A Sound in the Night

Matteo Brebbia Grade 7

I jump up from my bed when I hear a loud crash. Then a creeeeek. My heart begins to thump in my chest, because I know my parents are never up at this hour. I slowly slip out of bed and put on some clothes. The noisy foorboards of my creaky, rustic Salem house are as old as time itself, and unless you constantly wipe down every surface, there is always a thick layer of dust wherever you put your hand. As I tiptoe out of the door, I hear a small, soft cackle, coming from below me on the frst foor. The laugh of a cold hoarse voice. Whispery. Quiet. Bone-chillingly cold. It sends a shiver down my spine and my breathing becomes shallow and quick. My clammy hands are white with efort as I grip the railing for the stairs. I walk down slowly. Step. By step. By step.

At the bottom, I quickly fnd something to hide behind. Afraid someone, or something will jump out at me any second. Beads of cold sweat drip down my back. They feel like getting pricked by an icicle. Something is defnitely wrong. I don’t know what. I’ve heard all the stories from the past. Telling the history of our town. The Salem witch trials. Witches being burned at the stake. But those witches weren’t real, were they? They couldn’t be, but I’m not so sure. My brain feels like it has been enveloped in a fog. Just like the fog that blurs the full moon outside my window. A wolf howls at the moon. I jump with fear, accidentally knocking the closet full of china plates that I am hiding behind. They clatter, making a noise that, in the silence of my sleeping house, sounds like a building falling down. It’s glass windows shattering into a million pieces. I pray that whatever is lurking in the shadows can’t hear the plates. Walking carefully, I leave my hiding place and venture further into the thick darkness, hoping with all my might that this is just a nightmare that I will wake from in the morning. More noises seem to be coming from behind the door to the basement. The hairs on my neck stand up, and ever so slowly I creep towards the door. One fnal step and I am at the threshold, my hand poised to turn the handle. Before I can however, the door opens on its own, creaking as it does so. I look down the stairway. Suddenly, a hand appears from the shadows. The skin on it tight. Its nails long, black, and curved. I know it is human, but it looks more like a claw. Its fngers crooked and gnarled. I try to scream, loud enough to pierce the veil of silence, but the hand covers my mouth, stifing my desperate call for help. It couldn’t possibly be alive, it is so frigid on my skin. I try to run, but it is too late. My last thoughts are of my happy family that will be broken up by my death, before I am pulled down, deep into the darkness.

Never to be seen again.