a haunted house - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
In that haunted house Jessy held out her hands, soaking up the ghosts that screamed, drawing them into her blood. She felt them circulate right through her heart and become ever quieter whispers.
The rain hit her skin like it would go right through and the water washed the street like a river would rise. Beneath the sound of the city traffic, Emily couldn't hear her own footfalls. She was so completely wet and numb that did she feel the splashing of the vehicles or the wind that blew so hard that the litter swirled into the air like poor relations of autumn leaves. The streets passed in a frigid blur, she wasn't heading for home, but for an old place everyone said was haunted. Only last year just the idea had scared her senseless, but now she felt drawn to it, it was the only place to go. It still had a roof and the windows were unbroken, even the local druggies steered clear.
Emily looked at the old house, she'd passed it every day since she started school. It was just like all the other red-bricks on the street, but the front lawn weeds grew past her knees. If there ever was a path it was gone, buried. The blue door had that sun-bleached look and the window frames were more bare rotting wood than white paint. She bit her lip. A shiver ran through her body like an electric current and the rain blurred her vision. She waded into the late winter greenery, forcing her legs though it. Sucking in a breath as she knocked on the door, knowing there would be no answer. She twisted the handle. On crossing the threshold the noise of the storm disappeared. There was a fire in the hearth. She turned to leave, “Don't go.” said a gentle voice, “we can be such good friends.” Emily pulled at the door handle only to find it was stuck. A blue-white glow filled the room making her skin appear paper thin.
Emily's eyes fell to her feet, the water that pooled was developing ice crystals. Her eyes became wider as the crystals spread, merging until it was solid white. Before she could move her shoes were stuck fast and from behind came a cold wind. The light began to flicker, then the soft voice came again, but now right next to her ear. “Darling, I've missed you. We're going to have the best time. Why don't you take off your shoes and jacket?” The tips of her cuffs sparked with small flames. A strangled cry rent the air that she only recognized as her own voice when her lungs were empty. She had already discarded her jacket and now struggled out of the icy sneakers. Then she turned to face the room. There was no fire, or ashes, or charred logs. The light strobed and in the dark spells she caught glimpses of a figure that moved around her, rubbing electric blue hands together.
Lucy cautiously walked along the stone steps to Solomon’s house, her ankles being tickled by the tendrils of weeds that had broken through the cobbles. The dark stone walls bathed in a stream of silver light that spilled through the clouded sky. From one window shone a glorious golden light, that would normally make Lucy long to be inside. This light was different, like a lighthouse amber beacon of danger.
She raised her gloved hand, through her frosted breath, and gently rattled her knuckles against the cold oak door. It lurched open. Lucy’s ears resonated with the quiet squeal of the hinges as the entrance hall of his house became visible. She peered through the darkness, but she found no one within it, making her stomach knot as wave of uncertainty crashed over her.
She raised an unsteady leg and stepped into his home, partially closing the door but her hand wouldn’t let her push it hard against the latch.
The entrance hall was roomy, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and grasped him with it chilly touch. Its fingers circled around his body, tenderly fondling every inch of him, pulling his shoulder’s tight together as he huddled into himself for warmth. The furthest door from him had been left ajar, allowing a glorious amber glow to meander like a narrow stream across the hall. His mind told him not to move, but his body dragged him to the light like a moth to a flame. Every step he took was met by a discordant shriek from the worm rotted floor boards.
In minutes the room was dark once more and a fire crackled in the hearth. Emily could feel the heat and there came a soft music, a nursery rhyme, but the words eluded her. The floor boards creaked behind her and she turned. There sat a girl her own age in a rocking chair, dressed in a white pinafore and black shoes. “Welcome to my home,” she smiled, “and to yours. I'm so glad you chose to come and live with me for your eternity.” With ashen face Emily let her eyes roam the room for escape options. The floors were solid oak plank beneath the dust, the walls were brick behind plaster, There was the front door, the window and whatever lay behind her in the kitchen. Before she'd made two steps away her legs locked straight and she fell harder than a stone statue onto her face, tasting her blood that pooled on the floor. “That wasn't very nice of you. You hurt my feelings. Are you one of those mean girls?”
Emily's nose had swollen to the size of a baby yam and her face was disfigured from the fall. After a few moments she felt herself lift into the air and rotate until she was upside-down. Blood rushed to the already angry wounds and began to drip freely. The ghoul was playing jump rope by the hearth and had been joined by a cat who's purring filled the room. “Take a look at the pictures” the girl said and at once the room was bathed in a steady ethereal glow. There were oil paintings all around. The girl was in a good number of them and they had to be ancient in their gold gilded frames. In each one she had her golden hair in ringlets and her dress was like something out of “Pride and Prejudice.” “If I bring you down will you play nice?” Emily felt her head bend into a nod three times. She wanted to speak but her voice died in her mouth.
Emily sat opposite the ghoul, who smiled at her and produced a deck of cards. She felt the boards beneath her dried skin and practiced looking out of the corners of her eyes. Maybe she could make a plan without being detected. The glass was single pane. It would hurt like hell to be cut but once outside she could run for home. Then without meaning to her eyes went to the fragile pane. At once her neck and head became rigid, frozen. “Tut tut, I did warn you. Now look what you've gone and made me do...” The window became a wall. She felt her head being turned to the door, the door became a wall. She twisted to face the stairs, they disappeared. The kitchen entrance became an iron grill, medieval and black. “Now, pay attention, my love, we have a game to play. The stakes are high, they always are...”
The ghoul shuffled the deck and dealt the cards. “This is my favourite part,” she said as if they were watching some sappy movie. Emily felt her arms become free and she raised a trembling hand to her face. It was a mess, hot tears sprang from her eyes washing some of the drying blood back into her mouth. “Take a card.” Without any conscious thought from Emily her hand obeyed, turning over the Queen of Hearts. The ghoul opened her mouth but instead of the giggling coming from her it radiated from her walls. “The queen dies” she said coyly, “but don't worry, I'll bring you back for the next hand.” Emily opened her mouth and this time the scream came out loud and strong. Her arms and legs became under control and she ran about the room searching for an exit. There was a trap door she hadn't seen before. The bolt slid back as if were only installed the day before and she ran downwards almost falling in her hurry.
The basement was pitch black; she was as blind as if her eyes had been gouged. Her body washed cold. She brought her fingers to her eye sockets; they were still there. She turned back to the stairs and tried to run up, but her foot fell through each one like it was a mere projection. So how had she walked down them? She leant forwards to touch the stair and felt a fabric fall down her arm, soft and velvety. Cold metal touched her forehead, one grope told her it was a pointed hat, like a fairy tale crown. She grabbed it and a mirror appeared in front of her, glowing like a television screen. It was her, broken face and all, dressed like some picture book queen. She swallowed. “The queen must die,” isn't that what the ghost said? Without sight of any knife in the mirror the image began to bleed from the neck. She raised her hand to feel the sticky warm fluid about her throat. She screamed; the image laughed. In a blink she was in dirty jeans once more, facing the ghoul. “Choose a card.”
Emily's mind was starting to fail, like an engine that turns over and over, never kicking into action. She couldn't formulate a thought. Every action could lead to more pain and there was no way out of this house. No way out. She brought her hand to her throat, no blood. She glanced at the floor, no trap door. Her eyes went to the walls, the windows and doors were back, the iron grille gone. She breathed. There was a chance. This ghoul had limits. Maybe the window was always there, even if she made it look like brick. Outside was night now, her mother would be frantic. They'd trace her phone signal. All she had to do was stall.
She turned to the girl, “My mom wants me home now, can I come back to play with you tomorrow?”
The ghoul smiled like an angel, “How long do you think you've been hear my dear?” “An hour?” “Try five years, the neighbourhood was plastered with your pictures. Your mom and dad split, your kid sister is on drugs. Apparently you left quite a hole in their lives.”
The lustrous moon raise up the sky and the prodigious number of stars turned into extremely bright white hued. In the silence of the midnight, suddenly a wolf howls at zenith and due to which the petrified birds soars into the black sky.
For the first time the deepest somber night just came out of its abode, this was out of blue. The lights got dim and then their brightness got dissipates, making the pitch- black night inkier. As the clocks second hand hastily went on twelve, it was three o clock, promptly all the doors inevitably slammed shut and the clock’s languidly ticking stopped. The dogs woke up, started walking backwards with their twisted neck and a mouth replete of scarlet blood .This enigmatic night was invulnerable and there was no end to this prolonged night.
The floor got dustier, the floor boards got creakier and there was torn paint everywhere I looked. The vintage furniture was broken, chairs without legs and cabinets without doors - like a body with no soul that would never work.
The wind howled searingly - like the tormented cries of a tortured man. It blew across me and chilled the tips of my bones; I had no gloves and it was a freezing winter night.
Towering in front of me stood a decrepit house which let out a negative vibe, engulfing my excitement. I could feel evilness oozing out of every crack and crevice of the dismal stone walls of the house. Demonic gargoyles hung from the walls and the tenebrous sky added to the frightening atmosphere.
I grasped the intricately carved brass door-knocker and banged three times. To my great shock the door receded from view and it was fully open to let me in. I tried hard to walk away from it, although it was if another force was controlling me.
Tentatively, I walked up the crumbling stairs. I was afraid they may give way whilst I was still climbing up them. I could almost feel the presence of ghosts surrounding me and a cold tingle ran down my spine as the threadbare curtains I could just about see in the corner of my eye rustled softly. I was absolutely petrified although I reassured myself it was only the wind, however a part of me didn't quite believe that was right.
As I arrived upstairs I saw many medieval artefacts. Among them was a candle which began floating. Bewildered, I followed it through a crepuscular hallway to a room which smelt like a rotting carcass. I was nauseous due to the pungent scent of the room, feeling as if I would throw up at any moment.
In the centre of the room on a termite infested mahogany table, which I could see had had better days, was a phosphorescent globe emitting light. Fear weaved though my stomach as inside the globe was the ghostly head of a woman.
Her hair was as pure as sugar and her hair was jet black like the crepuscular night sky but her most striking feature were her menacing eyes. They were a shade of passionate and fierce emerald green and she stared straight at me as if she was penetrating holes through my jumper.
It gazed over me, as it stood tall staring straight through me, I trembled closer towards its abandoned body, and walked knowingly into its trap. Gaping at what lay ahead of me: flaking from its sides - skin like material: broken, abandoned, abused. I scan my eyes like a predator; feeling like prey I lay my eyes on its lair. Feeling isolated, I forced myself closer along a never ending path with no return. Stumbling closer, I fell further away from my freedom. I began to wondering if all of this was real but I didn’t want to take my chances. Dense hairs strung from corner to corner clinging to anything that came in contact with it. Its cold teeth glared at me, as it began to cough, black smoke plundered towards my feet. The smoke strangled me causing my lungs to contract, strangling my voice in pain.