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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The lights went out; suddenly, it was pitch black inside. One match strike changed darkness to illumination. After the first candle, others were lit with caution. A soft glow shone from the sconces at the fireside. An eerie sound whistled past the windowsill, shrill and shriek! Stone cold fear struck through to my bones; I had no gumption. I was never a believer in ghost stories…tension. Unexpectedly, the wooden stairs began to creak. I grabbed a candle fast, looked around to see…nothing. Trembling ensued, cold shivering, but room was warm. Grueling images in my mind sought to do me harm. I reached for my twenty-two; loaded it like lightening. I remembered that time at my teen-slumber party. One of the girls heard footsteps behind her on those stairs. Mom searched the house to appease terrified wide-eyed stares. Nothing. Not then, but later Mom heard the steps herself. Had it exorcised anon; but it was not haunted. Slowly, ever so slowly, with my gun raised, I walked. Cautiously ascending the stairs step by step, I balked. Determined, I knew I must find the cause, though daunted. Just as I reached the top of the stairs, guess what happened. I heard laughter from my brother's room; the door opened. He held a lantern beside his face; his smile toughened. Firmly standing there with the gun, my muscles stiffened. All of a sudden his friends jumped from behind the door. They stood there hooting and howling, screaming with laughter. He was the shrieking, creaking, howling, ghoulish gamester. Raised my gun, as if to aim; chicken boys slammed the door! © October 2, 2011 Dane Smith-Johnsen
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