Mike Anderson's Short Story: The Haunted House

"A. Okay, he lifted his hand over his head maybe to strike Michael's hand down or something and then he put his hands in his . . . put his right hand in his right pocket . . . took a step back . . . Michael proceeded to stab him . . . then his hands were like . . . how do you explain this . . . open arms . . . with his hands open and he fell down . . . and we ran (describing subject holding hands open, palms toward assailant).

That was the last time he’d ever heard Cedric’s voice. John forcefully slammed his fists onto the coffee table next to him. His therapist restricted herself as John carefully released his fists from his fixed grip to erase his sorrow from his rosy cheeks. After several suggestions of how John could better cope with his loss, his therapist had then said something that had really caught John’s attention.

O’ great muse, bestow upon me your divine knowledge and aid me in the telling of this tale. Speak to me of the two clever children whom the gods bestowed upon both fortunes and misfortunes. The two children who were abandoned by their unfortunate father and his cruel wife, far from home, only to find their way back to it. Allow me to tell of their encounters on their journey, of the horrible witch who trapped them in her alluring house made of the sweetest confections, and how they escaped her clutches.

I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. His body made a hard impact on the ruthless concrete that caught his fall. In a blink of an eye, I dropped to my knees and was now wrapping my arms around his lifeless body, hoping my warmth would bring him back. But to my disappointment, his body was still. I let my numb fingers gently graze his bitterly cold skin. For every second my finger tips came in contact with his skin, my heart shattered even more. I choke back a sob when I dared to make eye contact with his blank ones. My mouth was uncontrollably spewing out apologies to the love of my life. I was sorry. I was in pain. My body was numb while my heart sunk, and my stomach twisted into a bitter

"He, urm, he had a panic attack. I don't know how and I don't know why - I just know that I came upstairs to call him downstairs and he was on the floor crying and hyperventilating and he couldn't breathe. I-"

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Anna agreed, and I could almost hear her sigh as the air escaped her. “At least I still have my freedom and I’m not someone’s little lab rat,” she joked.

I couldn’t breathe. The rough indents of a palm brushed across my chest, down my thighs, engulfing my body in a warm wave of fearful emotions. Frozen. Motionless. Not again. His lips, both of them, strangling my mouth for air. Senses were overpowering my thoughts and my brain was beginning to solidify. Concepts were forgotten and any strategic ideas removed from my mind. Liquid swept over my cheekbones and I thought it was blood until the salty taste of my own agony filled my mouth. I couldn’t cry… he would know how much he was hurting me… I couldn't give in. Nails were beginning to penetrate my clothes and skin… shaking me… roughly jolting my body against the bed. Air was inhaled through my body one last time before I gave in. No more pain…

I tried to get out of Josh’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let me go. “Josh I’m not kidding! Let me go! I need to get ready, I only have thirty minutes left to get ready!” He tightened his grasp around my waist, and tried to pull down my towel. “Josh, let go of me right now!” I screamed, hoping it would be loud enough for my neighbor to hear.

There weren't a premium of spaces for cars to park in the neighborhood Arlene lived in, possibly one per household, max. So it was hard for Stacey to tell if anybody was in the apartment waiting to pounce on her as soon as Arlene got to usher her into the apartment. However, as soon as Stacey got out of the car, she did sense that Arlen was close by. As much so as she had ever sensed him, or was drawn to him all those years to Nadley Pond. She wanted to run up the steps to the apartment and consume him in her arms, tell him what she came to say. Regardless of how she felt, she exhibited lady-like restraint and followed her daughter up the nine stepped apartment stoop to the front door. Good thing, too, because the uncomfortably tall steps

I had been empty for months it seemed like. Silky cobwebs spun all over inside my walkways, shattered glass near the jagged broken windows, and ten inches of dust covered the old lingering furniture I obtained over the years. That was until I heard an unfamiliar noise.

Scott stopped me by my locker, he had noticed the sign. He looked good today. His hair was swooped up by the gel that lay in it. The overpowering scent of Axe surrounded him as he stood there staring. My heart was pounding by the time he started talking. But, the response I got wasn’t exactly

I watched as the world came and went in a blur as I stared out the window. "What's your name?" A baritone voice yanks me from my thoughts. I turned my head towards him, taking in his breathtaking appearance.

I pressed my lips together at the sound of footsteps. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so early,” was said by a voice I recognized. I looked at the figure, and as soon as I saw the light and dark blue striped scarf, I knew it was him. “I hit you pretty hard. Maybe you’re tougher than I thought.”

“Oh Greg, my heart, my soul, my everything”, Sam sobbed. “What happened? Why has this happened? He touched Greg’s face lightly, tracing the side of his cheek as he leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on Greg’s forehead.

I shall begin my story with an experience I encountered at the age of sixteen at our small town’s Latin school. The sweetness of many memories from that time still stirs and touches me with melancholy: dark and well-lit alleys, houses and factories, faces and chimes, rooms affluent and comfortable, snug and amenable, the whole town was pregnant with secrets.