Haunted House On Mackinac Island Novels & Stories

“I don’t know, Luna Ava. I’ve seen some weird stuff in my time. You can’t always explain everything with logic.” “Like what?” Chris asked, shooting Mike an intrigued look that left me a bit taken aback. Mike’s expression grew more serious, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Well, I grew up in a haunted house. No joke.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I took a bite of my pot pie. “Come on, Mike. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” “No, really,” he insisted, leaning closer. “Things would move on their own, and we would hear voices at night. Sometimes we would see shadowy figures in the hallways. It got so bad that my parents had to get a medium to cleanse the place.”

It took about thirty minutes before the shape of the house began to materialize in their view. Mike felt a shudder of fear wash over him as they finally reached the mansion they had spent hours searching for in the same small town. “Gem, this is a haunted mansion,” His breath was caught in his throat at the sight of ghostly candlelight flashing on one side of the house, while the other remained shrouded in darkness. Was it this single candlelight that had been bright enough to lead us here? Mike was utterly bewildered. He couldn't bring himself to believe his eyes.

I never expected to be marrying a billionaire. "I can tell you're thinking of something," he says tugging on my bra more. If I don't tell him now, I'll totally forget and never get the chance to tell him. "When I was a kid, my family used to go to Mackinac Island every year." The seven-mile-long suspension bridge is one of the biggest tourist attractions in Michigan. It is pretty much the only reason people come to Michigan. "One year we were walking along the beach on Lake Huron and I saw an old lighthouse I don't think it is in operation anymore and out front was a couple having a wedding. Just a couple of chairs dotted the sand and then the two of them at the water's edge with the pastor.

It's the only form of light in here. I look to my left and I find a little bed on an iron bed carrier. More like the ones you see in prisons. Am I in jail!?. What did I do!?.I look to my right and I see a rocking chair. And that's just it. All that's in this room. I can at least tell that the room is painted pink. And.... Is... Do I see blood on the wall!!?. Fear suddenly grips me as this very scenario reminds me of a story 'Mommy's House' by z0mbies I read this story on wattpad some days back. And now I feel like I am in the same story. What's going on!?.

It took another two hours to reach the property, once they reach the outskirts, the lingering power of Mackenzie Daria was still in the air. The place was beautiful. Lush coconut trees filled the back of the property. A two-story house sat in the middle of a driveway filled with tall bushes and flower beds. However, there was a stillness in the place. They parked alongside a black Ford 150, and what they saw, made them pause inside their cars. The pool of blood was absent from the scene, three figures huddled together near the doorway of the house would forever be in their minds.

The haunted house had taken root in Greystone Manor, an aging mansion on the outskirts of Velmora’s East District, complete with towers, gables, and enough architectural drama to look really creepy even in broad daylight. “Last chance to back out,” Rohan said as they approached the entrance. “Are you kidding? I have been looking forward to seeing the unflappable Rohan Marquez jump at fake monsters.” “Who says I’m going to jump?” “Everyone jumps in haunted houses. It’s scientifically impossible not to.”

The cousins became great friends, and at the end of Joe’s holiday they all took the boat upstream together for Marshall’s Landing, as the place was still called. From the landing they walked a mile through the woods to see the old house where their parents had been born, paintless now, crumbling and dilapidated. The glass was gone from the windows; there were birds’ nests in all the rooms, and a drove of half-wild hogs had made a burrow under the building. Like most deserted houses in the South, it was reputed by the negroes to be haunted.

I'm building a fortress. By 2:00 PM, the logistics are in motion. Personnel. Equipment. Security. Everything Isla needs to execute the migration is hurtling toward Maine. I pull up the topographical map of Morrison Estate on the big screen. The southern plateau. Flat terrain. Deep water access. Perfect for construction. Perfect for infrastructure. But I know something Isla hasn't fully integrated. The southern plateau sits directly above the North Face sea caves. The caves where the server farm was buried. Where Marcus Sterling's digital afterlife was terminated. Where Michael Hale Sr. staged his drowning in 1991.

"The Asylum of Horrors! This is going to be the bomb! Ariel Davidson, let's go for this!" My best friend, Chelsea Higgins, pointed to a dark, eerie-looking building in the distance inside the amusement park, her eyes shining in excitement. I hesitated as I glanced at the building, instinctively feeling a little awkward about it. I had never liked haunted houses or other scary, bumpy rides. More importantly, I had also felt increasingly uneasy about always being the third wheel on dates with her ever since she got herself a boyfriend, Ivan Benton.

EMILY I sat still on the couch, hugging myself as if that could chase away the feeling of fear that wouldn’t stop crawling over my skin. The dark had a way of making your thoughts louder, your heart beating faster, and your mind believing anything was possible. The entire house was dead silent, apart from the faint ticking of the wall clock. And then, snap. The power cut off completely. I jumped to my feet. “Kent?” He was already up, phone in one hand, his other hand reaching for the drawer where he kept a flashlight. “It’s the whole street,” he said, peeking out the window. “It’s not just here.”