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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest · #2264516
What will happen when a writer gets wind of a local Haunted House?
Mayberry Hill House.

By Stephen A Abell – Monday, 3rd January 2022.

Number of Words – 300.

“This is a dangerous place.” I wished I’d heeded Bills words. His severed head sat at my feet: Dead eyes burning into my soul.

I’d heard the tales of the haunted Mayberry Hill house and made the mistake of contacting the leasing agent. Being new in town, and a Dark-Fiction writer, my curiosity became the carrot on the stick. Imagine, an actual haunted house.

With a viewing arranged, I contacted Bill; a psychic who’d helped me on previous stories. We were at the front door, and I was producing the key when he expressed his portent.

“How dangerous?”

“Not sure. The vibes I’m getting are from below.”

“Why’s it always the attic or cellar(?)” Opening the door, we stepped into the house. It took a couple of minutes to find the right door. Flicking the light switch, I sighed, “And, why’re the lights always blown(?)”

“Just like one of your novels.”

“Har-De-Har! Lucky I charged the mobile.” Light from the single LED filled the stairway.

After descending, Bill pointed to a door at the far side. He looked nervous, and my nerves were twitching under the skin. Grasping the doorknob, I turned it slowly. The rusty creak sent a shiver through me. Upon opening the door, darkness swarmed out. My phones torchlight appeared dimmer. Was there movement within?

We needed to flee this place.

I made to close the door, but a skeletal hand shot out and snatched Bills wrist, yanking him into the room. The dark devoured Bills screams; the silence was deafening. Something hit my boots. Bills head. I opened my mouth to scream, and the bony hand seized my lower jaw. As I was drawn into the room, the meagre light from my phone vanished. I was embraced by blackness, silence, and a hundred clawing, tearing hands.

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