Creepy Creative Writing

In the spring of 2009, I had a terrifying paranormal experience that changed my life. After months of processing the occurrence (which I write about in my book to be published in 2020), I decided to share the story with my English I class and challenged them to write a descriptive essay of their own, about a legend or ghost story, true or fictional. It became a popular assignment each year during the month of Halloween. Interestingly enough, many students had their own truthful stories, as well.

One of my bubbly, creative, and fun-loving former students contacted me a few weeks ago to say my scary stories from way-back-when had inspired her to write down her own. She was excited to blog them and share them with me and I am honored she did. Bekah agreed to allow me to feature one here and share her website with you, this week of Halloween. How apropos we can do this the first year I am retired and no longer assigning the scary descriptive essays. Bekah Donely Johnson was quite the quick-witted storyteller and comedienne back in high school, but it is with earnestness and honesty she tells this story:

7/27/1953 Part One by Bekah Donely Johnson

It was the summer of my junior year in high school. My parents had been divorced for a while, and my mom and now step-dad moved into a house in Eldorado together. The house was charming and sat atop a hill with a dense background of trees and nature. It was brick and had a beautiful front porch.

I drove my Suzuki Sidekick into town and met up with my mom for the grand tour. When you walked inside, you first saw the living room. It had original hardwood floors, and a large dining room. The kitchen had a gas stove, and my mom and I talked about all the cooking we would do. Down the hallway was my bedroom. Perfectly sized and with two windows looking into the trees. There was also a bathroom in the hallway, with interesting pink tile, and a pink bathtub. “You will have to shower downstairs” my mom hollered, as the bathroom did not have the option for anything other than a bath.

She walked me down two flights of stairs into the basement to show me the shower. It had an eerie wrap around curtain that looked like something from a hospital. She walked me to the old coal room in the corner which had a wool blanket acting as a door. She moved the curtain back and we stepped inside. It was cold, and something about this room gave me goosebumps.

We went back upstairs and I left, as I had things to pack for moving in the next day. When I returned the next day I started setting up my bedroom and opened the windows for some fresh air. To my surprise, the window seals were full of dead flies, some of which fell out onto my feet. I vacuumed them up and moved on.

After a long afternoon of moving and unpacking I was in dire need of a hot shower. I grabbed my shower basket and a towel and headed into the basement. There was an overwhelming feeling of someone watching my every move. I closed the wrap around shower curtain and kept looking down fearing that I would see feet run by. I quickly washed up and ran upstairs, probably still covered in soap. I made my mom sit with me through every shower after that.

A few months after living in the new house, my mom had moved a few chairs, baskets of games and toys, and a TV into the basement for my siblings and I to have a hangout spot. This made the once creepy area feel much more homey. I invited my friend over to watch the new Transformers movie. I took snacks, blankets, and drinks to our new hangout spot. I put the DVD in and waited for her to arrive. At some point I fell asleep and when I woke up my friend still had not arrived. I sat up and reached for my phone to call her. While dialing her number into my phone I saw out of the corner of my eye, a roll of blue paper towels (the ones mechanics use to clean up with) fall right over, and seemingly get a push. It rolled all the way over to me and stopped right in front of me leaving a trail of blue towels behind it. I screamed for my brother to come downstairs… and being my little brother he turned the lights off (the switch was at the top of the stairs) and left me alone in the basement unable to see anything other than the light from the TV. I yelled and yelled until he turned the lights on and came down. At this point, I was crying and he walked me upstairs.

Little did I know, this was just the beginning.

Read more of Bekah’s ghost stories at her website: https://bekahdonley.wixsite.com/website

Title photo by Bee Felten-Leidel on Unsplash