Angela's Return: A Narrative Fiction

As I walked, the air of this haunted, dreadful and sorrowful land had sucked the life out of everything and roared as humanity began to disappear. As I carried on walking, I noticed that the small fraction of light was getting smaller and smaller, until it had been engulfed into a think black ash like smoke. Aggressively, the wind walked past the building with its cruddy feeling, blowing away all signs of life. Deeper and deeper into the land was a burning car door. The fire roared and crackled. The roaring and crackling of the burning car door merged with the aggressive air and created the loudest sounds ever heard on land. Growing darker, the skies made me feel nauseous. The fear of not waking up if a human fell asleep towered

The night drew closer around the individuals who, some in dreams, some in panic, seemed to react to impending danger and turned, some to nightmares, some to an eerie calm, as those on death row that accepted their demise for what it was, an abrupt shattering of their existence. Be that as it may, however, some did not wish to go so simply. While some wished for a calm ending, but embraced nevertheless a less subtle end, that of fire and mutilation, others feared it for what it was, or what it could be. Some feared being lost, trapped in a dungeon of previously sound architecture, to watch the edges of their vision turn to the blackness of

Her lips formed strange and unusual sounds, her eyes closed softly and her cheeks paled. From her side belt she withdrew a small knife, a dagger. With a quick movement she cut her left hand with the dagger. As the drops of blood hit the cold marble floor the knife also clattered to the ground. The girl remained speaking her foreign tongue and let her life's blood run down her outstretched arm.

Looking around the cabin she decided that if she had the room, she would take the table with her when she left; it was just the right size to fit her family’s needs, perfectly. Behind the kitchen was a back room; a curtained, doorway separated it from the rest of the cabin. She knew before she even opened the curtain, that death had visited this place.

The house grew darker as he travelled through, hoping he entered the right room. He stumbled over a pile of wood left from the flooring. Catching himself, he called out to the girl again.

My heart sank like a bottomless ocean. I was standing there is shock and just wanted to wake up from this horrible dream.Then Hilda, Beatrice, Tzipora and me started walking away from Elie and Shlomo.This is when I could hear Elie and Sholom leaving me forever.Slowly disappearing into the gray, dark and gloomy fog.They were are gone forever. ”Mother.Where are we going.”I don't know.”After all of the sudden, I could see a pile of pale and skinny dead people.That was one of the most disgusting things that I have seen.I could see flies and dogs feeding on their corpses like their food.Then I could see smoke coming from a tall and dark chimney from an old, abandoned building. ”Is that...the...the…,”What do you want to say? .It's the crematoria.We can't go.’They can't take you guys away from me

King adds to the reader’s suspense by giving light details of the gruesome murders. The first victim’s throat cut from ear to ear. The second tells a paranormal event with her head decapitated and had been found on a soggy path of ground twelve feet from the nearest sidewalk, and yet there were no footprints, not even her own. King also describes the 3rd victim murder scene as he left her

Yesterday, my father took me to the flat of Irene Williams. It was a beautiful little place, with big windows looking out upon the busy street. She had lace curtains, a small pink couch made of velvet, and a birch coffee table. On the table was a jar full of biscuits and a cup of tea, still hot. She had pictures of friends, family, and relatives hung up on her walls. It’s a shame I never got to meet Irene, she seems like such a lovely person to talk to. But Irene Williams is dead, and let’s face it, dead people are boring to talk to. They never listen.

Michael shifted his eyes glancing over at her which caused Angela to recoil in her seat, and when she did a sharp, searing pain erupted in her head that felt like someone was driving a knife through her right eye tunneling for her brain.

The speaker stumbles upon a gruesome site-the remains of a scene of horrific violence. The evidence that remains-a skeleton, blood-soaked articles of clothing, a pile of ashes, and an empty liquor flask among other things-is all dormant, a fact reflected by the tranquil diction such as slumbering, cushion, vacant, and empty Still, the aura of the place of execution, particularly the "Scattered traces of tar, restless arrays of feathers, and the lingering smell of gasoline” brings the experience powerfully to life in both the speaker's and

n 1918, the world seems on the verge of apocalypse. Americans roam the streets in gauze masks to ward off the deadly Spanish influenza, and the government ships young men to the front lines, creating an atmosphere of fear and confusion. Sixteen year old Mary Shelley Black watches as desperate mourners flock to seances and spirit photographers for comfort, but Mary Shelley has never believed in ghosts. During her bleakest moment, however, she's forced to rethink her entire way of looking at life and death, for her first love; a boy who died in battle, returns. But what does he want from

“First, there is a ghost. Annoying, but a run of the mill ghost. Then we can’t find the body because there was another monster here fifteen years before. Only to find out, surprise, he is still kicking around. And now, we possible have a warded house with a possible witch?”

They were running, but from what they did not know. Andrea and her boyfriend Michael had been trapped in the mansion for what had seemed like months. They were tired of living in the black walls that smelt like dust and death. Today was the day, they had thought, that they would finally escape and breathe the fresh air they have dreamed of. However, they were wrong, they were so wrong.

She shuddered at the sound of his sinister, low, and foreboding voice, but without completing his bidding, she would never be free. With one last deep breath, she turned the handle and entered the room.

As I stood, gazing at the dilapidated mansion, I shivered as though ice had replaced my spine. The haunted mansion was in the middle of nowhere and only had forests of decayed trees to accompany it. Against the dark night sky, all I could see was the crumbling walls that were nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of some previous existence. The wind whistled through the trees, bringing with it the laughter of children who once lived here and the caring call of a mother letting them know dinner was ready. My plain t-shirt could not protect against the deathly cold. The walkway leading up to the house were cracked, with weeds and dandelions poking out from them. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the house, reaching their tentacles towards the roof. The house's walls showed black decay by neglect and splotches of original paint. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors with tiny black spiders that were treading towards their prey. The house was fit for the kings and queens of the supernatural, not for a modern family of four. As I stood in front of my brand new house, I wondered why my parents were leaving me to babysit Damon in this place. I know they have a business trip in Colorado, but why leave now.