Posted by: DIYwriting | November 5, 2020

Gothic Dreams

The house was gigantic; far bigger than any house I had ever seen, much less spent any time in.  Walking up, I could see why Joan thought it was haunted.  It was old, it was dark and it had a slightly dingy quality about it.  I had banked on her ability to exaggerate and told myself nothing would be as bad as she made it out to be.  She had outdone herself this time.  Maybe I wouldn’t doubt her anymore after hearing her tales about this house.  I could learn a thing or two about imagination.  The columns were old and a few had been repaired, but not very well.  I had never believed in haunted houses or ghosts, but I was beginning to feel a trifle uneasy.  There were supposed to be other guests spending the night with the two of us, but all I could see was the elderly caretaker and the cook.  Not even a parent or another friend from school.  All of who she said would be here with us.   

My mouth dried and my steps slowed as we got nearer and the house got darker.  No part of me wanted to stay here anymore – I thought it was going to be a grand adventure, but now I knew it was going to be a nightmare.  Little did I know, the nightmare would have nothing to do with the house and everything to do with Joan and everything to do with the elderly caretaker.   


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