autobiography of haunted house essay

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Essay on Autobiography of a Haunted House for Students of All Ages

Experience a hauntingly unique story – the autobiography of a haunted house. Imagine hearing the story of a house, told in first person, as if it were a living thing with its own emotions and experiences.

From its very beginning, the house had a peaceful and welcoming presence. However, as time passed, strange events began to occur, and the atmosphere within the house shifted dramatically. Unseen forces began to take hold, and the house slowly transformed into a place that no one wanted to enter.

As the house tells its story, it describes the strange occurrences and eerie happenings that led to its reputation as a haunted house. The house shares how it feels when people talk about it in hushed tones and feel frightened when they see it. Despite being trapped in its haunted state, the house longs for the days when it was a warm and inviting place.

Through its autobiography, the house hopes to shed light on the events that led to its transformation and the impact it has had on those around it. It also seeks to clear up any misconceptions about its nature and highlight the role that external forces played in its current state.

Whether you are a skeptic or a believer, this autobiography offers a unique perspective on a haunted house that will leave you with a better understanding of the supernatural and the experiences of those that inhabit it. Join us on this chilling journey and discover the fascinating life of a haunted house, from its humble beginnings to its current state of supernatural mystery.

• Autobiography of a Haunted House

Hello, my name is Haunted House, and I have a story to tell. A story of fear, mystery, and history that has been woven into the very fabric of my walls and floors.

I was built many decades ago, in a time when life was simpler, but also darker and more superstitious. My original owners were a wealthy family, who spared no expense in making me the grandest and most luxurious home in the area.

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A Night in a Haunted House: An Eerie Experience

Table of contents, the haunting atmosphere, unsettling encounters, confronting fear, a morning of reflection.

• Radford, B. (2014). The Science of Ghosts: Searching for Spirits of the Dead . Prometheus Books.
• McAndrew, F. T. (2016). Parsimonious Psychics and Psychological Profiling . Skeptical Inquirer, 40(6), 10-11.
• Braude, S. E. (2019). Thirteen Unpredictable Synchronicities: The Challenges of Studying an Evolving Phenomenon . Journal of Scientific Exploration, 33(4), 611-634.
• Houran, J. (2015). Assessing Haunted Places: A Review of Methods and Measures . Journal of Parapsychology, 79(2), 187-207.
• Carroll, R. T. (2003). The Skeptic's Dictionary: A Collection of Strange Beliefs, Amusing Deceptions, and Dangerous Delusions . John Wiley & Sons.

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A Life in Haunted Houses

"these are the ghosts whispering in the walls of my haunted house book.".

“Every town has a haunted house.” This is the thesis statement of my new novel, Killer House Party . And I believe it to be true. Not that every town has a house with ghosts, but that every town has a house that is haunted. A house that is infamous or legendary. It evokes a very human fear of the unknown, an abyss that–if it catches your gaze–you may never look away from.

A haunted house is a folktale. Its retelling defines a place. You can find a city/town/neighborhood’s deepest fears in the story of its haunted house. Maybe it’s the betrayal of the safety we expect from a home. Or the suffocation of being pinned down to one place. What is the house keeping out? What is it keeping in?

Writing a novel about such a well trod trope means being in conversation with every haunted house you’ve ever come across. A haunted house symbolizes different things to different people. A haunted house is only ever a symbol.

These are the houses that haunted me, in fiction and in life. These are the ghosts whispering in the walls of my haunted house book.

Haunted House by Jan Pieńkowski

Jan Pieńkowski’s Haunted House (1979) was my first scary story, the foundation of what I came to understand as the horror genre. The book itself appeared in my life with no origin. There was no loving inscription on the first page nor eager cousin watching, waiting for my reaction. In my memory, I read it hiding on the side of a couch with black and white Beetlejuice stripes, heart in my throat.

The front cover is the front door (or vice versa, the front door is the front cover), making the act of opening the book a kind of breaking and entering. The prose is in second person, the text casting the reader as a doctor who has been invited into a house of horrors. Eyes follow you from behind paintings. Slime drips down the stairs. The house is full of animals, monsters, and an alien crashes through the bathroom wall. And at the end, you cannot leave . There’s no denouement. No “whew, it was all a dream.” The last thing you hear is your patient screaming for you while you’re trapped in the attic with a huge bat and a box from Transylvania being sawed open from the inside. (Here, the pop up aspect of the book becomes auditory, as the saw truly grinds against the heavy paper box). Closing the book, you find the door has been nailed shut, trapping you inside the story forever.

Welcome to Dead House (Goosebumps #1) by R.L. Stine

Creating this list is sort of like carbon dating myself. One can look at the pop culture markers of my life and probably guess my age within a year. (Feel free to play along at home! Check my wikipedia to see if you’re correct.)

Goosebumps books to me were pure junk food. (I say this with all due respect to Mr. Stine as someone who also tries to write fun, scary books best read in one sitting.) Welcome to Dead House (1992) does what all great middle grade novels must and creates a world in which the children are right from the start and the adults are stodgy, stuck in their ways, and wrong.

Josh and Amanda’s family have inherited a creepy old house from a relative no one’s ever heard of. It’s old. It’s brick. It’s definitely haunted. Every new person they meet has the same name as someone in the town cemetery. Nothing weird here! Enjoy your free mansion! Dead House doesn’t have the silly sense of humor typical of Goosebumps, making it feel more sinister like Stine’s Fear Street books for older readers. Josh and Amanda’s dog is murdered. The town is full of ghouls in need of a human sacrifice. And, in the end, as the heroes are getting away, they see another family being brought in to take their place and they do nothing to stop it. Horrifying.

The Winchester Mystery House

Ah, the Winchester Mystery House. Notable to any Northern California resident for its Grim Reaper billboards (now sanitized to be less threatening). Recognizable outside of the 100 mile advertising radius because of a Helen Mirren film about the mansion’s spooky origin.

The Winchester House, as a concept, is a great haunted house story. Sarah Winchester married into a family of gun magnates and was so haunted by everyone their company’s products had killed that she built a big ass mazelike mansion (then called Llanada Villa) in San Jose, California to hide from the ghosts. The house had thousands of short stairs, some leading straight into the ceiling. It had over a hundred small rooms. The front half of the house was boarded up, even while the rest was still being constructed.

Except. Well. Anyone who has been tricked into taking the tour of the house can tell you that the answer to most things is that Sarah Winchester was a very rich, very infirm little old lady who built her house in a place with a lot of earthquakes. The many tiny stairs were due to her debilitating arthritis. Part of the house was boarded up because of earthquake damage. Using the house to confuse ghosts wanting to take revenge against her family? It wasn’t even the only house she lived in–she also had a houseboat.

Haunted houses are always less interesting when they are explicable.

The Zodiac Shack

What is a haunted house but a place where a Bad Thing happened? In my hometown of Vacaville, California the local Bad Thing was the Zodiac Killer. (Our state mental hospital also housed Charles Manson. David Fincher was obsessed with us for a few years.) Inactive for twenty years before my birth, the Zodiac Killer was known for killing women and couples in isolated areas of Solano County and then sending ciphers to the local newspapers about it. In my childhood, the name would just get thrown around, associated with otherwise innocuous locations. The lake. The park at the top of a hill.

The so-called “zodiac shack” was a house and a barn out on a country road. There were stories about how the Zodiac Killer brought victims there or stored their bodies. It was haunted. It was terrifying. It was titillating. It was a local legend with no basis in fact. The shack (and the barn) were remnants of a local well-off family’s farmhouse, abandoned in the early 20th century. There’s no evidence that the Zodiac Killer ever set foot there.

I’m no true crime girlie and this is the only haunted place on my list that I’ve never seen or been to. I drove past it once, flying in a friend’s mom’s convertible in the middle of the night. “That’s the Zodiac Shack,” he said. To me, it was just part of the darkness of the landscape.

Shirley Jackson Trio: The Haunting of Hill House/The Sundial/We Have Always Lived in the Castle

No one writes a haunting quite like Shirley Jackson. Perhaps it’s because no one understands the act of haunting their own house better than an agoraphobic (she says, from experience). The houses in Jackson’s books (Hill House, Halloran House, the Blackwood Family Estate) are all truly haunted by the same thing as every house in the world: a family. The house is the site of all a family’s woes, their secrets and peculiarities, the things they hide from the outside world. The house is the only witness to the horrors a family perpetrates against each other: the poisoning of the sugar bowl, the push down the stairs, the grief of an orphan who does not miss her abusive parent.

Within the house’s walls, a family is an organism that imprints itself on every room even after death. Every house keeps impressions of those who lived inside it before. The floor under the carpet. The handprint in the cement. The ghost in the attic. Echoes and reminders.

Every house is a haunted house.

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Home — Essay Samples — Geography & Travel — Haunted House — Haunted House: A Portal to the Unseen

Haunted House: a Portal to The Unseen

• Categories: Haunted House Tourism

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Words: 660 |

Published: Jun 13, 2024

Words: 660 | Page: 1 | 4 min read

Table of contents

Origins and historical context, architectural and environmental characteristics, psychological underpinnings, cultural significance.

• Desolate Location: Haunted houses are often situated in remote or isolated areas, amplifying their sense of mystery and inaccessibility.
• Gothic Architecture: Elements such as turrets, gables, and intricate woodwork contribute to the eerie aesthetic of many haunted houses. The Gothic style, with its emphasis on darkness and decay, enhances the perception of a structure as haunted.
• Disrepair: The state of neglect and decay in many haunted houses, with crumbling walls, broken windows, and overgrown gardens, evokes a sense of abandonment and loss.
• Environmental Factors: Natural elements like fog, thunderstorms, and dense forests surrounding haunted houses create an atmospheric backdrop that heightens the sense of unease.

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Haunted house narrative writing. The house stood on the top of lonely hill. There was no chance of taking the way through roads. I had to take the shortcut.

13 Redwood Villa

It was cloudy and the first few specks of the rain were exploding on the dark gravel. I was in the park and I knew that I was going to get drenched if I didn’t make my way quickly from there. A major storm could be heard on the distance echoing through the silent night.

I had to reach there, as quickly as possible. Just a few moments ago, I had got the message from my friend, Lucy, to go there – 13 Redwood Villa. She had asked me to reach there by 7 pm and it was already half past six. Thunder clapped overhead and the clouds burst on the horizon.

The house stood on the top of lonely hill. There was no chance of taking the way through roads. I had to take the shortcut. “What shall I do”, I pondered over it the second and decided I’d go the hill way to the top. So, I moved forwards. It was dead chilling cold and the rain had made it even more difficult to walk. The cloud had obscured the moon in the dark night and the whole way filled with sense of anger and malice.

I took a deep breath of the cool night air and walked faster towards the house. My curiosity was already beyond its limits. Now, I was almost to the top. The flickering light of the house could be seen nearby.

Finally, I reached there – 13 Redwood Villa.

The house stood, 3 storeys high, with boarded up windows and a broken chimney, giving the house a menacing look. Its door had been boarded up too but you could easily push it open between the planks at the bottom.

“Am I sure this is the house”, I thought to myself. Lucy hadn’t told me about why she wanted to see me. I was not really excited now, not after the dreadful smell and the abandoned look the house gave. “Well, I couldn’t turn back now, after all I’ve come till here”. I was stuck between fear and excitement.

But at last, a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning and slowly I pushed the door open. The rusty hinges gave a scary creaking noise. I took one last look at the outside of that fearsome house. The rain was splashing down around me. And then I had ducked under the planks of wood and was inside, peering about in the darkness.

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As my eyes adjusted in the darkness, the room slowly came into the view, the long bare corridor with doors leading to unknown rooms. I then started even forwards. Suddenly I heard a squeak. I was totally daunted. And then I heard some footsteps as if someone was wandering around me.

My heart was accelerating. Thud, thud, thud... The rain was still pattering dismally on the window panes. Although petrified, I went to the door to see who it was. No one! I again heard the noise. I looked down. Thank god it was just a cat, an abandoned little black cat.

But its look was enough for me to give a fright. I had looked at the cat’s face in the gloom and I could see its dark hair, its perfect features and a ghastly eyes staring back at me. I slammed the door close and made a run. I could hear the cat meowing back as if trying to break inside. It all seemed stupid now. I should’ve never come to this house.

I was still running and just at the moment I saw a big door on the corner of the corridor. I went inside and entered a large bare room. It was all dark and smelled of sodden clothes and rotten fruits. Running through the side of the room I noticed a flight of stairs ahead of me. I could hear someone muttering on top of stairs.

Hurriedly, I ran up the stairs and reached the second floor. The windows upstairs were covered with large, black curtains which flapped along as the gust of wind rushed inside the windows. All the walls were covered with cobwebs. The floor creaked under my feet. That corridor had even more doors that led to unknown rooms. And I could still hear the voices.

Just then I saw someone hurrying inside one of the doors. It might have been the same person of whom I had heard footsteps of. I was shocked and shivered with frightfulness. “Who else could be inside? Was it Lucy?” I decided to follow the person. But the dim light of the moon flickered and the person darted away. I missed. That must have been my imagination.

Slowly I entered the room standing just behind me. That room was such a mess, as if someone had torn it apart in rage. All the things were tipped over on the floor. Through the bars of windows I could see the sky slowly clearing up. I looked at my watch. It was already ten to seven.

I still hadn’t seen Lucy yet. “If this was her trick to scare me then I would’ve never forgiven her, but what if she wasn’t playing a trick. She should’ve been here by now!”

I left the room and marched towards another room, and another. Through more doors and up another staircase and I realised I was totally lost. I swore I was. But I knew I was now on the topmost floor.

As I stood there, stiff, I heard the owl hooting and outside and also the rustling of leaves. But beneath all the noise, was the terrible silence that overpowered every other sound.

The voices were getting louder.

I checked through almost all of the rooms until I was really exhausted. I paused for a second and went towards the windows. I needed fresh air. Outside the windows I could see the whole city as dead as doornail. There was no trace of any sound, not even a single muttering or laugh. I again turned towards the corridors. I only had two more rooms to check.  

I stepped up to one door and slowly reached for the handle. Just as I was about to enter inside, a group of bats hovered outside from the room. That was scary. I screamed with terror. I closed my eyes and ducked down until every bat had flown away. Luckily it was all quiet again.

Hastily I grabbed out the torchlight from my pocket and set it alight. In the flashlight I saw a puddle of liquid on the floor. Drops were splashing into it. “Was that a blood?” I frowned.

As I looked up, I saw a large chunk of wood that had fallen out of the ceiling. The rain was seeping into through the crack. I sighed with relief. The puddle on floor was just a rain, not the blood.

Just then I noticed some white thing on the floor. I focused the light on the floor. The light shone vividly at a large pair of sharp fangs. My head snapped up. I tried to scream but no sound came up. I stumbled back, clutched my stomach and fell over on the floor. I was unable to rip my eyes away from the sight. It couldn’t have been a real Dracula!

Startlingly, I crawled forward to touch the fangs. It came off onto my hand. It was just a fake pair of fangs. I was confused for a moment. Was it any trick!

It was now already five past seven and I was still wandering around the house. I still had to check in through one more room. The door stood on the farthest corner of the corridor. It looked creaky and intimidating. The illusion made it look even more sinister. Standing there, watching the quiet patience of the door, I knew it was more than a fright inside. I knew something was there. Not evil or malicious, simply dangerous!

The muttering voices were now gone. The whole house stood dead quiet. The only thing I could now hear was my own breath. Through the windows, the pale light of the moon shone beneath the dark deep clouds. Everything seemed so ghastly and unrealistic. I got up and slowly made my way towards the final door. My knees were now too weak, I had to bend and walk.

Lastly, I reached it. I grabbed the door handle and pushed myself inwards.

Oh my God! The room was so dark and so creepy. No windows, no light, nothing! I stood there in the silent darkness for a moment, holding my breath. I knew there was something hidden behind this darkness. I was now too much scared. So, I started backing away. Suddenly, something touched my back. I swore it was a human hand. “I must run away”. All these creepiness was now too much for me to bear.

But a noise behind me made me stop. I turned around slowly and tried to adjust my eyes in the darkness. Bare feet hit the floor loudly as I heard someone running towards me. “Hello, who’s there”, I shrieked with fear.

Silence! But suddenly the lights flicked open and the balloons popped out. I saw all the faces I knew. Before I could even realise anything, everyone shouted “Happy Birthday, James!”

English coursework                               Asmita Dhakal         Page  of 4

Document Details

• Word Count 1578
• Page Count 5
• Subject English

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