Terror House

It had been there for ages, that house. I still remember the chill that ran down my spine as we stood before the towering silhouette of the Olden House. How it loomed over us, a relic of a forgotten time, its darkened windows staring back with an eerie emptiness. The stories surrounding the place were whispered among the locals, tales of apparitions and unexplained phenomena that had plagued the house for decades. It was daunting and daring at the same time. Despite the warnings and the legends, my friends and I had made a pact to spend the night inside, to challenge our fears head-on. We jostled shoulders and I ignored the growing pit in my stomach as we walked into the belly of the beast. We didn’t realize how real those fears would become.

As we stepped through the creaking front door, our footsteps echoed through the hallway. The air was heavy, thick with anticipation and the scent of decay. It smelled as though something rotting had been long forgotten within the walls of this place. It was a refuge to disgust. The stench was foul enough that we joked that would be the reason we ended up not being able to see through our own challenge. We had brought sleeping bags and flashlights, knowing that we might need them to navigate. It was a labyrinth of hallways and empty rooms, some of which the floors had completely rotted out from under. The floors creaked with every step we took, a reminder of how old this place really was.

Our first challenge came as we entered the grand living room. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the cracked walls, and a sense of unease settled upon us. It happened so quickly that it was like abruptly changing gears. The feeling overcame us each individually, though we still saw it as one. It was in that moment that the room seemed to come alive, each wall morphing and shifting, revealing our deepest fears. We watched in horror as the walls transformed into a twisted maze, filled with endless dead ends and an unrelenting darkness. Each of us exchanged glances in the silence, with only the unrelenting feeling of something otherworldly taking over the space we once joked about. Our mind unfolded in front of us, each of us able to see the other.

Fear clenched my heart, threatening to suffocate me. The walls whispered with taunting voices, urging us to give in to our fears. We turned back, of course we turned back, but no matter what turn we took the hallway would lead us back to where we came. It became evident soon enough that this wouldn’t be something we could just escape on a whim. As soon as we had stepped through that door, we had unknowingly committed to this night of horrors. With trembling steps, we faced the maze, trusting our instincts to lead us through. Panic clawed at our minds, but we pushed forward, determined to conquer our terror.

One by one, we emerged from the maze, our faces pale but still hopeful that there was an end to the madness. Our hands were sweaty and interlocked as we stood there…waiting. The room returned to its original state, as if it had never changed at all. We shared a fleeting glance of relief, silently encouraging each other to press on. If we just kept moving, we had hoped to find the end, if there was an end to find.

The second room held a different challenge, one that struck at the core of our individual weaknesses. As the door opened, it became clear this room would go beyond our external fears. There would be nothing for us to hide from, no way to tuck ourselves away from what lie ahead. The room contorted to each of our biggest fears. For me, it was a room filled with mirrors. In each reflection, I saw myself failing, falling short of my goals and dreams. The mirrors taunted me, exposing my deepest insecurities and self-doubt. It was a painful confrontation with my own fears of inadequacy and the fear of never being good enough. I saw my father staring back at me in one, and my mother looking away in another. One always looking down and one always looking away. 

I forced myself to look deeper, to see beyond the distorted reflections. I was angry. I was angry about every time my father looked at me like I wasn’t enough, and my mother looked away instead of comforting me. I smashed the mirrors one by one, shattering the illusions that had held me captive. The room echoed with the sound of breaking glass, and my body was heaving with every ragged breath I took as I stepped forward. The glass disappeared into the floorboards as if they’d never existed. The disorientation was in full swing as a rushing sound flooding our ears. It was the sound of rushing water.

I looked to Michael to see his eyes full of terror. We all knew about his fear of water, and while we wanted to hold his hand it was then that we realized we were bound to our spots. The water rushed around us, but it only flooded him our spots remained dry, and we were forced to watch as he was trapped in a room that slowly filled with water, the level rising steadily as he struggled to stay afloat. The water was dark and murky, as if it wasn’t meant to be escaped. We could only occasionally see his hand or foot as he kicked and clawed at the water that surrounded him. Then, we heard his scream. It was muffled by the water, but it sounded like it came not only from fear, but as a battle cry. Only a moment later the water completely drained away, and we rushed to Michael as he fell to the ground on all fours. Bone dry.  

With each challenge conquered, we grew closer, bound by our shared determination. The final room awaited us, and we entered with shaky hands whilst we clung to another, unsure of what awaited us within its confines. The air crackled with an otherworldly energy, and the room seemed to pulsate with a haunting presence. As the door closed behind us, the room plunged into darkness. It was a darkness that went beyond the absence of light; it was a darkness that whispered of the unknown, of the depths of our souls. In that darkness, we confronted our deepest fears, the ones we had buried deep within ourselves.

For Olive, it was a room filled with spiders, crawling over her body, weaving a web of paralyzing terror. She fought against her instinct to scream, to run, and forced herself to stand firm as they covered every inch of her trembling body. We could say it was courage, and maybe some of it was as we pushed onward, but in reality all we wanted was to escape this hell. It was the thought that there would be light at the end of the tunnel, and that there was a purpose to this madness. Olive held perfectly still even as they invaded her mouth, her eyes, even her ears. It looked as though she was pulsing as they moved. It wasn’t until she began to choke, and dropped to her knees, that they dissipated. They crawled beneath the floorboard, back to whatever nightmare hellscape they’d come from to begin with.

Finally, the room turned back once more. The walls settled into the shape of something normal, as if none of it had really happened. We stood there, in shock, wondering if it was over. Light started to filter in through the windows, moving across the floor as the sun rose over the horizon outside. We practically clamored over each other to get to the door, and each of us breathed an audible sound of relief when we opened it to see the stairs down to the door we had entered through. We thought we’d done it. We’d conquered the infamous Olden house and all its terrors. Nobody would believe what we had gone through, but we would know. We smiled, and laughed and hugged as we reached to pull open the door.

Instead, the floor fell out from under us.