The Hollow House

Written by Luna 9P

Creak... ‘This room,’ I said in a loud ‘unshakable’ voice as my body whimpered into the

darkness, ‘she must’ve tricked me into one of those rituals - again - this year. Only a few

days difference, I should have known.’ I slipped my hand into my pocket to find my phone.

Susan must be trying to make me help her with an annual ritual again. My mind turned

blank, where is my phone? I was already infuriated but I might as well just confront her. It

was only 30 seconds since I entered this room, but I was already able to map out all the

possibilities, good or bad(mostly terrible), this room could cause. It was absolutely pitch

black except for a single candle on a shaky wooden table. I should have expected this to

come, afterall, it’s that time of the year, Halloween. Perfect for ghosts.

I clenched my fists and zipped up my jacket (I already forgot what colour it was) and tensed

my muscles. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts, it’s gonna be another failed ritual,’ I repeated in my

brain like a mantra, ‘Why does she love tricking me into participating? Ugh, she should just

keep those cursed rituals to herself, not that they have ever truly worked.’ As I took short

stinging breaths, chasing my fears away by ranting, I shoved my first foot forward from the

front door, from which I entered, towards the candle light in the middle of this ‘haunted

house’. It was clear that Susan enjoyed including me into this so-called ‘fun’. Yet she

mentions ‘excitement’, ‘ghostly evidence’ or ‘powerful ghost Yin energy’ kind of dialogues.

And I don’t buy it.

After a whirlpool of emotions and thoughts, I suddenly sniffed a peculiar scent. It was akin to

the smell of frosting AC or the icicles that form in your freezer by the raw meat containers. To

sum it up, it was awful. My nose twitched, my nasal path felt like it was drowning under water

then, Ahchoo! ... Thud.

Did I hear that right? I heard a door slammed open in a fearfully low volume. Just how far

and how deep is this place? An image of a white hallway gallery suddenly leaks into my

thoughts.

‘Enough questions,’ I told myself, ‘just go.’ Still within this cage of black, I ran to my only

source of light. Abdomen squeezed, eyes squinted and body tightened like a stretched

rubber band, I snatched the white candle away from the table. Its wax was already melting,

about to drip any moment now, but the subtle warmth is so much more desirable than the

accumulating bone-piercing cold. I held the light in front of me and I discovered a long

hallway, one that seems to go to infinity.

I took a few steps, mustering all of my final courage and energy, into the astute darkness,

ready to engulf me. White. Light. Suddenly, the lights turned on, all the way to the end of the

hallway, revealing the blank walls of blinding white. My body instinctively moved away from

the walls, as if it was some kind of danger, as I adjusted my eyes to the brightness.

‘Weird,’ I thought as I looked at the white door situated at the very end of this lane of walls.

‘Why do I feel unsatisfied? I still have to do something, but what?’ I contradicted myself, ‘I

must be going insane, going out is most important.’ My ears began to ring from the numbing

silence, as I decided to approach the door and confront this once and for all.

Finally realising how much I’ve burnt my hand from the molten wax, I placed the candle

down onto the white-tiled floor. I looked at my swollen red hands, feeling sore and numb. For

a split second I thought I saw blood oozing out, perhaps I’ve been traumatised by the burn.

‘This is it.’ I said to myself as I opened the door. Coloured lights began to shoot in all

directions, a red ray striking straight into my eye. What is this, a ritual party? My sight begins

to blur, but why is there no one? Something must be wrong.

Desperately holding onto the walls, I spot a mirror hanging oddly among the grey wallpaper.

A golden circular frame and... a reflection? A white jacket, black flowing hair. But wait, who

am I? I look at the walls more closely, why are there bloody handprints? This must be a joke.

‘You are a foolish child, thinking that you can escape the consequences of summoning me

by disrupting another person’s body and soul.’ I froze.

The air turns into spiny chills, I can no longer think straight. Susan, Susan. I can only

remember that name, she’s my friend but who am I?

‘I didn’t mean it at all, my hands just moved. It must be you! You killed them!’ My heart

skipped a beat. I didn’t say that, it was not me. But who else could have said that? I could

feel my mouth move, my throat saying those words but it is not me. It cannot be me.

I ran out of the room, back to the hallway, stunned. My eyes shook from fear, shivering in

trepidation. Splatters of blood filled the walls. My limbs felt weak, as if I was on the verge of

collapsing. Then, a knife clanged down to the tiles. Bodies began to appear one by one,

covered in a horrible metallic stench. My eyes must be tricking me.

As I was about to run back into the dark room to escape, a frozen, wrinkled hand wrapped

around my neck. ‘Where are you running, child?’ The voice echoed into my ears like a

broken microphone, ringing and squealing its message into agony. Its razor-sharp nails

began to dig into my neck. Slowly piercing into my meat. Flowing