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Description
The rotting wooden door unleashes a bone-chilling shriek when I brush it open. Inside there’s an ominous space with a high vaulted ceiling and remains of what looks like a grand stairway. I tiptoe through the threshold and the floorboards release another gut-wrenching groan. It’s not safe here, but that’s never stopped me before. I place my hand on the wall for balance, trying to reduce my weight on the floor. As I am carefully moving into the dark house, I realize that I forgot to tell anybody where I was going. I get chills, not because I’m scared, but because it suddenly became intensely cold. I stop in my tracks and survey my surroundings. Impossibly I can see my breath and bumps appear on my bare arms. This can’t be happening. It’s the middle of June and this house is way too old to have air conditioning. Chattering now with the temperature, I turn to head back the way I came; to leave. This is the first time in a while I have actually been genuinely “freaked out”, but I’m still curious. I wonder if there’s a way I could get upstairs. Just to look, before I leave. I reach the room with the tall ceiling and look upwards to the story above. A ladder is propped up against the crumbled stairs. Was that there before? I reach deep into my brain and strain my memory. I don’t think that was there before. My eyes widen with the thought that I mustn’t be alone. Forgetting about the fragile floorboards I whip around and bolt for the door. Once I reach the edge of the baked lawn I stop and turn. What an eerie place. I check all the windows, but they are empty. I chuckle to myself, what am I looking for? I watch to many horror movies.
When I reach my front door, unpack my school bag, and settle in my room, I have a strange urge to return to the creepy—refrigerated—house. And even though I was scared out of my senses, I still haven’t satisfied my extreme curiosity. I know I really shouldn’t, but I may return soon, but this time, I know what to expect, right?

Description
The rotting wooden door unleashes a bone-chilling shriek when I brush it open. Inside there’s an ominous space with a high vaulted ceiling and remains of what looks like a grand stairway. I tiptoe through the threshold and the floorboards release another gut-wrenching groan. It’s not safe here, but that’s never stopped me before. I place my hand on the wall for balance, trying to reduce my weight on the floor. As I am carefully moving into the dark house, I realize that I forgot to tell anybody where I was going. I get chills, not because I’m scared, but because it suddenly became intensely cold. I stop in my tracks and survey my surroundings. Impossibly I can see my breath and bumps appear on my bare arms. This can’t be happening. It’s the middle of June and this house is way too old to have air conditioning. Chattering now with the temperature, I turn to head back the way I came; to leave. This is the first time in a while I have actually been genuinely “freaked out”, but I’m still curious. I wonder if there’s a way I could get upstairs. Just to look, before I leave. I reach the room with the tall ceiling and look upwards to the story above. A ladder is propped up against the crumbled stairs. Was that there before? I reach deep into my brain and strain my memory. I don’t think that was there before. My eyes widen with the thought that I mustn’t be alone. Forgetting about the fragile floorboards I whip around and bolt for the door. Once I reach the edge of the baked lawn I stop and turn. What an eerie place. I check all the windows, but they are empty. I chuckle to myself, what am I looking for? I watch to many horror movies.
When I reach my front door, unpack my school bag, and settle in my room, I have a strange urge to return to the creepy—refrigerated—house. And even though I was scared out of my senses, I still haven’t satisfied my extreme curiosity. I know I really shouldn’t, but I may return soon, but this time, I know what to expect, right?