I didn't want to go in there.
Everyone knows the terrifying stories
Mister Nesterton, the crazed killer
Loved drinking tea for some reason
They say he would drink it before he killed his victims
but he went missing years ago
I had to go in, a dare's a dare
My friends said I needed to take a selfie in the basement

I slowly inched my way towards the bone chilling property,
the dead overgrown lawn
leafless trees, with pointy finger ranches, ready to gram
the house looked like and evil beast
Cloudy, cracked windows for eyes,
the front porch, it's gapping mouth,
full of splintery teeth.
the walls, covered in rotting grey siding,
like the pelt of a mangy animal.

I stepped onto the first stair,
unused for many years.
up to the splintered, nearly unhinged door.
THe painful sound of it screeching as i pushed it aside for the first time in forever

I beamed around the front room with my flashlight
the flakey wallpaper, like the cracked soil of a dryed up lake bed.
loose floorboards disaranged like an unfinshed puzzle.
dirt and dust in the air and on the floor.

As i made my way to the basement door, I passed throught the kitchen,
or what was left of it.
A flipped table and broken chairs,
a stained stove and shattered dishes,
it seemed as if a tornado and thrown a fit.
On the dirty, disgusting counter lay a newspaper,
dated 2009, the year Mr. Nesterton disappered.
That's when things got really wierd.
There were bags of tea, resently used...

I found the basement door and opened it slowly,
the creek echoing throughout the house.
I shined the light down the stairs, they were all still intact.
I began slowly desending into the depths of evil.
My flashlight began to die.
IT was pitch black and I tryed to laugh it off.
But then I stopped instantly, my face turned white, my palms sweaty, I was frozen in place.
I heard a laugh from behind me,
followed by the sound of something being poured into a glass.