Creative Writing: The Haunted House

The smell of the fire permeated the room, wisps of black charcoal smoke curled and pranced their way through the thick, suffocating air as if excited to escape the venomous chamber. The smoke soon flattened in the heavy air and shrouded the lifeless corpses of the prisoners. Beside the towering heaters and the dead carcass were rows of flimsy benches; strategically mounted inside of the cramped bunker to make it harder to escape. The cold, cement walls were decorated with windows that were boarded shut. There were also markings that had been carved out on the wall, one stroke for each that was spent rotting in the chamber. The only source of light and hope was a small hole that had been carved out by a past captive. Beneath the sealed windows was a broken and leaking faucet ; the head of the faucet covered in rust. Underneath the crumbling roof, the wooden floorboards screeched ; the wood was splintered and fragmented. The wet wood

The earring was the only possession that she had been able to smuggle in ; it was the only reminder of home she had left. Her chestnut hair glistened in the incandescent flecks of light, the first light she had seen in 6 weeks. The rest of her was engulfed into an eternal sea of darkness - a place where light could never reach. Her clothes were disheveled and withered, unable to properly cover her body. Her skin was smooth like a piece of marble, but was covered in large blemishes the color of an aquamarine gemstone. Her nose, straight and petite, a nose that had only inhaled the smell of warm bread, now inhaled the smell of decaying carcass. Her eyes were an unrecognizable color, a mix between green and brown. But, in the darkness, they seemed pitch black. She had not laid eyes on anything but the soldiers in the past 6 weeks. The soldiers, that wrenched her away from her home, the only place she has ever known, into this dark, rancorous