The Haunted House Challenge
by Ana Cristina
Add to AIMShare Save to clippings
Oh my stars, I’ve gone and published 700 ficlets. I’m actually at 702 right now (not counting this one).
Is there a limit to how ficletty we can be? Apparently not. Or maybe so – I haven’t been able to access my profile in a good, long time. What’s up with that? o-0
But on to the challenge for 700+ fics demands one, methinks.
We are in my favorite month, October. Not just because it’s my birthday month, but because of Halloween. I’ve always loved me a good ghost story, and that’s exactly what I want you to craft for me.
Here’s the kicker – I want you to research an actual haunted house and create a story based on it. You can use the internet or any text you like for your research, but be sure to provide the source in a comment for your entry.
Stories should fit within the space of one ficlet. You are welcome to enter more than once. Use lots of sensory details and pile on the mood – make us feel as though we are there in that haunted house!
The deadline? October 31st, but of course. Happy ficletting!
Wrong House; Wrong Time; A Zombie's beginning? [The Haunted House Challenge]
Edit this story Add to AIMShare Save to clippings
It was all wrong. Everything about the place was wrong.
Courtney Dayle awoke on a grime-slick floor, bits and pieces of god knows what sticking to her face. The smell was sickly-sweet, almost like too much garbage in a hot shed on a sweltering day.
The windows here were boarded up, and only small slivers of light pierced through the darkness, with flies and other buzzing insects dancing among the floating particles of dust that seemed to scurry out of the rays of sunshine.
It was all wrong.
“Taylor?” she shouted for her girlfriend.
No answer? But there was something. A whisper. It suddenly became cold. Her flesh crawled.
Taaayyylooor the whisper came from behind her. She screamed, turned and tried to see through tightly closed eyes, falling back, slipping on the sticky puddle on the floor.
She got to her feet, pivoted and tripped over something laying at her feet.
The blood was slick-crimson leading to a knife in Taylor’s forehead.
Taylor’s vacant eyes stared up at her, and the mouth moved,