Haunted

When Grayson opened it, it sounded like the screaming of the tortured souls, warning him to stay away from the building.

Maxim Trevelyan
Writer, Ravenclaw

Grayson looked up to the house that it seemed as if it had been in the neighborhood forever. It looked like any typical haunted house looked. The old façade was gated off by thick, onyx bars, which were topped by little trident points. They reminded the people of the stereotypical staffs the demons would hold. The large entrance gate was broken and barely holding on to its hinges. When Grayson opened it, it sounded like the screaming of the tortured souls, warning him to stay away from the building.

The grass and garden, if one could call it that, were overgrown, the green and gray shoots spilling onto the narrow path that led to the door. The nearby trees were dead, as if life itself got sucked out of them and would never return. With a feeling of trepidation, Grayson moved down the path.

He stopped before the front door. The wood looked weathered, but still sturdy, with an eyeless demon’s head for a knocker. It was painted black, but had dark silver sigils all around the outer edges.

Grayson sucked in a breath and rang the bell. It had a deep, sonorous tone so loud that he was afraid the whole block would wake up. But after it stopped, silence reigned. Even the usual sounds of the night stopped, as if the smallest animal was looking at what would happen next.

With a creek, the old gothic door opened and soft candle light spilled onto the porch.

“Oh, what a lovely ghost you are, my dear,” the old widow that lived in the house commented and threw a full fist of candy in his pillowcase. “You’re the first one I’ve seen in a while.”

Grayson grinned as he thanked the old lady and skipped to his friends who were waiting on the sidewalk. “I didn’t get eaten!” he screamed and that brought a volley of middle-schoolers to the old lady’s doorstep.