A Tragic Tale Part 2

That next morning, I felt like our party last night might have summoned a ghost that has decided to tether to my soul and stay around for a while. There seemed to be a layer of something lingering in the air. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but I knew it, whatever it was, floated around my presence. My mom was making breakfast in the kitchen when I walked and I was surprised. It was a meal fit for a king. Waffles and pancakes were stacked high with whopping amounts of butter and syrup. Toppings like sprinkles, whipped cream, sliced fruit, and bacon were spread across the table.

“What’s going on? Did I forget someone’s birthday?” I asked.

“Oh no sweetie! I just thought I would make you a sugary breakfast to help regain some energy for you” my mom replied.

“Thanks, but I feel fine. I think I might have actually consumed too much sugar. I’m sure Dad and Melony can help eat some of this food” I said.

“Are you sure honey? I don’t want you to pass out again” she said lovingly.

“Yes. Honestly, I’m fine; I’ve never been better. I just think I need to go lie down for a while” I said.

I started walking up the stairs to my room, then changed my mind and turned around to look at my mom.

“Could you save me a few pancakes, for when I’m better?” I asked.

“Sure honey, whatever you need. You know you can talk to me about anything even if it might scare you to share them out loud,” she said looking straight into my eyes.

“I know. Thanks again Mom; you’re the best.” I said as I gave her a hug.

I ran upstairs with my stomach growling. All of the yummy food looked appealing, but I couldn’t get the scene from last night’s dream or nightmare, whatever it was, out of my head. That haunting feeling was still there from when I came to the night before and the following morning when I woke up at Angie’s. Eating was one of the last worries I had to deal with that day. Fore later that night, my new bedroom was going to be a rat-infested, falling down, ancient mansion that appeared to have jumped straight out of a horror novel. That night was going to be a long one.

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I had convinced my friends not to come because I was the one who lost the staying awake challenge, and no one in their right mind would come to Manchester Avenue. Most of the people who lived on this street were old and docile. Every once in a while, there was a report on TV of a cat being spotted running around the streets. Now, it was quiet; birds didn’t chirp and cats didn’t meow. Only the sound of the wind was audible to my ears. No one had moved their curtains to stare questioningly at me as to why I decided to walk in the direction of the scariest house around. I wondered this too as I walked towards the house.

I stood outside the haunted house on Manchester Avenue with its old Victorian shadows lurking inside every corner. Standing in the darkness of an early evening, I looked up into the face of a house that gave me chills. It looked like the house of the Addams’s Family with a tall and skinny frame and two eerie windows that appeared as if they glowed with demon power. At that moment, the wind began to pick up; the smells erupted from the house. I almost fainted from the smell, which over shocked my system. The rotting wood smelled like a coffin being opened after lying in the ground for 50-plus years. No one had lived here for decades. The house was boarded up with plywood and covered in deep forest green vines from the bottom of the stairs to the top of the rusted weather vane.

I stood there staring for a while and finally got the courage to enter. Was this even safe? What if I tried walking up the stairs and I fell straight through? What if I woke up to a rat sleeping next to me in my sleeping bag? I reassured myself that everything would be fine. If I really felt like I was in any danger I had the choice to go home where everyone would make fun of me for chickening out. I decided I wasn’t going to be called a chicken for not spending the night in a haunted house. My friends already thought I was losing it after I passed out at Angie’s Halloween party. Carefully, I ascended the stairs. CREEK! CREEK! Each stair made a noise. The door was slightly open. Weird right?

Slowly, I pushed the door open to reveal a long corridor. I crept down the hall making the least amount of noise as possible. I didn’t want to wake the rats or alert them to my presence in the house. Nor, did I want any spirits of the dead to rise and steal my soul. At the end of the corridor was a staircase leading upward towards the second floor. I wanted to get settled or as settled as possible for the night before I went looking for trouble. To the left and right of where I stood were large oak doors that looked seriously ominous. I went through the doors on the left which took a minute to get open because of my small stature. Finally, I managed to open the doors and I walked into a dimly lit living room. All of the furniture was covered with dirty white sheets. The walls were gray with mold and grime. Outside the air smelled faintly of old dirt, but in here it smelled like something had died; like really died and was never properly disposed of.

I started to look around the room at what was left after so many years disregarded, and what I found were a few faded pictures, holes in the curtains, and mice dropping everywhere. I guessed that the rats and mice were to blame for the wreckage on the floor. I had no desire to sleep in a room that was as messy as that one. So, I grabbed my sleeping bag and backpack and started the trek upstairs. My friends never told me I had to set up shop in the living room; I made up the steps to the second-floor landing. One of the rooms had to be better than the one downstairs. To be honest, anywhere would be better than that room I just left. When I arrived at the top, something felt off. Faintly from the hallway to the right, I saw light coming from underneath a door. I thought this was definitely odd since this house supposedly hasn’t had electricity for decades or even centuries.

That feeling was back again, like what I felt when I woke up the night of Angie’s party, but this time it was stronger. I didn’t stop to check any of the rooms on the way to the furthest door away from the staircase. One room, in particular, had more of an eerie feel than the rest. I pushed the door open to find the furniture covered in the same white clothes as the sheets covering the downstairs furniture. It was weird though; these sheets were all pristine like they had just been washed. I put my stuff down on the ground and placed my hand on the bed, testing for any softness or to break the glamor it was holding over my eyes. I leaped back in surprise. I expected bugs, or slime, or dust to fly into the air, but nothing happened. Again, I placed my hand on the bed and pushed harder than the first time; it held. I didn’t want to trust this bed, but it seemed fine. While I admired the bed, something started to happen in the closet behind me. The light under the door grew brighter.