Add your paragraph, inspired by the picture to the comments! I'll choose my favorite after the post pays out and deliver the prize through a tip note! Thanks for playing. Please consider resteeming and upvoting.
Add your paragraph, inspired by the picture to the comments! I'll choose my favorite after the post pays out and deliver the prize through a tip note! Thanks for playing. Please consider resteeming and upvoting.
Steepshot | IPFS | Google Play
The house where I grew up sat empty after my dad died. We tried selling it, but no one wanted to buy a charming old fixer up that's middle name was "deferred maintenance." My sisters and I had moved out of town after high school, only to return on holidays, make that some holidays. And only occasionally. With mom gone ten years back, and now with dad gone, we didn't make it home much anymore. When the city sent me a letter saying we had to either sell the place or fix it up and rent it out--it was an eyesore that had been left abandoned too long--the three of us came home. To this. The windows had been smashed, presumably by neighbor kids with nothing else to do, the lawn neglected, and the inside overrun with critters. The roof seemed to be the only saving grace. The only thing that wouldn't cost an arm and leg to fix. After talking with my sisters, we decided leaving a lit candle inside on the wood plank floors might be our ticket to freedom. But would we? It was enticing, but none of us volunteered. After tonight, we'll know if any of us have the guts to do it.
The beauty in the woods:
This house is beautiful in a way that it stand alone in the haunting woods. It's beauty is not in its architecture or in its shape. It's beauty lies in the dark sky, in the solitaryness of its essence. One can stand years in the house with a bunch of friends, fews kgs of coffee, a can of champagne, and with some quantity of food.
You don't need a high speed internet, an ultra HD led or a phone to pass a time. The scenic view through the broken window, the cool breeze of morning and the chirping of birds is always three to entertain you. Take a walk in the woods in the the veining and return home before the day falls. Life would be beautiful and peaceful there.
It was a bright new day and the sun was dancing vigorously than other days to soothing tune of the breeze. The whole environment was peaceful as though there had been an age long war that just ended. Indeed it was perfect but Sophie was dead inside of her. She lacked energy and love for nothing.She had stayed up all night crying. she was heart broken!
thats my entry...resteemed
Broken, like my heart, the house stood in need of much repair. Shattered windows let in the creatures that plague my thoughts as cobwebs sit lurking and hunting their prey. Thoughts of you with her, adding to the secrets, only walls could tell. Walls can be torn down, and feelings reopened, yet still, guarded is my heart as I pick up the pieces and I paint over the hurt. Like the house, my heart will heal too.
It was far away from civilization , the Richard Mansion. The place were many untold stories still remain untold. But that itself made a group of friends to check this place out. To feel the rush of adrenaline. It was Jo , Mel and tom. They had herd the stories , about how some bad things have happened in there , now it was time to face the reality. The wind was blowing really hard. The leaves were flying and hitting there faces as they moved forward. Mel , had even brought her oujia board. Things were going to get pretty bad , when suddenly the door opened by itself. They blamed the wind for that. Moving forward they all found the main guest room. Ready to use the Ouija board . But suddenly it was no longer in her bag. 😨😨😨 Now , they really felt the rush of something , oops , it wasn't adrenaline , it was a Cobra , 🐍 , hissing it's way through the fireplace. They all panicked and ran as fast as they could. But legend has it , that they were never ever seen ever again.
BOOOM
After I divorced my wife Diane, I had to move out. My first priority was to stay close to the kids and so I decided on this fixer upper. Although it was located on the rough side of town, I fell in love with its Victorian charm. The only drawback was the ghoul and silverfish infestation.
There is no place like home. I have been on the best cruise lines of the world. I have travelled on first class to the best destinations on planet earth. I have slept on 7 star hotel suites. I got to dine in the best fastfoods eatries out there. I have ascended on high, descended to lowest point imaginable. I have seen a thousand places in life. In all my time away from home, THERE WAS NO PLACE LIKE HOME. THERE REMAINS NO PLACE LIKE HOME. HOME SWEET HOME!!!!
You have my entry there. Upvoted, followed you and resteemed.
This place has certainly seen better days. The leafless trees (dead? winter?) contribute to the general creepy feel of the whole scene. If one stares long enough, the broken windows appear as silhouettes, perhaps of former inhabitants that existed in each individual room. Could this warrant further investigation?
Johnny wound up to pitch a stone into the second floor bay window. He had a good arm from seven years of little league baseball. But the old Bailey house was built on top of Meyer's Hill and these days you had to be a pretty good shot. It's said that if you can break one of the windows in the old Bailey house you can make a wish. The last time anyone lived in that house was 1938 when a man and his family settled there. Johnny really didn't care for that story. It gave him the shivers. He took a swig from the bottle in his left side coat pocket and then plunged the rock at the window. Glass shattered and Johnny made a run for it. He heard voices in his head as his feet pounded the pavement below. "Stop running boy. Your wish has come true. I am Zuzu and have come back to life for you."
@moneyinfant has added your contest to the list Steemit Writing Contests: Issue #58. The list is updated on a daily basis and your contest will remain on the list until its expiration - there's nothing you need to do.
The list was created to save writers the excessive amount of time spent searching through the #contest tag for writing contests. Now they can just come to the list each day, see new contests and use their time doing what they love - writing.
If you'd like to help spread the word about the Steemit Writing Contest List I'd really appreciate a resteem, but it certainly isn't necessary. The project is simply meant to help writers save time and contest creators attract more contestants.
P.S. If you know of any contests I've missed I'd love to hear about them. Thanks!
As he gazed at the dilapidated ruin, he was transported back to those halcyon days of his youth when love and laughter had filled the building’s every niche and nook and the sun seemed always to shine, even on a cloudy day. He smiled widely as his thoughts turned to the imminent arrival of his first born and to the mirth and merriment that would once more take residence in this, his childhood home.
There is that house again, every day I see her on my way to work, she has been abandoned since I was born, I think she has been abandoned long before my parents were born but she is still standing there as if the time around her stopped the broken glass because of children and even me in my youth, the forest around her as always dark but does not change, whenever I step in front of her I feel the need to enter it but with every step I take the feeling of need to want to go increases and my body begins to freeze as if I did not want to approach it out of fear, I never get past the entrance I always end up turning around and I go back and never go in, what will have happened in there for me to feel that fear so strong and that incredible need to enter I will never know but what I do know that always when I return to the road, a different child every time they run by my side and enter the house and never I see you again and today's boy was wearing a red shirt and wearing blue shorts I wonder what will happen to him ...
"This was the last thing written in his diary by the murderer of more than 20 children before he was arrested during the murder of an 8-year-old boy who wore a red shirt and blue shorts that he was kidnapped that morning on his way to the school, the rotting bodies of his other victims were found in a room of the abandoned house in the forest the oldest body is linked to a case disappearance of a 5 year old boy of 15 years ago in which the murderer would have been just 10 years , the murderer was diagnosed with schizophrenia and double personality and he pleaded guilty to all the murders and did not plead for a crime for insanity so he will be sentenced to death, finally this will be closed and with that we will return to the studio " The reporter said before the camera went off.
Time had performed irreversible deeds upon the once proud and mighty mansion of my grandmother . This old house looks like a miniature fairy book castle after a typhoon had passed by. The main body of the house is a rectangle, but added on are curved towers with peaked roof tops gives it a chiasmatic look.
The location of house is adorable as it is situated outside the village, free from noise of vehicles and other small scale factories.To me,staying here for a night is no less than any five star hotel.The evening breeze with slight moisture is soul soothing. Moon seems to appear in the sky with the sole purpose of shining directly over house and enlightening the house inside just like sun.God seems to have set specific duty to sun and moon of lightening the house althrough day and night.
Morning here is welcomed by maledous chirp of birds.Chirping is immediately following by sun rise, greeting our house and making every body in the house set to go.
I sat rocking on the porch of the old mansion. It needed all the windows replaced, but the bones were good.I was waiting for some clients to show up. A man slipped into the rocker beside me. I hadn't noticed his approach.
"Nice evenin'" he said. "Mind if I sit?"
"No, not at all."
I turned to look at a car coming up the old dirt road to the house. I turned back to suggest that the rest of his party had arrived but he was gone as quietly as he came.
Technically this is more than a paragraph because of the dialogue. If that kicks it, let me know. I'll write another.
@lahvista
On top of the hill stayed a old house that seems hadn't be cared for ages enduring abuse of four seasons year around. On top of that the windows were broken and wind hissed in and out of the house like a house pet dragging in all kinds of kill: dirt, dead leaves and bugs. The earth had started to take it back extending her mossy fingers and trying to take hold and the hue of paint had darkened to toasty brown as if someone had left it in the sun for a little too long. Someone indeed had. Long enough for rumors to spring out among villagers about ghosts and witches kidnapping bratty and sleepless kids at night. What haunted the house was neither witches nor magical beings but old Mister Timothy Brown and the house was his prison for being a pedophile. He moved in from city after doing his time to find from some solace in his father's land but, somehow the word got out. One fateful day when little Jimmy went missing some villagers took it upon themselves to look around in the house. Somehow things got a little too far and since then Mr. Brown lays there a zombie of routine because, neither heaven nor hell would have him.
There is a horrible story in every home. The story that comes from the sins of man. Every darkness that envelopes is the slicing of sin that asks to be cleansed.
every rustling of the creepy wind is the curse of sin that asks to be paid.
by @anggreklestari from Indonesian. Thanks for your inspiring creative contest.
The old cat lady's house on the hill - long abandoned - stood lifeless like the stories once spun by the children that inhabited this long forgotten neighborhood. She must have had a hundred cats of every color and shape living in every nook and cranny of that old house. Mystery grew and stories flourished as the cat lady never spoke a single word - at least to human beings. Some said she lost her voice after a fire that took her family. Others swore they saw her late at night burying little children beneath the roses in her garden. And it was true, on a full moon night, you could hear the cries of children and see the flickering of lights on that dark and haunted hill. Though decades have past, the cat lady on the hill, still fills my mind with mystery and vivid stories. But who was this mystery woman? I took it upon myself to find out. To my shock, her name was Ms. Ella Botts Rice - none other than Howard Hughes first wife. What stories might she had told...if only we had asked.
This house is not for sale. I know the windows are broken. The walls are already cracked. The roof was leaking. But I will not sell this house. I'll stay here until the roof and the wall collapses. I'll stay here until I'm the only one standing on this hill. This house has too many memories of my father, mother, and brother who die one by one because of you. I will stay here to keep all memories left.
It was our last haunted house adventure, the last because we were having a child soon, and we were going to have to settle down, my husband and i had a thing for the supernatural, we met in a haunted house that made the new, apparently people went into that house and never came out, and that was how our journey began, and there we were, our last haunted house, we saved the best for last, there had been sightings of a little girl in the house, at night she would drag bodies to the backyard, cops tried to search the house but no one ever made it past the door, a lot of lives had been lost to this house, but that wasn't going to stop us, we made our way to the front door, the foor flung open before we touched it, we walked into the house that faithful day, and 7years later we are still here, happily married with a beautiful daughter.
https://steemit.com/fiction/@rlt47/short-story-haunted-house
HAUNTED HOUSE
“...and this is the living room”, directed James Proudfoot, the local estate agent, gesturing with his hands at a musty, dark, dilapidated, empty room on the South side of the house. “This place needs a lot of work," sighed Steven Crenshaw. “Yes, but is accounted for in the price”, countered Proudfoot. Crenshaw was Head of Social Services, had been tasked with exploring vacant properties in the district with a view to establishing childcare facilities. Crenshaw, seemingly doing a value estimate in his head, blurted out a “We’ll take it”. In a single motion, Proudfoot produced an offer to purchase and a pen, from nowhere it seemed – his inability to sell this property was an albatross around his neck; and he wanted to put this project to bed. “Um, just one last thing...” Proudfoot weaselled in, “...there are rumours that this house is haunted”. Crenshaw was an ardent pragmatist and he wasn’t going to let some supernatural mambo-jumbo stand in the way of a great deal. “Don’t worry about that, the 25 brats we intend housing here are quite capable of raising hell, on their own.” he chuckled. “Where do I sign?” He enquired and sealed the deal. As the men drove off down the dusty road, windows rattled, floorboards creaked and doors swung – in protest of the impending invasion.
I had been working hard all day, really getting in there and getting my hands dirty, this was going to be the one. All my effort was going to finally pay off and there was no way she could question it this time. Peering over my shoulder, "looks Photoshopped" she said.
When the evergreen land seems so scary and unbearable like hope that's broken, the fruit of life and leaves disappears and the wind comes to you like the voice in the wilderness, it whispers believe in yourself because this tough situations only make you stronger.
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL HOUSE
The house was beautiful, even if it was in the woods it was still beautiful, that only made it a warmer and more elegant way. It was not just a house, it was more than that, it was impotence and the result of generations of effort. The family that lived there was the friendliest in the town could be known, perhaps something mysterious but after all every family has its secrets, but this one in particular is sheltered in the ashes of what was once a beautiful house. Brian was the first to arrive with his team to put out the fire but no matter how hard they tried to do it, it only extended. The fire was provoked, who was the one who did it, perhaps they will never know it. What will that family have done to die burned in what was a beautiful house?