The Phelps place was an old, abandoned property with a monstrous, decrepit Victorian house that was supposed to be haunted. It should have been a good resting place for the local deer hunters, but they would not go near it. A few that tried came away before midnight with tales of ghostly thumping noises, gasps, moans, and a terrible wet bloodstain that appeared on the floor of the front porch and could not be wiped away.
Phelps was an Englishman who had purchased land some 20 miles off the Mendocino coast in the 1880s. He had built a huge, fancy Victorian house all covered with gingerbread trimmings and surrounded by lovely gardens. When everything was arranged to his liking, he sent out party invitations to everyone within messenger range. It was the biggest social event of the year, with music and dancing and huge amounts of food. Sawhorse tables were set up with refreshments, and drinks were set out on the front porch. People came from miles around. The only one missing was old man McInturf's son-in-law. They had had a terrible fight that afternoon, and the boy had stalked off in a rage, threatening to get even with the old man.
Around midnight, the musicians took a recess and old man McInturf went out on the front porch with some friends. Suddenly there came the thunder of hooves rushing up the lane. A cloaked figure rode towards the lantern-lit porch. McInturf put down his drink. "That will be my son-in-law," he told his friends as he went down the steps. The cloaked figure stopped his horse just outside the pool of lantern-light. There was a sharp movement and two loud shots from a gun. Old man McInturf staggered backwards, shot in the throat and the chest. The cloaked man wheeled his horse and fled down the lane as friends ran to the assistance of the old man.
They laid McInturf down on the porch. He was bleeding heavily and they were afraid to move him much. There was some talk of fetching the doctor, but everyone knew it was too late. So much blood was pouring from the old man's wounds that it formed a pool underneath his head. McInturf coughed, once, twice; a hideous, gurgling, strangling sound that wrenched at the hearts of all who heard it. Then he died.
McInturf's body was laid out on the sofa, and the once-merry guests left in stricken silence. The servants came and wiped the red-brown bloodstain off the floorboards. The next day, a wagon was brought to the front of the house and McInturf's body was carried out onto the porch. As the men stepped across the place where McInturf had died, blood began to pool around their boots, forming a wet stain in exactly the pattern that had been wiped up by the servants the night before. The men gasped in fear. One of them staggered and almost dropped the body. They hurriedly laid McInturf in the back of the wagon, and a pale Phelps ordered the servants to clean up the fresh bloodstain.
From that day forward, the Phelps could not keep that part of the porch clean. Every few weeks, the damp bloodstain would reappear. They tried repainting the porch a few times, but the bloodstain would always leak through. In the county jail, McInturf's son-in-law died of a blood clot in the brain. A few months later, one of the Phelps servants went mad after seeing a "terrible sight" that made his head feel like it was going to exploded. Folks started saying the house was being haunted by the ghost of McInturf, seeking revenge. The property was resold several times but each resident was driven out by the terrible, gasping ghost of McInturf reliving his last moments and by the bloodstain that could not be removed from the porch. The house was eventually abandoned.
It was night, and Lizz was sitting on her mammoth sized prissy bed. Her cell phone rang as she rolled over onto her stomach. She grabbed the cell phone while it was playing her Beyonce ringtone. "Hello?" questioned Lizz. "Can you come over and babysit tonight?" replied her friend, Caura. Lizz agree and hopped out of bed. She trudged over to her walk-in closet and slipped on some jeans and a hoodie. As she walked out of the door, she yelled to her parents, "I'm babysitting! Ill be back later!" Lizz leapped into her black Lexus and drove off. When she arrived, Caura was already standing at the door. The night was young, but ugly. The wind was blowing, leaves were fly, and rain was falling. Lizz eagerly got out of her car and ran to the house, holding her hands up so she wouldn't get as wet. Holding her hands up didn't really help. Lizz walked inside panting like she was out of breath. She plopped down on the couch. Rain drops rolled down her back and she leaned over to sit her purse down. "Damn!" Lizz mummbled. "I forgot my cell phone." "Ah! Don't worry, you can use out home phone if you need it. My lil sister is sleepin', so you pretty much have the house to your self. Gotta go, bye!" Caura threw on her jacket. "Oh! The security code for this alarm is 14569!" Caura typed in the code reluctantly and ran out the door. Lizz was left alone...
She was girl that you probably didn't want to run into at night. Or day. Or whenever. The point is you just don't want to run into her. The only way to describe her is lone. A lone ripple in a puddle. No one talked to her, and no one wanted to even look at her. Why? She was mutated. He face was deformed; contorted. When she was younger, radioactive waste was dumped in her room by a mysterious man. She was scarred forever. Scarred by the waste, and scarred socialy. She lived in a dark alley with a cat named Soshi. She wished Soshi was a goat, because she likes how goats pupils are rectangular. Creepy. Everyone talked about her, and everyone had their rumors about her. "She got chopped up by her mom!" or "She went swimming in radioactive waste with her cat!" A little girl with a herculean lolipop walked by. She caught the image of Bre in the corner of her eye. She screamed and threw her oversized sucker at Bre...
I'm finally back! I was underaged for months, but now I am FINALLY back! I thank everyone that signed the petition for me to be re-aged! Many people have been maramailing me saying what an inspiration I am to them. They said that if I was re-aged, then thier friend might be, too. They said that I gave them the will to push on, and to fight for their friend.
