The old, dilapidated house on the edge of town had always been rumored to be haunted. It was surrounded by overgrown, weed-choked gardens and the windows were dark and foreboding. The paint on the exterior was peeling and faded, and the roof sagged as if it were about to collapse.
As I approached the front door, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. The air was heavy and still, and I had to force myself to take each step forward. The door creaked open with a loud, ominous sound, and I hesitated before stepping inside.
The interior of the house was just as creepy as the outside. Cobwebs covered the ceiling and the walls, and the floors were uneven and creaky. The musty smell of decay and abandonment filled my nostrils, and I could feel a chill run down my spine.
As I explored the house, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was not alone. I could hear faint whispers and footsteps behind me, even when I knew there was no one there. The air seemed to grow colder and more oppressive the deeper I ventured into the house.
I eventually came upon a room that was even more decrepit and eerie than the rest of the house. The floorboards were rotted and the walls were stained with mold. In the corner, there was a rocking chair that seemed to move on its own, creaking back and forth as if someone were sitting in it.
I quickly retreated from the room, my heart racing. I knew that I needed to get out of the house as quickly as possible. As I made my way back towards the front door, the whispers and footsteps seemed to grow louder and more frenzied.
I burst through the front door and ran down the driveway, not stopping until I was a safe distance away. I turned back to look at the house one last time, and I could have sworn that I saw a ghostly figure standing in one of the windows, staring back at me with a malevolent expression.
I shuddered and turned away, knowing that I never wanted to set foot in that haunted house again.
