My parents, my sister Gistern, and me recently moved into a two-story Victorian styled house in Colorado. As complicated my emotions were, I agreed to go along. My sister, being two years old, had no say so in the matter. The first time I saw this house, it looked like a house a witch would live in. It’s old chipping yellow paint was falling away and the deck looked like it would cave to show black candles and the book of shadows. Walking through the house didn’t ease my opinion. We found multiple dead rats on the first floor alone. The first floor had a kitchen, a living room, a dinning room, and a half bath. Not to mention, a stair well leading to the basement and the up stairs rooms. As my mom was looking through the cupboards in the kitchen, she said, “Ali, go upstairs and pick your room.” “Yes, Mom.” I looked through each room deciding which room I would live in. I was about to make my last pick ’till I heard a click from the hallway. Looking out the room I was in, I saw a stairs. It was old and rickety. As I was climbing up, I noticed one thing, it was small. Secondly, no one had moved out. It had old furniture with a lot of knickknacks. Sitting on the bed, I instantly made my choice, which brings me to now. I had just gotten out of the shower that, for one reason or another, is in the basement. “Ali, your just in time for pizza.” “Do we have to have fast food?” “Until the kitchen is cleaned.” Neat freak I think to myself. My mom always has and no matter how hard I try to change her, she always seems to be. I sit down to the third fast food dinner this week. It’s not that I don’t like fast food, it’s just old. We eat and go back to doing whatever we were doing which in my case, means going back to finish my home work. I didn’t move any of the first stuff. Instead, I gave my sister my bed and just added to the room. I look down at my bed, math, math, math, and writing. Goody gum drops. The endless struggles of teen age life. “Buzz” I looked at my phone. E-mails. The source of my troubles. I look at them. Homework reminders after homework reminders. I get back to my work. After I finish all my math work I look at my writing assignment. Great. Five hundred word essays at twelve a clock in the morning are absolutely the best. Why couldn’t you just have to write a scary story?  The first story I wrote was stupid and my teacher taught me a lot.  I decided to type up my essay to save time.  It took awhile. After hours of hard work, I finally finished and I go to the kitchen to snack. Walking up the steps, I hear glass break. I bolt, hopefully someone else heard it to. I see my dad in the hallway and whisper quiet, “Someone is in the house.” He tells me to call the police and I do. My dad started going down the steps with his gun. The operator asks, “Hello, what’s your emergency?” “Someone is in the house.” I say getting my sister as my mom is going into my room. “Ok and what’s the..” “Beep, beep…” Oh no, no, no! I run up and into my room. I hide my sister and me and my mom wait. “Boom” The gun… My mom and me hide. In every way I can, I pray my dad is alright. Someone is checking all the rooms and when he makes his last stop. He searches around and doesn’t see anything. As he goes to leave my mom jumps on him and attacks our intruder. I see the both of them fall out of the attic. In a desperate attempt to save my sister I pick her up and run praying I can make it fast enough before either her or me gets hurt. As I’m running down the steps, I see a figure at the front door. I instantly runs for the back door but slip on something. The tears swell in my eyes when I land in the pool of blood. I get up on my feet my sister still in my hands and run. For a second I turn back to see father’s life less body lying on the floor. Then I see him running at me. As I make it out the door and to the street I hide my sister in the bushes and stand to protect her. He runs up to me and pulls out a knife. Not thinking he had a weapon. I run but he grabs my hair and stabs me in my abdomen. Then he starts pulling me back to the house. I fight and fight but to no avail. I stop fighting hopping that when we make it to the door I can fight his grip. I feel the sidewalk steps underneath me and start fighting again. He pulls me into the house  and starts stabbing me again. Every part of me wanted to die. Yet I continued to fight. Soon I can’t see any more and fade. I open my eyes and get up. I look down to only see my body. I’m…dead. I walk around and see both of my parents…dead. Then I think of my sister and run outside. She is alive. I pick her up and knock on the neighbor’s door, “Hello, how are you?” “Take my sister keep her safe, call the police and send them to my address.” I turn and run back to my house. I go to my room. I will have my revenge.

  • Rose Morrison

    A good idea, but very rushed. That combined with the poor spelling and use of wrong words does not do it justice or help it along. It needs a good edit and adding to, to make it shine.