Work by Charlie Clinton

Back in the mysterious and haunting 1960s there was an old worn out town called Beckingstoke. This tattered area held a myth about a haunted house on the corner, just off of Riley Road. According to locals, whoever entered never returned, or if they did return they would be possessed with a second personality, of the creature which had overpowered them.
Then it came to the year 1969, just before the end of the decade, and one man was sure to end the myth of the 60s. His name was Henry Mackenroe. He lived in the village and always boasted about how he wasn’t phased by the house and would enter it at least once before he became old and wrinkly.
Just by the look of the house, people could tell this wasn’t a very good idea. People had already started arranging his funeral and ordering flowers to mourn him with, but Henry was sure they were soon to find out the answer to their questions. As he stepped up to the front door, climbing up the rusted, moulded steps, he paused and looked around behind him to get a last glimpse of outside life.
He hesitantly pushed open the door which produced a loud creek, before swinging forth and smashing into the unpainted and bloodstained wall. By now Henry had a tingling feeling in his belly which was telling him something was about to go terribly wrong. As he bravely moved forward down the corridor, he heard a quiet voice coming from his right. He turned his head slowly to the right to discover a slightly opened door. He stuttered forwarded and pushed the cold door knob and there it was, the misty figure as white as snow. It made the room cold and icy. As he stood there staring into his eyes which seemed ocean deep, the myth became real, the blood shed began, the locals were right, how would the myth ever end?