This is the first story of my own I've posted, so I am excited to hear what others have to say about it! I have read several stories on this website, and have made a note that far too often important details are omitted or altogether skipped from the stories. That or the use of slang and poor grammar is so prevalent that I can't understand what the story is about! I've been writing this down while I've been waiting for the option to post stories to become available again, so I've had the time to remember important, as well as seemingly unimportant details. I've done my best to be as descriptive as possible, and I hope this helps.
I was very fortunate when I was young to be able to travel to places my friends only heard about. I've kept that love of traveling my entire life, thanks to my parents. My mother had been raised in England, so it should come as no surprise that we would travel there often on vacation.
One particular summer, when I was 14, I had spent July and August in England with my family. My parents rented a house for us in a small village, not far from the village of Warwick (forgive me, but I've forgotten the name). It was small and white-washed, with a large wooden door and a lovely English garden. Inside it was sparsely furnished, as is typical in many English homes, but was nevertheless cozy. My brother and I were given a room to share upstairs, on a landing shared by the master bedroom and the washroom. If you were to look out of the door from where my bed lay, you could see into both the master bedroom and the washroom at the same time, as the rooms were on a sort of axis, or pin wheel.
The house didn't strike me as anything more than a nice place to call home for the summer, so I had no expectations or fears about what I would encounter, if I had any expectations at all. Upon exploring the house it was clear that it was built in the mid to late 1800's, despite the addition of electricity and other modern amenities. There was one thing that made me feel uneasy, but I attributed it to nothing more than being a scared 14-year old girl; in the corner of the washroom there was a large white door. Behind it had been a sort of storage area at one time, and now housed the water heater. Water heaters aren't something I normally find frightening, but there was something about this little nook in the washroom that made me feel uneasy.
One night my brother decided he wanted to torment the cows and horses at one of the farms up the road. I was tired after a long day of sightseeing, and wasn't interested in doing much else than watching TV and going to bed extremely early. My parents decided to take him, leaving me alone in the house. I watched some British television, had a snack or two, and started wondering where my family had gone. By this time they had been gone for quite a while, and it was getting dark. I decided I was tired and would try and get some sleep. As I headed up the stairs I turned the light off in the kitchen, and then went to the washroom to get ready for bed. As I stood in front of the mirror washing my face, I could see that large white door looming behind me in my reflection. I did my best to act grown up, continued washing up and went to bed.
I had turned the light off in the washroom, the master bedroom and my room, but had left the small sconce on in the landing, in case I needed to use the washroom in the night. The sconce was a little dated, and had a pull cord instead of a switch to turn it off and on. I lay in bed, feeling tired but not sleepy, when I noticed that it was suddenly somewhat brighter in the house. I opened my eyes and saw a light coming from downstairs - the kitchen light was on. As you can guess, I just assumed my family had finally come back and that my mother was making a cup of her famously strong tea. But then there was no whistle of a tea pot, no spoon stirring in a china cup, nor the sounds of my parent's conversation. It was just the sound of my breathing, and the glow of the light on downstairs. I sat up slowly, listening for something, anything to suggest a familiar person was downstairs. When nothing came of it, I decided to be brave and investigate in person. I walked downstairs into the kitchen, and no one was there. I looked around the small house; the doors were all locked, the windows were closed... Nothing was amiss except the kitchen light was on. I promptly shut off the kitchen light and headed upstairs.
As I walked up the stairs, I noticed that it was now brighter on the second floor - the washroom light was on! Startled, I marched into the washroom, expecting to find my brother hiding somewhere, trying to scare me. Instead, I was met by an empty washroom and, to my horror, the large white door sitting wide open, leading into the small, dark room. I stood frozen, staring at the door and its black opening, when an overwhelming feeling of fear came over me. I ran to the door and slammed it shut as hard as I could, ran out of the bathroom while turning off the light, then dove straight into bed. I lay there breathing heavily, and after another 10 minutes I calmed down.
I started to doze lightly, when I heard...something, something that even now I can't quite describe. Whether it came from inside the house or out, I still don't know, but whatever it was I heard woke me straight away. I lay in bed, again listening for my family, and became aware of a feeling of dread, accompanied by the feeling of being watched. I rolled over a looked through the landing into the washroom... My mouth opened to scream but no sound came out. The large white door was wide open again. I jumped out of bed, turned on the light in the bathroom and slammed the large white door. I grabbed the ironing board and wedged it between to footed bathtub and the door to keep it closed, hoping to trap whatever was inside. I left the washroom without switching off the light, crossed the landing quickly and jumped into bed. As soon as my head it the pillow, things in that small, white-washed house got much, much worse.
The large white door in the bathroom rattled ever so slightly and the ironing board fell to the floor. As I looked out, the washroom light flickered like a candle, and then went out. The sconce in the landing followed suit, but instead of flickering, it went out with a click, as if someone had pulled the cord. Then, the light in my bedroom flickered and a voice, that sounded as if it was coming from inside my head, sobbed.
Tears started streaming down my face, as the sobbing in my head became louder, turning into a heartbreaking wail. I covered my ears with my hands and asked to be left alone. The voice continued to cry and moan, with the light in my bedroom flickering, until suddenly I heard a sound that I never thought I would be so happy to hear... My little brother's voice singing outside. It would seem that the voice had heard it as well, because the crying stopped, and the lights turned back on in the landing and washroom.
I ran downstairs into my mother's arms in hysterics. She consoled me and asked me what was wrong. I started to tell her what had happened, about the lights, the voice and that horrible white door, when I stopped. She wouldn't believe me. My mother loved me and is an amazing woman, but she wouldn't believe me. So I changed my story, telling her it was a nightmare. She stroked my hair, saying everything was fine and that I was safe now that they were back. My younger brother laughed, calling me a chicken, and started telling stories of how he scared the cows and chased fireflies into the night. I laughed too, trying to hide how scared I was, and how badly I wished I had gone with them. I slept lightly that night, still not able to shake the fear I was feeling, and had horrible nightmares of monster doors with teeth gobbling me up.
The next morning my mum wasn't feeling well, so my father, my brother and myself went sightseeing without her. We spent the day at Warwick Castle, and had dinner at a nice pub on the way home. We got back to the house at about 9:30 that night, and my mum was sitting outside in her night robe, looking pale and shaken. My dad told my brother and me to wait in the car, while my parents spoke. They argued, and then my dad, looking equally shaken by whatever it was my mother had said, ran into the house. My mum came to car and told my brother and me in her calm voice that we would be staying at a hotel that night and that daddy was just packing up our things. My brother whined, saying he had to pee and wanted to watch some TV, but my mum looked at me, and I knew why were leaving - my mum had seen something too. We quickly left the small white-washed house outside the village of Warwick, and never went back.
I hope I explained everything well, and that this wasn't too long! I'll be sure to post other experiences soon, and of course, any observations are more than welcome. Thanks!