ENC 1101-B3 & B4: Writing for Discovery

The town where I live has an old haunted mansion. Or at least that is what everyone says. I am thinking about going to the old mansion tonight, so I am going to do a little investigating pertaining to the factual history of the house.

In the library there is a section for newspaper articles and they go back about 50 years. Newspapers always pronounce when someone significant dies and I believe that with the size of this house you had to have been a noteworthy member in the community.

I sit down and shuffle through the papers. I hate how the ink from the paper rubs off on your hands. It stinks, too! I am starting to grow uninterested. When, “At last I’ve found it!” The article follows the story of a man, a stock broker and his wife who were loners. They were strange folks about mid forties in age and worn looking from the stressful life that they seemed to have lead.

Well it reads here, they got in a car accident that killed both of them right in their very own driveway. A white unmarked vehicle came plowing down their road and came around the corner at top speed. As the vehicle turned the corner, it clipped the families van and sent them directly into their rod iron gates. Breaking the windows and projecting right into the front seat killing them both. A light just turned on in my head. It also says, they had a daughter, that later died in the old house from “medical problems.” That’s what I thought. Maybe she is the alleged ghost?
Traveling back to school I had found out directions and planned to follow them perfectly. The old house is located about half a mile from my high school. If I turn right past the old Piggly Wiggly and take it straight for about two blocks I should find it.

I love the thought of the adrenaline rush when it comes to scary movies or even a house. At school this afternoon, I was conversing with some of the other cheerleaders and we decided to head down to the old Stonybrook house right after the football game tonight.

All the stories I have heard can not possibly be true. What could be so scary? The stories range from having your name written on the wall to door slamming as you run up and down the hallway. I think, personally, the people who have ventured down there just want to scare those of us who have not had the experience.

As I am leaving the locker room my stomach is starting to churn. I was not frightened, how could I believe things that I had not seen for myself? I run into Sarah, one of my friends who is coming too, “Are you starting to get butterflies thinking about Stonybrook?”

`“No, are you crazy? If some of those wimps have been out there we sure can beat this out!” Sarah replied with full confidence.

“Okay, but I am having trouble keeping those thick rumors out of my head.” As my voice quivered with a slight tone of aversion as I ran onto the field.

I am cheering my little heart out at the football game tonight, in hopes of distracting myself from the doom that was destined to come.

Our team beats the town rivals and we all gathered at my car to see who else wants to go to the old house with us. Sarah, Erin, Matt and I are heading out to the old mansion and it is about quarter past ten on this perfectly clear evening. The air is so crisp that I could almost break it right in two. I am sitting in the front passenger seat of Sarah’s car as we drove. Everyone is laughing and carrying on in the back, as I felt quite sick in the front.

A few minutes went by and we drove up. The gates are closed. I thought, maybe if I turn around and convince them that we cannot go in there they will not make me try to open the gates.

The gates are made of a thick black rod iron metal. They stand about eleven feet tall and have intricate designs welded neatly on the front of them. They appear to be staring straight at our car and moving in the dark misty night as we roll up gently. I walk up and try to push on one… it didn’t budge. I glance back, my friend’s eyes grow as big as quarter dollars, and I think everyone is having second thoughts.

I slowly turn around.

“AHHHHH…” the whole car screams.

The gate starts opening slowly and yet, no one had touched it. Sarah pushes on the gas pedal gently and the car creeps into the old busted driveway. Holding each other’s hands we all pile out of the car.

Whispering, I say to the bunch, “Everyone watch out for the person next to you and do not split up.” I knock on the front door. The echo of my knock is heard throughout the house. I jiggled the door knob and it fell to the ground. Matt kicks open the door and we scamper in.

I am in front and decide we should conquer the upstairs first. I gaze up at the up at the winding stairs and as they whisper with cold wind from the front door. The old chandelier is missing some of its crystals and has an eerie swing about it. I take the first step trying to take the lead. The stairs cracks beneath my feet. I leap back.

“Follow me guys,” I began.

“Don’t you think that we should hang around down here?” Matt’s voice shook.

“I think so too,” Sarah agreed.

“No, I want to see if they know our names,” I inquire.

“I’m not so sure about that, What if they do?” Erin started to cry. I crept up the stairs in a silent manner hoping not to disturb “anyone” who lives in this spiteful old mansion.

“Duck!” I yelled, as he old chandelier came plummeting down for our heads. Someone did not want us here and I wanted to find out whom. Thick gray spider webs are spun throughout the old house. I am walking slowly and very cautiously, as I pick the webs off my arms and face.

Tip toeing quietly so not to heard we all hear doors start to open. I peek in the first one to see what was in the room. Nothing but black curtains resides in the first two rooms. The furniture was covered in white sheets that then had a substantial coating of gray dust doused all over them. I touched one to merely see what the room used to be. A big rat scatters across the room right under my feet.

“I’m scared,” Erin whispers. “Don’t be, I’m right here,” Matt assures her.

The first door slams. Then the next and the chain reaction has started. Something behind us is trying to scare us out of the house, but I am not going for it.

“Run for your life!” Matt is holding Erin and Sarah’s hands and they are all running down the hallway. “Stop don’t leave me, stay upstairs,” I plead.

The group runs to the bottom of the stairs and there it is. All of our names are spelled out clear as day on the front wall. Erin is balling at this time, and Sarah is frightened, “We are leaving!” They walk out. Matt and I stay a minute and scream around the house.

“Whoever you are, we’ll be back and we’re not going to tell anyone what happened,” we angrily shout in hopes to scare anything and anyone.

What happened tonight in the old Stonybrook mansion is trickery. People talk about it too much when they’re headed out there and someone plays a bad joke. How exactly could the same thing happen to everyone who went out there, unless you believe in ghosts?