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The weekends throughout NaBloPoMo are dedicated to free writing, so I decided to use a writing prompt for today’s post.

I swear there are cameras in this place. Ghosts? Gimme a break. Sure, the lights keep switching themselves off and on and that door downstairs did shut behind me. But ghosts? No. More like remote controlled light switches and weighted doors. This place is obviously rigged to the rafters with cameras and mics. Someone is trying to mess with my head. A voyeuristic fantasy for some sick, twisted individual. Man, I hope they’re not jacking off as they watch me stumble through this place. Can’t believe I actually paid for this ‘authentic’ haunted house experience. Eugh. The flickering candles in the wall brackets are so cliche and cheesy. 

What’s that ahead of me? Is that a door? Oh thank God. I’m sick of these winding corridors. I feel like I’m in a labyrinth. Just dead ends and more dead ends whenever I try to go back the way I came. It’s almost like…no, that’s crazy. Of course the walls aren’t moving. Let’s see…yep, definitely a door. Oh? It opened. I was expecting it be locked like they always are in the movies, leaving me cornered while the monster barrels its way towards me. Maybe there’ll be a window in here. That might help me get my bearings. 

Jeez, this room is gloomy but yep. There’s a window. I can’t see anything, though. It’s dark outside. Just how long have I been roaming around this godforsaken place? Okay, beginning to seriously freak out now. Alright, calm down. Look. Think. Is there a light switch? It’s too dark to see anything except the silhouette of what’s maybe an armchair. 

Fuck. No light switch. Maybe I can climb out the – WHOAH! What the fuck!? Did the candles actually just do that? I thought they only whooshed to life like that in old Hammer House movies. Oh god, my heart. Okay, breathe. Remote controlled candles, right? Haha. Definitely remote controlled candles. Where have they hidden the camera in here? I can’t see any tell tale red dots of light. 

“Hello?” I call, hoping a mic will carry my voice to my captor.

Captor? Of all the words I could have thought of. I’m not a captive, I paid to be here. Or am I? It’s night time now and I haven’t seen any signs for the exit. I’m trapped. My heart is pounding against my ribs, like a frightened bird wanting to escape its cage.

Something’s scraping against the floor. The…the armchair’s moving. Wheels! A remote controlled armchair on wheels! Yes! That’s definitely it.

Only it isn’t. Oh God, it really isn’t. That scraping sound is definitely plain old chair legs scraping against the bare wooden flooring. I’m looking at it right now. It’s pivoting towards me. It’s facing me.

It’s looking at me.

The curtains rustle in a whispering breeze and a candle extinguishes with a hiss.

Sit, the whisper implores.

And so I sit. 

I’m kind of picturing this person as a sacrifice to the local haunted house. Hope you enjoyed it!

 

 

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