Murder Most Haunted
Right to left. It always started with the chalk screeching from right to left, slicing into the dusty blackness of the board. Annie edged away, watching words spill out in backwards, boustrophedonic waves.
They were angry words, words of tearing, killing. Torrid words of ill will and repressed desires.
The girl’s eyes grew wide as she read the ghost’s raging rhetoric. She wanted to stay and read it all, understand the tortured miscreant’s pain, but she knew that in mere moments the phantom would bring hell to the small playroom. Her skinny legs raced for the door, just as her mother had demanded.
The slam from the door rattled through the long hallways and into the kitchen. Annie’s mother dropped the knife that she was holding, chopped vegetables spraying the wooden floor.
The cold laugh echoing along the corridors set a chill in her blood. She moved towards the kitchen entrance at a walk and then at a run. Her muscles pumped painfully, stiffened by the ice in her veins.
Annie was crying, but the sound didn’t come from the playroom. It came from everywhere.
The door was locked when she reached it.
Her fists battered the thick oak, crying out for her little Annie, cursing that she’d ever bought the house. Its previous occupant wasn’t happy. He called them demons, invading their dreams and screaming at them in their sleep.
Then Annie’s crying stopped. The poltergeist cackled, delighting at her despair as Annie’s blood pooled from below the door.
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