Stories

The Creepiest Thing of All

by Emma B., Age 13 , Grade 8, Mechanicsburg Middle School, Mechanicsburg, PENNSYLVANIA USA
Teacher: Miss Martin

He was panicking and was 100 percent positive that the door knob in his cozy living room did not just turn in the slightest. Actually, more like 50 percent if he went by what his brain was telling him. But the deeper,darker part of his brain was telling him but it still couldn’t have wiggled he thought. He was currently sitting in his comfy chair by the firelit room. But when her heard a soft, but there, thump outside his front door, he accidentally spilled his lukewarm hot chocolate (just the way he liked it) on the fluffy carpet. The noise had to be caused by the wind right? He was trying to calm himself down. He was sleepy at first but now wide awake. A scream from next door was audible through the thin walls and that’s when he really lost it.

 

He jumped up from his chair, creaking, after sitting in it for so long. He did not want to shift his eyes towards the door, as it only makes matters worse. He backed away from the door as far as the walls would let him and, despite his thoughts, kept a cautious gaze on the bright colored door. Nothing has happened like this to him before, only heard stories about this frightening event. Maybe if he took a walk to his kitchen for a nice cold cup of water, he could calm himself down.

 

Resisting the urge to look at the seemingly huge door, he walked slowly to his kitchen and wondered if it was worth it to go back to the snug sitting room to get his fancy cell phone. He decided it was worth it so he could cry out for help. As he started walking back, he soon chickened out and would rather try to hide and wait it out. When he was filling his cup of water, he heard a creak come from the polished hallway and immediately dropped the cup and went into the cabinet under his sink. Until he realized that there was a pipe that ran his water in the way.

 

After he realized his mistake, he decided to show himself because he was tired of all of this nonsense and suspense. He walked out into the hallway, looked left and right, only to come to the conclusion that it was an eery doll that wasn’t his. How did this all happen?

 
Thirty years later, Nick still doesn’t know and is to frightened to tell anyone else. Then who else is writing this story? For me to know and you…? To never find out.

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