Ahead of me, I hear a scream from the haunted house.
I’m next in line. No sweat. I’ll be okay, I assure myself.
A ghost — no, she’s my friend — comes up to me. She leads me into a doorway. As I walk into the haunted house I’m scared silly, just from what I hear inside. Another scream rips through my thoughts. Argh, there’s too much screaming in here.
“Ooooliiiiviia. . . . ” What? I whip my head around.
“Urrrrg! I will kill you someday, Emma!” I screech.
“I’m already dead,” she whispers, trying not to break her role.
***
My parents and I walk home silently. My mom and dad seem perfectly fine. Well, they haven’t gone through the haunted house. I, on the other hand, have.
“Are you okay?” my mother asks for the millionth time.
“Yes,” I quiver. We walk into the house.
I brush my teeth, obviously trying to get ready for bed, when my dad butts into the small bathroom. “Hey, Olivia? Can you do something for me?”
“I mean — ” I start.
He ignores my protest. “Could you get the Halloween box from the basement?”
“We have a basement?” I ask, surprised.
I see him nod. “Here,” he says, handing me a small rusty key. Must’ve been in the rain, I think. I walk where my dad tells me to go, and I have to crouch down to unlock the door, which is small and square, and blends in with the wall. My mom’s prized fern is blocking it (I have to move the fern out of the way), so it makes sense that I wouldn’t have seen the door before.
I open the small door, and I can’t see anything, so I have to feel my way down a set of stairs and into the actual basement. I should’ve brought a flashlight and some extra layers. I shiver in my pajamas. Well, Dad didn’t know about the cold.
While searching for a light, my arms groping the walls, I feel something clammy touch my hand. I scream. So does the thing next to me.
“Who — ?” The voice suddenly gets cut off. Could it be Emma again? But why would she be in my basement?
Panic sets in, and then I hear a thump. A smoky smell fills the air.
“Fire?” I wonder aloud. I start running towards where I think the door was.
Then, nothing.
***
I open my eyes, and I’m in bed. My room is dark. I must’ve passed out. How’d I get here? Something icy touches me. It feels like the hand that I touched in the basement. I sit bolt upright, yelling for help.
“It’s just me, honey.” The voice of my mom comes to me from the right.
“Oh,” I whisper hoarsely. I look at the hand that came in contact with the thing in the basement. It’s gnarly, burnt looking, and all wrong — like it’s not part of me anymore.
I open my eyes. The electric clock next to my bed reads 3:12am. I guess I fell asleep again. My nose scrunches as the same burning smell from the basement fills my nostrils. My left hand, the burned one, feels numb.
I hear a voice. “Ooooolllliiiiiviiia, you have to help me. If you do, I’ll give you your hand back.”
“W-wh-what do y-you need h-help w-with?” I stutter.
No answer.
I smother my face in my pillow, hoping this is all a dream and that I’ll wake up soon. But nothing changes, and then the whispers start. They’re just vague sounds, but I follow them out of my room and to the basement door. I shiver, and I’m reminded of the book Coraline . I shiver at the thought, hoping not to be stolen away by any button-eyed people.
“Perfect timing, Olivia. Just great,” I whisper to myself, kneeling down to open the basement door. It’s still unlocked.
I go down the stairs again, legs and hands shaking. When I get into the actual basement, my flashlight dies suddenly. No flickering death — just off. Luckily, there’s a small purple fire in the center of the room. I can see the faint outlines of boxes, and I spot the box labeled “Halloween” that I was supposed to get. But it’s tipped over, open.
I focus back on the fire. A hunched figure sits by it. And then the figure turns around. It has my face, but it’s all burned. Like my hand, which is numb now.
Its voice is distorted and has the quality of a group all talking at once, in unison. “Please help me.”
“How?”
“Your voice. I need it. For the price of a normal hand.” It points to my hand.
“I, I,” I stutter. “No.”
The creepy me-thing stands up and glares.
“It’s a little late for that.” And then it screams, with all the voices tied to it. The scream makes my head spin and my ears ring and hurt at the same time.
The world goes black.
***
I wake up in my bed again, my mom hovering over me, worry plastered on her face. I squint at the brightness of the lights, and sit up. My hands are both normal.
“Are you okay, honey?” my mom asks.
I try to speak, but I can’t.
My voice doesn’t work.
I’m next in line. No sweat. I’ll be okay, I assure myself.
A ghost — no, she’s my friend — comes up to me. She leads me into a doorway. As I walk into the haunted house I’m scared silly, just from what I hear inside. Another scream rips through my thoughts. Argh, there’s too much screaming in here.
“Ooooliiiiviia. . . . ” What? I whip my head around.
“Urrrrg! I will kill you someday, Emma!” I screech.
“I’m already dead,” she whispers, trying not to break her role.
***
My parents and I walk home silently. My mom and dad seem perfectly fine. Well, they haven’t gone through the haunted house. I, on the other hand, have.
“Are you okay?” my mother asks for the millionth time.
“Yes,” I quiver. We walk into the house.
I brush my teeth, obviously trying to get ready for bed, when my dad butts into the small bathroom. “Hey, Olivia? Can you do something for me?”
“I mean — ” I start.
He ignores my protest. “Could you get the Halloween box from the basement?”
“We have a basement?” I ask, surprised.
I see him nod. “Here,” he says, handing me a small rusty key. Must’ve been in the rain, I think. I walk where my dad tells me to go, and I have to crouch down to unlock the door, which is small and square, and blends in with the wall. My mom’s prized fern is blocking it (I have to move the fern out of the way), so it makes sense that I wouldn’t have seen the door before.
I open the small door, and I can’t see anything, so I have to feel my way down a set of stairs and into the actual basement. I should’ve brought a flashlight and some extra layers. I shiver in my pajamas. Well, Dad didn’t know about the cold.
While searching for a light, my arms groping the walls, I feel something clammy touch my hand. I scream. So does the thing next to me.
“Who — ?” The voice suddenly gets cut off. Could it be Emma again? But why would she be in my basement?
Panic sets in, and then I hear a thump. A smoky smell fills the air.
“Fire?” I wonder aloud. I start running towards where I think the door was.
Then, nothing.
***
I open my eyes, and I’m in bed. My room is dark. I must’ve passed out. How’d I get here? Something icy touches me. It feels like the hand that I touched in the basement. I sit bolt upright, yelling for help.
“It’s just me, honey.” The voice of my mom comes to me from the right.
“Oh,” I whisper hoarsely. I look at the hand that came in contact with the thing in the basement. It’s gnarly, burnt looking, and all wrong — like it’s not part of me anymore.
I open my eyes. The electric clock next to my bed reads 3:12am. I guess I fell asleep again. My nose scrunches as the same burning smell from the basement fills my nostrils. My left hand, the burned one, feels numb.
I hear a voice. “Ooooolllliiiiiviiia, you have to help me. If you do, I’ll give you your hand back.”
“W-wh-what do y-you need h-help w-with?” I stutter.
No answer.
I smother my face in my pillow, hoping this is all a dream and that I’ll wake up soon. But nothing changes, and then the whispers start. They’re just vague sounds, but I follow them out of my room and to the basement door. I shiver, and I’m reminded of the book Coraline . I shiver at the thought, hoping not to be stolen away by any button-eyed people.
“Perfect timing, Olivia. Just great,” I whisper to myself, kneeling down to open the basement door. It’s still unlocked.
I go down the stairs again, legs and hands shaking. When I get into the actual basement, my flashlight dies suddenly. No flickering death — just off. Luckily, there’s a small purple fire in the center of the room. I can see the faint outlines of boxes, and I spot the box labeled “Halloween” that I was supposed to get. But it’s tipped over, open.
I focus back on the fire. A hunched figure sits by it. And then the figure turns around. It has my face, but it’s all burned. Like my hand, which is numb now.
Its voice is distorted and has the quality of a group all talking at once, in unison. “Please help me.”
“How?”
“Your voice. I need it. For the price of a normal hand.” It points to my hand.
“I, I,” I stutter. “No.”
The creepy me-thing stands up and glares.
“It’s a little late for that.” And then it screams, with all the voices tied to it. The scream makes my head spin and my ears ring and hurt at the same time.
The world goes black.
***
I wake up in my bed again, my mom hovering over me, worry plastered on her face. I squint at the brightness of the lights, and sit up. My hands are both normal.
“Are you okay, honey?” my mom asks.
I try to speak, but I can’t.
My voice doesn’t work.