Sorry for my long absense of posts. Here is the beggining of a short story, inspired by prompt #145 from this site
http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/
This is part 1. It was written rather quickly, so there are probably mistakes. Anyway, hope you enjoy it.
“But why are we going to the house?” Connie implored, for nearly the 5th time. Her friend Michael just gave her an exasperated look and opened the car door with mock chivalry. She made a disgruntled sound as she plopped down on the old seat and threw her purse in the pack dramatically. For the entire car ride, she maintained a look of being greatly put out by this detour from the leisurely day she originally had in mind for the two of them. They could have been enjoying the sun in the park, feeding the ducks, or riding bikes. Instead, they were headed to a decrepit old house on the outskirts of town, all because of an irritating old man who had just died of pneumonia. Her whole day was ruined.
“It was my grandfather’s house,” reminded Michael, as if this meant anything to her. Michael had barely even known his grandfather, and she certainly had never met him. For some odd reason, Michael had inherited the house upon his grandfather’s death, and suddenly felt some duty to the old man. They were to search his home for any belongings that Michael might want to preserve, before turning it over the banks.
“But can’t we just do this some other time?” Connie begged. Michael shook his head, so she continued, “Or better yet, not at all! Let someone else take over. You can’t possibly care about an old man’s trash!”
“I heard there might be valuable items in the house,” Michael said hesitantly. Connie’s eyes lit up. “He was a collector, and he had a lot of old stuff. Maybe you’ll find something you like,” Michael added. Connie looked thoughtful, but she imagined the old house being filled with model airplanes or historical documents of World War 2. She went on for the rest of the drive looking apprehensive.
When they finally reached the house, Connie felt even more annoyed. It was completely overgrown by dry weeds, and the house itself was barely visible. They both got out of the car and made their way up a narrow path, with plants trying to thwart their progress the whole time. Standing on the porch, Michael suddenly seemed uneasy. Connie looked at him questioningly, but he shook it off and turned the key. The door opened with a click, and the oppressive atmosphere of the house’s interior seeped out of the cracked door. Connie’s heart beat faster for some reason, as Michael pushed the door opened further with a creak.
Michael stepped through the door first, into what felt like a cloud of dust and darkness. Connie followed, quite unwillingly, but too curious to turn back now. She hadn’t expected it to be so…strange. It felt like no other house she had ever entered. Their steps sounded muffled on the old wooden planks, which occasionally creaked and groaned. Michael searched everywhere for a light switch, and prayed that the power was still on. Connie found it first, and to their relief, there was a buzzing sound as an old ceiling lamp lit up.
The room, which was fairly small, was filled with boxes, a few tables of trinkets, and an old sofa. There was a short hallway which led to the one bedroom, and a kitchen that branched off of the living room. Separating the two was a steep staircase leading to the attic. Connie felt a sense of impending dread when she noticed it, and hoped she would not have to ascend into the darkness. Unfortunately, she remembered that attics were notorious for being filled with strange old junk, and Michael would definitely want to search it. For the moment, he was fixated on a cabinet of silverwear.
“Wow, my mom would love to have this!” he breathed with excitement. Connie was not interested. She stood uncomfortably in the dingy room, feeling very paranoid. She could have sworn she heard a bump from upstairs one minute, and the clinking of a dish in the kitchen the next.
“Michael…” she pleaded. He wasn’t listening though. He had found a flashlight in a drawer, and he grinned at her mischievously, gesturing towards the stairway. Her eyes widened in horror.
“No! Oh no. I am not going there. No!” she frantically protested. Michael shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he said, placing his foot on the first step. She tried to pull him back, but he went on without her, disappearing into the darkness. Connie shivered instinctively, though the house was warm. It was now very quiet. She could hear her heart beating. Then, she heard something else. Goosebumps rose on her neck, as the sound of a fork or spoon hitting the tile floor in the kitchen reached her ear. It was unmistakable. She gasped and threw herself into the stairway taking the steps two at a time, and smacking into Michael’s back at the top. Just before she slammed the attic door behind her, she heard a man’s low laugh from downstairs.
To be continued…
