~♥~ The Haunt Shack ~♥~
Hello dear Reader. Welcome. Sit down, relax, get very comfortable, for you may not be able to stay this way for long. I have something very unique to share with you. Come closer so you can hear better. That's it, very good. Now, the thing I wish to share is a story; a story of family and love, strangers and friends, ghosts and gore. I do hope you will enjoy it. Even if you do not enjoy horror stories, I do hope you should attempt this one. You will not be sorry. I sincerely promise you that. So, if it is nighttime, which I would surely suggest it be for the best reaction and feeling of fear, gather some snacks and blankets. Grab a flashlight, turn off the lights and start reading. Don't forget some scary music as well if you would care for any. And then, once you are settled and are ready to begin, my dear victim
Uh, I mean, reader, you can begin my story. So turn the page to see what adventure awaits you. Hope it gives you a good fright!
You are sitting on a small cliff overlooking the shore. Down below, by the shore, is a shabby, old, degrading shack. The Haunt Shack it was called. The shack that the world said was the home of a vicious ghost. Though the whole world knew the story, most believed that the Ghost was evil at heart, even as a man. Everyone in your town, on the other hand, says that the ghost was once a kind-hearted man that became a killer because of some very horrible events in his life. Now, each year on the anniversary of the day he killed his first victim he appears and, each time, killed one innocent child. Preferably a small boy just around ten years of age which, as of a few weeks ago, is how old you now are.
The story was a well known one and everyone in town told it to entertain each other at gatherings and, after each telling, it seemed to become more and more terrifying. Though, most probably didn't truly believe in the tale. The ones who didn't believe said that the story was only created because of man of the same name as the ghost, was found dead; his body lying on the rocks below the cliff, pierced by their sharp edges. His wife and children had disappeared without explanation; never to be found. Everyone figured they had probably been killed by one of the wild animals that lived in the woods near town. The animals had been known to carry off people before. Even some of the strongest men stood no chance against the great beasts of the woods. But now, the story was renowned.
You had first been told the story when you were six years old by your father, though he had attempted to tell it in a less scary way so as to not give you nightmares. But every time you ventured towards the shack, the sounds you heard from inside and the looks of the shack alone made the stories seem more and more real. Because of that, you had always been afraid of the Haunt Shack, but now, you were terrified of it. And the one thing that made it all worse- You could remember the story by heart
Mark Kilkenny was his name. He was around thirty-five years of age and was very handsome with his long black hair and grey eyes that shone with kindness. Beloved by all, he was the person everyone asked for advice. Although Mark was very solitary and rarely left his home in the shack, once he went to town he was very social and kind. He lived with his beautiful wife, Aurora, and his two children, Belle and Peter. Mark's family was the most important thing in his life. They always came first, no matter what was happening. The Kilkenny's were the family everyone dreamed of having; kind, loving, loyal and harmonious with everyone. Each night they stayed up reading stories to each other, drinking hot tea and having a wonderful time. During the day, they helped each other with work around the house and yard. On the days they went to town, the Kilkenny's were very friendly and left the townspeople anxiously awaiting their next meeting. The whole town knew that the Kilkenny family would brighten the sad times and lighten the dull parties for they were the very picture of a fairy-tale life. Both by appearance and by truth. It seemed that nothing could turn this family and their happiness upside-down. Then, one dreadful night, it happened
It was stormy evening and Mark and Aurora had just put the children to bed. Kissing them goodnight, Mark replenished the fire in the den, the main room in the house, and began reading, as he did every night. Aurora brewed some tea in the kitchen. About an hour had passed when there came a knock came at the door. Wondering who could possibly be calling on them this late into the evening, Aurora hesitated before she opened the door. When she did, there was a strange man standing in front of her, drenched from the pouring rain.
"Please," He said. "My boat sunk about half a mile out. I have nowhere to stay and nothing to eat. Could you help me?"
"Come in, come in." Aurora urged him to come into the house. "Mark, fetch some blankets. Be quick."
Mark went upstairs and gathered a few blankets. He didn't know if he felt comfortable allowing a stranger to stay the night but he collected them anyways. Once Mark arrived back downstairs, he saw the stranger sitting on the couch, talking to Aurora. His words came out shaky but strong.
"My name is Salem, thank-you very much for helping me. This horrible storm made the ocean rough. A little too rough I suppose, because the water caused my small boat to break apart and sink." Salem told Aurora, while sipping on a cup of hot tea she had brought him.
"I see. You are very lucky to be alive, sir. It must have been very difficult to reach the shore in waters like these. You are more than welcome to stay here for the night. I'm Aurora and this is my husband Mark," replied Aurora.
"Thank-you very much. I appreciate your hospitality." He thanked Aurora and happily took the blankets from Mark. He seems kind
Mark thought to himself. As Aurora helped Salem get settled in to sleep, trying to make sure he was warm enough, Mark studied the new-comer.
Bright, emerald eyes sparked under his curly red hair. His fair skin had many freckles splashed upon it. He was shorter than average but appeared very strong and athletic. His clothes were dirty and besides from being soaking wet though, they seemed to be taken care of as best as possible, even if they were a bit shabby. There was one particular part of this strangers attire that caught Mark's eye. It was a golden button, carefully sewn onto his right jacket pocket. It was partially hidden by the flap of the unbuttoned pocket so Mark was only able to see the bottom half of it but he could tell it was very special, to be shining as it was. It must mean a lot to Salem. Looks like a crest. His family's crest perhaps? Mark wondered. He looked back to his wife who was now standing next to him. Salem was now much dryer and was wrapped in tight in the blankets.
"I do hope you will be comfortable. I re-lit the fire so it should help you to feel warmer. There is more wood in the kitchen if it begins to die."
"Thank you Mrs. Kilkenny. I will be fine. You are very hospitable and I thank you." Salem replied and then settled down to sleep. Mark bade his guest a good-night and led his wife to the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
"I don't know if I trust him Aurora. We don't even know who he is." Mark worried.
"Mark, dear, it's only for tonight. Everything will be fine. He only needs rest and some food and besides, he will be leaving in the morning." She tried to reassure her husband.
"I suppose." He replied. They sat down at the table, talking mostly about the stranger in the next room.
About an hour had now passed. Aurora and Mark were now sitting, listening to the storm outside; the rain falling on the roof, the ocean waves sweeping onto the wet sands, the wind screaming like a child. No
not the wind
a child had really screamed. Aurora and Mark listened carefully, making absolutely sure they had actually heard a child and that the wind wasn't playing tricks on their ears. The noise seemed to stop in time as they listened. It sounded as though a struggle was happening upstairs in one of the bedchambers. The children! Mark thought. Him and his wife rushed upstairs, past the empty den and listened, trying to figure which room the struggle was happening in.
"Belle!" Aurora yelled and dashed to her daughters room. Mark followed after her into Belle's room. What they saw was horrifying; Belle was twisting in her bed with her mouth wide open, unable to yell, as if a hand was covering her mouth, only, the hand was invisible. There was blood pouring from a deep cut on her left forearm. Deep gashes kept appearing on all parts of Belle's body, as if a knife was cutting at her. And that very knife wielder wanted her dead. It was acting as if it were angry at this poor, innocent little girl. As much as she tried, Belle could not stop whatever was cutting at her. She squirmed and thrashed in her blood-stained bed, unable to free herself of the fear and pain inside and upon her.
Aurora screamed and tried to run to her daughter but was thrust backwards by an invisible barrier. "What is happening!? Please stop!" Belle was screaming, trying to fight off the invisible being that was after her. She was beginning to get extremely tangled in her extra long, pitch black hair. It was down towards her waistline and was twisting around her legs and neck. Most of the hair was now shinning with blood in the pale moonlight shining through the medium window. Her parents tried to grab for their beloved girl but something prevented them. Aurora was shaking with fear. Mark screamed for his daughter to leave the bed, to come to him for him to protect her. For a moment everything stopped. The gashes stopped being formed on the small body. The screams stopped. Everyone stared, unable to see if anything had left. Warily, Mark attempted to approach Belle's bed. But then, after Mark's first step, the axe Mark used for chopping firewood came floating up the stairs. Mark grabbed for the axe with his gruff, work-worn hands but it swung at him and he was forced to jump further away from the bed. He stood there, dumbfounded and turned to Aurora. She was standing there with a horrified look, much too petrified to do anything. Again Mark fought to get to his daughter. Again he was held off by some invisible force. In horror, they watched as the axe rose up over their daughters' already, almost lifeless, body. Frozen in fright, Belle stopped struggling and stared at the axe, her baby-blue eyes wide with fear.
"No! No! Please no!" Aurora, Mark and Belle all screamed at once. Too late. As the axe came down, slicing through the air, Belle screamed trying to dodge it. She couldn't. The axe slashed through her chest, lodging itself in her ribs. Belle lay there, silent, motionless, and covered in blood. The loving parents of this little girl screamed and cried. Confused and broken, they ran to their little child and held her close. Mark carefully removed the axe and through it across the room which broke a small chair as it landed. They couldn't believe what had just happened. Never, in any amount of time did anyone ever think that something this horrible would happen to a sweet, special, loving little child as as the Kilkenny girl. How would anyone believe that they would never be able to see her again.
Mark slowly stood and stared out the window. Thoughts ran over in his mind. Memories of his sweet Belle. Never again would she play on that beach shore. Running around splashing her parents and brother, collecting seashells for her crafts. Never would she eat salmon, her most favorite food. Complaining about her mother adding her 'famous' dressing, but secretly adding more when her mother was not looking. Nor would she get to her next birthday in just two weeks. A birthday planned for weeks and months, all the gifts bought and the decorations made and friends invited. Her parents wouldn't ever hear her gentle laugh, heartbreaking cry, melodious singing or even her rare scream of fear or anger again. There she lie; A sweet, innocent ten-year old girl, killed by a spirit, never to walk the world of the living again
Or was it a spirit? Could it simply have been her parents that had gone crazy in the night, from living inside the small isolated shack as many people had thought? Even though they loved the Kilkenny family, they always feared that they would become too isolated living alone. They feared that it would cause problems. Not just once had it happened. A wonderful, loved family turning psychotic from becoming isolated from the outside world. What would the people in town think? Would they believe what had just happened? Would they even discover the horrible events of this dismal night? Perhaps they never even occurred. Perhaps it was all only a dream. A terrible nightmare of a mother, terrified of losing her family? Well, dear reader, read on and you shall find what the next events in my story and... perhaps... the truth. Find what shall happen to Mark and Aurora and what will become of dear Peter once he finds his sister was murdered by some unknown force. My only question to you now is
will you read on? Or will you be simply afraid to? No, perhaps not afraid but horrified or nervous to see what will happen to the rest of the Kilkenny family? Read on if you dare my dear reader. And yes, I am indeed daring you to read on
Aurora screamed and dashed to her daughters' side. The barrier must have been broken when Belle died, but no one cared, they just wanted to get to her. Mark knelt by his wife's side and placed his hand on her shoulder. He couldn't speak for he was much too shocked by what had just happened. Slowly he stood up and picked up the axe, studying it carefully. It looked like an ordinary old wood chopping axe and it indeed was. Then how could it have just killed his daughter? It was now stained and dripping with the blood of his beloved daughter. Mark couldn't look at the murder weapon anymore. Beginning to get angry at whatever did this, he threw the axe at the wall across from him. He threw it so hard that it got wedged in the wall. Only a second later, Peter walked into the room rubbing his eyes.
"What's going on?" He asked. Mark jumped up and ran to his son and held him in his arms tightly so as to keep him from seeing his best friend and sister. He lifted Peter up and took him back to his room.
As Mark put Peter back in bed he attempted to think of what to tell his son.
" Mark stumbled for words but decided to tell Peter the truth that he could not keep.
"Son, I am afraid your sister was just killed. Don't ask any questions. Your mother and I do not know what happened, it just did. Do you understand me? Absolutely no questions." Peter slowly nodded. Tears quietly started falling from his golden eyes. He lied down and slowly began to sleep once again. Mark looked at his son and tears starting pouring down his face. His son was also very young, only three years older than Belle.
Mark walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and went back into Belles room. Aurora was no longer crying. She was knelt by Belle's bed, eyes staring at nothing, cheeks streaking with tears. When she heard Mark enter the room, she turned towards him.
"What did this Mark? Why our little darling girl? She is but seven years old. She didn't deserve this pain; for her life to be ended so soon." She struggled to speak.
"I do not know. Perhaps it was death that
" Mark could not finish. He couldn't think that it may have been Belle's time to die. That death had come to take his little girl away forever.
"We shall bury her tomorrow. Now my dear, please, let us go try to sleep. We must try to get our minds off of this horrible event. We could not stop it and there is nothing we can do to change it. We need to at least try to sleep." He pulled his wife towards him and stroked her golden hair. Though it had all just happened, he knew they needed to sleep. They were both exhausted, especially so now. Looking down at her, he could see her golden-brown eyes shinning with the tears that were streaming down from them. He slowly persuaded his wife to their room.
A while later they were changed out of their blood-soaked clothing and in bed. Neither of them could sleep. They could not stop thinking about their poor, sweet little Belle. Their minds kept running over the event that had just taken place and all the times in the past they had had with their beloved daughter. The times when she ran around on the shore, yelling with joy, embracing the cool sea winds blowing upon her face, swimming in the cooling waters of the sea after a long day of body-warming work. They could not get the sounds of her screams and laughs from the past out of the room. It seemed as if the sounds of Belle were twirling in the wind, running in and out of the shack.
Even though the tears had finally ceased, the pain would forever be caught in their hearts. Aurora had finally been able to fall asleep after a few hours but Mark was still lying awake. Finally, he decided to make a hot cup of tea. He grabbed the book he had on his nightstand and headed downstairs. When he walked into the living room he heard a voice.
"Is everything alright?" It was Salem. He was lying awake on the sofa bed. Mark finally snapped, his anger coming out all at once.
"No! Everything is not alright! In case you hadn't noticed my daughter was just murdered by some
some creature or something! Can you honestly be that heavy of a sleeper that you did not hear the screams of my wife and daughter!? Could you not hear all the ruckus of my daughter struggling in her bed while she was tortured and killed? You could have helped us! She may still be alive if you had helped. If anyone else had helped, "Mark had been angry enough allowing a complete stranger stay the night and now his daughter was dead. He looked at Salem and only got angrier, for he seemed to have a slight grin on his face, as if he was happy that Belle had been killed. He didn't say even a single word of regret or sorrow to Mark.
Mark shook his head and went in the kitchen. He closed and locked the doors behind him and hung a kettle full of water over the fire to warm. All he was really able to do was sit down at the table and think about why Salem had that little grin on his face. Mark was beginning to become suspicious of Salem. Was he the one who had murdered his daughter? He was the only other person around. But if he was, how could he have killed her? Neither Mark nor Aurora had seen anyone anywhere near Belles' room. It had also seemed as if the air itself had been attacking his dear daughter. Had Salem used magic? Had he summoned some spirit to attack the little girl? Possibly.
Mark sat there thinking about all this. Everything was running through his head like a river. The thoughts kept ravaging through, over and over again, never giving up, splashing through each and every corner of his mind. The kettle had started squealing, so Mark got up and took the kettle off the fire. He added the tea leaves and sugar then went back to the table, pouring the tea into a cup. He decided to try to read, so he picked up the book, "Rollo in London" by Jacob Abbott and opened to where he had last read.
About an hour had passed when Mark began to be too tired to keep reading so he went up to bed again. This time he was able fall asleep. He awoke once more in the night and thought that he had heard something moving around downstairs but fell back to sleep, figuring it was only Salem getting some water.
The next morning the sun shone brightly through the windows in the house. Aurora and Mark slowly awoke. They got dressed and went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Salem was awake when Mark went downstairs a few minutes after his wife. They both walked into the kitchen, no one saying anything. Mark and Aurora were too distraught to talk after what had happened the night before. Aurora quietly fixed breakfast while Mark heated the breakfast tea. Salem sat at the table and stared out the window. Apparently Aurora had told him that he could have breakfast with them the night before. Mark didn't say anything to this, he didn't care that Salem was here anymore. All he cared about was making absolutely sure that his living family would be safe.
Forty-five minutes later everyone was down in the kitchen eating. Still, no one spoke. They all ate and put their dishes on the counter. After breakfast Mark finally suggested that they bury Belle. Salem carefully helped Mark carry her body to the far end of the backyard. Peter and Aurora were already standing there next to the open grave. They quickly buried her, still saying nothing. They just stood next to the grave. Finally Mark, with help from Salem, and a little from Peter and Aurora, covered the body with what dry dirt they could find and everyone departed back to the shack. None of them cared to be near the grave any longer.
Peter started to help his mother with the dishes from breakfast. Salem was reading a novel that he had borrowed. Mark slowly walked upstairs to the small, crowded library filled with books they had collected over the years and passed from past generations. The library contained about three-hundred or so books packed into many bookshelves the Kilkenny family had bought, built and acquired from many different situations and people. He picked up a random book and started to read. He had finished "Rollo in London" the previous night and needed a new book. He became bored quickly and decided to fetch a newspaper from town. When in the kitchen, he took his coat and opened the door.
"Could you pick up a bottle of milk while you are out? What we have left is almost gone." Aurora spoke for the first time since last night. Mark nodded his head and walked out, closing the door behind him. He was accustomed to Aurora knowing when he was going to town, even when it was possible for him to just be ready to walk on the beach.
As Mark proceeded to town, he walked slower than ever. He decided not to say anything to anyone. He would just go into the store, pick up the paper and milk and leave. If someone talked he would not respond. He did not want to think about and especially talk about last night. No one needed to know what happened. Not yet anyways.
It was about a fifteen minute walk to town but Mark didn't care. He just kept walking until he arrived there. When he did, he walked to the centre of town where the grocery shop was. He went in, headed straight to where the papers were and picked one up. Proceeding to the back of the store, he gathered the last milk bottle on the shelf. Mark took the money out of his pocket and paid the grocer. When he stepped out of the shop Matthew Firewalker, the kindly town banker, greeted him but Mark kept walking. Matthew made a strange face then continued into the grocery shop.
When Mark returned to the shack, he handed the milk bottle to his wife then went outside near the beach to read the newspaper. He stayed near the shack so that he could hear if something was wrong inside. He sat on a small boulder that was somewhat comfortable and read. He read the paper front to back.
When he finished, it was just about time for lunch so he sat up, stretched and went back to the shack. Once inside, he washed his hands in the water bucket and sat down at the table. Aurora wasn't in the kitchen so he waited. Looking into the den, Mark saw that Salem was not there, making him wonder where he could have gone. Aurora had told Salem that he could stay as long as long as he needed to that morning. Now, Mark could not help but worry and watch Salem to be sure that he would cause no trouble.
At the moment, Mark was starting to worry about where he currently was. Perhaps he was helping Aurora fetch something. Or he was doing something else. But what else would he be doing? Seconds after these thoughts had passed; he heard a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. Quickly, he jumped up and ran up the stairs so quickly that he almost tripped. The scream had come from his and Auroras' room. His heart rose in his throat, beating wildly. One he opened the door to their bedchamber, the sight before him was a horrible one; Aurora was laying on the bed bleeding. She had the same markings that Belle had when she had been attacked. This time though, there was a knife floating above her.
Mark raced downstairs and grabbed some cool ashes from the fire pit. Running back upstairs, he threw the ashes around where the knife was. An outline of a person appeared.
"You!" Mark exclaimed. The figure slowly gained colour. It was Salem. He was the one who killed Belle? Mark thought. Now he was trying to kill his wife? Not a chance. Mark hurtled back down the stairs as he heard Salem laugh and say,
"You're family has come to its end Mark Kilkenny." Mark snatched up his spare axe and sped back up the stairs. Salem was about to finish Aurora but Mark raised his axe...
Are you enjoying the story reader? I greatly hope so. What do you think will happen next? Will Mark kill Salem? Or will he be stopped by his injured wife or, by Salem himself? If you read on, you will find out the truth of many things. Many interesting things
Mark fiercely swung the axe on Salem's head. He had swung the axe so hard that Salem was dead in one blow, but Mark was developing a permanent fury in his heart. He kept chopping at Salem's cold, lifeless, bloody body. Not stopping. Once, twice, hundreds of times he swung the axe on the body. Some parts were beginning to be dismembered from the body. Aurora stared at her husband, mouth hanging open in amazement. Blood was dripping from the gashes on her now frail body.
Finally after a minute, though it seemed like ages, Mark stopped and dropped the axe. He looked at Aurora and ran to her side. She had a terrified look in her eyes as she turned to look from her husband to Salem.
"What have you done? You murdered him." She looked at Mark one last time then drew her last breath. Mark closed her eyelids, not wanting to look into his wife's cold, dead eyes. He hugged his wife tight and then walked over to Salem and turned over his dead body. Something flashed by his eyes. It was the button Mark had seen Salem wearing earlier. Mark stooped down and tore it off the pocket. After looking at it for a moment, he grabbed it angrily and threw it out of the window. Of course! I should have known. Those damn Potters! Mark then fell to his knees and began to cry hysterically.
The crest that was on the button was that of the Potters. The Potters were the Kilkennys' worst enemies. Salem had been one of them. About two centuries ago, the Potters had attempted to murder the whole of the Kilkenny family in attempts to steal their fortune. The Kilkennys had once been very rich and prosperous until a flood had destroyed most of their castle next to the sea and the family inside it. The waves had swept away the majority of the family fortune. After the news had reached the ears of the Potter family, they pillaged the remains of the castle for the remaining money and precious possessions. They attacked the men who lived and raped the women and girls, killing most. The few who escaped were able to counterattack a few weeks later and set fire to the ruins of their old home while the Potters were asleep and finished everyone caught in the flames. Ever since, the Potters and the Kilkennys have been enemies, fighting each other upon every meeting.
Mark had been standing at the window for a few minutes when Peter walked into the room. Mark stopped crying and slowly turned his head to his son. Peter looked at his mother and screamed, running to her side. Mark grabbed him and threw him back into the wall.
"Stay the hell away from her!" He screamed. His voice sounded unnatural. Peter sobbed and fought to reach his mother. Mark looked at his son in envy, fear and rage. He would not let anyone near his wife. No one would ever hurt her again; no one. Peter watched as his father picked up the axe. Slowly, Mark walked towards him. Peter looked up at the axe as his father raised it over their heads. Fear flooded Peters' eyes. Mark swung the axe into his son's back. Peter screamed once and dropped to the floor, dead. As he swung the axe, he ferociously screamed,
"You killed her you demon boy! Go back to where you came from!" Mark had lost it. He was now beginning to blame his son for the murders. First his daughter was murdered, now his wife. He dropped the axe and grabbed his wife's and son's bodies. He dragged them down the stairs and outside to the backyard. Dropping them near Belle's grave, he dug two holes , side by side, with the shovel that was left there from when they buried Belle. He threw the bodies into the holes and shovelled dirt over them. Finally, he grabs the body parts that had once been Salem dragged them to the graves, and began to dig another. Mark heard footsteps behind him and stopped shoveling. Slowly, he turned around to see Matthew Firewalker standing in front of him. Matthew had come to see Mark about why he was acting so oddly earlier and saw him burying the bodies.
"My god Mark." He exclaimed. "What has happened?" Mark turned towards him, pure hatred and anger glowing in his eyes. Mark grabbed the shovel tight and beat Matthew over the head hard. Roughly, he finished digging another hole, seven feet deeper than the graves of his family. He dumped Matthew and buried him, unconscious, but alive. Right on top of Salem's dismembered body.
Mark was beginning to hate everyone. Though now, the hatred and anger was now becoming madness. Seeing his daughter and wife being murdered by a man who was able to become invisible, had drove Mark to becoming a murderer himself. Sadly, the madness came too early for Peter and he was brought to be seen as evil as the murderer himself in his fathers' eyes.
Mark wanted revenge on everyone for what had happened to his wife and daughter. He went inside and grabbed his nails, hammer, shotgun and matches. Slowly he walked to town with the midnight sky lighting the way to town. Going to each and every house, he nailed each door and window closed. He found enough gasoline from the houses and shops around and poured it over the whole of the town and lit fire to it. About an eighth of a mile outside of town, Mark waited and readied his shotgun for anyone who was able to escape the houses. He heard the screaming of people being scorched alive, realizing their precious town was in flames. He watched as the town was swallowed by the growing fire.
After an hour or so had passed, he rose and slowly walked back to the shack, laughing wildly. As he walked back, he became somewhat more aware of his surroundings and was carefully trying not to fall off of the cliff he had to cross to reach his home. There was now a storm brewing overhead. It had become so strong that the usual path had been worn down to a thin strip. At the bottom of the cliff, there was a terrible mess of sharp rocks that would become daggers through one's heart if they were to fall.
Suddenly, Mark realized how dark it had become from the storm. He also had only just realized that it had begun to rain and the ground he tread on was soaked. Carefully he tried to walk over the cliff without falling. Lighting flashed in the blackened sky and startled Mark. It startled him so much that he jumped, causing him to slip and fall over the edge of the cliff into the freezing dark, angry waters below. Unfortunately for Mark, he did not miss the rocks.
Death must have called for him to be punished even after death, for there was an otherworldly scream that arose from the water where Mark had fallen. A spirit rose up from that very spot and flew to the shack screaming. Now, Mark is cursed to walk the beach shore for all eternity. Still looking for revenge for his wife and daughter, he tricks any poor soul that happens into the shack to become his next victim...
Solemnly, you stare at the haunt shack and after a few moments, stand and walk towards it. You stop about thirty yards from it, not daring to approach too closely. You keep recalling the story and become more and more nervous with each little thought. About one hundred years have passed since the time when all of those events had supposedly happened. The story had likely changed many times but, to you, the story was true. No matter how different it was each time you heard it.
A part of the story that everyone knew was absolutely true, was the fire. One hundred years ago there was indeed a great fire that was set to the town. Though, many believed that it had only been an accident. Either that, or it really was Mark and he had gone crazy because his wife and children had seemed to have disappeared. The townsfolk searched everywhere for them that night to make sure they were fine as well but could not find even the slightest clue as to where they were. The shack being on the beach (though far enough back from the shore that the waves would not disturb the graves), they were unable to tell that any had been dug near it. The non-believers would also say that the wind and the crashing of the waves from the sea were the only sounds people heard. Not the screaming of some deranged ghost. That they were only stories made to scare little children. But they weren't to you; you believed it was all true.
The town had been rebuilt a few years after by the survivors of the fire; By the one's who had not been in town and whose doors and windows were not nailed tight enough shut. A few doors and windows had even been missed by Mark, giving a few more lucky souls the chance to escape. The town was now around three times larger than it had been in that time. And, though the times had changed, no one dared to disturb the Haunt Shack. It still stood on that very beach, untouched by time. The town had kept the shack intact and refused to sell the property or to tear it down. They believed any building that was built on that land would only anger the ghost even more and would only cause more deaths for people of all ages. Instead of only young boys. The brutality and shock of the murder of his wife and daughter had caused Mark to blame the next living being he saw as their murderer. Unfortunately for Peter, he happened to be that very soul. Mark, losing all sense of fact, forgot about Salem completely. Now, every boy that dared to venture too near the shack appeared to be Mark Kilkenny's son, Peter.
You sit down again and study the shack and, finally deciding to proceed closer, start forward. After walking about two yards you hear a scream. The scream was a mixture of fear and rage. It was a man who was of deep Irish decent as far as you could tell, for the voice sounded similar of that to your father and uncles' voices who were around that age. Instantly you knew that this man was Mark Kilkenny by the eerie sound in the scream. It was an eerie, unnatural scream that seemed to course through your very veins. Terrified, you spin on your heels and dash to the safety of your home in the nearby town. When you reach the end of the beach you dare to look back. What you see horrifies you; There, standing just outside of the shack, was Mark Kilkenny himself. You knew his face from the pictures in the books and old newspapers that were printed after, and a few before, the fire. You turn once again and run, your heart beating madly, feeling like it would burst out of your chest at any moment. So shaken by the sight of the devious ghost, you don't dare to look back again, so you kept running until you reach your warm, cozy home with your mother, older brother and younger twin sisters. As you run, you hear that blood-curdling scream once again.
There you are reader, the story of Mark Kilkenny and his perfect life that became a nightmare because of just one single stranger. Did this story frighten you? Or was it a bore? If it wasn't frightening to you then you must be very strong. Or else, are you a non-believer of the ghost of Mark Kilkenny? Perhaps you should read it again then. I hope you are smart enough to begin believing this story because it is very, very true. If you were indeed frightened, then remember, if you ever visit the Haunt Shack, BEWARE!, for you may be the ghost's next victim. Most especially if you are a ten-year old little boy