Creative Writing

A final wave goodbye as the car pulls out of the soaked driveway, signals a sign of freedom for Kobe but also a sign of things turning for the worse. The echo of the thud as he runs down the stairs can be heard throughout the whole house with no one to hear it. No one except Kobe, or so he thought.

As the clock struck 2 am the cold was starting to set in. Cool breezes lingered around the room, dancing on the back of Kobe's neck. He would brush it off as the wind as he was to focused on his game to be worried about it. But little did he know it wasn’t the wind. It was something more twisted and evil that was trespassing around his house but only staying a few steps away at the same time.

BANG! A loud smashing sound can be heard from upstairs. Kobe quickly jumps up out of his chair as it slides backwards along the concrete making more sound; he grabs his cold, blood thirsty knife and starts to walk up the creaky set up stairs. As he’s walking up the old wooden stairs let out a big creaking sound and all of a sudden the house turns silent. He makes it up to the top of the staircase and safely moves to the kitchen. He discovers a smashed plate on the cold kitchen tiles. He know knows he’s not home alone

Kobe sprints to the front door as fast as Usain Bolt in an attempt to lock it. But when he gets there he discovers the dead bolt has been broken and the door has been snapped off its dented frame. He lifts the door into place and keeps it there with a chair. He swiftly grabs the key from the lounge and looks the door.

Kobe now slowly moving around the fragile house trying to make no noise and get no attention from the thing that’s lurking around his house. He gingerly makes his ways back down the stairs scanning his room for any evidence. He hastily grabs his robust 22 shotgun and starts his booby trapped fill journey back up the stairs. The sweat dripping from his four head is momentarily blinding him as he tries to make his way back up the roaring stairs. He knows if he makes a