By Dylan Owen

As the house came into view I knew that someone else was here. Something…not living. The way the vines were creeping, sneaking across the windows, blocking my view to the mysterious things happening inside the house. The trees were writhing in pain as the wind whipped their decaying, black branches.

I walked, ever so slowly, making no noise. But then, I saw it in the window – a flash of a man, a glimpse of a dark, black, disfigured face. I wanted to turn back, but I couldn’t, not while the strange men in white coats were still looking for me.

 I hurried towards the house. Taking great care not disturb the demon within. The house was alone in this large field, so neglected, so abandoned. I opened the grand oak doors and crept inside. They would never find me here. I walked into the next room, looking for some source of light and instead I found a weapon, a gun, fully loaded.

Then I heard it, a moan.

I was not alone in this house. Suddenly I saw him. A man, a man in dirty clothes, with hairy eyebrows and dandruff coated hair. Holding a gun. I ran, but he was everywhere, everywhere I looked. In the window, in the bathroom, everywhere. I kept on running; I threw myself into a room and slammed the door behind me. The room was filled with portraits, but they were no ordinary portraits; they were almost watching me, following me. Watching the panic on my face. But I couldn’t worry about that now. Not while he was still following me.

I ran to the window and looked out… it couldn’t be! How could they have followed me here? The men in white coats. I had to hide. But the other man, the man with the gun, was still there. No, I wouldn’t go back to that hellhole. I grabbed the gun and ran outside and there he was. Waiting for me. He wouldn’t leave me alone. I slowly started to move backwards and turned around. But there he was, looking at me. He raised his gun and I shot. He smashed, smashed into a million pieces! I was grabbed from behind and was pulled away from the shattered remains of my opponent.

I was hauled into a truck and was taken away. But I knew the man was not dead. I could still see him. In every mirror, in every window, he was still there, following me.

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About Miss Thomas

I am an English teacher at The City Academy, Hackney.

One response »

  1. Dylan Edward Owen says:

    It is s very well written piece but I think you could convey the idea of madness a bit more effectively.

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