Creative Writing Home

Smit Patel
8-1
The Basement

The wind was as swift as an arrow, it whistled in my ears swoosh, rustle. Extravagant was the first word that came to the tip of my tongue when I first saw the dazzling new house. I couldn’t wait to move from that rusted, gray, confined apartment. The gusting wind smashed the house door open, my wide eyes were filled with wonder and the foyer flooded with a generous amount of light. My immature mind was blown away by how spacious and enormous the house was, it was a perfect dream home, perfect to throw parties as well. I was so hyperactive to see my new bedroom that I didn’t have to share with a toddler. I could smell the refreshing coat of aqua paint on the wall, I took a grand tour of the house.
I bustled down

I slowly staggered downstairs, into the darkness. A frightening silhouette stood right in front of me, my view was hindered. Neither I or the silhouette moved for several minutes. My stomach grumbled and twisted into a knot, an icy cold sweat formed on my forehead. The silhouette inched closer to me. All of a sudden the pitch black shadow vanished into thin air leaving no evidence of its presence. The air became heavy and humid sort of like mist, The shadow reappeared an inch away from me this time with facial features, which made her presence even more abnormal. Her pure white hair with hints of black spots draped in front of her scarred face, her jaw seemed dislocated, dropping to her chest, her putrid breath had the aroma of a thousand rotting corpses, her eyes started to bleed, she wailed, and sent chills through my body, my heart was racing and pounding hard, a type of irritation occurred on my back shoulder, I turned around and it was my mom. I immediately restored full control over my entire body and realized I was in the midst of a dream. The irritation was my mom tapping on my back and the loud noise was the alarm, What a relief, “ My house is not haunted,” I howled, while wetting my