John scowled, looking at the rickety old house. He heard a whistle from behind him. John turned around, looking at his friend, Greg, who had put him up to this. Greg motioned for him to hurry up, tapping his watch. John sighed, and turned back toward the house, which was supposedly haunted by the ghost of a little girl who had a tragic accident.
Earlier that day, John had made a bet with some of his friends to look cool in front of a girl he liked, saying that he could stay in the house for an hour. In order to make sure he didn't fake, Greg tagged along in order to be a witness. John moaned, wondering WHY he had made this bet, just to be more popular.
John sighed, and walked up to the porch, which had seen better days. It was made of molding wood, with a few rusty folding chairs scattered around. A few of the wooden planks had completely rotted away, leaving dark holes which John was sure were infested with hives of insects. John shuddered. He hated bugs.
John sucked in a breath, and walked up to the old, fourteenth century door. The paint, which at one time been a rich green, had now peeled off, showing a dank wooden interior. John gripped the handle, and twisted, grunting as he opened the door. His nerves sky rocketed as it gave a creepy squeak, like doors did in old horror movies. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The house had been deserted for at least thirty years; there was nothing in there that was going to hurt him.
John shuffled quietly inside, seeing Greg start a stop watch out of the corner of his eye. He would call John on his cell phone when the hour was up. He slowly walked forward, taking in his surroundings. He was in a large entry way, with a huge space over head. Even though there weren't any lights, the windows over the door let in plenty of sun light. Unfortunately, the light stopped a few feet in front of John.
John sighed, and said to himself quietly,"Well, might as well make this trip as interesting and comfortable as possible. Maybe the family left cool stuff behind." He walked forward, pulling a flash light out of his jean pocket. He may have been stupid enough to do this, but he wasn't THAT big of an idiot. He was at least prepared. Along with his flash light, John had brought along an extra set of batteries, a pocket knife, and a small first aid kit. John chuckled silently to himself, thinking about how over protective he had been. It was just one, uneventful hour; there was no need to go to such precautions. But it showed just how scared he had been; apart from the legend of the little girl's ghost, but there had been several unconfirmed disappearances that had happened around this area. Apparently, one of them had last been seen walking into this house.
John flicked the switch, the yellow beam of light cutting its way through the darkness. Across the room, there was a fancy stair case, which led to the second floor. Other than that, there was an empty kitchen, and also an empty living room.
John gave another sigh, which he had gotten into the habit of doing when he was distressed. He didn't want to go upstairs; that's where the little girl had died. All he had hears was she had drowned in the bath tub when her mom had left to answer the phone. The mother had been put behind bars for man slaughter; nobody thought it had been a fair charge.
John walked toward the stairs, nearly choking in the dusty air. This place needed a cleaning. Badly. The air stunk of rot; the dust was so heavy, it looked like it was snowing, except this snow carried an unpleasant smell. John sighed, kicking a pile of the offending stuff. It puffed into the air, looking like a cloud that had been polluted with chemicals from some factory or another.
John reached the stair case, shining the flash light upwards. He stared up for a while, debating whether he should go upstairs or not. Suddenly, there was a loud creak behind him, making him whirl around. He shown the light around, searching for the culprit. He turned the beam toward the kitchen, and thought his heart speed up when a dark blot cut across the light. John felt the blood drain from his face. He shown the light around the room again, trying to catch the thing fully with light. He hadn't gotten a good look at it.
He gasped, nearly dropping the flash light, as a large ball of fur sprang from the shadows. John fell backward, swinging his arms in a wild defensive circle. He hit the ground hard, his head ringing. He moaned, rubbing his head, and looked up into the face of a cat. It had been clearly startled by John, and arched its back, hissing quietly.
John got to his feet, and let out a relieved breath, retrieving his flash light from the ground. He even laughed a little at himself. He had been scared by a stray cat. He looked down at the cat again, who had calmed down. It didn't look like a stray; instead of the usual patch work fur, its orange striped coat was well groomed and cleaned, and its bright green eyes didn't show any hunger. It must have been the neighbor's cat.
John chuckled, and shooed the cat away, who took off up the stairs. It stopped at the top, and looked down at John, who could have sworn that it had motioned for him to follow. Even though this is weird, it gave John a sense of security. He held his head high, following the cat to the top.
When he arrived at the top, the cat turned around, flicking its bushy tale, and stalked off in the dark. John walked after it, looking at the dusty floor. He was surprised that he didn't see any paw prints; the darkness must be covering them up. He walked on persistently, just barely seeing the cat in the darkness, even though he kept his light on it. He was slowly noticing that his light was losing intensity, becoming dimmer. He thought nothing of it, and still walked on.
When they reached the end of the hall, his flash light gave a weird, puttering sound, and burned out, leaving John in the dark. John fitted the other batteries quickly into the slot, and turned it back on. The beam again sputtered out. He scowled; he must have brought duds.
John put the flash light away, and glanced up, looking for the cat. He thought he saw the flick of an orange tail disappear into a room in front of him. He waited till his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The windows had been covered up with tar paper. He shuffled forward, and opened the door a little more. He couldn't see a thing. He walked into the room, his senses tingling. There was something not right here...
Suddenly, the door behind swung shut. He whirled around, and tried the door. Locked. He scowled, and moved backwards, preparing to break the old door down with brute force. He was about to take off, when a noise behind him made him pause. He turned around, and saw a little girl standing in the musty corner of the room. She made the sound again, which sounded like a hiccup.
She was soaking wet; her blond hair clung to her forehead in wet clumps. Her white night gown was also soaked, and her skin was a ghastly pale color. Her eyes were a milky white color; John was now officially scared.
She looked at him, and spoke, her voice sounding like it was submerged in water. She said,"Is that you Mommy?" As she talked, water was streaming out of her mouth. He noticed there was also water coming from her ears, and even her eyes; it was even streaming off of her body.
John shook his head, and she stood up, saying in her eery voice,"Do you know where Mommy is? I haven't seen her for a while..." She stood up, and John felt a crushing force surround him. He looked at her face, and something clicked. It was the same face of the little girl who had drowned. He took a step back, then turned to run. He slammed into the door, and rebounded. The door didn't break open. He turned around, and fell back; the girl had appeared right in front of him. She opened her mouth, and said,"Where do you think you're going? I was hoping we could play..." As she finished, her voice had changed, becoming eerily deep. She opened her mouth, and water sprayed out.
John opened his mouth to scream, but only swallowed water. He tried to cough, but found that water seemed to be every where. The little girl laughed, and John moaned, darkness surrounding him...
Outside, Greg tried his to reach Greg by phone again. But again, it went straight to voice mail. He frowned, and ran toward the house, hoping nothing had gone wrong. He walked through the open door, looking at the dark exterior. A shadow crossed his line of sight, and an orange striped tabby cat ran up the stairs, and turned around, seeming to beckon for him to follow...