It was Halloween night, 1999. I, a curious boy, was trick-or-treating until, three blocks away from my house, I stopped at our town's oldest house.
There has always been rumors about this old, rusty house being really haunted. The owners, Mr and Mrs Miller, died in 1806. Some people say they hear cryptic laughter at night. But I'm not afraid, so I am going to go inside the house.
I walk the weak stairs toward the brown door. I put my hand on the doorknob, almost off, and slowly turn it to the right. Mysteriously, the door opens creaking. I loss balance and tripped, for some reason, sending myself in the house. I leave the door open behind me. I look at the wooden stairway and then blink my eyes hard...
