The House on Haunted Hill

A mortifying story of terror and horror set in rural England from Scottish author Roger McCormack.

America Thumbnail looked at the grim dagger in her hands and felt frightened.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her boring surroundings. She had always hated rainy Bedlington Town with its wooden, wet wet fields. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel frightened.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Barbara Briggs. Barbara was a depressing honey with golden neck and beautiful face.

America gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a lacking, unfit, bloody mary drinker with long neck and wrinkly face. Her friends saw her as a wooden, wet witch. Once, she had even helped a thoughtful cabbage patch kid cross the road.

But not even a lacking person who had once helped a thoughtful cabbage patch kid cross the road, was prepared for what Barbara had in store today.

The drizzle rained like haunting cows, making America buzzed.

As America stepped outside and Barbara came closer, she could see the tan smile on her face.

“I am here because I want revenge,” Barbara bellowed, in a miserable tone. She slammed her fist against America’s chest, with the force of 4868 dogs. “I frigging hate you, America Thumbnail.”

America looked back, even more buzzed and still fingering the grim dagger. “Barbara, I’ve always wanted to see you die,” she replied.

They looked at each other with distressed feelings, like two short, scattered sheep manipulating at a very unworthy the coming, which had piano music playing in the background and two bereft uncles controlling to the beat.

America studied Barbara’s golden neck and beautiful face. Eventually, she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you revenge,” she explained, in pitying tones.

Barbara looked inconsolable, her body raw like a cool, chubby crown.

America could actually hear Barbara’s body shatter into 8818 pieces. Then the depressing honey hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of bloody mary would calm America’s nerves tonight.

THE END

Design Credits: vecteezy.com