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A Night In The Haunted House

Rikki Dutta

‘This will be easy’, I said to myself nonchalantly, as I entered the cold, dark and empty ‘haunted’ house. It all started when I accepted a bet. To win, I would have to stay in the city’s haunted house on my own, overnight. Of course, I didn’t believe in ghosts at all, so I decided I could earn the much-needed extra cash without much fuss. I had just joined university. This would be the easiest way to get some money in my pocket.

As I walked in with my backpack and sleeping bag, I noticed there were cobwebs everywhere and the floor creaked with every step I took into the house. More than being scared I was intrigued. I climbed up the noisy stairs and opened a door. At once a chilly wind blew onto my face, sending a chill down my spine. It was very dusty and it was obvious no one had been there for years. The wooden floorboards had gaps through which I could see down below. I unpacked my sleeping bag and got in. I had figured that the only way to pass time was to sleep. So I curled up and dreamt about what I would do with the money. Soon, I fell asleep.

After about two hours I was woken up by some noises that seemed to be coming from above me. It had become very dark outside. I could hear the strong gales banging on the door. It seemed that water was dripping and leaking somewhere. There were all sorts of noises coming from every place in the whole house. I had to admit I began feeling a little scared…there it was again! The rattling noise from above startled me. This was not going to work. I knew there were no such things as ghosts. I decided to get up and investigate. My ears were full of eerie sounds.

I retrieved a torch from my backpack and started to roam around the large, empty and damp house. I was mesmerised at the ‘spookiness’ of the place. Although I was a disbeliever of ghosts, ironically, with every step I made I expected one to suddenly jump out at me. I couldn’t see my own hands in front of me; it was so dark I just followed my torchlight. Soon I was in the attic. This was probably where all those fearsome sounds were coming from. I wished I would just leave the attic and go back to sleep, but something kept me in there just to find out where that noise came from.

The attic was congested. I broke through the cobwebs but they were interminable. As I tiptoed further, I heard that sound behind me. I quickly turned my torch around and shouted, ‘who’s there?’. There was no reply. With horror I realised that my torchlight was dimming.

Soon I was left in total blackness, frightened out of my wits. I hoped and prayed I wouldn’t run into a ghost. As I stumbled around trying to catch my balance, I heard a muffled sound. But this time, in spite of what you might think, I was not startled. Then it struck me. It was a human voice! I ran towards it, nearly falling over myself… and then I found a rustic old crippled man by the window.

‘Hello?’ I asked tactfully.

‘Ah’ the old man replied, ‘my word, someone finally has had the courage to come here and find me’.

At this, my head was buzzing with questions.

‘Who are you and how long have you been up here for?’ I asked.

‘I cannot tell you who I am’ the man replied mysteriously, ‘but I came here probably a year or two ago (I have lost track of time) to explore the attic. Let us say I was in the ‘steal’ industry. I missed a step and broke my leg and couldn’t move. I have been here ever since. I was in no position to seek help. In the beginning I rationed my limited food supplies. You won’t believe what I had to keep eating to survive.’

My eyes were getting used to the darkness. The man looked grotesque, very thin and weak. I suggested that I got him to the room downstairs where he would be more comfortable before I looked for help. He agreed to the plan. I helped him up. He was light as a feather. His joints creaked. He said he hadn’t stood up for days, so it took him some time to get used to it. Eventually we found the exit from the attic. I retraced my path down the stairs and made our way to the room I was in before. I laid him down on my sleeping bag.

The dawn was breaking and grey light filtered in from the window. I could now see the old man more clearly. His old dirty shirt was shredded and moth-eaten. His face was sunken and covered with beard. His eyes were lost in their hollows. I gave him some food, which he took feebly but ate ravenously.

I went downstairs to the hall and made my way swiftly towards the main door. Suddenly it creaked open letting the bright morning sunshine through. Two silhouettes blocked the door. They were the people I had wagered with. We stepped out of the house. They said that I looked pale and frightened. I collected myself together and told them that I had fulfilled my part of the deal. Also, there were no ghosts and I had proved it. They looked convinced. They were ready to give me the money. I then informed them of the poor old man inside.

My friends suggested carrying the man out to their car. Having gained courage from my adventure they came back into the house with me. They burst through the door of the upstairs room as I followed. No sooner were they in, they were out facing me looking petrified.

“That was not funny”, said one.

“Sick”, said the other.

I looked past their shoulder to see what they meant. Lying upon my sleeping bag was a skeleton. The right femur bone was broken. The mummified flesh lay loosely off each bone within moth-eaten rags.

I had to overcome my shock quickly as I managed a feeble grin.

“It was so dark and my torch ran out of battery”, I said, “I hardly realised it was only a skeleton”.

My friends took my explanation eventually. They were amazed at what I had done; that was to them courageous but so disgusting that they would never have dared to do it themselves. What I never told them (and what I cannot explain to myself) was that I had actually spoken to that man.

The End