The pumpkin still stood there with its little candle light flickering inside with the night wind. Looking around I notice adults and children alike passing by the house in crowds, all eagerly looking up towards the hill while whispering softly to themselves. I figured something must have happened and since trick or treaters weren't tying me to the house I decided to go out on a quest to see what was keeping them.
I followed the crowd with camera in hand, stopping every now and then to capture the crowd I was following, not recognizing any of the faces beneath the masks. We walked for a few moments before we came across a little carnival.
A woman instantly called out to me begging me to come to her table which was filled with cards and crystals. She wanted to read my fortune and I ever the sceptic was eager to prove her wrong.
I in fact got so caught up in this that at one point I lifted my head to find that I had lost my crowd
Thankfully another person in an amazing costume stopped to point out the direction and begun my journey up the hill again
I was surprised when we finally stopped to see a large group gathered around an old house. They simply stood and stared at its darkened windows like deer standing before a car steering into headlights.
I pushed myself past, determined to find out what had driven us all here. not in the slightest filled with the same awe and admiration of the crowd I followed I pushed past the door and began to explore the house that seemed to be abandoned.
The house was creepy, that was a given, and it looked like no one had lived there in years, dust covered everything, and the walls seemed to drip with a red rusty material that I could only assume came from the upstairs pipes that lay just below the floor. I toured room after room filled with creepy old objects, cobwebs, and thought to myself how it felt like I was in the middle of a horror movie. It was only when I approached the desk at the back of the house and saw the journals sitting there that my interest was truly peeked. I opened one and skimmed over the old calligraphy type script, reading what seemed to be someones attempt at re-writing Frankenstein without the talent of Mary Shelly. Sighing I set the book down, the dust making me sneeze and my head spin. Laying my head down against the table for the briefest of moments I wonder what this all could mean.
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