Floating along with all the other spirits sucks. We all just wanna move on or talk to someone that we knew. We’re all stuck in this house because it’s where we all died. This used to be the haunted house on the corner but now it’s remembered as a house of great pain and tragedy. It was me, and nine other friends, so ten kids sneaking out at night to go to the haunted house, what could go wrong? We were all about thirteen and we wanted to have some adventure, to live a little. So we all met up at the park and walked a couple blocks to where the house was. It had been abandoned for quite some time. The windows were all broken out and the doors were boarded shut. We all climbed over the old fence and walked toward the back door of the house. Walking and giggling was all we could hear. It was so fun to be breaking the rules and doing something that made us feel alive. Little did we know that it was all going to change. All of my friends weren’t scared, they were brave and thought it was so fun. I tried to hang back because unlike everyone else, it made me anxious. I thought I was going to finally have a good time but I knew something was wrong. Walking up the creaky stairs was a big step for me. Literally, they were huge steps. Something about the house was making me feel sick, like an instinct that I needed to get out. I had all the warning signs but I still didn’t leave. I can’t help thinking about what would have happened if I would have trusted my gut and just left. I would have been alive. But I can’t change the past. Anyways, about five of us decided to go upstairs and the other five wanted to look at the broken furniture downstairs. I walked up the stairs last because I was the only scared one. The upstairs of the house was where the problems started. Blood splattered the walls. Dark, deep red everywhere. A pile of blankets laid on the floor and everyone knew what was in them. The horrible smell drifted through the house and it all made sense. I was frozen in place, thinking I was in danger was an understatement. I knew I was going to die but I didn’t die by the hands of another person. We were all so scared, we were only kids. One after the another, we all started rushing down the stairs. But it was an old house, no one had been taking care of it and keeping up with the foundation issue. When the other kids downstairs heard our screams and feet rushing down the stairs, they came to our rescue. But they didn’t rescue us, they killed themselves. The force of us running down the stairs and the other kids running towards us was just too much for the broken old house. I was the first one the be down the stairs, so I was the first one to fall. The wooden boards broke underneath me and I fell down into the cold hard basement floor. All of my other friends couldn’t stop themselves from falling, the boards kept breaking until half the floor was gone. Some of my friends died instantly, I wasn’t so lucky. I laid on the floor with my skull bleeding, bones broken, waiting for someone to save me. But no one did. I laid on the floor bleeding out for hours, staring at the broken boards waiting for it to be over. When I finally died I was greeted by my friends, they were sitting by their bodies wondering what had happened. I wasn’t naive I knew I was dead and I knew every single one of my friends was dead too. So now my life consists of walking through the house and waiting for someone to see me. They found our bodies a couple days later, they ruled it accidental. Which it was, it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but ours. We did it to ourselves. But I doomed everyone else. I broke the first board. I am the reason we all walk around this old broken house and weep for our loved ones. It’s all my fault.