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“The police aren’t trained for this kind of situation,” he explains, “what can they do?” He pauses, then adds “listen, he’s coming for us, we’re both gonna die!”

“What are you saying?” Jill asks.

“You’ll see.” Brad stands and begins to walk towards the door. Jill puts her hand out to detain him, though not because she wants to stay with him, only because she wants him to explain himself rather than talking in riddles.

“He’s after STARS members, there’s no escape!” Brad finishes enigmatically before running out the door. Jill takes a few steps, as if to follow him, but decides against it. On a ledge by the door she notices a metal cigarette lighter. She picks it up, but finds there is no lighter fluid in it, which, of course, would be a problem, if clever Jill hadn’t had the presence of mind to pick up the can of lighter fluid earlier. She combines the two and suddenly has a working lighter, which she is certain will come in useful. She leaves the bar and heads onwards through the small playground, through the narrow alleyway, and out into another alley.

This alley is tiny, blocked at one end by a hastily erected barricade and at the other by a blue metal fence, which a plague of zombies press against. Their fervent struggles against the fence increase as soon as they catch sight of the beautiful Jill Valentine, and the fence begins to buckle and shake, but, for the moment holds. Tentatively, Jill approaches, aware that the door she needs to leave through is dangerously close to the fence and the zombies. Just as she is about to reach the door, the fence gives and the zombies burst through. Jill sprints, but finds that the door is tied shut with rope.

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September 28^th 1998

A fire rages in the lobby of an apartment building in downtown Raccoon City, sending plumes of hot smoke into the cool September air. Suddenly, there is an explosion that blows out the windows, catapulting accomplished young STARS. member Jill Valentine into the street. She rolls and stands, not a scratch on her. Inside the building from which she has just been defenestrated, zombies moan and sigh, flames licking at their rotting skin as they shamble towards the attractive flesh they hunger for. Jill pauses to check her equipment: a custom M92F Beretta, with fifteen rounds in the chamber, and a tool for adding gunpowder to empty casings. The handgun feels reassuringly weighty in her hand, but she does not have time to dwell on this; behind her is a dead end and to her right the zombies move ever closer. There is only one way out.

She moves forward along the narrow, familiar alley, then notices a lone zombie blocking her path. She does not have time to wonder how did not notice it until she had moved within a five feet of it as she raises her pistol and lets off several rounds. At the first three the monster barely flinches, but the power of the fourth bullet hitting its torso knocks it backwards and it slumps down against a red dumpster. Without giving it chance to gets up, Jill sprints past, pauses for a moment in front of the dumpster, then unhurriedly pulls herself up. She jumps down off the other side, but suddenly she is exposed, the street stretching out either side of her and fall of zombies. They crowd towards her, reaching out with their pale, dead hands. Jill backs away, only to come against a firm metal door. The living corpses are almost upon her, but at the last moment she turns and throws her weight against the door. It gives on the second attempt, and beautiful Jill stumbles into another alleyway. She has bought herself some time, but the zombies still press towards her. She backs away again, then turns and runs for a door at the end of the narrow passage. Fortunately it’s not locked, so Jill runs in and slams the door behind her. She stops to catch her breath and make sure the door is firm, then turns to see fat blonde man in jeans, a check shirt and an open winter jacket standing in the middle of the warehouse she now realises she is in.

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I was the first one to reach the haunted house, because I only lived a few doors away. After I had stood there for a few minutes, admiring the flaky once-white paint on the front door, the half-boarded up windows, the long grass speckled with yellow flowers, Adam came into view preceded by a long dark shadow that mimicked his movement across the patchwork tarmac.

As I watched him come towards me I thought about how, as my Dad had said when I told him I was staying over at Adam’s tonight, it had been a while since I actually had stayed over at his house, or anyone else’s for that matter. Still, at the time, I had my interest in ghosts and the supernatural to keep me wholly occupied; an interest which was vindicated that night, the night when, even if no one really seemed to believe me, then or since, I saw a ghost.
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My name is Ben, I’m fourteen and I once saw a ghost. It was three weeks ago, in this old haunted house that stood empty at the bottom of my road for as long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, the place fascinated me because I’m really into ghosts and the paranormal and all that, and this place, with its dark, peeling paint, boarded up windows and overgrown front garden, looked just like a haunted house straight from Goosebumps.

Actually, I didn’t exactly see the ghost, but I know it was there. I could feel it. And I heard it. I’d take someone who knows about ghosts there to prove it, if I could, but they knocked the place down last week to make way for some housing estate, so instead, I’m writing this down, so there will be a record of ‘the ghost of Sycamore Avenue’ and of how I came to see it.

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