There is a girl she moved into creep street and she saw a house with broken windows and peeling paint at the end of street has been Boarded up for as long as your protagonista can remember today, so she decide to explore when she open the door, the door open till it stop she when inside then she heared thumping so she went to the basement , the basemant was scary but he still went, someone they look like a doll … a scary doll she had a blue dress and black hair then the doll got the girl

I’ve always wondered what was beyond the boarded up walls at the end of my street. Every afternoon I always get my favorite ice cream from the ice cream truck it’s a strawberry cheesecake pop. The man always gives me a discount since I’m one of his loyal customers. As I’m eating my delicious Icecream I walk down the street thinking of what scenarios will happen once I tear through the wooden planks. I stop in front of the door way and spot a axe by the side of the wooden rocking chair. I pick it up and this a few swings until the door way wasn’t boarded up anymore. I walk down the eerie dark hallway, I see a room with glowing blue lights shining out. I peek my head in the room and see a old man with grey hair with a hunched back standing in front of a shelf with preserved jars full of hands. My eyes widen with shock as my chest felt heavier my breathing was getting faster. The man turned around and grinned at me with his black eyes, I closed the door and sprinted out of the house leaving the half eaten ice cream on the wooden floor board. I ran back to my house and became non verbal whenever my parents talked to me. Ever since that situation happened I never spoke again.

Tick tick tick. The incessant ticking of the hallway clock that was passed down from my great grandmother drives my eyes open. 5am. It’s hardly time for me to be awake but I can’t help but feel like I need to get out of this house. My mother told me one day I’d be grateful to inherit a house that has seen the birth of many family members before me, but now that I’m alone here, I feel as though I’ve been trapped into living the life I never wanted.

I sit up and twist out of bed, finding my slippers and pulling on my robe to help ease against the chill. This house has always been drafty, and this mornings moist Autumn air does little to help it feel lived in. I reluctantly make my way to the kitchen where I fill the kettle and place it on the stove to heat. Maybe some tea will help me feel better about the lack of sleep I’ve had this week.

After tea and a shower I look at grandmothers clock once more. 530am. How is it possible for time to move so slowly? I always remember listening in to my mothers friends during their weekly bunko games. They’d mention how fast time had passed, and that one day the kids would understand what they meant when they wished they could stop the clock. What I would give for my days to feel that way.

I decide it’s time for a walk. Maybe some fresh air will help to brighten my mood. I can’t remember the last time I felt bright. It was definitely some time before mom died. Her final year was hell for her and me both, so it’s been at least that long. I wonder if I’ll ever find the ability to be content like I imagined life would one day feel. I guess with her only having been gone three months, I shouldn’t get to greedy.

Once outside, my feet take me through the neighborhood. This early morning walk has become my daily ritual. At least being out this early means I don’t have to stop and chat with any of the nosy neighbors who look at me with pity in their eyes. Losing a parent almost seems like it puts a label on your forehead that tells others to look at you with sadness, and to only strike up awkward conversations about the weather. It would be one thing if they just treated you like normal, but all they want is to feel like they did something good by offering you a smile and mind numbing conversation.

As I walk through the suburban, but spread out, neighborhood I could describe in detail with my eyes closed I come to the end of the lane to the house with the creaking dead oak tree in the center of what was once presumably a front lawn. I imagine this house was beautiful once, with its stone pillars lining the sidewalk and driveway with iron lampposts atop each one. Growing up, all the kids called this Mr Wilbur’s house, though as far as I know there never was a Mr Wilbur, and I’ve never actually seen anyone live here before. When I was young, the older teenagers used to come and party here, but Neighborhood Watch put an end to that and boarded up the entrances before I got to partake. Childhood stories told of the horrors that happened in this house, but I think every neighborhood has one of those. The scary house where the children say the witch lives, but it’s actually just some sweet old lady that lost her husband to a war and never had the chance to remarry or have children.

This particular house stands out in the neighborhood. The homes here are all one story, and each one looks like a fraternal twin to the next. Except Mr Wilbur’s house. It definitely belonged to someone wealthy. It has two stories, and the lot it sits on is three times the size of each of the neighbors. The once white siding has turned dingy and grey over time and only a few shutters remain intact. Normally I just walk along the sidewalk and continue my path back home but today, something catches my attention. I’m not sure what it is, but my chest feels drawn to the house. I guess there’s no harm in taking a walk up the driveway to check out what has become of the abandoned building.

To be continued..

I stared out my window at the house. Since before I could remember, the house has always been abandoned and boarded up. I always wanted to explore it, to see if the story behind the house was told inside of it. Practically every day I begged my friends to explore it with me, but they always said no. They always said that I had death wish wanting to go inside that house. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, tapping my pen on the desk. I hadn’t wanted to go in alone, but for some odd reason I had the strongest, weirdest feeling that I needed to go inside that house. Before I let myself think twice about it, I grabbed my jacket and walked outside. The bite of the cold air made me shiver, but I ignored it as I walked to the end of the street. As soon as I stepped onto the rotted front porch of the house another shiver rolled down my spine, but this time it wasn’t from the old. There was a odd sort of …aura coming from it. The air felt thicker, sounds seemed quieter, and my expectations of the house smelling like rot and mildew were proved wrong. It sort of smelled like musk, but not the bad kind of musk. It was a comforting scent. I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. My hand didn’t touch it, but the door swung open, making me flinch. Something touched the back of my neck and I whirled around expecting it to be one of my friends, but nothing was there. I steadied my breathing was was about to step into the house, but something had grabbed the back of my jacket and pulled me in, the door slamming shut as soon as I passed through the threshold. “No!” I half whispered, half screamed. I scrambled back to the door but when I tried to open it, it didn’t budge. “No no no no no no no no no.” I started clawing at it, breaking my nails and leaving marks in the soft wood. The thing took hold of my jacket again and dragged me backwards. I fell onto my back and I started kicking and screaming as I was dragged. My hair and clothes were getting caught on exposed nails ripping it. My shin hit the corner of something, making me cry out in pain. “Stop,” I begged, tears running down my face. “Please, let go of me.” All of a sudden, everything stopped. The dragging the creaking of the floorboards, everything. That scent filled my nose again as I stood up. The strong urge to go up the staircase filled me. I my body began to move towards it before I told it to. I froze at the first step. I should’ve left. I should’ve turned back and gone home and forgotten about it. But that smell. My body craved the comfort that it felt in the scent. I lifted my leg up and onto the first step before I pasused. I thought for a moment. Did I really want to go up there? The first time I followed that comfort and feeling or familiarity it didn’t go well. I shook my head. I was already there. I was there and had made it through the door relatively unharmed, aside from the thing dragging me. I walked up the rest of the stairs, but my brain was screaming at me to stop. It was telling me to turn back, but another calmer, soothing voice was telling me to go up the stairs. Telling me to go into the room on the right. It was telling me to ignore the creaking of the floor boards and the heavy breathing coming from behind me. I walked into the room. The smell was strongest there. The voice of reason that was telling me to run faded out completely. The calm voice told me to open the window. I slid it open. And then I threw myself out of it. The last thing I remembered was the crushing impact on my head as I hit the ground.

The house across my street has been abandoned since before I was born. I may be only eleven but I know there is something about that house…No, IN that house. There is something different. I remember when we moved here when I was five. We passed it while we were driving to our house. The rusty old gates, the boarded up windows…the unlocked door…it almost seems to be saying; “hey! Come inside me!…so you can die!” It’s so eerie. It gives me the chills. My best friend, Addie, told me to go inside with her this afternoon. I remember the exact words. “Kayla, come on! It’s not really haunted. It’s probably just due for some cleaning!” For some stupid reason I agreed. Speaking of which, “Kayla, yoo-hoo? Anyone home?” She is yelling outside while knocking on the door. “Your early.” “Yeah! I couldn’t wait!” “I see that!” I say, seeing she has a whole duffel bag full of stuff. “What’s in the bag?” “Flashlights, extra sweaters, matches, batteries, rope, you get the point.” She says while digging through the bag. “Let’s go!” “…okay…” I quietly say. We walk the half block to the house. When we get there Addie tries to open the gate, but it is to rusty. “Dang. We will have to go a different way.” She mutters under her breath. “To the gate!” She yells excitedly. “We are already here. At the gate. Do you need glasses?” I ask her. “No, we are going there.” She points to the low part of the gate, which is still fifteen feet tall. “I hope that you brought your climbing shoes!” She says while tying a big rock to the rope. She throws it over the gate and starts to climb. “But…but…” I stutter. “No but’s. Those are for toilets.” She says. She is already at the top. She jump to the other side. I start to climb. When I get to the top, I jump down. We enter. The steps to the house creek as we walk up. When we get in, we notice that everything is old and antique. We turn on our flashlights and gasp. Because we are two feet away from a monster. It has shaggy hair and dark eyes that make us feel uneasy. Luckily, or unluckily, the floor below us gives away. And the last thing I hear is screaming.

It’s been there since my Freshman year of Highechool. I’ve walked passed it every day for the last 4 years. To be honest, I don’t even remember if anyone lived in that creepy old place. It’s almost like it appeared out of the blue one day. Rotting on that lot what looks to be for hundreds of years. Today was graduation. After the ceremony, my entire family and I went and had lunch at Maggianos Italian House. My favorite place to eat. I had the spaghetti and meatballs (basic, I know) but it never fails me. On the way home, passing the house as we always do, I noticed the door was cracked open. I tried to get my dads attention to look, but he didn’t listen and kept rambling on about college choices. I didn’t know what I wanted to do yet. I didnt ponder about the future. I don’t know if I would be a doctor, lawyer, a cook or a janitor. All I know, is that tonight, I wanted to finally see what’s been hiding behind the rotten wood paneling.

Sophia loved the strange and the mysterious, and I loved her. I was excited to have something to offer her when she told me about her fascination with urban exploring, the art of exploring and photographing abandoned man made structures. I bragged about the chocolate brown two story house that sat decaying at the very end of my dead end street. Each window was boarded up, and I told her that it had been for as long as I could remember. Ivory wrapped around the house, squeezing the life out of it like a boa constrictor. The house sat slightly crooked upon its foundation.

“Come on, don’t be a wuss.” Jack laughed, putting an elbow into Cydni’s side. “It’s just a house.”

“It’s a creepy house,” Cydni pushed Jack away, “you go in, if you’re that brave then.”

Jack and Cydni walked side by side toward the end of the street of the cul-de-sac.  The part of town no one really went anymore, unless you were up to something you would rather not have your parents find out about.  The house at the end of the street had been boarded up for as long as they could remember, even when such things as their parents permission had concerned them.  They came here often to gawk at the rickety old chateau together late at night.  Even now, as they were both set to start college in separate towns, they found themselves both drawn to the thing.  There, at the end of the road, it stood there alone with its off-white peeling paint and its sun-bleached shingles which Cydni had once decided must had once been a cool sky blue color.  The houses that once stood beside the wretched thing once were all torn down through the years and wildly unkempt weeds had grown to take the space.  Cydni watched her steps as she made her way down the weed-pocked sidewalks toward the building.

“It’s just a house.” Jack insisted.

“Right, and that’s why its still standing here when everything else is gone, demolished.”  Cydni rolled her eyes, “I get bad vibes.”

“Ever superstitious.”  

And he was right, Cydni was always the superstitious type.  Perhaps not religious, no, she never really took to any religion, to the chagrin of her parents.  But she had believed in life after death, in spirits, in quirks of luck and misfortune.  Something Jack had always loved to tease her about by spilling salt in front of her with a sarcastic ‘oops’ to see if she would toss the spill behind her back.

They came to a halt in front of the abandoned building and stood in silence before it, just as they had countless nights before.  Cydni pulled her tan cardigan tight around her, guarding her skin against the chill of mid-October.  She had opted for a red crop top and jean short in a failed read of the forecast.  Jack ran his hands through his head of black hair before shoving his fists into the pockets of his baggy black jeans.  “Alright, $100, final offer.”  Jack said at last.

“How many times do we have to go through this, I’m not doing it.  I don’t even know why you brought me out here again. “

Jack looked at her knowingly.  “When is your flight?”

Cydni met his gaze.  “Tomorrow evening.  I depart from Cleveland Airport and then—“

“Life in the big city begins.”  Jack laughed.

“I’m going to miss you, asshole.” Cydni punched him in the arm.

Jack rubbed the soreness away and chuckled, “I brought you here because, I don’t know, call me sentimental.”

Cydni smiled at him and turned back to the house.  Years and years they’ve come out here.  Faced the punishment of staying up past curfew and laughed, just to come out to this nothing of a house.  This blemish on the cul-de-sac.  And never stepped inside.  She was drawn to it, but she could never put her finger on why.  Or the deep emptiness she felt as she looked upon it.  And now, with  the single street lamp overhead, flickering on and off, illuminating the two friends…

“Well?”  Jack motioned toward the lawn.

Cydni studied it for a moment, the tall grass that would swallow her up to her shoulders.  The sharp bits of rusted iron which must have once served as a gate poked through the weeds.  The sidewalk sat cracked and crooked leading up to a rotten and splintered porch with cracked white pillars.  Whether it was marble or just some sort of plastic to make the place look fancy, Cydni couldn’t place.  She looked back at Jack, and he could see the fear creeping into her eyes.

“After all this time, you’re still scared of the place?”  Jack crossed his arms.

“You’ve heard the stories…and you’re not?”

Jack shook his head, “they’re just stories, Cydni.”

And there were many of them, too.  Stories of children wandering through the tall grass and disappearing—nowhere to be found.  Tales of those who wandered in and didn’t come out the same as before, if they came back out at all.  Sighting of ghosts in the windows were common as well, and it is said that authorities came and blew out the windows and replaced them from boards not to keep people from going in—no, in fact no one dared go in anymore—but rather to keep things from looking out.  Each time they came, Cydni would tell Jack a new story she had heard about happenings at the House at the end of Culberson Circle, but he would always laugh them off as flights of fantasy from people with too much time on their hands.

“And if they’re not?”  Cydni said critically, pursing her lips.

“I’ll go with you.”  Jack insisted.

“You say that every time and then when I’m half way to that gate, I turn back and you haven’t budged.”  

“I mean it this time.”

Cydni laughed, “yeah, okay.”

But she caught his eye.  He looked…sincere.  “I mean it.  I’ll go with you.”

Cydni paused and studied her long time friend.  He didn’t betray what was behind his smile.  She let out a sigh.  “Fine…but I swear, Jack, if I get to the door and find you sprinting to the street, I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  He waved his hand in dismissal.   Cydni turned back to the house which seemed to loom before her.  The world seemed more silent than she’d remembered it being.  She could feel her heart beginning to thud in her chest.  “Ladies, first.”  Jack extended his arm past her, ushering her to take the first steps.

“Asshole,” Cydni spat and started toward the house.  

It was dark beyond the dim, flickering light of the street lamp.  Colors and shapes started to swirl in her vision as she watched her steps on the cracked and uneven sidewalk.  She made her way past the gated barrier, the gate door sitting unceremously on the sidewalk.  She stepped over it carefully and found herself at the steps leading up to the extended porch.  She could see the splintering, old wood of the door in front of her.  It was painted in a similar off-white as the rest of the house.  But the wood was fractured at sharp angles near the edges of the door frame.  The handle looked rusted with age and weather.  She felt her heart leap into her throat when she thought about the haunting sound the hinges might make when pried open.

“Wow, I’m impressed.”  Jack whispered from behind her.  “I didn’t actually think you’d do it.”

“Shhh!”  Cydni urged him, as if something or someone was waiting in the wings to strike at the first sound of fresh blood on the doorstep of its house.

“Well, we made it this far, might as well go in.”

Cydni turned on her heel toward Jack.  “I’m not doing that—you’ve had your fun.”

“Just open the door—just for a second—and we can go back to your place and drink ourselves silly one last time.”

Cydni glared at him and sighed, “fine,” she said, turning back to the darkened doorway.  “Just open it.”

She reached a shaking hand forward, suddenly keenly aware of every sound, every creek of wood, every whistle of wind against the many splintered holes of the old house.  Her hand grasped around the cold, rusted metal of the doorknob and she turned it slowly, ever so slowly.  She pushed the door inward to a heart stopping shriek from the belabored hinges and when the door swung upon fully she felt the shove.  She was sent forth from behind, stumbling forward through the precipice of the house.  She swung back around to curse at Jack.  But he was not there.  In fact, the door wasn’t open at all.  It was closed behind her already.  And what had just a moment before been splintered and worse-for-wear, was now pristine, painted a homey off white.  The handle was a polished gold.

Cydni turned back to the hallway before her and where she expected to see a dim, splintered mess of wood and dust, she found a clean hallway of cream colored walls.  A lavish red carpet with gold trimmings led down a long hallway.  A chandelier hung over her head and sparkled with the light.  On her right, a painting sat on the wall of a handsome, well groomed man, and a gorgeous, bodacious woman in a red sequin dress.  Two kids stood in front of them in matching overalls—a girl and a boy.  Cydni rubbed her eyes, she felt her head spinning.  She must have fainted—that was it—she was unconscious.  Jack must be getting her help right now.  She must be laying on the porch struck down by fear and she was having some sort of weird dream.

But she could feel the warmth of the house, replacing the chill of the October air.  The hallway was gorgeous—nothing so resembling an abandoned house.  And she could hear voices—the chatter of a man and children further inside.  

Then she came into view.  She recognized her from the painting.  And she was wearing that red dress as she stepped into the hallway at the other end.  Cydni could almost swear the woman was looking right at her.  The woman started toward Cydni.  She was looking at her.  “Dear,” the woman said in a rich voice, “it seems we have a new guest this evening.”

Cydni backed up against the door, turned and pulled at the handle.  But it did not budge.  

“It’s okay, dear, its been so long since we had guests.  Such a very long time.  You are going to stay as long as you like, my dear.  As long as you’d like.”

4379 St. Petersburg circle. A house that sat merely three houses away from his own. Blackened by nature, flora taking over the front yard and the walls of the house. Windows and doors heavily boarded up. In all his memories, the house has looked exactly as it did this day. Never changing, and always desolate. His mother had said she had pictures from her childhood, and the house always looked the same. Nothing out of place. Like spell had been placed on it to stay the same forever. To dishearten any and all who looked at it for far too long.

He took a deep breath as he approached the house. The taunts of his friends about how scared he was, as well as the small giggle of the girl he loved, played in his mind on repeat. He was going to prove to them all he wasn’t scared. There was nothing to be scared of. Hesitating at the curb in front of the house, he took a deep breath, before pulling out his phone. He was going to document his exploration. Prove to everyone that it was just a house no one had lived in for a long time.

Opening the Camera app, he took a step forward. Camera facing the door as he approached the porch. The steps bulged under his weight, creaking at each step. As he approached the boarded up front door, a soft noise whispered through the door. Like a scurrying, scratchy, patter of rodents. With one hand he began tearing the boards off the frame. The wood and nails pulling away with ease.

As the last board gave way, he stopped. Listening. Everything around him had gone quiet. No birds chirping, no dogs barking. No car engines running. He looked behind him, finding the street completely deserted. Turning back to the door, he checked the door handle. Hoping luck was on his side. And to his amazement, the door opened with ease.

As the door opened, a soft light flickered. It sat far away, in what he guessed was a hallway. The skittering heard again, slightly louder than before. He stepped in. He needed to make sure no one thought him to be scared ever again. The door slammed behind him, causing him to look back, figuring a gust of wind caught the door. Though it had not been windy when he had approached this house.

He turned back when another skittering drew his attention back to the light. It was almost as if there where whispers being spoken all around him. Suddenly the light disappeared. Drowning the hallway and the camera into complete darkness. His breathing became heavy and uneven. Swallowing at nothing with a dry mouth. The whispers had picked up.

“Whatsssss the matter child?!” Came a voice from behind him

“Have you gotten losssst?!” Came another voice to the left of him.

“Bessst to return while you ssstill can” came a third voice, somewhere in front of him.

He quickly turned, shoving his phone in his pocket, and ran. He was not staying longe than he should. As he swung the door open, and went to step to the porch, he found himself stepping into the street. He turned back, finding the house, back to its boarded up look. The wooden boards back over the door. Exactly as they always had been.

He looked away and ran home. Hoping to find that he got everything on his phone. As he sat down at his desk, he opened the camera app once again, to look at the video he took. Only to find it stopped recording one he got to the other side of the door.

I gulp as I stand in front of the house, it was boarded up as long as I can remember, though I never dared explore it, it was three stories tall, a veritable mansion. The design was one you could see on those old movies on Victorian America, perhaps this was once a respectable estate of a good family, but on this year, those time were long past now…

I release my breath as I walked up the door, the wooden stair creaking as I climbed the porch. From the paint, I guess the house was painted lime once, now though only rotted wood remained, gnarled and darkened, like a carcass that was left out for many years.

I grabbed my crowbar, and slipped it inbetween the nails.

creak… __ crack!

I pulled one board out.

creak… __ crack! __ __ Another…

creak… __ crack!

I pulled all of them out, and placed my gloved hand on the rusty doorknob. I took a breath, and pulled.

crreakk…

I pulled again.

crreaak…!

Huh, hm. Maybe, I could…

crack, crack, CRACK! __ ding…!

The knob came off, and I pushed the door open with my crowbar…

creaakk…

Now comes the hard part.

flick