Imagination to Reality
I lean down and blow dust off an old covered table. The dust floats into my face, causing me to sneeze and cough. I yank off the tablecloth and find an old typewriter. The old creaky house groans and crackles as the wind outside blows. I spot a stack of paper and stick it into the typewriter. “Let’s see if this works.” I smirk.
I prepared the typewriter and set my fingers on the keys, slowly I push down. Clacking sounds as letters print onto the paper. I glance over my shoulder, checking to see no one crept behind me in this old, abandoned house. After turning back to the typewriter, I start typing.
“I, Sierra, am sitting at an old desk, in the abandoned Rickter house. Stories have this house is haunted, but I never believe any of those gossipers. I’m writing this from inside a spooky house on an ancient typewriter,” I pause, a whistling sound draws me out of my words.
It swirls around the room and I gulp. “Just the wind.” I whisper to myself, just the wind.
My fingers resume typing,
“This house is starting to give me the creeps, maybe I don’t believe the stories, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get scared.” Another sound makes me stop. The keys on the typewriter sit still, silence ensues me and the room.
The floorboards creak outside the attic, as though someone is walking out there. I ignore it, hoping it is my imagination, I continue writing.
“Everyone hates this home, I don’t know why. It’s only an old abandoned mansion. Some people say the ghost of Mr. Rickter resides here. It’s so ridiculous, but the whole town believes it. One person said he saw Mr. Rickter’s shadowy outline beside a window. I don’t believe it for a second. Rumors say he was buried somewhere near his house, and his spirit lives on. Everyone is insane if they believe such things; when someone dies, they die - they’re gone.” I swallow back a lump growing in my throat. My fingers fly across the typewriter, as everything around me seems to disappear.
“It’s also been said that he hid his journal somewhere in this home, I, being the only brave and sane person in my town, have decided to find it. My family even thinks this place is haunted. I came here tonight to prove it’s not. I am going to end this writing, shortly. I will search for his journal. It seems as though other have tried to find it. I’ve heard there’s a ghost protecting the journal and home. That’s why no one ever comes here. Of course, I think this is all ridiculousness, people believing such nonesense.”
A creak sounds behind my chair, I ignore it, continuing on. “His journal is said to hold precious information, about some treasure.” I feel warm air on the back of my neck, yet I continue on. “I don’t believe that part; the only reason I want to find it, is because I’ve always been intrigued by such things. The past holds history, it holds secrets, it holds things to help us in the future.” I take a moment to stretch my fingers, then I crank in a new paper, sit back down, and begin writing something else.
A slight shadow moves over the paper and I feel someone or something standing behind me. My fingers pause, I slowly turn in my chair. A person, dressed totally in black, stood behind my chair. I leap out of my chiar, toppling it into the person’s leg. A shrill scream escapes my throat as I scurry away into a corner, away from the person.
The person huffs and pushes the wooden chair away. It skids across the floor and lands inches away from where I am sitting. The floorboards creak as the person walks over to me, I shiver and bite my lip to keep from screaming again.
A hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me up, I yelp and struggle against the grip. Two hands now grip me tightly. I shiver, despite the dank, warm air trapped in the attic. “Hush!” A male voice hisses I am pulled up.
“Wh-who are you?” I try to contain my shaking voice.
No reply comes as I get pulled away from my spot. The man leads me to the attic’s exit and grips me tightly. I glance around, terrified.
“I can be either a friend or an enemy; it depends on you.” The gruff voice replies.
His words echo in my mind. I panic, my self defense instincts kick in, and I kick my captor in the shin. He releases me and howls in pain as I kick him once more in the knee. I turn and rush down the stairs. Heavy footsteps tumble after me. I slide to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, my heart pounds in my chest, it’s beat echoing in my mind.
The footsteps come faster, this man is determined to catch me. I move, suddenly twisting my ankle. “Aghh!” I screech as pain soars through my left ankle and leg. Limping, I grasp the wall and move away from the stairs.
“Where did she go?” I hear heavy panting near me.
I jump away from my spot and start half running, half limping. The man tackles me to the ground, I struggle as he knocks me down to the wooden floor. “I warned, you.” His hands press me down.
I pant, still struggling against his grip. “What do you want?” I try to free my arms from his iron like grip.
“You know where the treasure is; I want the treasure.” His hands move to my forearms and he pins them against the floor. Preparing to kick him off me, I pull my leg up close, bringing my knee to my chest.
The man notices and rolls his body off of mine, then suddenly locks my legs under his, holding my down. “Think you’re smart, do you?” He scoffs as he pins me down again.
I wiggle under his heavy weight and give up. There’s no way I can beat him in the postion I am in.
“Why do you think I know where the treasure is?” I grunt as he shifts his weight on my legs.
“I watched you writing on that old typewriter.” His voice becomes sly, dripping with suspicion and craftiness.
“I don’t believe in any such things!” I reply through gritted teeth.
He releases my legs and arms and yanks me up. I hobble for a moment, making sure I don’t apply pressure to my injured foot. “Liar!” His voice hisses into my ear.
“It’s the truth!” I shove him away, hard. He stumbles, falls backwards, and releases me.
I turn and run, ignoring the pain that pulses in my ankle with every move.
“She’s getting away!” His voice calls through the house.
I stop, that means he’s not alone. Panic surges through my body as I turn into a hallway of the old mansion. My heart pounds hard and loud as I crouch in the shadows. I try to slow my breathing, to make it quieter.
I slowly creep out of my hiding spot, there are no noises. I start jogging, but immediately stop when my left leg hits the floor. Pain shoots through my ankle and leg, I limp, trying to relieve the pain.
I suddenly feel myself being tackled from behind, again. I tumble to the floor, someone lands on top of me. It is the same man who tackled me minutes earlier. We roll a couple times before he stops us, holding me down. His hands move to my throat and he slowly starts squeezing away my air supply. “Where is the treasure?” He asks again.
I cough, wheezing as he hands squeeze my throat. “I-I don’t... know.” I pulled my arms up and placed them between his grip. He notices, but I move quicker than he can react. I smack his forearms with mine, causing him to release the pressure. Yet, he still holds my throat.
Footsteps sound by my head. “She’s a feisty one.” A gruff voice came from above me.
The man choking me nods, grunting as he shifts his position to keep me down. “No kidding.” He growls under his breath, “Didn’t think she’d put up such a fight.”
I cough again as he squeezes harder. “Hey, now, don’t kill her.” The man above us warns.
“I’m not trying to.” My captor keeps a steady, even grip.
I knee him in the stomach, he grunts but doesn’t release me. I gasp for breath as his strong hands keep their hold. I pull my knee up and knee him again, this time he releases me and rolls away. He grimaces in pain as I leap up and dash away.
“Get her, Keith!” My captor screeches.
The man that stood above us, Keith, takes off after me. I run up into the attic, grab the typewriter and paper and dash back down, tumbling into Keith.
His eyes peer at me from behind his masked face and he grabs my shoulders. “Not so fast.” His icy blue eyes lock me in place.
I lower mine and hide the paper I printed by discreetly crumpling and shoving it into my pocket. Keith grabs my shoulders and marches me down the stairs. “Got her!” Keith’s voice shouted.
The man who had tackled me walks up, his face is still hidden in a black ski mask. His dark eyes peer at me; they hold anger. I squirm under Keith’s grip, he’s stronger than his partner. His arms feel like two iron clamps, holding me down. “Good.” His friend sneers.
“What’re we gonna do with her, Nolan?” Keith asks.
“Get her to talk.” Nolan kneels closer to my height. I watch as he leans close to me. “Now: where. Is. The. Treasure.” He spits his words out like hard ice.
“I already told you, I don’t know.” I reply, in a matter-of-factly way.
Nolan stands, his lean body towering a good foot over me. Keith’s hands release me slightly, that’s all I need. I whirl around and duck under his arms, still holding the typewriter. Finally, I get out of the house and pant for breath.
Shouts come from behind me, Keith and Nolan are still chasing me. I start running, carrying the typewriter with me.
I lean back in the chair and sigh, my fingers ache slightly as I stretch them. “Phew!” I smile as I look at my finished piece of work. The paper sits atop the typewriter. I had allowed my imagination to grow wild as to what could happen in this old spooky mansion. Then, I wrote everything down, allowing the world to slip away, along with my problems. As I lean over the typewriter to create an ending to my story, I hear a creak in the floorboards. I laugh and shake my head, “There’s no way this story could actually come to life.” I chuckle, as I think about a good ending.
Much to my dismay and terrified self, I see a shadow move over my paper.
“Girl, your story is just starting to come alive.” A male voice growls behind me.
I gulp, “There’s no way this can be happening.” I whisper as I turn around, to face a man dressed in black complete with a black ski mask covering his face.
“Oh, but it is.” He takes a step closer as I scream and leap up, tumbling my chair into his legs.