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Okay, so I had to write a gothic themed story for my english GCSE. I wanted to get people feed back on it, just to make sure its good enough. Please rate out of 10, and be critical as I need true feed back on how to improve it. Thank you :D 

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There’s nothing more ominous than the creaking of an old house. Whether it’s the hinges of a door or the floor boards on the stairs, there’s always something unnerving about that slow, high pitched noise. As I stood in the doorway of my new home, that was all I could hear. Slowly, I stepped over the threshold, taking in the gloomy hallway before me. A dark wooden staircase to my left led up to the equally dreary rooms upstairs. I let out a sigh and watched it crystallise. The wind whistled through the house, causing the windows to rattle in their panes. The door suddenly slammed shut, breaking me out of the eerie trance I was in. Pulling the bright pink suitcase behind me, I trudged up the stairs, cringing at the sounds of my heavy foot steps on the bare floor.

 

My room was a large, typical Victorian living space; wide windows, deep red walls and dusty curtains. Inhaling the musky scent of the dingy space, I threw the suitcase onto the bed, unsettling the dust that has collected over the years.  Sitting down next to the monstrously coloured case, I wondered how I had gotten myself into such a situation, although I knew perfectly well. My Aunt Annabelle had left this house to me in her will, after she passed away from a heart attack. Most people said she was now at peace, “free from her own mind” as they said. That’s the one thing I’m afraid of- losing my own mind. In my family it was a very common thing to happen, as Schizophrenia has been passed down to each generation. It was inescapable.

 

I forced myself to stand up and unzip the thing encasing all my personal items. The one bag was all I had to bring with me. Pulling out the knee-length black dress I wore to my aunt’s funeral, I walked stiffly to the towering wardrobe. I barely looked up when I opened the door- which, like the front door, creaked- and hung the dress on the rung, my fingers brushing against another piece of fabric. Glancing up, I found the most beautiful, flowing dress already hanging in the wardrobe space. The heart shaped bodice sparkled with all the sequins that were delicately sewn on, reflecting the dim light that seeped in through the grimy windows. Ruffles formed the edges of the corset-like abdomen, giving it a gentle look. The creamy-white fabric flowed down to the floor, and split in the shape of a ‘V’ at the front. A small train brushed the floor of the wardrobe, echoing the soft waves of the gown. The dress wasn’t mine, or my aunts, she got married in a black, shorter, dress. Taking the wooden hanger the dress was placed on into my hand, I went in search of a bag to put it in. I folded the dress like it was fragile and placed it into a black bin sack, tied it up, and left it on top of the triangular table in the middle of the lounge.  I completely abandoned the idea of unpacking, and went exploring round my new, old fashioned home. Each step I took caused a creek or made a sound that was suspiciously like a rat.

 

The library was like most of the other rooms- dark, dusty and eerie- but this one had shelves and shelves of books. All four walls were covered with the book cases, the only gaps were for the door and the single window. Each shelf was filled with hundreds of books, apart from one, that had a small gap, filled with a small china doll. It was captivating. The ringlets of the red hair, the intricately detailed red dress, the painted crimson lips. The only thing disconcerting about it were the eyes. I had never been fond of those dolls; I always felt the eyes follow you, wherever you are in the room. It was like someone was watching your every move.

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What do you think??