what to write and also wanted to get down all my ideas.
I will definitely take into consideration what you have said, and no, you weren't harsh at all! A lot of what you said i had already been worrying about, but I'll sort it.
Thanks for the great review
- Scribble
your welcome. I will love to review your edited piece if you want me to. Good luck
Hey Scribble!
Great work with the suspense and the description.
'Sometimes I feel cold, chapped fingers brushing over my tightly closed eyelids. It whispers to me too.
"Let me in...".'
The end felt like an ominous beginning to something that fortunately wasn't narrated. However, I definitely want to know what was the spectre and what happens to Sophie and Jake.
To be certain, I felt the thrill of the situation. Usually, horror-writers try to evoke a complicated and mind-exalting situation for their readers with the intent to increase their terror. However, the simplicity of this situation and the way the reader feels themselves in this situation did that for you.
The ambience of the story is very enthralling and the shift it undergoes is truly horrifying in a cinematic sense. I enjoyed it.
Thanks! I love anything scary, especially ghosts and ghouls.
This was good review, and i'm glad you liked it
- Scribble