Cheese Scary Stories

Under my Feet

Screams echoed from under the floorboards as Nancy Lewis scuttled around Browns Mansion doing her tasks hoping desperately that she wouldn’t join the people in the basement. Just the thought made her shudder. And that shudder cost her dearly. The plates she had been balancing toppled to the ground shattering, terrifying the chef, spilling the soup and landing herself in the basement. She tried to run, to plead, to scream but she was rooted, frozen with fear at what might lie under her feet. As she was dragged away weeping, she entered a darkness that no one ever escapes.
100 years later.
“Then… BOOM! The end!” my friend exclaimed making me and Sophie jump as he finished the ghost story he was telling. “Is that story true?” demanded Sophie. “If it was why would I tell you?” Tom shot back at her. I just sat quietly while they went back and forth with each other Now was not the time to break the news to them not now I thought. Just as the two minute mark of Tom and Sophie’s argument came to a close I was saved by the bell.
The at the end of the day I decided to break the news to them. “Hey … Umm … I will miss you guys.” I started uncomfortably. Sophie spun on her heel and gave me a quizzical look “what do ya mean “I will miss you”?” she demanded. “It means that he won’t see us again. Duh.” Tom said with a hint of being annoyed in his voice. “Correct!” I exclaimed “I’m moving to St. John's, Newfoundland on the other side of the island.” “Cool! what’s the address?” asked Tom. “13 Duckworth St.” I responded. Tom and Sophie stopped dead in their tracks. “ Umm … Jonathan … do you know the significance of that address?” asked Sophie tentatively. “Nooo …” I answered slowly. “Jonathan man, Duckworth St. is like the oldest street in Newfoundland, and 13 is the unlucky number.” “Well I don’t believe in paranormal junk and stuff like that!” I shot back a little annoyed.
    Honestly I was sort of relieved to leave for St. John’s that sunday. When Tom and Sophie came over saturday to spend our last day together they kept looking at me funnily. I didn’t even tell them when I was leaving so I didn’t get a farewell crowd.
    The car ride from St. Anthony to St. John’s was at least 3 days. I don't know why we drove to St. John's but when we arrived I was so relieved to stretch my legs at our new house. But my relief soon vanished.
    As I surveyed our new house - a four floored mansion - I was looking at the basement window when I saw a pearly white silhouette. But a blink later the window was empty. There’s no such things as ghosts I reminded myself. You don’t believe in paranormal junk, but I swear I saw something.
    Unpacking was a tedious job but when we finished I took a better look around. The first thing I did was run to the basement to investigate the pearly figure I had seen earlier. When I opened the basement door, a cold wind slammed into me. As I descended the stairs, I felt the wall for a light switch but didn’t find one. So when my foot hit the basement floor, I took off back up the stairs, Five minutes later I crept back down the stairs with a lamp, muy bike helmet and a baseball bat. As I crept down the stairs, ,my heart was hammering but I reassured myself that everything was fine as my knuckles turned white on the handle of my bat. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I flicked on the lamp.
What I saw next made the lamp clatter from my hand. Torture devices! The basement of my house was a torture room! Whips stained with blood were piled high in one corner, chains with cuffs hung from the ceiling and wall while axes hung in neat rusty rows.
I turned to run but the pearly ghost was at the top of the stairs. The ghost had a long white dress and silver hair with what looked like blood stains all over herself. When she turned her face to me the first thing I saw was her eyes which were not there. Her eye sockets where empty!
I backed up  against the wall in fear. I looked around for a weapon I could use to attack the ghost with. Then I remembered the bat clutched in my hand. I turned to look back at the ghost but she had disappear. I made a brake for it. With the path to the door clear I burst into the hallway gasping  for breath. The lamp lay forgotten on the floor but I was to scared to ever return.
That night the eye less bloody figure haunted my dreams. The next day I told my parents about the ghost. My parents just laughed and said that I was hallucinating.”Stop worrying” they said “ you can’t get us to move back to St.Anthony’s. This is home.” they would conclude and that was that, I wouldn’t bring the subject up again that day.
It was hard to make friends in St.John's not because I was new but because I was referred to as that weird kid that lives in a haunted house. But  I had made a few friends. his name was Malcolm. we had become best friends easily. soon we were having sleepovers at each others house.
After almost 10 sleepovers Malcolm wanted to explore our basement. I had almost forgotten about the torture room! “hey… umm...the basement is really creepy. I wouldn't go down there.” I warned him “well that makes it more interesting. Well I’m going down,chicken!” Malcolm responded. Out of fear of being called a chicken I reluctantly followed him down the stairs.
When my feet touched solid ground I accidentally kicked the abandoned lamp that had gone out. Once Malcolm had seen the axes and chains on the  wall he turned to run but found the door closed and a misty figure at the top of the stairs. It was the ghost! This time she turned slowly around and smiled, a devilish smile.
Ever so slowly she glided down the stairs. Every time she took a step a new ghost materialised around us and ever so slowly started approaching us all their eyes set on me! All in a blur I next found myself dangling from the ceiling surrounded by ghosts. The ghost of Nancy Lewis advanced on me with one of the bloody whips in her transparent hand. “Prepare to suffer like we did Brown”she whispered into my ear before she started lashing me with the whip. The last thing I saw was the devilish smile of the ghost  of Nancy Lewis.