By Anna Corbett-Neal, Co-Editor-In-Chief
Scary stories are such a big part of Halloween, and The Vantage wants to give the Newman community a chance to show off their scary creative writing skills in a competition. We have started a terrifying tale and are asking you to provide an ending. It doesn’t have to be long: Just type it up and send it in by midnight on Oct. 27. We’ll publish the winner in our Oct. 30 issue. The winner gets two tickets to Field of Screams and a big bag of Halloween candy. The contest is open to anyone on campus — students, staff or faculty. Send your ending, which should be no more than 300 words, to vantage.nu@gmail.com
The House on Maple Street
Beginning by Anna Corbett-Neal
It was the perfect lift-off. As I squeezed the handlebars of my bike, I jumped the makeshift dirt ramp for the hundredth time that evening. As I floated off, I squeezed the hand grips so tight, the color was draining from my fists. Landing the bike with a satisfying thud, I looked around for cheers and was met with silence, realizing my friends had left just after the sun started to set. That's when I realized that the street lights had been turned on.
How long had they been on? What time was it? I knew the moment I got home, I was in for a world of hurt.
I set off in such a frenzy that I almost didn't notice the strange light illuminating from the end of the street. This light wouldn't seem out of the ordinary to outsiders, but I knew better. Maple Street had always been known for the supposedly abandoned house at the end of the street. I say supposedly because now, there was a light shining through the top window. Could it just be a candle that a meddling kid lit as a prank? Or was it something more sinister?
I knew I had to be home soon, but I couldn't shake the feeling that was pulling me toward the light. It was as though its glowing radiance was calling to me, like a moth to a flame. Before I knew it, I was at the doorstep of the house. It looked much more run down up close than it had from the street. Some of the windows had been boarded up, and the dark blue paint was chipped and peeling. Even the porch had holes in the wood. One step forward would send me falling through the boards.
As I approached, I noticed the wooden front door was cracked open. Without a second thought, I pushed the door open and stepped in.
PHOTO: Vantage Staff
