The Darkness Within

And the morning came. The sun peeked over the ancient roofs of Northon House, glowing with pallid shyness as it rose lazily over the first day after the full moon. The sun rose dragging away the shadows of that horrifying night, and although we all knew that the nightmares would never really leave.

As the morning came, I squeezed Amy’s hand in mine. I could still hear the screams, ringing like the echo of thunder in my ears and when I briefly closed my eyes—hoping that sleep would chase the ghosts away—I still saw the terrifying yellow, wicked eyes of the killer coming for me.

The police finally stepped out of the main door, dragging behind them a stretcher; the white cloth covered the body, and yet, I could clearly see his face, eyes glassy and empty as he stared death coming for him inside Northon House.

Amy squeezed back, with more force, her touch saying we are safe, we are alive, but nothing of this felt safe, and I had the feeling that nothing would ever be alright after that night.

8 HOURS EARLIER

“You think I could use this to stab Amy in the back?” I shoved the blade to the centre of my chest, fake whisper-screaming as the blade retracted into the handle, making it look like I had just stabbed myself.

Amy Preston was the golden girl of our high school and, after that, of college. She walked around (surrounded by the flock of girls willing to fulfil her wishes) blinding everyone she met with her whitened smile and fake eyelashes that made her look like a cat. A shame that, with all that rage in that small body, she resembled more of an angry chihuahua.

And for some reason, unknown to me and to the rest of the universe, she hated me, with me her good demeanour was replaced by the venomous claws.

“You and your jokes, Helen,” Rob laughed, fastening the backpack on her shoulder. “She’s not that bad…if you look past all that pink and the mean girl demeanour.”

I raised an eyebrow, hurrying to shove the fake knife inside my backpack, among the candles and the sandwiches and jogged to her side. “And the fact that she stares at everyone like they stink.” I performed a poor impression of Leighton Meester Blair’s infamous tight-lipped, scrunched brows, grimacing. “The stench of your cheap facial cream makes me sick.”

Rob laughed, exposing the small dimples on her freckled cheeks. "Perhaps this haunted house will be the solution and some spirit will possess her and turn her into a kind person," Rob said.

“I doubt it.”

I stared ahead. The creepy, abandoned house loomed like a ghost against the desolate background of trees and darkness. Dust and soil were everywhere, the once-grandiose polished body of the house was marred and scarred by the passing of time. It was big and decaying, its pointy roof tall enough to hide among the thick fog, perfect for the many ghost stories set in those walls. It was said that every full moon the evil spirit of a crying woman would awaken and lure people inside of the old house, none of them came out of it alive. Well, of course, if you believed in that sort of crap.

Alice—Amy’s best-friend since their shared childhood in New York—wanted to celebrate her 23rd birthday right in the middle of that creepy house. None of Rob’s protests were heard; first when she had come up with the idea, and then, with no surprise whatsoever, when she had dragged along her boyfriend. However, that brilliant idea didn’t seem that brilliant as the clock ticked away. And I had a feeling that the night would only get worse and worse.

6 HOURS EARLIER

The living room of the ancient house was destroyed. Where once beauty had shone proud, only the ghosts of the cruel reality had remained, flooding the house with a wave of violent devastation. The walls were smeared with paint and the wallpaper was peeled away from the walls, in long cuts that horrifyingly resembled claw marks. Paintings dangled awkwardly from the nails. And, other than the lone chair in the corner of the room, there was no sign of other furniture.

We had set all the candles to form a big circle surrounding us right in the middle of the ancient living room, the feeling that, more than a circle of protection, it felt like a trap settled deep in my guts, making the warmth rush through my body despite the cold bite of winter.

Jo, the latest component of the group, and the youngest, smiled widely—the lights of the candles shone under her chin, painting a wicked shadow on her face. Maybe it was the house and its legends, creeping in my mind to show me elaborate illusions of hopelessness, or perhaps I was just unaccustomed to the darkness of the house, but as Jo knelt on the floor, I saw her shadow, black and thick, trailing her with delay, as if it had decided to split apart from her and turn into a creature with its own volition.

Jo’s eyes met mine and a shiver crawled up my spine like icy claws tracing a long line on my skin. As she knelt, she placed a long box on the torn rug and made a great scene of opening it with a whispered laugh.

“An Ouija board? Seriously? What are you, five?”

Maybe I had been wrong all along and the house really had a devastating effect on whoever walked through the front door, because I agreed with Amy. This was ridiculously silly.

“No way, dude,” Isaak clapped his hand, making my heart rush in my throat, “this will be amazing.”

Rob shifted next to me, crouching down to my side. She glanced at the Ouija board, then back at Isaak, her expression a mix of scepticism and curiosity. Her voice was a mere whisper as she replied, "Well, I'm not sure about amazing, but it's definitely going to be interesting. Let's see if the rumours about this place have any truth to them."

Alice laughed, taking her seat on the carpet, completing our circle. “Imagine the stories we'll tell our grandchildren," she pulled her lips back to imitate a toothless old lady, her voice trembling with laughter. "And so that's how I defeated Satan."

"I wouldn't say…the S-word in a place like this," Jo remarked with a sly grin.

Alice nudged her with her elbow. "What, are you afraid of being possessed?"

Jo was about to reply, but Isaak beat her to it, “Well, if she does get possessed maybe we can ask the spirit to reveal the secret to winning the lottery," he quipped, earning a round of chuckles from the group.

“Yeah, you do that so you can take me on vacation to the Maldiv—Ow!"

Jo slapped her hand, giggling. “Finger on the planchette, everyone.”

Rob directed me a small smile. The air grew heavy with anticipation.

When everyone had placed their finger on the small, tear-shaped piece, Isaak said—voice loud and pompous. “We wish to speak with Eliza, the lady in white, the weeping shadow who haunts this house. Are you here with us?”

For a moment, a heavy silence settled over the group, broken only by the soft, whispering sound of the wind outside and the soft creaking of the candles. We exchanged uncertain glances, fingers still resting lightly on the planchette.

Then, as if in response to the collective anticipation, something extraordinary began to unfold. Slowly but unmistakably, the planchette began to move. It slid across the smooth surface of the Ouija board; its movements deliberate and purposeful. The planchette rested on YES.

My heart exploded in my chest, beating so painfully loud that I was sure the others could hear it.

“Who is moving it?!” Amy cried. “Who is moving it!”

Isaak laughed, staring in disbelief at the board, he asked, “Who are you?”

The planchette vibrated under my finger as it began to move again. I watched it hover on the individual letters, spelling out the word E…L…I…Z…A

Vomit pooled in the back of my throat, and the voice escaped my lips in a shaking murmur, “Guys, this is not funny.”

The air grew heavier by the second, like an unexplainable energy was crushing us in its hold. The walls seemed to get closer and closer, trapping us in this circle of candles.

Wide-eyed Rob leaned closer, “Isaak, stop.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Isaak replied. But the fear that was showing on Rob, as for sure on my face, was the last thing to show on his face, it was as if possessed by a hysterical giggle as he asked again. “Did you die in here?”

The planchette moved, slowly making its way to the letters. B…A…S…E…M…E…N…T…

“Basement?” Jo asked, her eyes were swelling with tears. “Did you die in the basement?”

I felt watched by thousands of eyes coming from the darkness of the room, as if outside the circle of candles beings were waiting for the right moment to capture us.

Again, the planchette moved. B…A…S…E…M…E…N…T… 

“I don’t like this!” Amy screamed as tears rushed down her cheeks, her hand flying away from the planchette. “I want to go home.”

“Amy come on; we came for this!” Alice called after her, her hands abandoned the board.

The planchette moved, answering a question we never asked. Again, forming BASEMENT, BASEMENT, BASEMENT all over again.

Amy screamed again, pushing her hands on her eyes. I retreated my hands to my chest, separating the connection to the table. Relief spread through me as the other hands also moved away.

As we continued to watch in stunned silence, the planchette, began to move, so slowly at first that it looked like a fragment of imagination, then more and more rapidly, its movements growing erratic and unpredictable.

With a sudden, forceful jerk, the planchette shot across the Ouija board crashing against a door. I watched in horror, unable to speak, to breathe.

We scrambled to our feet, eyes wide with disbelief. The door bore the mark of the planchette's collision, a small dent in the wood.

"If that is the basement, I'll need a change of pants," Alice whispered, her voice quivering with a mixture of fear and humour.

With trembling hands and racing hearts, we exchanged nervous glances before making our way toward the door. The air seemed to grow colder, and the silence heavier. Alice, her voice quivering, was the first to speak. "Should we open it?"

Jo nodded, clutching a candle in her hands. "We came here for this, right?"

Rob’s eyes were still swollen with tears, but she nodded in agreement.

When we’d all collected our source of light—the torches we had in the backpacks and the candles—Isaak stepped forward and turned the doorknob. The door screeched open, revealing a staircase leading down into the depths of the house.

As we made our way down the narrow staircase, the air grew colder, and an oppressive feeling settled over us.

The room we ended up in looked older than the house itself, its walls made of stone and damp; yet, what sent a shiver down my spine, enlightening the pure fear, were the faded, tattered photographs covering up the walls. Each picture portrayed a body, bloodied and broken on the very same floor we were walking on.

Amy gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "These are the missing people!”

Isaak moved closer to one of the photos, his flashlight illuminating a young woman's terrified face. "But who could have done this? Why?"

I shivered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who cares about why?! We need to get the hell out of here.”

But as we turned to leave, the basement door slammed shut behind us, trapping us in the darkness, realizing that we might not be alone in the basement after all.

Unseen eyes watched from the shadows as our ordeal took a sinister turn, and the true horror of Northon House began to reveal itself.

“It’s too late,” Jo replied, her voice empty of any emotions. She raised a hand to clean up her cheeks from the tears that had until then fallen and stared at us, her back to the door. Then, inexplicably, her expression changed, stretching into a malicious grin. Her eyes lighted up of a weird, yellowish glow; it sparkled in her eyes before disappearing in the dark. “None of you will get out of here.”

Isaak walked to her, raising a hand to touch her shoulder, “Jo, what are you saying?”

She grabbed his wrist, clutching it tight in her hand. “Humans, always running straight for their own death.”

Isaak hissed, his face twisted in pain. In the darkness, I was his knees bent beneath him and he hit the floor. I saw it—before Alice started to scream; before Rob closed her arms around her to keep her back—the blade rushing for Isaak’s body. The blood splashing, getting lost in the night.

Amy grabbed my arm, “Run, run!” she began dragging me with her as she ran straight for the shadows, her torch in her hand was a shaking circle of light in the darkness, glowing as the basement stretched in a tight passage—its ending was impossible to glimpse, yet, it couldn’t be worse than what was happening behind us—and there I remembered of the article I read online, the tunnels extending like a cobweb beneath the old house—surely Amy knew it too. She kept hushing me to run, run, run,  but I heard the screams again, and I stopped to stare behind us, but I could only see the moving shadows and sounds of scuffling.

Amy’s hand slipped from my arm, abandoning me in the dark as she continued to move further away—begging me to go with her, to keep going, to stop looking—between the desire to turn back and the urge to flee. I decided. I turned to keep our fast racing inside the tunnel, but something stopped me.

Something hard interposed itself in front of my foot and I tumbled down, but I did not land against the cold rock as I had expected, but against something soft and warm. Amy, hearing me scream, came back cursing, shining her flashlight where I had fallen.

My heart hammered furiously, so hard I couldn’t hear Amy’s words as she grabbed my shoulders to pull me back. I just could watch the sight before me. A body was sprawled on the floor, his blood was pouring out of the large gash on his stomach, warm and sticky. His eyes staring at the ceiling, his face unmoving.

“Oh God,” I stammered.

Amy bent, sticking two fingers on his neck. “Dead.” With trembling hands, I knelt down, my eyes attracted by something he was holding in his hand. A journal.

“Look,” the journal, strained with blood and dirt, was filled with cryptic symbols, handwritten words, and faded drawings. My eyes darted across the aged pages, flashing over the words beneath; the instructions were meticulous, describing the ritual step by step. First the circle of protection drawn on the pavement, the incantation in a language I couldn't understand. It was clear that it was meant to banish the spirit haunting the house. Fear and determination crushed me.

Amy pointed the torch back, right when the screams died.

There it was.

The malevolent ghost rushed for us, its face contorted with rage and malice.

Amy and I exchanged a determined glances. Time was running out, there was nowhere to run, only one thing we could try one last thing, one last hope.

Amy, her eyes filled with resolve. "Draw the protective circle! I'll keep the ghost distracted!"

I nodded, and with trembling hands I dipped my palms into the body’s blood and traced in the small space of the tunnel the circle. My fingers moved with purpose, forming intricate patterns to create a barrier between them and the approaching entity. She knew that the protective circle was their only defence against the ghost's malevolent intentions.

Amy faced the spirit, her voice strong as she started reciting the incantation from the journal. The words flowed from her lips with a power she had never felt before, the ghost spasmed, hissing, flinching back long enough for me to complete the circle, "Enter the circle!"

The ground pulsed beneath my hand, as I finally closed the line of blood. The basement seemed to pulse with energy as the incantation continued.

The ghost screeched in agony, its form flickering and fading as if struggling to maintain its presence. It thrashed and wailed. But I stood with Amy, uniting our voices we kept reciting the spell.

As the final words of the incantation left Amy's lips, the ghost run for us, extending the claws back, ready to strike us down. As the Ghost in Jo’s body crashed against the circle, a light filled the basement. The spirit let out one final, piercing scream before its eyes closed and Jo collapsed to the ground.

Amy kneeled, covering her face with her hands. “We made it,” she cried.