• "Aw, come on!"

    I stared at the, small, run-down old house. "Uh, no. I am so not going in there."

    "Please?" Heather said, clasping her hands together.


    "Come on, Tracy," Heather whined, "I live in this neighborhood, and I'm not afraid to go in-"

    "Then go in." I said, gesturing toward the door.

    "Not by myself," Heather frowned, "That would be stupid. Anyway, what's the worst that could happen? Afraid of ghosts?"

    "No!" I shouted a little too quickly. Heather smiled. I scowled, "However, I am afraid of getting arrested for breaking and entering or something."

    "Yeah, right." Heather said smugly, "That's definatly going to happen. Now, are we going or what?"

    "If we go, will you shut up about it?" I sighed, resigned.

    Heather nodded, grinning hugely. We walked toward the house.

    Everyone in Heather's neighborhood had a different story about how the house became haunted. Ray said that it was built on an old indian burial ground. Kathy thought that a man who commited suicide walks the halls of the house, looking for companions. Jenny believed that a jelous wife who caught her husband with another woman killed both of them before killing herself, and now all three of them repeat the scene each night. George claimed that there was no ghost, but a serial killer lurked in the shadows.

    As for me, I thought it was stupid. Ghosts? Not real. Serial killers? Very real, but if there was one, the police would have caught him by now.

    The house was creepy, though. It was small, with peeling yellow paint. The door was white, and someone had painted a black smily face on it. From the back yard came noises that sounded like dogs being tortured. The few people who dared climb the wood fence (Heather was one of them) to look over said that you couldn't see anything back there, but when you stood on the fence, it started to shake like someone was trying to push you off.

    Heather grasped the doornob. A few kids had gathered to watch. This close, I saw small, red writing on the smily face. It said, All are welcome! It looked like it was written in dried blood. I shook that thought off.

    Heather stepped into the house. Dust had gathered on all the furniture. I walked in after her, glancing around. The door slammed behind me.

    "Ha ha ha." Heather said sarcasticly, glaring at me, "Oh my, the door slammed shut! It must be a ghost!"

    "Not me," I said, "Might be the wind, or one of the other kids."


    We walked into what looked like a sitting room. All the chairs looked gray because of the dust. A book was open at the table. I walked over to it.

    I do believe in ghosts. I do believe in ghosts. I do believe in ghosts. The phrase was written over and over, page after page, in a neat, feminine handwriting.

    "Creepy." Heather said from behind me, making me jump. I shut the book. The cover was a pale tan with no writing on the front. The corner was stained red.

    "Let's go." I said nervously.

    "Hang on, hang on, what's this?" Heather leaned down and picked up a crumpled peice of paper. It was right next to a closed door.

    please help he locked me in here i cant get out its cold its dark i cant see ive been here so long my mind is going its so hard so hard to consentrate i dont no what i wrote i cant read its too dark please somebody sombody HELP ME!

    "Whoever wrote this might have pushed it under this door." I muttered.

    "We have to help them!" exclaimed Heather, flinging open the door. Inside was a skeleton. Bits of what looked like black shirt and jeans clung to its bones. As I stared, a snake slithered out of the left eyesocket and hissed, seeking darkness.

    I screamed. Heather was screaming, too, I think. The skeleton grinned.

    Then it stood up.

    "Come with me." It said in a cracked, dry voice. It grabbed my arm in one body hand and Heather's in the others. It dragged us up the stairs. We were still screaming when it threw us into a bedroom.

    "Wh-what are you?" I asked hystericly, my screams turning into sobs.

    "I am what you expect to see," It said, "Whether you think this house is on an indian burial ground-" As it said this, it's voice changed, became deeper. Before my shocked eyes, it turned into a glaring indian. It continued, "Or you think I killed myself-" It changed into a man with a noose around his neck, and tears on his cheeks. "Or that I'm a jelous wife-" It morfed into a crazed looking woman in a bloody wedding dress. "Or a serial killer-" It became a cackling man holding a bloody knife before going back to its origanal state, a skeleton.

    "I am the darkest shadow that lurks in your mind."

    "What do you want?" sobbed Heather.

    "I want your fear," it said, "I want your last breath. I want your life."

    It shut the door, and locked it.

    "Oh my God!" gasped Heather, curling into a ball, "Oh my God, Oh my God..."

    I walked over to the door, banging on it with all my strength. "Let us out!" I screeched.

    A paper was slipped under the door. I picked it up, my hands shaking. On it were five words.

    I win. Time to die.

    I screamed.