My friends stood behind me, daring me to go into the house in front of us. Boldly, I just had to explore that dilapidated house. Something felt a little different about this place. Multiple layers of clothing could not protect me against this type of cold though it was in the afternoon. The walkway leading up to the house was cracked and worn down. Dark weeds started to grow in between the cracks. The house was decayed into a black color, only showing small splotches of colored paint, hinting at its former prosperity. Rats scurried along the edges of the house and cobwebs covered the corners of the run-down door. If one were to look closely, tiny ants were to be seen infesting the holes of the front porch pillars. The house is fit to be a castle for phantoms.
The door reluctantly creaked open and a putrid smell crept into my nose. Clearly, this place has been neglected. Other than the echo of the door opening, the house was dead silent except for the occasional creaks and moans. Mold of various colors dotted the ceiling and walls, undoubtedly showing the rain has leaked through the house. I quietly entered the living room. The windows were covered with a thick layer of grime and dust. Sofas and chairs were overturned and a grand bookcase stood at the back corner of the room, obviously undisturbed for a long time. Selecting the correct book could reveal a secret passageway to a whole nother whole.
I made my way back into the main hall and to the door at the end, a slimmer of light peeking from behind it. I opened the door to the bathroom. A weak stream of light flowed from the filthy window. The bathroom mirror lay shattered to pieces on the faded floor tile. An empty medicine bottle sat on the edge of the porcelain sink, filled with something that definitely wasn't medicine. Approaching the cracked bathtub, a violent odor crawled into my nose. Pinching it, I leaned over and peered inside. Crusty, red rags filled the bathtub, an unearthly figure possibly underneath them. I didn't stay around to find out.
I hurried out and arrived at the foot of a flight of stairs. Peering up to the top, I wondered when a psychopathic monster will crawl down on three legs and have me for supper. I summoned my remaining strength and made my way upstairs. Each step intensified the creaking and groaning as if the steps could collapse at any moment. Turning left, I met my final destination. The door was very easy to push and I stepped inside a bedroom. A head-less stuffed dog laid on the floor in front of me. The bedsheets were splattered with a dark liquid. In the corner, a small chair began to rock back and forth. This room had clearly belonged to a boy. The torn wallpaper showed little monster trucks. With every step, I could feel the carpet emitting a little more of the scent of what perhaps could have been beneath it. A single framed picture of a clown hung on the left wall, holding a balloon in one hand and a shiny, sharp tool in the other.
A shout echoed throughout the house. It was time to leave. I carefully made my way back down the stairs, cautious about not disturbing anything or anyone in their somber rest. I exited out back into the afternoon atmosphere to where my friends were standing in a group. They asked me what took me so long; I replied that escaping the poltergeists was difficult. We all walked in a pack towards our own houses. Little did we notice the shape in the top-right window. It was holding something that looked like a balloon.
