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"Get the bloody hammer!" "What's a damn hammer gonna do against A GHOST!" "I DON'T. KNOW!" Insert record scratch sound here. Hey, I bet you're wondering how I got to this point. No you're not. Welcome to the house of clichés, my friend. On with the story! Anyways, to understand how I got here we have to go back to when I was just a normal high school girl in a town not big enough to get on the map. The boys and girls in the clique- the awful names that they stick- you're never gonna fit in much, kid. I definitely didn't fit in, but who did except for football jerks and the brats that wore crop tops and makeup? I hate them. Basically everyone else were hated by them, but there were a lot who just mindlessly followed them around. The rest of us stuck together mostly, we were the edgy teenagers who hated everyone and everything.

It was a beautiful day, and we were so happy hanging out together, but SCREW THAT! HAPPINESS IS FOR SUCKERS! So anyways, we decided to go into a closed haunted mansion the night before Halloween because we hate ourselves. There are quite a few of us, ten in total, most of whose names I don't know. My favorite is Sydney, who is my closest friend there. Now, most of us absolutely hate horror movies and anything remotely scary, and then there are those who are just plain stubborn and pretend they aren't cowards. When I say haunted mansion, I mean haunted mansion, that place was big, but the rooms were small so you had to be closer to all the terrifying props. Just imagine you're in a Victorian style mansion, with people who you don't know the names of, you're all cowards and you're tightly packed against a strangely realistic prop of someone with their eyes gouged out and their brain spilling out of the back of their head.

"Why did I agree to come here?" "Because you're an idiot and have no other friends, now shut up so that ghost thing doesn't come for us." Everyone turned towards the boy, who's name is Foster I'm pretty sure. 'The what-" So, long story short, multiple people were killed here by some psychopath who likes cutting out eyes and spreading blood everywhere. Now there are angry ghosts that kill everyone who's stupid enough to come here. Great. Just great. I could have dragged Sydney away and I could be at that little autumn fair, drinking hot chocolate and clinking apple cider donuts, but instead I'm an edgy idiot who forgot what they taught us about peer pressure in health. I want to go home.

For a good hour we all stand in that stupid tiny room in this stupid house, until we're finally 'brave' enough to leave. And by leave I mean move one goddamn room towards the exit. We're pretty far from it, and I think we're lost. This room is so much worse, there's blood on the walls, which I'm pretty sure is real because it smells like iron, and chains made of blades seemingly holding back grotesque figures strapped to the ceiling. I turn around, and someone screams- actually multiple people but clichés. There are three people lying on the floor, and a flickering blurry figure exiting the room. Being the introverts we are, we have spent plenty a night watching horror movies on Netflix and crying ourselves to sleep, so most of us know not to panic like the stupid main characters. Of course, by no means does that help the fact that there are three people dead on the floor, but at least we didn't split up.

"What the hell do we do?!" "STOP YELLING!" "YOU'RE YELLING!" "I have weapons and survival kits." Well that's one way to make the zombie apocalypse-obsessed kid useful. "Here's some water, and here's hunting knife, here's a machete, I have a few small handguns, energy bars, small homemade bombs-" I'm really not sure if I should be creeped out or thankful. Luckily I brought my headphones, phone and portable charger. What? I'm well aware that that's going to get me killed, but knowing the author, I'm probably going to just get killed in the end anyway. I'd rather die with my headphones on than off. So in the end, I'm armed with a pocket knife, a few bombs, some energy bars and my headphones. "Screw you, ghost!" Oh god, I said that out loud. Oh, would you look at that, if it isn't the ghost speeding over to murder us!

Jesus Christ it's creepy here. To make matters worse, we are completely and utterly lost, no doubt about it. I think we lost the ghost though, so that's good, I mean it's not like I made it chase us in the first place. Anyway, like reasonable people, we were still sticking together, tightly packed, and so far after that incident, no one has died yet- wait where's Basil? Damn it I jinxed it. "Guys... where's Basil?" We all turn around and see Foster standing in the doorway, staring at his dead body in shock, with streams of dull silver trailing down his face. Basil. He was such a kind character, even giving me the last cookies, and I really regret not talking to him more. How big is this place? When will we make it out? What is we don't? How many of us will die? I need to stop the questions, I know it'll drive me insane. "Siri, play Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons," I whisper. Inspirational enough to keep me going, but dark enough to keep me from feeling too guilty.

There are six of us left. Who will they go for next? The zombie apocalypse kid? Foster? The sweet girl with caramel eyes who stress-bakes? The guy who always stayed in the back? Me? Or worse, Sydney? Suddenly, the doors slam. I run over to open them, and surprise, surprise, they're bolted shut. Yay. Isn't this fun, a bunch of traumatized children locked in with the body of their friend, while they slowly go insane. "Get the bloody hammer!" "What's a damn hammer gonna do against A GHOST!" "I DON'T. KNOW!" Blurs circle us, herding us together. We nervously flick our eyes around, shuddering like cornered animals, searching for an escape. I hear someone choke and see Caramel Girl with a knife in the side of her neck. We have no time to dwell on it, however, as a slight gap opens. We dart into it, Zombie Kid almost not making it.

I run, and run, dragging Sydney behind me. I don't even turn around, or stop to see if she's alright. The walls are closing in, the seemingly 'fake' decorations start to reach towards me and breathing feels like shoving a jackhammer in my throat. I can't tell if I'm hurt or just numb. At some point, I finally stop and collapse, Sydney collapsing on top of me. I expect to feel a hug, but her head on my back is cold, arms limp and a warm liquid is leaking into my shirt. Finding the strength to turn myself over, I see her head almost torn off her shoulders and I almost vomit. I crawl to a corner and wince in pain, noticing the pocket knife I grabbed embedded in my thigh.

I lay there, for god knows how long. I've given up, but at the same time, I don't want to die. I don't want to see my sister's face as she finds my body, mangled and covered in blood. I hear the door open and prepare to feel a blade slicing my flesh, but instead I feel I'm being carried. "...Foster?" He runs towards the exit, and the little sparkle that remains in my eyes shine for a dull second. I prepare to finally get out of here. What would I say? What would I tell Sydney's- My thoughts are interrupted by a gunshot. I drop to the floor, and as my eyes close I see Foster, with a smile full of insanity, cackling above my dead body.

My eyes open, I'm dead, why am I still conscious? Oh. kill. What? kill... The hell? Kill! I don't want to- Images of Foster's smile and Sydney's body flash through my mind. KILL. His laughter echoes through my head, I drop to my knees. KILL. KILL. KILL. My eyes snap open, pitch black. KILL.