In the center of a small New England village there were two old Victorian houses.
One was once the home of the richest family in town and it looked it. It had balconies,
stained glass windows, carved banisters, the works. But it was dark, gloomy, and had an
aura of mystery and foreboding about it. There were rumors that it was haunted.
The other house was smaller and not as fancy, but it was bright and cheerful looking.
Everyone liked the young couple who lived there with their son, a little boy named Andrew.
It was October 31st and Andrew was the happiest kid alive. It was his second birthday
and he had gotten what he wanted most in the world: a bright red ball. He was rolling it
around the lawn when, almost as if it were magnetized, it began to roll toward the house
next door. As Andrew climbed on two unsteady toddler legs, the ball dropped through a
broken basement window.
He walked over and squirmed through the window, cutting himself slightly on the
broken glass. He dropped to the floor and picked up his ball. As he looked around,
sucking his thumb, he heard a voice. It was a woman's voice and she was singing.
It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It sounded like a choir of angels.
As he listened he felt as though he was being hypnotized. The ball slipped out of his hands.
His feet began to slowly inch forward as he was drawn towards a rickety pair of stairs.
He tried to stop but he couldn't. He started to get frightened. The voice no longer sounded
sweet and heavenly, but cold and cruel. He walked up the stairs and onto the
first floor. He only had time to glimpse the dust coated furniture before mounting the
second flight of stairs. As he climbed he could hear the voice getting louder and louder,
and colder and colder, crueler and crueler. He emerged on the second story and noticed brown
rotten-looking places on the floor. His feet didn't even seem to notice this and
he almost fell through several times. He reached the stairwell and started his final assent to the attic.
The holes here were huge, about as big as a filing cabinet. They were surrounded
by brown rotting wooden planks. The path Andrews shoes took came dangerously close to several
of the larger ones. Andrew was now shaking so badly, he doubted he would have been able to stay
upright, had his feet not been bewitched. He made a direct beeline
for the darkest corner. As he got closer, he could see a girl in a long white dress sitting
at a vanity table. From what he could see of her, she was gorgeous. She had long dark
hair and her dress swept the floor. But then a wave of dread swept over Andrew. She was
the one who was singing. His feet moved him behind her chair. She suddenly stopped singing and
he collapsed in a trembling heap. Then the girl pushed the chair back, stood up and turned around.
Andrew screamed. Her face... her face was a mass of pus and oozing rotten sores.
Her eyes were pools of inky blackness, holes set deep into her head. Her nose was
literally gone, although several remnants of cartilage remained poking through her skin.
Her lips were cracked and peeling. Her tongue like a great fat worm. Her dress was torn,
tattered and yellowed with age. It had several bloodstains on it. Her hair was really blond,
not black, but it looked black from all the fleas, lice, ticks and other bugs crawling around in
her hair. It was a Manhattan of lice, a Hong Kong of fleas, falling all over themselves to get to her blood...
She smiled an evil smile and said "Welcome, Andrew. I have been waiting for you."
in a dry rasp. She took a step forward and he took a step back. She took a step forward,
he took a step back. She took a step forward, he took a step ba-"AAAAHHHH!"
Andrew fell, headfirst, through the largest hole of all. He plunged faster, gaining speed, as he
fell through the second and first floors. He came to an abrupt halt as his head
smashed into the concrete basement floor. His brains splattered against the wall as he slumped to the ground.
Looking down, the phantom snickered at the still form of Andrew three floors below.
She made another tally mark on the wall with her tube of lipstick. Then she settled down to wait for the next unlucky child, humming placidly to herself.
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