The Haunted House

Words: 299

"It's a dare, you have to do it!" Adam, my best friend, pestered, nudging my shoulder. I glared at him fiercely, before sighing.

"Suicidal dares don't count," I protested one last time. He chuckled a little too darkly, before shoving me toward the house. I groaned, beginning the long walk across the street.

As I approached, I stuck my hands in my jean pockets. This was the house. The house in every neighborhood that the kids think is "haunted", and that everyone, even adults, avoid. The house that the paperboys dread passing, and where yard toys disappear. Of course, I was way too old to believe it was haunted. I just didn’t want to trespass.

I walked through the tall front gates and into the yard. It wasn’t the cleanest; vines and foliage was underfoot, Frisbees and toys balls were scattered about, and great Oak trees towered overhead, completing the whole “haunted abandoned house” look.

‘Bring back something to prove you went,’ Adam had said. I searched the yard for that something, before spotting a shed a meters away. I took a deep breath, before running toward it. I looked at the door of the shed, and a golden latchkey caught my eye. I hesitated before plucking it out of the door, and turning around.

Suddenly, I heard the gunshot sound of a screen door opening. I looked at the door to the house, and met eyes with an wrinkly old man.

Then I screamed, running out of the yard, fueled by my childhood fears. I practically leaped out the back door, stumbling onto the ground panting. In half a second, Adam was beside me, badgering me with a million questions. Once he was done, I silently handed him the latchkey, got up, and walked away in embarrassment.