The Haunted House

Pushing the heavy gates open the touch of the iron bars, as cold as

ice, seized up my hand completely. Even though I could feel the

unevenness of the old cobbled path beneath me, they were smooth in

contrast to the crunching of the odd dead leaf that I stepped on.

Carrying on up the path the grass carried on forever into the horizon,

a dull grey colour as if it had lost the will to live and stopped

growing altogether.

One lonesome Oak tree stood by the house swaying in the wind and as

the wind swept by the tree whispered to the air and its surroundings.

The moon shone bright white, in the cloudless sky, it was the only

source of light that could be seen for miles. Owls occasionally

fluttered by overhead, their silhouettes passing over the grass. The

air was cold and numb and with every breath I drew a misty, chilly

exhale followed.

As the house drew nearer everything around me became quieter and more

distant. The trees murmuring couldn't be heard anymore and the cold

iron gates were far, far back in the distance. Owls couldn't be heard

anymore and there were no leaves on the ground, just some aged

concrete steps, and a doorway that stood in front of me.

From the outside, the house was tall and thin, made from large dark

grey stones that had a rough feel all of this sandwiched together by

crumbling cement. Climber Plants grew up the house winding around the

drainpipes grabbing for the little sunlight that reached this desolate

place. The windows rattled vigorously from the howling wind, as though

they were about to fall out of the frames which were made from rotting

wood being eaten away by wood worm. A few potted plants lay next to

the door, once there for neat presentation now wilted and brown,

almost certainly dead. The door had been left ajar perhaps for many

years, or maybe someone was already in there.

The hallway was dull and smelt of dust mixed with old age.