"Michael!" I shouted, forgetting that someone else is inside the house and that would make him aware that I'm awake. "Michael!" I went again, this time getting off of my ass.
I heard a scream from upstairs. It wasn't the type where you see a spider, or someone comes from behind and taps you on the should, but more of the "Someone's dying" or "Help me" kind.
My first instinct was to go up and see what was going on. My second one was to get out of the house.
I kept looking back and forth between the stairs and the door, then I put one foot towards the steps, but I rolled my head around and headed to the exit.
It opened without a problem. I could see my salvation looming me with open arms.
I brushed the sole of my right foot on the porch, and as I did so, I felt the energy growing in my body. I knew I had to leave. The left one followed. I left without shutting the door.
I haven't seen Michael since. It's been over ten years, and I don't think he'll show up.
As it turned out, the house was haunted.
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