PsychedelicJellyfish
formerly R. New
This is a short story I wrote for a competition at school. It's not the greatest story ever, but nor is it the worst. Please tell me what you think. I didn't win, by the way.
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The house towered above Brian Jameson and his group of friends. They looked up at it, and felt an inexplicable chill. The wind whipped around them and they pulled their coats tighter around their bodies. The timbers in the walls of the derelict building groaned like a man condemned to death.
The house had been built in the late eighteenth century for a strange man named Arnold Jarowski who had arrived in the town suddenly on a cold rainy night in 1796. He said he had come from Romania. After spending a few nights in the local tavern, he produced a large sum of money and had the house built. He then walked into it and never ventured out. According to local legend, he would work late into the night on…something. One night, maniacal laughter was heard from the house, followed by an agonised scream. Three brave volunteers entered the house to find out what was wrong. All of them came out gibbering madly and died in the workhouse. Since then, everyone had been too scared to enter.
And now, 200 years later, Brian had been dared to go in. He wasn’t scared, as he had never believed in those old wives’ tales, but now that he looked at the skeletal, crumbling edifice close up he felt slightly apprehensive. But he had said he would do it, and he would.
‘Wish me luck,’ he said to his friends, took a deep breath and stepped inside…
The first thing Brian noticed about the house was that it was uncommonly cold. He heard a steady drip, drip of water. The air reeked of decay and neglect; there were holes in the floorboards and the walls were covered in damp patches. Brian could hear rats scurrying around in the gloom. He gulped and headed towards the stairs.
Upstairs, the house was even more dilapidated, due to increased exposure to the elements. He trod carefully, feeling the floorboards with one foot before stepping. He stepped in a large indentation in the floor, which had filled with water, and felt the liquid seeping onto his sock. With an exasperated moan, he bent down and peeled off his shoe and sock…then stopped, shocked. His white sock had a stain spreading on it, and the stain was red. He gave a shuddering gasp. He wasn’t going to stay in this house any longer. He turned and started to run, but stepped on a rotten floorboard. The decayed wood snapped beneath his weight, and he tumbled down into blackness…
When Brian awoke, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and realised that he had broken it. He shouted to his friends, but they didn’t hear him, so he grabbed at his mobile phone. With a sinking feeling, he realised that it had been shattered when he hit the floor. His last lifeline was gone. He sat up slowly and painfully, and considered his situation. His train of thought was suddenly broken when he heard a soft growl from the shadows to his right. He whipped round and squinted into the darkness.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked, his fear evident as a shake in his voice. All he got in reply was another growl, louder this time, and eyes appeared in the darkness, twin crimson orbs that gleamed with malevolence. It was at this moment that Brian realised he was dealing with something beyond human knowledge. He tried to shuffle away, as a small shaft of moonlight pierced the gloom like a knife through a man’s heart. The monster snarled viciously, and began to prowl toward him, growling with bloodlust. Brian screamed, even though no-one could save him. The beast lunged forward, roaring gutturally. Brain saw its teeth glinting in the moonlight, its eyes widening as it neared its prey, its claws flashing towards him almost too fast for him to follow. Then blackness. Blood spurted and Brian slumped to the floor. The beast moved forward, chuckling sadistically, and began to feed…
____________________________
The house towered above Brian Jameson and his group of friends. They looked up at it, and felt an inexplicable chill. The wind whipped around them and they pulled their coats tighter around their bodies. The timbers in the walls of the derelict building groaned like a man condemned to death.
The house had been built in the late eighteenth century for a strange man named Arnold Jarowski who had arrived in the town suddenly on a cold rainy night in 1796. He said he had come from Romania. After spending a few nights in the local tavern, he produced a large sum of money and had the house built. He then walked into it and never ventured out. According to local legend, he would work late into the night on…something. One night, maniacal laughter was heard from the house, followed by an agonised scream. Three brave volunteers entered the house to find out what was wrong. All of them came out gibbering madly and died in the workhouse. Since then, everyone had been too scared to enter.
And now, 200 years later, Brian had been dared to go in. He wasn’t scared, as he had never believed in those old wives’ tales, but now that he looked at the skeletal, crumbling edifice close up he felt slightly apprehensive. But he had said he would do it, and he would.
‘Wish me luck,’ he said to his friends, took a deep breath and stepped inside…
*****
The first thing Brian noticed about the house was that it was uncommonly cold. He heard a steady drip, drip of water. The air reeked of decay and neglect; there were holes in the floorboards and the walls were covered in damp patches. Brian could hear rats scurrying around in the gloom. He gulped and headed towards the stairs.
Upstairs, the house was even more dilapidated, due to increased exposure to the elements. He trod carefully, feeling the floorboards with one foot before stepping. He stepped in a large indentation in the floor, which had filled with water, and felt the liquid seeping onto his sock. With an exasperated moan, he bent down and peeled off his shoe and sock…then stopped, shocked. His white sock had a stain spreading on it, and the stain was red. He gave a shuddering gasp. He wasn’t going to stay in this house any longer. He turned and started to run, but stepped on a rotten floorboard. The decayed wood snapped beneath his weight, and he tumbled down into blackness…
*****
When Brian awoke, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and realised that he had broken it. He shouted to his friends, but they didn’t hear him, so he grabbed at his mobile phone. With a sinking feeling, he realised that it had been shattered when he hit the floor. His last lifeline was gone. He sat up slowly and painfully, and considered his situation. His train of thought was suddenly broken when he heard a soft growl from the shadows to his right. He whipped round and squinted into the darkness.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked, his fear evident as a shake in his voice. All he got in reply was another growl, louder this time, and eyes appeared in the darkness, twin crimson orbs that gleamed with malevolence. It was at this moment that Brian realised he was dealing with something beyond human knowledge. He tried to shuffle away, as a small shaft of moonlight pierced the gloom like a knife through a man’s heart. The monster snarled viciously, and began to prowl toward him, growling with bloodlust. Brian screamed, even though no-one could save him. The beast lunged forward, roaring gutturally. Brain saw its teeth glinting in the moonlight, its eyes widening as it neared its prey, its claws flashing towards him almost too fast for him to follow. Then blackness. Blood spurted and Brian slumped to the floor. The beast moved forward, chuckling sadistically, and began to feed…
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