Late Night Adventure

Some people swore the house was haunted. It was all just a bunch of ghost stories to me. I’ve never a believer of ghosts and spirits. It wasn’t that I was an atheist per se, I just needed factual evidence. I was given more than enough proof one late September night, a night I won’t soon forget.
It was cold, damp, dark, and dreary. The pounding of my feet on the pavement echoed through the city streets. As I quickened my pace I could hear my heartbeat rise until it became in sync with the up tempo music in my headphones and the pitter patter of my feet. Cool, I thought. Running at 2 a.m. never seemed strange to me. My Mom always said I was a night owl. As my mind went over the list of stuff I had to do the next day: do some laundry, register my car, finish that paper, go grocery shopping, I felt my senses heighten. My vision cleared to the point as though it was daylight. The faint smell of trash, pollution, and pavement blend that created the quintessential city stench began to separate and enhance, giving me the nose of a bloodhound. The hair on my arms and back of my neck stood up giving me a chill that ran down the entirety of my spine.
The cause of all this became unambiguous as I rounded the corner of 5th street. It was the Davidson house. Abandoned for as long as I can remember, it was the hangout spot for the delinquents of my neighborhood. Because of the partially collapsed roof, deteriorating walls, and unstable floors it was condemned around eight years ago. The front door, which usually had boards across it, was wide open, creepily opening and closing with the wind. Like a typical college student in a horror movie I was intrigued and hopped the four foot fence surrounding the property. Feeling macho and brave I trusted my instincts and senses feeling excited and alive more than scared. The porch steps creaked and splintered piercing the cold still night air. Well, no surprise entry I thought. The hole in the roof allowed the moonlight to shine in creating just enough light.
When I reached the end of the room I began to hear whispering coming from the other side of the door. I froze and crouched down, hiding in the shadow of a plastic covered couch. Loud shuffling of chairs reversed the feeling of excitement and fear. This was stupid, was all I could think. A wave of adrenaline shot through my veins cut through my fear like a hot knife through butter. I rose and stomped my way to the door further committing myself and announcing my intentions. I kicked open the door, fulfilling a lifelong dream and feeling like Jason Bourne all at the same time, revealing the ghosts of Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, and Patrick Swayze arguing over UNO. Nothing was ever the same again after that.