BOOK 1: THE HAUNTED MANSION - 1. THE BEGINNING
1: THE BEGINNING
I walked to the old mansion at the end of the street and knocked on the door. No one ever went to it for candy on Halloween because of how scary it looked. It had windows that were broken and weeds that were over my head. There was only one light on the front porch, and it flickered every now and then. The dark October clouds loomed over the tall roof like a blanket, blocking out all of the moonlight.
I’d always been curious about the mansion. No one went in, and certainly no one came out. People said that no one had lived there for years. And then there were the people who said that there was a single old man that lived there by himself. But no one knew for sure, of course, because, like I said, no one went in, and no one came out.
The old door squeaked open, and in the doorway stood a pale-faced man. He wore a black tuxedo with tails. His white bow-tie was tight around his neck, and he stood with his chin up, only looking at me with his eyes.
“Trick or treat?” My voice cracked.
Was this the man who lived here? I wasn’t expecting anybody to answer the door in the first place.
The man held out a big, orange candy bowl filled to the top.
“Help yourself,” he hissed.
I hesitantly put my hand in the bowl to scoop up some Halloween candy, when I felt something soft and warm. I jerked my hand back. That’s not what candy feels like.
Suddenly, a bony hand with large veins poking out all over it flung out and grabbed my wrist. Hard.
“Get off me!” I shrieked.
The man smiled, looking down at me.
“You shouldn’t have come. We know your face now.”
The bowl quivered and the man disappeared.
“Ahhh!”
I tried to get away, but the hand held me in place. It was no longer in a bowl, but floated in the air, blood dripping from the severed wrist. Claws slid out and dug into my skin, drawing blood.
I let out a scream and fell to the ground, tears falling from my eyes.
The hand let go and disappeared just like the man had.
The red blood was all over the sleeves of my pink costume. I sat there for a moment, watching the door slowly close, letting out a high screeching noise.
I cradled my wrist and pressed on the wounds to make it stop bleeding.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered to the closing door. “I promise.”
