Trapped in Terror: Surviving a Night in an Abandoned House

I remember that night like it was yesterday, even though it's been years. It was the summer of '97, and I was just a teenager. My friends and I were looking for something to do, and someone suggested we spend the night in the abandoned house on our street. We had all heard the rumors about the house being haunted, but we didn't really believe them. We were just looking for a thrill, something to make us feel alive.

As we approached the house, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. It was an old Victorian-style mansion, with a crumbling facade and broken windows. We pushed our way through the overgrown garden, and I could hear the sound of twigs snapping under our feet. It was eerily quiet, except for the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind.

We made our way up to the front door, which was hanging off its hinges. We pushed it open, and a musty smell hit us like a wave. It was pitch black inside, so we lit some candles we had brought with us. The flickering flames cast an eerie glow on the peeling wallpaper and creaky floorboards.

We made our way through the house, exploring every room. Each one seemed to be more rundown than the last, with old furniture covered in cobwebs and broken mirrors hanging on the walls. I couldn't help but feel like someone was watching us, even though I knew we were alone.

As the night wore on, we started to hear strange noises. At first, it was just the sound of the wind whistling through the broken windows, but then we started to hear footsteps. They sounded like they were coming from upstairs, and we all froze in fear.

We huddled together in one of the bedrooms, clutching our candles tightly. The footsteps grew louder and louder, until they were right outside the door. We could hear someone breathing heavily, as if they were right behind us.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a figure loomed in the doorway. It was a ghostly apparition, with long hair and white skin. It let out a blood-curdling scream, and we all ran for our lives.

As we were running out of the house, I stumbled and fell, dropping my candle in the process. The flame went out, plunging me into darkness. I could hear my friends calling out to me, urging me to get up and keep running.

But then I heard something else - a faint whisper. I couldn't quite make out what it was saying, but it sounded like a name. It was my friend, the one who had refused to come with us because he was too scared.

Suddenly, the ghostly apparition appeared in front of me again. But this time, something was different. As I looked closer, I realized that the ghost looked familiar. In fact, it looked like my missing friend.

I couldn't believe it. Had my friend been the ghost all along? Was this all some elaborate prank?

As the ghostly figure moved closer, I could see that it was indeed my friend. He was wearing a white sheet over his head, which was why we didn't recognize him earlier. He was laughing, trying to catch his breath from running around the house in the sheet.

We were all relieved that it was just a joke, but we were also a little angry at our friend for scaring us so badly. It was a good prank, but we made him promise never to do something like that again.

From that night on, we all looked at the abandoned house on our street a little differently. It was no longer just a spooky old mansion - it was a reminder of the night we spent with our friend, and the prank that scared us all half to death.