October 20, 2009
The house upon the hill top looked to be about a thousand years old. It was just lying there, perched on the hill top like a bird on a branch. The color was a dark shade of puke green— the chimney crumbling apart bit— by bit. Leafy green vines were wrapped around the house like a new born puppy in a towel.

The door swung open when I stepped on the front porch. As I slowly crept inside a musty smell surrounded me. It smelt like an old sock, never been washed for about five years. It felt like someone was spying on me, watching my every move. It sent chills racing down my back, and underneath my skin.

There was a bowl of fruit sitting on the table. It didn’t look too rotted. I mean sure a little discolored and as wrinkly as a prune, but I hadn’t eaten in over five hours. I was desperate for any kind of food at that point. I grabbed a plum and popped it into my mouth. I thought I was going to puke: it wasn’t a plum.

A big loud siren rang in my ears, a police car whizzed by. I thought to myself, what is a police car doing out here? I couldn’t concentrate as the loud siren rang in my head.

The darkness was unbearable; I had not the slightest clue on where I was going as I moved out of the kitchen into the dining room— or so I thought. I skimmed my hand along the wall to get a picture in my head. Just at the slightest touch, the wall crumbled beneath my finger tips.

I wanted to get out of that creepy old house. When my foot hit the freshly cut grass I was overwhelmed with joy—I was finally out. Suddenly, there in front of me—so close I could feel his warm breath on my face— was a police officer. Along with his trusty noble stead beside him: his car. That was the siren that I must of herd earlier. He advised me that they were searching for a prisoner that had escaped earlier from the prison—a close 5 miles down the road. That sent me into a bit of shock. They were thinking that my grandmother’s old house was a perfect hide out for him. I knew immediately; they were right.

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