The Old House

This is a story that I wrote about an abandoned house down the street from me.

It was 1999. The wind was blowing on East Main Street, and a storm was brewing. Little Emily Ponnely sat in her room, huddled under the covers. She had never liked lightning and thunder that accompanied the brutal thunder storms. She hugged her pillow tight, and fell asleep. She had a horrible nightmare, of murder and ghosts and witchcraft. Lightning crashed and she woke up with a start.

Her door creaked open. She dared to peak her head out from under the covers. She looked. Her door was wide open. She screamed, but there was no answer form either of her parents. Suddenly, she looked up and saw him. He stood over her with a jagged knife in his hand, the psychotic grin on his face. He laughed a menacing laugh, the last thing that Emily ever heard before her throat was slashed open.

The burglar was caught half an hour later. He was sentenced to life in prison. He died there of starvation.    After the murder, a rockstar moved into the house. Not 5 days later he moved out, claiming that the place had too much weirdness for him. More families came, the last being the Hals. They left after seeing objects move around in midair with no reason. Stories spread, and soon, no one wanted to buy the house. 


It sat there for years before it was turned over to the bank. By then, it had broken windows, spray painting, caving in floors, and rickety stairs, and the bank wanted nothing to do with it. It has sat there til this day, in disrepair, waiting for a new family to take care of it.