Haunted House

• Isabella Martin, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2014

The smell of my own sweat fills my nose as I stand out the front of the haunted house. I'm not afraid... Much. The house itself smells of musty books and old milk. Through the day it's as though it just disappears but at night it is as clear as day. The house sit at the end of a street, the house next door is completely trashed, like it had been hit with a wrecking ball. I walk past here almost every day, it always the same, nothing ever changes. The same smell; the same darkness and the same silence that always seems to come when I stop here. Even the birds and animals seem to stay away. I never see anyone here or next door either. I thought it was abandoned, I was wrong...