Courage

            
             Up on a hill stood an old house with a cemetery around it. The villages called the house haunted and no one went up there until ''.
             This is how - as you must know - most stories start, but mine is different, Mine is unique and not merely a story. I have kept it a secret for some time, now I will let the world know what happened.
             I had two great friends once, the closest one could have, but that no longer exists after that horrible day. It all started when I was invited to a party. This party had a surprise. We played a game, not hide or seek or any usual game like that, we played with the past, through contact with an ancestral speaker. It was all right until it came up to my turn. The whispering tales told someone to go into the derelict haunted ghost house. I couldn't refuse with all my friends around me so I reluctantly agreed.
             A chill went down my spine as I walked up to the eerie house. Flashes of stories I have heard, of children never coming out rushed to my head. I kept telling myself that they were rumours and old myths but that's didn't withhold the fear tingling throughout my body. I thought of how my two friends must have told everyone my secret that once I had seen someone, or something creeping around the haunted ghost house, leaving me with terrifying nightmares.
             I approached the door hesitantly, on which graffiti was written. My friends held back, separating me from any contact, I was alone. I flicked on my torch as I walked across the creaking cold corridors.The floors rattled and the echo of the water dripping down from the damp ceilings was unbearable. It was like an unstoppable dripping tap eating away at my nerves. I followed the old signs directing the way out. I wanted to run through trepidation but couldn't because everyone would hear and my pride would be drowned in the dripping water. I moved along gradually, everything was silent. Then, suddenly a noise. "Who is it?" I said, still there was silence.