Aase Wegner's Short Story: The Haunted House

At that, Alex turned to look at the dragon in the eye. One eye was glowing, and he seemed to be expelled an aura of danger.

The dragon shifted through the mayhem listlessly. “I have to go and search for my brother.” He took a breath—as if he were about to say something else—and then turned and lumbered off through the gloom in the direction of Shadow

It was an in-between time: afternoon bygone, night not yet come, neither summer, nor fall. Leaves had had a six months’ term, but still they hung, dusty and frayed, to the trees. Blooming was past, though. A rose that very morning, round and firm to the eyes as an apple, dropped its petals at Mattie’s feet as suddenly as if winter has exploded in its heart. Days began brisk, were finger-cold in the mornings, as Jess said, but noon there was June heat and coats were a nuisance; and now, Mattie thought, lukewarm, with a funky taste like the last cracker at the bottom of the barrel.

That night, Bob left his mansion and Joana stayed home. When Bob left a dim, dark figure slipped in and Joana didn't see anyone come into Bob's mansion. She got up to go to the office because she wanted to work on a paper for a case since she was a lawyer. While she was walking to the office she wanted to take a shower before she got to work and because she wanted to go to her comfortable bed after she finished her case. While she was taking her shower she

The Lewis family moved near the Dendonald Village when Lewis was very young. Their house was crammed with books, since everyone in the house was a reader. (Hamilton) Lewis’ father always felt threatened

Gesturing to the window, Fiona took a deep breath and with her heart, pounding against her chest. Counted to three and opened the bedroom curtains.

Our little hands were held tight upon each other, we glanced around with curiosity sparkling in our eyes. Giggling at the thought of what we were about to do, my sister and I glanced around hurriedly making sure no one was close enough to chase after us. Our young minds could not comprehend the idea that we were actually allowed to go back home for lunch. Motivated at the thought of this so called juvenile act, our veins were electrified with confidence as a we scurried across the gravel path. We stopped and attempted to cloak ourselves behind a vendor’s cart, as we peered through the piles of colorful guavas and pomegranates, spying the watchman. As soon as he turned around, we bolted toward to the entrance of the building complex. Running as fast as our little legs could carry us, we jumped into the elevator and rose to the third floor. “Sneaking in” my grandparent's apartment, we were greeted by my grandpa and as we told him of our adventure his laughter warmed the room.

The dragon’s muzzle turned from pale blue to deep indigo. He gripped a tree like he wanted to tear it out of the ground. “Aragon, you know my brother? Where is he?”

A muffled voice erupted from a room behind the counter. “April?” I called. Another muffled noise. The man turned red. I stepped over the counter, pushing the man aside. I walked right into the back room, only to find my dearest cousin, April, tied to a small chair. I untied her, swatting the man away with my extra hand. “What happened?” I questioned.

As we walk to my house, Phyllis says quietly, “ I wish I had a present for you, but I don’t.” I smile and say, “ I don’t need presents anyway.” I think to myself that maybe something good can come from that nasty old sweater. I’m starting to feel like I am eleven, not quite but almost.

It felt like bliss – being here like this, with my friends. We weren’t doing anything special, not really, only driving down the road that led to Mike Anderson’s house. Senior year had us all so miserable that I actually convinced myself to go to one of his parties without having to be forced.

I walked to the cell door at the end of the room; it was 12:08 AM. “Guess I napped too long,” I mumbled as I picked up a small stone, and put a tally on the wall. “One day down,” I whispered, trying not to wake anyone else. I went to my rusty bed, and closed

dripping blood on the carpet, the children frolicking through the house and breaking a vase. Things that could be fixed, restored, or replaced.

“The key passage of the story, revealing a full view of Virginia Woolf’s philosophical concepts and her creed of reality, is the episode of the young couple who are presented as being completely lost in their private world of meaningful reality having to grope their way back hesitatingly into everyday reality” (Virginia Woolf’s A Haunted House: Reality and ‘moment of being’ in Her Kew Gardens 117). This couple engages in a conversation about the past. Simon, the man, reminisces about what his life would look like if he was not in the garden at that moment. The narrator portrays their relationship as a compromising union, a relationship that fears for the worse and tries hard to stay mutual. The narrator mentions, “’Tell me, Eleanor, d’you ever think of the past?’ … ‘I’ve been thinking of the past [about Lily] the woman I might have married… do you mind me thinking of the past?’ Why should I mind… doesn’t one always think of the past?’” (Kew Gardens 1192). This dialogue is interesting because they both go on to relay what their ideas of reality are. What remains of the past Eleanor asks? They go back and forth and offer their ideas of what fulfils one’s past; “’those ghostly figures under the trees… one’s happiness, one’s reality’” (1192)? The past is important because without one, one has nothing to write about or to compare ideas and thoughts. There is no fuel to encourage change like the past of Judith Shakespeare.

“In the year of 1989, there was a street named Elm, in the state of Wyoming. Few chose to live on that street, and they all knew about the haunted house, up on the hill, on the west side of town, coming off of Elm. Once, I spent the week with some friends and, Halloween came upon us, while I stayed with them.” I was telling my first-grade brother and his friends stories to scare them out of their wits. Besides, no one wants little kids tagging along with you to go trick or treating, when you could go with your friends to Haunted Houses, and not ones set up by the town hall. “We were just about to pass the house, not thinking anything of it, when we heard a moan coming from Old Man Reaper’s house.” Their eyes grew wide with fear. Mr. G.