Miles Murdoch 20/09/09 Haunted House I stood, still and silent, gazing in awe at the monstrosity before me. My throat tightened due to the thick dust drifting through the gentle wind. Dark shadows lurked in the still air, along with the faint smell of death that hung in the chilled darkness of night. Whispers of lost voices echoed all around, creating a gloomy ambience. Before me, was a sight many would hope to forget. The house itself was in dreadful shape, it was heavily dilapidated. There were icicles hanging down from the roof
like frozen teeth bared by a cold and heartless beast. A thick blanket of dust also lay still on top of the roof, moving only to allow the odd speck of dust to slip away from it’s support and come tumbling down to the ground. At that moment I felt a breeze come from behind me, warm and moist, brushing my ear like a stalkers breath. The dark, heavy, wooden front door jolted back, then swung open; a gracious invitation by an invisible host. The entrance looked like a cavernous mouth, whilst the windows seemed to be dark, staring eyes. ...
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like frozen teeth bared by a cold and heartless beast. A thick blanket of dust also lay still on top of the roof, moving only to allow the odd speck of dust to slip away from it’s support and come tumbling down to the ground. At that moment I felt a breeze come from behind me, warm and moist, brushing my ear like a stalkers breath. The dark, heavy, wooden front door jolted back, then swung open; a gracious invitation by an invisible host. The entrance looked like a cavernous mouth, whilst the windows seemed to be dark, staring eyes. I took a few cautious steps forward, avidly awaiting any surprise or sudden movement. The air shimmered, and my eyes unwillingly shot a glance at one of the windows. Moonlight slipped through the cracked board covering half of the window. To the side of it were withered, torn curtains, and just behind I could make out the sight of a broken arm-chair and some peeling wallpaper. On the floor was an old portrait, ripped down the centre leaving half a corpselike face staring endlessly at the ceiling. Surrounding the portrait were a few shards of scattered broken glass, beneath which were decaying, rat eaten, cracked floorboards. Another breeze picked up, and this time it was colder and stronger. I heard the sound of branches scratching against glass as the wind rustled the trees, and the curtains inside the house shook as if they were laughing. The battered, marred, crumbling shutters lightly rattled against the building. I took a deep breath in, and was taken aback by the detestable odour that overcame me. There was the smell of burnt waste, cigarette smoke, mildew, rot, wet wood and stone, rancid breath, urine and rat faeces, all of which combined together to make one overpowering, loathsome, repulsive stench. I swallowed hard, cringing at the taste of my dry, sour mouth. I gently ran my tongue over my cracked, dry lips, in a lame effort to moisturize them. I surveyed the cold, hard stone steps in front of me. Toward the centre they were worn smooth, but nevertheless coated in dirt. The steps were much rougher nearer the sides, but it was difficult to make out as they were overgrown with thorns, moss and weeds. Cobwebs matted the rusty metal rail that ran alongside. I gently placed a sweaty hand on the rail, and all the hairs on my arm and at the back of my neck stood on end. It was deathly cold. I looked up at the house once more and begun to breath slowly, in a pitiful effort to control my racing heart beat. A hot, salty tear ran down my cheek as I swallowed in grim determination.
