Descriptive Essay: Life After World War II

I always saw the house on the hill, originally built in wartime 1939, a house for Nazis. Some people say it was haunted by the people who died there, back in 1945. No one is supposed to enter for the fear of releasing the ghosts to wreak havoc on our small town. The old house was made of mahogany with crimson doors and brass colored handles. I heard the old doors creak open as I walked into the creaky house. The inside was a deep shade of rosewood with blood splattered on the wall, old portraits that seemed to stare at you wherever you go, words scratched in the paint like “help us”, ”save us”, and “kill them,” the old paint had become chipped and peeled off the wall like flesh. Then I heard the loud slam of a door being pushed with great

I calmly searched for the lights and flipped them on, to see large amounts of blood pour out of the wall, and I heard the crackling of a fire that wasn’t lit. Seconds later I saw the ghosts of thousands of nazi soldiers, some who lost heads, some who lost eyes, some who were pouring blood to the floor.
They saw me as an enemy, a threat. They planned to kill me, then one yelled at them and exclaimed that I was just a blonde haired, blue eyed jewish girl. My life was spared. I was kept for weeks turning to months, and I was sixteen. A missing child at sixteen. My blue and white dress was tattered and torn, blood splattered from the crimson blood on the wall. They made me clean a house that could never change, blood covered walls, dusty paintings, cold, killing demeanor.
I tried to run, tried to escape but every chance I had the crimson doors wouldn’t open and I was sent right back to my “room” to clean more for the cold ghosts. I had to find a way to leave, my family was worried about me, I can feel my father 's anger, my mother 's tears, and sisters grief. It killed me, some days I just sat and cried and screamed at myself for being so stupid. I am seventeen now, my birthday was a month