I was hesitant and tensed. I was sure if it went wrong my mom would not let me out. “Come fast, otherwise we look suspicious to others” Hilda said pulling my hand.
“Do you really want to do this? I have a bad feeling. ” I said.
“I promise, nothing would happen. You have seen me many a times. This would be a lot more fun than it appears. See, that house looks small and uninhibited. I will go inside and find something to cherish our spirits. You don’t need to come inside. All you have to do is wait outside.” Hilda said.
Hilda was very persistent of this. So we walked towards the house and made sure no one was watching us. The path that was leading us to the house was filled with small rocks, unwanted weed and grass were grown abundantly. I looked at the house ceiling. The roof looked worn out, it had many patches and holes. We stepped on the porch. Cobwebs suspended from the ceiling covered our faces like a guards of the house. That was the sign that no one lived here at least for sometime. When we kept walking on the porch, it started shaking like it was going to crumble that instant. Many of the wooden planks were weak; some of them were eaten by hungry insects. We were eager to know what was inside. There were no windows in the front. So we reached for the door. Hilda knocked on the door twice just as a precaution. There was no response. Then she turned the doorknob clockwise and anti clockwise. It made a squeaky sound but it was locked. So we decided to circle the house to see whether there was a way to get inside.
We noticed a lower window facing the vacant lot was cracked. Glass shards were rested here and there. She took a peek inside and said “Look there are many things.” I looked inside. It was the living room a...
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...ere we would like to go and why we were here and what happened to my friend. She opened her mouth to say something but I stopped her and said we were following our friend. The other day when we walked her to join us for shopping, she said her mom would not let her out. But today we saw her riding in the same streetcar we were in, alone and she got off in this street. So we decided to follow her to know what she was up to. Policeman cut me there with his words “did you find out?” We were about to, but stupid dogs came chasing and then Hilda fell, hit hard against the rock. So I gave up. He did not ask any questions further, so I felt I did a wonderful job lying him. Hilda pressed my hand, I looked at her and saw happiness and astonishment in her eyes. For the first time I felt so happy for what I did. From then onwards we decided to put an end all these activities.
Through out the Summer, I was back at home with a part time job at a very fancy restaurant and doing Summer school. When the fall came I was all set and registered at the University of Toronto where Mary had teached. No matter where I walked in the school something would remind me of her. I was in a nursing program and that first week I had seen the most beautiful girl alive, she almost looked exactly like Mary. She had long brown hair and big blue eyes, this girl was a one of a kind. I finally grew the nerve to go talk to her. " Hello, how are you?'' I asked. "Good afternoon, I'm good thanks.'' Just the way she talked made me think of her. "My name's Franklin Crabbe, yours?" She looked nervous then responded : " My name's Christina Pallas" Pallas? That was Mary's last name, I wonder if she knew her.
I’d never been in a house like this. It had rooms off of rooms, and in each of them were deep sofas and chairs, woven carpet over polished hard-wood floors, tasteful paintings on the walls. She asked if I was hungry, and she opened the fridge and it was stuffed with food-cold cuts and cheeses, fresh
Crossing the porch where we had dined that June night three months before, I came to a small rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind was drawn, but I found a rift at the sill.
Filban said the home had a yard that was overgrown. “The trees and bushes were overgrown, and the house was dark,” Filban said. “And the windows were covered.” She and her sister slept in the front bedroom of the house. She remembers the bedroom having a large, floor-to-ceiling window. She said you could look out and see the wra...
The narrator begins by portraying the house to look like typical horror movie houses. It’s a large, pretty house, with locked gates, and is far away from the street and other houses. When they initially moved into the house, she feels spirits right away, saying “there is something strange about the house—I can feel it.” (377). She later declares there is a peculiar smell in the house. “It creeps all over the house. I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs. It gets into my hair. Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it, there is that smell!” (385). The way she phrased this brings the presence of the dead to the atmosphere. Spirits are often described as “hovering” and “creeping” around, popping up unexpectedly. She says it’s hiding and waiting for her, which probably scares her.
Hollow eyes glanced around the pristine apartment, the gray scale color scheme seems to match the women clasping her hands together, pursing her lips and searching for approval from the girl that stood in the doorway. Automatically, the girl deduced the woman was quite wealthy, especially in the neighborhood she'd now live in. The streets were busier, filled with nicer cars instead of busted ones without their fenders falling apart at the edge. Her nimble fingers explored the wall as she took careful steps into the living room. Winnie wasn't acclimated to this life style: the wallpaper wasn't being striped at the corners, stainless carpets without nothing questionable left behind, no sign of undesirable critters, and silence. She could finally
... doors. They were all old, and looked as if they might collapse. The houses have been worn down, by the constant goblin raids. I passed house after house, before reaching the edge of the village. Belophose whinnied, strangely, as if she sensed something coming. I could sense it too. It was too quiet. It was never this quiet. As if on cue, the earth shook, and the mountain began to crumble. Rocks were falling and the villagers screaming.
Looking around the abandoned cottage, I spotted a lantern next to the door hanging on a hook. I took out my lighter and lit it up, grabbing it off the hook. I held it in front of me at a distance so I could the rest of the room. It was a ugly green colored room, the wallpaper was peeling off the wall; most of it had already come off. The furniture covered in plastic.
We walk up to the gingerbread colored house as the pea stones crunch underneath our feet and a summer breeze hits our faces. We open the rickety white storm door and push the heavy ginger bread colored door into the kitchen. The kitchen has a rustic smell to it, surrounded with furniture from the 1970s. I continue through the kitchen, glancing at the monk cookie jar on top of the refrigerator.
I sat in my friend's Oldsmobile with her three year old in the car seat resting in the back, as we traveled down the street towards my former residence behind the city park. My friend, Sarah, now a MOM, was eager to show me the transformation to the front of my old home. She kept saying, that I would never believe it as we approached the house, I could only see bareness. All of the bushes, flowers, and gardens that surrounded the house were removed. The windows appeared naked without curtains or blinds to dress them. Disappointment and disgust ran through my veins as I thought about the care and attention my mother had given to our home only to be stripped of it all by the new occupants. What a bad sale my parents had made!
Allison Vandemore looked back one last time at the dilapidated weekly rental as she pulled a dark strand of hair behind her round ear. How it looked even less livable than what it had ten short months before, she wasn’t sure. Still, she was certain a small part of her would cherish the time spent in the duplex style apartment. Although she was ecstatic this chapter of her life was finally over. The rotten siding, broken window panes, as well as the sagging roof with patches of missing shingles, felt like home. It’s the only real home I’ve known, she thought pressing her lips thin and nodding to herself.
The house was thickly made of mud brick and melded easily into the dirt around it. The only semblance of abandonment stems from personal knowledge of the house itself. We wasted no time entering, for the heat had become nearly intolerable. Nothing had changed since the previous visit so the exploring commenced immediately and naturally. The architecture was rounded like every other house in the town with archways leading to each room. Void of any furnishings, there was not much to look at or explore. The only thing left unknown was an old room with no lighting or windows that both of us were too afraid to
As we walked through the woods on the dark cold night in October we notice screaming of what we had thought to be the neighbor girl. We creep closer to the large mansion and climb the gates to get in the massive front yard. As me and my friends Kevin, Douglas, and randy reach the front door, we slowly creep open the front door, we hear screams and yells and very quickly leave the situation. We head back to the house for the night and decide that we will make a plan and return to the mansion tomorrow.
The house, all bricks and windows silhouetted by the moon, dwindled to the size of Legos as we pulled onto the freeway. I crouched on the back seat of Momma's green sedan, knees tucked under me, facing backwards with my arms folded under my chin. Cheryl, her body tucked into a ball next to me, folded her sweater between her head and the door to soften the rocking of the car. On my left was Doug, his head lolled back onto the seat and his eyes staring at the ceiling, black hair whipping in the wind from the open window in the driver's seat where Momma's elbow jutted out into the darkness, her hand rising every few minutes to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Where have they gone?” I asked myself conscientiously. Still in an attempt to retrieve light, I managed to carry myself outside; however, when I opened the front door, I knew the sight I just witnessed would stay imprinted in my mind forever. My parent’s house was the only building left standing . . . tornado number five had swept the city and this time it left its mark for good. “How could such a thing happen?” I asked myself trying to logically think of every situation that could cause this occurrence. Now in a desperate need of finding someone, I scampered through every room and searched for any sign of a person; by my seventh roundabout of the house I concluded that no one was in the house anymore. I was alone . . . literally the last person, for all I know, in Picher,