One Million

I entered the competition on a whim. Wasn’t expecting to win, but I did. One million dollars. I just had to spend one night in the house. But not just any house—the Baker house, which was haunted.

Sitting in the back of the limousine, I clutched onto my overnight bag. My mother’s words blasting against my eardrum–stay away from the Baker house. It’s haunted. That was never proven. But speculation was enough to keep everyone away.

Of course, a few strays desired to test the waters. Some came out unscathed. Not everyone was lucky, though. Word spread fast around town, with stories about how they escaped. Permanent scars left memories never to be erased.

I didn’t believe everything I heard. But the stories flooded back as the limousine pulled up in front of the house.

A small crowd formed at the end of the street. Citizens applauding, showing their support. The others weren’t as friendly—congregating across the street, holding up warning signs.

I closed my eyes before exiting the limousine, begging for my mother’s strength. The back door swung open. Forcing myself out of the car, I stepped up on the sidewalk.

Michael Atkins ran the competition. He raised his arms to the crowd before positioning himself in front of me. A smile spread across his face, pushing his cheeks up toward his eyes as the sun reflected off of his white teeth. “Tasha, are you ready?”

“I guess.”

He stepped to the side as cheers traveled up the sidewalk. My feet slid across the concrete. Heart pounding through my chest, I knew the clock wouldn’t start until I made it inside. Another step. Another.

I turned around, looking toward the crowd, pushing forth a nervous smile, before making my way up the concrete steps, onto the porch, and inside the house. My body jolted as the door slammed behind me.

My eyes penetrated the dark room, searching for a place to set my bag. A lone table rested against the far wall. I set my bag on top, unzipped it, and pulled out a battery-operated lantern.

The stairs were to the left of the table. I glanced at the bottom step, my eyes traveling to the top. Backing away, 24 hours entered my mind, running like a mantra. I continued to inspect the first floor, moving from room to room, closing doors behind me.

I made my way back to the main room, running toward the window as the limousine pulled away and drove down the street. The crowds disappeared as the streetlight came on.

I pulled the curtain closed and made my way to the couch. A cloud of dust rose as I sat down. Fanning my hands in front of me, a cough escaped.

My eyes shifted to the right as a faint cough came from the kitchen. Echo. It was my echo. I jumped up from the couch, grabbed my bag from the table, and sat against the wall in the corner of the room.

Thump. My eyes shot open. I pushed my body up off the floor and rubbed my eyes. Another thump, louder than the first, came from the kitchen. Grasping onto the lantern handle, I walked toward the kitchen.

My feet stopped as a chair slid across the floor. “Is someone there?” My hands flew over my mouth. Stupid. Never call out. I took a deep breath and continued toward the kitchen. Pushing the swinging door open, I walked over to the chair, placed it back underneath the table, and walked over to the sink.

I peeked out the window. Blackness surrounded the house. My eyes widened as a thump came from behind. I turned. My screams crashed against the creaking of the swinging chandelier. There she stood, on the table—a woman.

Her white dress splattered with red. Her cracked gray lips parted, saliva running down her chin. Black eyes stared back. I darted out of the room. She followed behind, grabbing a handful of my hair and slamming me up against the wall. Her fingernails tore through my back. I screamed. Louder. But no one could hear. No one would come.

Silence enveloped the room. As quickly as it began, it ended. I pushed my body away from the wall and turned around. She was gone.

Drops of blood patterned the floor. The wetness of my back soaked through my shirt. I ran to the corner, grabbed my bag, and darted into the bathroom. A moan parted my lips as I removed my top, tossing it on the floor. I pulled a water bottle out of my bag and soaked my towel. Draping it over my back, I pressed my body against the wall.

My flesh burned. But the coolness of the rag brought relief.

A bang against the door forced my eyes open. Another bang came from the wall behind me. My hands trembled as the doorknob turned. I removed my body from the wall, grabbed my bag, and hid in the shower.

Silence returned. I put on a fresh top and stepped out of the tub. A part of me wanted to stay in the room, hide away until the morning. But I needed my lantern. My eyes closed as I grasped onto the doorknob. I exhaled as I opened the door.

I peeked my head around the frame. The room was empty. Tiptoeing toward the kitchen, I pushed open the door. The lantern rested on the floor beside the table. My feet traipsed along the broken tiled floor. I picked up the lantern but I couldn’t move. I felt it—the darkness. Hovering. Shadowing.

My arm trembled, sending the light from the lantern dancing against the wall. I turned. Its eyes. Pitted out. Staring. It stretched forth its arms. I backed away as it moved toward me. My eyes closed. My mouth opened. Screams vibrated against my eardrum, but they weren’t mine.

My eyes shot open. Four little girls stood in front of me, screaming. I dropped the lantern. My hands flew over my ears as their cries turned into shards of glass, piercing my flesh.

It stopped. Silence once again greeted me. My body trembled. A nervous laugh forced its way out. Tears streamed down my face as my laughter turned into screams. I collapsed to the floor, wrapping my arms around my body. Get up, my mother yelled.

I rose to my feet, picked up my bag and lantern, and ran out of the kitchen. Past the swinging door, my eyes landed on the bathroom. My feet moved. My legs pumped. But I was still in the same spot.

Laughter penetrated through the walls. Doors opened. Slammed. Opened. Slammed. I fell to my knees, crawling toward the bathroom. My hand grasped onto the bottom of the door. Almost inside, something grabbed hold of my ankles and pulled me through the living room.

My stomach burned, rubbing against the wooden floor. It released my leg. Rolling over onto my back, she stared, tilting her head. She knelt down, placed her hands on the floor in front of her, forcing her knees off of the floor.

Her back arched as she opened her mouth. Tiny tentacles escaped through the gaping hole, slapping against my legs. Razor sharp, I screamed as they cut through my legs.

My hands reached into my bag. Grasping onto my knife, I swung, slicing a few of the tentacles. She retreated into the kitchen as I ran into the bathroom, slamming the door.

The battle continued all night. The screams. The banging. Glass shattering against the floor. Someone screaming my name from upstairs. All I could do was hide in the bathroom, praying for morning.

I eventually collapsed on the floor. My body ached. My shirt stuck to my back as the blood dried. Gashes on my legs. No sleep came. Instead, I stared off into space, humming, like I did when I was five. Blocking out my father’s drunken rage while he and my mother argued in the other room. I felt trapped. Alone.

Light peeked through underneath the bathroom door. My body refused to move. I thought the house was playing another trick. But it wasn’t. I heard him–Michael, on the bullhorn. I heard them–the crowd forming outside.

I sat up, grabbed my bag, grasped onto my knife, and opened the bathroom door. Light shone in through the white curtain. My feet were hesitant, but I willed them to move. The house was at peace, but inside I still heard it calling. The screams. The laughter. The brutality.

My hand grasped onto the doorknob. It turned. The door swung open. They stood at the bottom of the steps. Cameras flashed. People cheered. And then silence returned.

My eyes darted around the crowd. Pointed fingers greeted me. Whispers. Questions.

Michael approached, his eyes looking me up and down. My disheveled hair. My blood-stained clothes. The cuts across my legs. Knife in hand. I grasped tighter on the handle as a wail leapt from my mouth. 

He ran up the steps, wrapped his arms around me, and led me down the stairs. I collapsed in his arms as the front door slammed shut.