This was a short story I wrote for a school assignment, and after rummaging through google drive for memories, this one surfaced. I read it and edited a few things, but I never intend to finish it or polish it completely. I just wanted to share it, because I feel like this was one of my first steps towards wanting to become an author.

The car pulled up onto our new driveway. As I stepped out of our car, I realized the “new” driveway we parked our car on looked rather old. In fact, it looked like it had been from the Victorian era of London, around the mid-18th century.

“So how do you like it? Looks quite big, right?” A blonde woman in her mid-30s asked as she stepped out of the car.

I looked up at our “new” house. The front door was the colour of bright orange autumn leaves, with a sprinkle of wood here and there. The door must have been old to have worn out its painting. My eyes swivelled up to something that had caught my attention. On the third floor of the dusty old house made of bricks that looked like they were teleported here from medieval times, was a window. It certainly looked like a normal window. But it wasn’t the window I was drawn to in particular. It was the fact that all the other windows were old, forgotten, and in poor condition. Yet this window, unlike all the others, looked new, polished, furnished, and in good condition. Almost as if…

“I guess it looks fine,” I replied. “Although, have you seen that window up there? I wonder why it’s so different, mom.”

A few seconds passed before I heard an answer. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Sophia. Maybe whoever owned this house wanted to paint it but gave up halfway through. Or maybe they just really like that window.”

Mom approached me and gave me a hug. 

“I know you hate moving. I totally understand that, but I promise things will be different here. Things will be back to normal pretty soon, if not better than your old life.”

I hugged her back for a moment before we broke off.

“I think that’s enough loitering around. Let’s go check out this house now. It’s probably spooky and creepy.”

I shook my head and followed my mom into our dusty, old-looking new house.

She unlocked the front door and we opened them, revealing a small hallway leading up to a large and spacious living room. Of course, there was no furniture, but I imagined that even if we put all the furniture in the living room, there would still be some space to relax.

I had a feeling we would hang around for a while, and I could feel a rise of curiosity and impatience in me, so I excused myself to go upstairs to see my new room. Of course, we had never been here before, so I wasn’t assigned any specific rooms. My mom was too busy checking out the fridge, so she didn’t give my question much thought and sent me on my way with a simple “Uh-huh.”

I ran up the stairs. I could barely contain my excitement. I had finally made it to the 3rd floor and checked 3 doors. The first two were a walk-in closet and a small bedroom; not what I was looking for. The 3rd door, however, was just what I needed to find. I flung the door open and marched all the way to the window. I examined it closely and realized the red paint was in fact still wet. My emotions of curiosity slowly diminished into one of fear and mystery. Does someone live here? Who could’ve painted this? Why would they paint it?

I could feel there was something special about this house, something like a mystery that has stretched long before, possibly to the Victorian age, just as the driveway had looked.

I opened the clasps securing the window and place and pulled on the hinges to open the window. Yet it did not open. I grasped it and pulled, yet it wouldn’t move an inch. I looked at the hinges, confused, and realized they were glued to the bottom of the window. Someone did not want to open this window. Now I realized the bright red paint was a warning sign, a sign of something not to be messed with, not to be touched. The second warning was the glue. Whoever glued the window would not take any chances. But then again, the window frame was wood. All you had to do was chip the wood pieces with glue off and the window would be free.

So that was exactly what I set out to do. Curiosity had gotten the best of me, but then again, I believe the best of me is curiosity. I ran up to the attic and found many loose screws. Yet that did not bother me, and I grabbed the largest and sharpest one and raced down the ladder and back into the room. I scraped and scraped until I was sure I had destroyed the last piece of wood. To be sure, I tested the window hinge slightly, and it started to shift upward as I pulled. A smile spread across my face. 

I pulled it with a quick yank, eager to see what would happen, and a loud ripping noise echoed in my ears as the window broke free from the clutches of the last remaining pieces of wood. Dust flew in the air and into my eyes, but I simply wiped it out with my arms.

I waited with the window open, allowing air to flow in and out. I did not see anything happening. Everything was basically the same.

My mom burst through the door with a look of horror on her face as she stared at the chunks of wood on the floor and the window open. 

“Sophia! Are you already destroying the house? What were you thinking?”

Mom’s voice echoed throughout the house, ringing in my ears. Yet…

“Mom, be quiet!” I shouted. “Just listen!”

She opened her mouth as if she was going to object, but her mouth closed again and I could tell she had heard it too.

Ringing around the house and in our ears, was a faint, slight, but obvious ticking noise.

The window had set off the countdown for a bomb.

The End

Author’s note (October 2020): Woah, this was really fun! I didn’t want to finish this story, and I know some of you might be a little disappointed, but that’s because I’m leaving the rest of the storytelling to you! Also, huge thanks to Mark Zhou and Jiya Goel for editing this short story. It may be short, but they put a massive amount of work into it. So thanks again! I hope you enjoyed it!

(I know it's bad lol)