haunted building - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
A nightmare in my eyes and mind without ever having to sleep. The dry winds carrying their strangled screams and faint voices. The flashes of light in the darkness. The doors constantly opening and closing their gaping maws. The blood dripping from the eyes of those trapped within a canvas made of sorrow and dread. The rolling floors and the vibrating walls. Their blood staining every wall, their tears filling the well that lay vacant with merely a broken bucket hung by a mere string of rope. Spiders wove there tales of woe in a code only the dead and the dying could read. Crows flew over the house to eat the souls that could not hide, could not leave. This desolate place that inhabited no breathing man, was not a place of fear, but rather silence.
The tall grey building stood in the middle of the empty, abandonded street. You can sense the evil presence within it as it darkens up the road. You can hear the floors creek as the spirits roam and wonder the soulless, haunted house.
The air smelt as if it hadn't moved in years, festering like a stagnant pool of water. Joan shone her beam inside, the only movement being the dust her boots had dislodged. Aside from an errant shaft of daylight that burst through a crack in the boarded up window, it was the only light in the old warehouse. Once they made dolls here and packaged them for buyers overseas. The local gossips say that one day the master lost his patience and gutted a girl with a stuffing hook. It shut down right after and has been abandoned ever since. Legend says the girl's ghost won't come out unless the door closes so Joan pushes it shut and turns off her beam, her smile no more than a nervous grin.
Click. The door locks and suddenly the room is as light as it would be on a summer's day with the windows bare. Joan looks down to find her clothing quite different and a doll in her hand. The from nowhere steps the master... a hook in his hand...
The old barn would have been a teardown in any other district, but there's no money here. I take my camera and an apple from the counter, ghost photos sure would sure put some meat in my sandwiches. I kick the rotting door to enter, more because I have no hands free than anything else, but the cracking entrance is satisfying. Ghouls don't have ears anyway. I want to see the boy that died here, horribly, so I gather. I'd like to see his little gaunt face and pleading lips. If he doesn't show up I have glow paint to fake something.
The air in the barn is more like winter than summer, and it's darker than I would have thought. I move to the old windows and remove some dirt with the edge of my sleeve. The view outside is all wrong, the trees are too short and the road isn't tarmac but dirt. I feel the blood drain from my face. Then I hear him, the boy... “You've come to play, we have such wonderful games here. You'll laugh your head off...”
The building looked for all the world like it had grown there rather than be built. I guess it helped that it was made of the same rock as the hills. The walls were wonky and the chimney ragged. The locals said it was haunted, that folks who went in never came out. Then there are the tales of gold inside, stacks of it, that the legends were put there by pirates to keep the inbred villagers out. But me and Frank ain't dumb. Gold is gold and the spooks should be scared of us.
Once inside the building the light flickers like an old bulb and Kelsey looks up only to recall that it's natural daylight. Her head swims just like the time she climbed a mountain, like the air is too thin to breathe. She moves toward dinning chair to sit, her hand falling on the worn varnish. As she settles, head low and rested in her hands, a thin mist moves before her eyes, silvery with a bright sheen. The light stops flickering and the air smells like peach pie. Kelsey opens her eyes to see the room clean, dust free, everything new. A woman strides forwards with a book. “You'll be staying then. Well, you'd better know the rules.”
Freddie straightens up after struggling through the open sash window. He knows it's a mistake as soon as he sees what's in there, but already Dirk has fallen to the floor like a sack of rotten potatoes. The warehouse is as big as it looks from the outside but it's full of machinery, the kind used for killing livestock. It isn't simply and old country barn, it's a an ex-slaughter house - mechanized death on an epic scale. Animals entered, food left. Dirk shines a flashlight in Freddie's face and snickers, “God, Freddie, cows and sheep died here, not people.” Dirk was too busy looking at Freddie's face, savouring the moment of superiority to see the herd gathering - big brown eyes with ghostly outlines. Then the wind began to howl as if they were on a hilltop, violent, deafening. The eyes began to cry and the floor became awash with salt water. As it rose Dirk dived for the window and the glass fell from the frame as swift as a guillotine...
Wanda sat in the corner of the old house, her fingers in her mouth to soothe herself. At sixteen she should be past such things but there was something inside her that was too shattered to mend. This house was the only place no-one ever looked, and so it was her sanctuary. She'd sat so often on the rotting boards that they sagged even when she wasn't there. For the most part she rocked back and forth, eyes moving from the heavy velvet curtains to the cobwebs that hung in every corner, all of them overburdened with dust. The one day some jazz played as if from an antique radio. Wanda raised her head and took her fingers from her mouth with a slurping pop, her lips still open. From the kitchen came a girl with a tray of muffins. “I think you need a friend, so do I. Perhaps this time you can stay. I'd like that, company.” Wanda edged forwards, unsure what to do, but when her hand closed on a muffin it became stuck there, rigid, slowly turning translucent...
There was nothing right about the building. It wasn't the same era as anything else around and the left wall was shorter than the right. Some joker had seen fit to paint it black at some point but for the most part the paint was peeling as if a blow torch had been over it. Jared knew someone was calling it home, some kid with a pasty little face kept peeping at him from the windows. Well today he was going in, today he'd find out who the little git was and make their life a living hell at school.