Frame Me |✔️

The Dead Night

The small town in Portland was never normal, to begin with. An old haunted house sat in the corner of Oak Street, very much noticeable from the other gray, dull houses along the street. Few had seen the owner, Mr. Nithercott, in years and people had started suspecting he was already dead. Clearly, everyone was reading too many fairytales because rumors of him being possessed by a devil or turning into a vampire became widespread. "Once I was walking home from the supermarket and I saw his shadow pacing around his bedroom," Mr. Smith said to the children during Halloween. "He had claws like bears and fangs like bats!" At first, it was meant as a joke (Mr. Nithercott had a bad reputation anyway) but over time people started believing in these rumors. "If you value your life, do not come out late at night, for the devil may possess one of us, too!" The mayor ordered. So from then on, night time was only for sleeping, not for late-night movies or drunk teenagers.

When the clock struck twelve, residents would lock their doors, turn off their lights and close the window shades. But tonight was different. A girl was there. Alone. On the streets.

She had no other intentions. Just to prove these rumors wrong. To give the owner the confidence to walk outside during broad daylight without being stared at. To get rid of all the stereotypical thoughts on this poor man.

And there she was, standing in front of the large mansion that gave her goosebumps.

Knocking or ringing the doorbell was not an option. Mr. Nithercott would simply shoo her away.

Stepping away from the porch, she took the other route-climbing over the fence that led to the backyard. It was not an easy job, especially for her short, scrawny body but eventually, she did jump over. Landing on the cobblestone pavement, dust rose around her and she coughed in disgust.

The garden was a dirty mess. Holding the flashlight in one hand, she made out shattered glass piled in the dense dirt and some shovels that aged with rust. Carefully flicking off the flashlight, she slipped in through the backdoor that was already broken long ago.

Deciding Mr. Nithercott must be asleep, she approached the stairs. Just as her foot landed on the first step, she heard something. It was so quiet, anybody would have assumed it was just the wind. But she wouldn't let that slip. Abandoning her original plan, she slowly advanced towards the dining room. The wooden floor creaked with each step she took and her heart raced faster. She ignored the instinct to run away and forced her feet to speed up.

Through the dim moonlight, she saw the dead body of the man she was looking for. A rope was tightly secured around his neck and hanged on the beautifully designed chandelier that still swung from the weight of the stiff body.

And that was the end for her. The silent night erupted with the scream of a horrified teenager followed with a thud of her head hitting the hard wooden floor. When the police arrived the next day, what they find is the remains of the body of Mr. Nithercott and a teenage girl displayed on the floor, still tightly gripping her flashlight.