A scary story and it’s effect on several kids.
It was a cold day. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. So did Little Bob. Henry just stood there, too proud to admit he was cold. The three of us were standing outside of the old Creedwell mansion, which had been empty since before any of us were born. It had a reputation for being haunted, but I think that most small towns have a haunted house just to give the people something to talk about. Even still, the place gave me the chills. Or was that the cold air? Either way, I could not believe that I was about to spend the night in a haunted house so I could listen to the scariest story ever told.
The Scariest Story Ever Told was the greatest legend our town had. The story goes that back before any of us could remember, Old Man Creedwell wrote a story that was supposed to be the scariest story ever. He told it in front of nearly half the town sixty years ago in the theater. No one knows how the story goes, because that night, the theater burned to the ground along with everyone in it. Old Man Creedwell was the only survivor. He claimed that after listening to his story, everyone in the theater was driven insane. They set fire to the place then sat down in their seats, refusing to save themselves. Old Man Creedwell supposedly hid his story and himself in the Creedwell family mansion. No one ever saw him again. He remained in the house with his story, hidden away from the world. Until now. Henry claimed that his family knew what Old Man Creedwell had done with the story inside of his mansion, because his grandfather had snuck inside the Creedwell mansion and saw Old Man Creedwell wall himself up with his story. This had been kept in Henry’s family until now. We were going to stay in the Creedwell mansion for one night and listen as Henry read to us The Scariest Story Ever Told. I didn’t think he would. He’d probably just read us something he made up and we’d laugh and have a good time.
It was starting to get dark. We made our way to the mansion. The door was locked but six decades of wood rot allowed us to go in. There were no lights. Henry led the way with a lantern. We went up the huge, spiraling staircase. Little Bob giggled nervously as the ancient wood creaked beneath our feet. We reached the top of the staircase and continued down a hallway. At the end of the hallway there was a brick wall. There was no apparent reason for it to be there. My hands started to sweat. A sledgehammer was propped against the wall. Henry must have put it there earlier. He picked it up and started to swing it at the wall. The bricks came crumbling down altogether, as if they were set there poorly. My eyes were stinging from the powder and dirt that had gotten into them when the bricks fell but the dust must have cleared because I heard Little Bob whimper in fear. I blinked my eyes and looked at the remains of the wall. I barely managed to keep from crying out in fear. A skeleton was inside the wall. Dirty clothes still clung to the gray bones. The skeleton clutched several sheets of paper in it’s hands. Henry confidently reached over and took the papers. It was the greatest legend in this part of Alabama. It was The Scariest Story Ever Told and now it was ours.
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