Paranormal Story Archives
August 2002 – Page 38

The Room of Doom
by Prinkitti

A long time ago, when I was around the age of four, my grandmother had a very old house that she was very proud of. She was always looking for new ways to brighten it up. Flowers hung from pots on the rickety porch. Apple wallpaper was found bordering the dark kitchen walls. That house was her pride and joy. She believed that it was a blessing from God, because she was sold the house for very little money. For a long time, we all thought that it was because the house was so old. But we were wrong.

After about a year, my grandmother began to notice strange things happening. She would set her keys on the counter in a little bowl before going to bed, and when she woke, they would be sitting on the arm of her couch. She would hear footsteps on the stairs at night, creaks just outside her window. All of this was very strange, but nothing could compare to this one room. In the summer, it would be so cold, you could see your breath. Sometimes, you would get the whiff of a woman's perfume. So my grandmother decided to call up the real estate woman that sold her the house. We'll call the woman Ms. Porter.

"Why was this house so cheap?" my grandmother asked her quietly. "What do you mean?" she stammered. She tried to play it cool, but my grandmother saw right through her. "Strange things have been happening. Objects moved. What aren't you telling me?" The woman hung her head. Sighing, she began her story. "A few years ago, a woman lived in this house. She was very old. After about five years, as she was cleaning, she had a heart attack and died in the spare bedroom. A few families tried to stay here, but they couldn't handle the apparitions." "Apparitions?" My grandmother repeated. "I haven't seen any..." "Yet," the woman replied. She sighed again. "It gets worse. One family that moved in was particularly brave. They were there longer than any of the other families..." She trailed off. She seemed to be deciding whether or not to tell my grandmother the truth. "Until the accident." My grandmother gulped. "The man that lived here was in the living room one night, watching television with his family, when they thought they heard scratching coming from the spare room. They tried to ignore it, but it just kept getting louder. So he decided to check it out. On the way up the stairs, one of the boards broke, and he fell through. He died about an hour later." "So that's why I keep hearing creaks on the stairs at night." "Yeah." They just sat there, looking down at the faded carpet, thinking.

Well, my grandmother lives in a new house now. She doesn't have any worries about ghosts anymore, since her house is brand new. She still has plants in pots on her porch, and her apple wallpaper is also up again. But every once in awhile, she talks about that house. She's nicknamed that spare bedroom. It's called "The Room of Doom."

< Previous story

< main menu