Suspense and Tension Story: House of 4W
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Faraz Razi-10 1S 12th June 2003 Eng Lang (creative writing) Coursework: Suspense and Tension Story: House of 4W I was driving for about three hours when I had realised I had taken the wrong turning and was hopelessly lost. I pulled over to the side and found my mobile phone in order to phone for help. Surprisingly, the battery had gone completely low and I began to feel a sense of panic as it was rapidly becoming darker. In the distance, I saw the outline of a house and I thought I could detect smoke coming out from the chimney. I decided that I had no option but to make my way to the house and ask for directions, as well as the use of the telephone as my family would be getting worries about me. I drove to the house, which was completely isolated and as I pulled up outside, my car engine abruptly cut out. I continued pushing the accelerator pedal, but to no avail the car would not start. I stepped out of my car, closed the door, and began to walk towards the house. As I stepped closer, a sense of dreariness overcame me as I noticed the house to be all black, with no particular architectural design to give it character, nor any sign of life within the home.
However, this wasn't a lobby, for there weren't other doors leading to the additional rooms of the house. Second, the walls were covered; from head to toe, in jet-black paint, illustrating again, no sign of character or warmth. Though this didn't bother me, I began to astray from my fears and wondered if the designer of this house had any taste? There was a window on one wall, draped in none other than black curtains, a rug in one corner of the room, and a table supporting a lamp at another. The room was completely dark, and the only illumination was the lamp, for the mist of the clouds above encircled the full moon, overcrowding its luminosity. Slightly relieved that there was nothing fearsome to this house, more explicitly no one, for I heard no reply to my call when I first entered the building, I calmly made my way to the table and lamp. On my way, I side-stepped oversized cockroaches, ducked under hanging spider-webs, and cautioned myself not to step on each floorboard for too long, for they emitted loud creaks, implying the foundation of this house not to be very sturdy. Instantaneously after I reached the table, picked up what seemed to be an old oil-lamp, the only illumination inside the room fell on a dusty book and mirror.
Reflecting off my grief-stricken eyes was the rug appearing to be levitating in mid-air, and beneath it a trap door lying open, persistently sounding off the end of my life. Mist soared out of the trap door, clouding my view of the rug, the window, the entire room. "Please, spare me..." I begged. I rocked back and forth, head between my knees, tears streaming down my face, pleas for help departing my lips as I sat in a corner of a room, without escape, communication, waiting anxiously for it all to end, for my life to end. At last, it stopped. The voice died down, yet the mist remained. I felt fragile, for I couldn't see where the voice had got to, or what was going to happen to me. Too frightened to stand up and attempt escape, I sat anxiously, recollecting what a dreadful day this had been. I resumed my tactic of comfort my drowning out the ominous sounds that surrounded me by talking to myself "The old lady was right. This is a very strange, peculiar house. And whose voice was that? What did it want from me? Where is it? When will it come get me?" And with those questions in mind; I rocked myself gently back and forth, with a coarse voice, weakened body, sweaty brow, inside the dark, quiet room, waiting anxiously for the voice to answer my last question...
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