There is a house down the street. The grass is overgrown, the windows to grimy to see inside, and the paint is sagging off the walls. There are stories of this house. Stories of children disappearing, never to feel the sunshine on their skin again. Stories of wandering onto the property, lulled on by a supernatural pull. But I never believed these stories to be true.
It was a dull, gloomy Halloween night. The moon hid behind a wall of cloud and the stars' twinkle was lazy. A group of friends and I were walking down Dove Street, the last round our candy mission. The house was on this street. Every Halloween they dared me to step onto the property to see if anything would happen, or the stories were only superstition. Every Halloween I backed down, but I had promised myself I would do it this year.
Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was something else, but I seriously considered forgetting about the house and continuing the trick or treating. Then I reminded myself it was just stories. Stories cannot hurt me, not physically. When my friends saw I had made my decision they tried to sway me in the opposite direction. Despite their pleas and the pleas of my own gut, my mind was made up. I wanted to prove to them and to myself I was not afraid. I did not believe the stories, but I had to admit there was something blood chilling about the house.
The moment I stepped on the yard the wind ceased. The air was still. I knew my friends were behind me, but I could not turn my head to look back. I knocked on the front door and called, "Trick or treat.". Nobody came to answer the door. Then it slowly opened with a creak and I felt an icy chill.
I stepped inside the house. The front room was full of furniture. Old, torn up, dust eaten furniture. A staircase came down the right side of the room. I cautiously approached it, the icy chill still making me shiver.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!" I screamed.
At the foot of the staircase was a knife. Dried blood was on the knife. A path of blood wound up the staircase and down the hallway. I followed it. The staircase moaned and creaked in protest under the weight of my body. The path of blood led me into the first room on the right. It was bare of anything except a wooden chair in the center of the room. Sitting on the chair was a young girl no older than thirteen. Her skin was pale and cold, ice cold. Her clear blue eyes stared out into nothingness. A deep laceration was cut across her leg from knee to thigh. The weapon protruded from her stomach. A pool of blood surrounded the chair. The blood was fresh!
I tried to run, but my feet would not move. I tried to scream, but my mouth would not open. My body was not in my control! This house was worse than the cruelest prison. It was worse than the cruelest imaginable punishment. I wanted to run away from this house, jump out the window, take the knife and plunge it through my heart, anything to end this torturous journey called life.
"Yes. Do it. You can end it now," a voice said. It was wispy, like smoke.
"No! Let me go!" I screamed.
I fell to the ground. Tears streamed down my cheeks like a waterfall. I pounded my fists on the floor, hoping to fall through.
A sudden movement I saw with my peripheral vision caught my attention. The girl was not in the chair. She was not in the room It was like she had vanished into thin air. I quickly scrambled to my feet. I had to get out. My feet would not move!
Go! Move! I frantically thought.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah"
The girl stood in front of me. She held the knife in her hand, her own blood on the blade. Her eyes gazed into mine. Hers showed no signs of emotion. No hate, only nothing. I was so afraid that my eyes glowed like torches afire.
"Die!" she said in the wispy voice.
"No! Just leave me alone! Get away!" I shouted.
It leg go of its hold on my body for its own amusement of seeing my fight against it. I dashed out of the room and down the stairway. I took the steps ten at a time and nearly fell. I glanced back to see if I was being followed. The girl hovered down the stairway, knife in hand and ready to use.
I was in the front room again. There was the door. Behind the door was freedom, the rest of the world, and the rest of my life. It was the gateway. I had to get through! The pounding of my heart was equivalent to the sound of stampeding elephants. It was going to burst out of my chest at any second.
The doorknob was in my grasp. It did not move! Hope quickly turned into despair. The house was not going to let me go. My heart sank to the deepest depth of the ocean. I was so close, yet so far away. Thoughts of my friends and family filled my head. i would never see them again. I never even got to say goodbye.
fell to my knees. She was there. Death was there. She laughed. it was wispy, like smoke, and joyful. An intense pain erupted beneath my heart. It slowly spread throughout my body, eating away the very life I had tried so desperately to save.
There is a house down the street. The grass is overgrown, the windows to grimy to see inside, and the paint is sagging off the walls. There are stories of this house. Stories of children disappearing, never to feel the sunshine on their skin again. Stories of wandering onto the property, lulled on by a supernatural pull. But I never believed these stories to be true.
Now I am a part of this house. A part of the wispy voice that speaks to its victim. The only remnant of my visit to the house is my blood stained into the floor.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,852 Reviews
Hey Starrywonder
I will review this for you if you do one thing for me first.
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it's good...there's no real grammatic errors and i cant think of anything really to say except good job....sorry i know that doesnt help at all lol but i always love to hear some one said i'd done a good job so i thought i might as well comment even though this piece is already perfect
Good job!
There is a house down the street.I don't think you need that first sentence. Just start with the next one.The grass is overgrown, the windows too not to grimy to see inside, and the paint is sagging maybe you should put peeling - sagging doesn't make much sense. off the walls. There are stories of this house. Stories of children disappearing, never to feel the sunshine on their skin again. Stories of wandering onto the property, lulled on by a supernatural pull. But I never believed these stories to be true. I love the last sentence that starts with stories of children - it's great
It was a dull, gloomy Halloween night. The moon hid behind a wall of cloud and the stars' twinkle was lazy. great bit of description about the clouds and stars A group of friends and I were walking down Dove Street, the last roundI think you meant to put of here our candy mission. The house was on this street. Every Halloween they dared me to step onto the property to see if anything would happen, or the stories were only superstition. Every Halloween I backed down, but I had promised myself I would do it this year.
Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was something else, but I seriously considered forgetting about the house and continuing the trick or treating. Then I reminded myself it was just stories. Stories cannot hurt me, not physically. When my friends saw I had made my decision they tried to sway me in the opposite direction. Despite their pleas and the pleas of my own gut, my mind was made up. I wanted to prove to them and to myself I was not afraid. did your friends change their minds? I did not believe the stories, but I had to admit there was something blood chilling about the house.
The moment I stepped on the yard the wind ceased. The air was still. I knew my friends were behind me, but I could not turn my head to look back. I knocked on the front door and called, "Trick or treat.". Nobody came to answer the door. Then it slowly opened with a creak and I felt an icy chill.
I stepped inside the house. The front room was full of furniture. Old, torn up, dust eaten furniture. A staircase came down the right side of the room. I cautiously approached it, the icy chill still making me shiver. you've got really good description here - maybe you should add some more
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!" I screamed.
At the foot of the staircase was a knife. Dried blood was on the knife. change to the knife was caked in dried blood A path of blood wound up the staircase and down the hallway. I followed it. The staircase moaned and creaked in protest under the weight of my body. The path of blood led me into the first room on the right. It was bare of anything except a wooden chair in the center of the room. Sitting on the chair was a young girl no older than thirteen. a young girls sat on the chair. She could not be older than 13 Her skin was pale and cold, ice cold. Her clear blue eyes stared out into nothingness. A deep laceration was cut across her leg from knee to thigh. The weapon protruded from her stomach. A pool of blood surrounded the chair. The blood was fresh! don't need an exclamation mark here
I tried to run, but my feet would not move. I tried to scream, but my mouth would not open. My body was not in my control! again you don't need the exclamation mark This house was worse than the cruelest prison. It was worse than the cruelest don't repeat cruelest choose a different word imaginable punishment. I wanted to run away from this house, jump out the window, take the knife and plunge it through my heart, anything to end this torturous journey called life.
"Yes. Do it. You can end it now," a voice said. It was wispy, like smoke.
"No! Let me go!" I screamed.
I fell to the ground. Tears streamed down my cheeks like a waterfall. I pounded my fists on the floor, hoping to fall through.
A sudden movement I saw with my peripheral vision caught my attention. The girl was not in the chair. She was not in the room It was like she had vanished into thin air. I quickly scrambled to my feet. I had to get out. My feet would not move!
Go! Move! I frantically thought.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaah"
The girl stood in front of me. She held the knife in her hand, her own blood on the blade. Her eyes gazed into mine. Hers showed no signs of emotion. No hate, only nothing. I was so afraid that my eyes glowed like torches afire. good description again - sets a good atmosphere
"Die!" she said in the wispy voice.
"No! Just leave me alone! Get away!" I shouted.
It leg let go of its hold on my body for its own amusement of seeing my fight against it. I dashed out of the room and down the stairway. I took the steps ten at a time and nearly fell. I glanced back to see if I was being followed. The girl hovered down the stairway, knife in hand and ready to use.
I was in the front room again. There was the door. Behind the door was freedom, the rest of the world, and the rest of my life. It was the gateway. I had to get through! The pounding of my heart was equivalent to the sound of stampeding elephants. It was going to burst out of my chest at any second.
The doorknob was in my grasp. It did not move! Hope quickly turned into despair. The house was not going to let me go. My heart sank to the deepest depth of the ocean. I was so close, yet so far away. Thoughts of my friends and family filled my head. i would never see them again. I never even got to say goodbye.
Ifell to my knees. She was there. Death was there. She laughed. it was wispy, like smoke, and joyful. An intense pain erupted beneath my heart. It slowly spread throughout my body, eating away the very life I had tried so desperately to save.
There is a house down the street. The grass is overgrown, the windows TOO grimy to see inside, and the paint is PEELING off the walls. There are stories of this house. Stories of children disappearing, never to feel the sunshine on their skin again. Stories of wandering onto the property, lulled on by a supernatural pull. But I never believed these stories to be true. I love the way you repeat this paragraph I like that.
Now I am a part of this house. A part of the wispy voice that speaks to its victim. The only remnant of my visit to the house is my blood stained into the floor.
it's intriguing. Just make sure you don't overuse exclamation marks. Save them for when a character speaks; or a really intense moment. If you correct a few punctuation errors and fix a few sentences it should be really good
Well done