A Cliché Scary Story

• Kadesha Parsons, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2022

You know that moment in a scary movie that makes you just want to scream at the character. Yeah well, don’t scream at me. It was a dare, what does that say about me if I back out? That I’m a chicken.

I’m about to walk into the house. That dark, scary, haunted house that apparently every scary movie has. I know, I should just stop, turn around and run home. So I do, I turn around getting ready to run, but my friends. They’re looking at me, smiling, motioning me to go ahead. I slowly turn back around. “Dammit.” I whisper to myself. What have I gotten myself into?

I knock on the door. Why? I don’t know. The door slightly opens, I feel a cold breeze. Hyping myself up, I push open the door, stepping inside, I’m hit with the smell of wood that has been soaked in water for years. The door slams shut behind me. I jump. “It’s okay, you got this, its only 10 minutes. Right? 10 short minutes.” I say, trying to make myself feel better.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, turning on the flash. I got 10 minutes, may as well explore. I hold my phone up pointing the flash at the old, cracked, wooden stairs. “Looks like I’m going up.” I sigh.

As I walk up the stairs, every single one creaks. Each one different than the last. Remember that thing I said about not screaming at me? Now I give you the right to do that, because what in the world am I doing? I usually hate these types of people in scary movies, yet I’m acting exactly like them, walking up the stairs of the most haunted house known to your town. Like who in their right mind does that? Your curiosity really does get the best of you in these situations.

I make it to the top of the staircase, taking the last step to the second floor. I’m on the second floor, making my way down the hall, when something has me, it’s got me. What is it? Who is it? I don’t know, I’m just gone, just like that. The last thing I saw was my name written on one of the doors. The next morning, I wake up, at my friends house? “You’re awake.” One of them say, as she claps her hands. “I have a great story to tell you.” She says, smiling.

I jump awake, screaming for my mum again, this time it’s different though, because it’s now 5 in the morning and my parents refuse to let me leave the table until I tell them why I’ve been waking them up for the past 2 weeks. “What did your friends do? More importantly what happened in that house Eliza?” My mum questions. What a cliché scary story, am I right?