Wrong House

There's something wrong with this house. Something very wrong.

     The minute Harold opened the door to old house he knew there was something wrong with it.  Perhaps it was the sudden gust of wind, the eerie creaking of the rusted hinges, or just the no-so-good feeling in his gut. 
     It had started with a normal night.  Harold, the town's best policeman, was cruising the town idly in his car.  It was a dark night, the moon engulfed by a mass of clouds, blocking off any source of light.  That is, except for that of the one that shined through the windows the house.  It was an old house, fenced off by the townspeople and no one ever went inside. 
     Harold saw a flicker of an orange-yellowish light as he was passing by.  It was brief, but the cop instantly recognized it as fire.  He pulled over, got out of his car, and headed up the steps to the building.  The situation was by all means odd.  An old house sits isolated smack in the middle of a town for decades and suddenly there's a fire?  It was peculiar, and Harold had to investigate.  He grasped the rusted bronze handle fixed into the door.  Harold shivered. 
     There was something wrong with this house.  Something very wrong. 
     But if there was some psycho in there trying to take the place down in flames, Harold had to do something about it.  He turned the door handle clockwise.  It didn't turn easily and Harold had to briefly struggle to get the damn thing open.  When he finally did, a sudden strong gust of wind came out of nowhere and startled Harold for a moment.  Now Harold hesitated. 
     There was something wrong with this house.  Something very wrong. 
     Nevertheless, Harold stuck to his heart and stepped inside.  The floorboards here were oddly flexible, and Harold felt it would give away under his feet and send him plummeting to his death in an infinitely deep hole any second.  Harold took a wary step after step. 
     Then he saw it. 
     There was a room with a closed door, and Harry could see and feel both great amounts of light, smoke, and heat exiting the thin area of space between the bottom of the door and the weak floor.  Hesitating no longer, Harold leaped into the room in three bounds and the door gave away under his weight.  Even through the blinding and swirling flames, Harold spotted a man standing in a corner with his back turned.  This man was frantically waving a torch around in the air and setting large areas of the house on fire.  Harold yelled, "Stop!  Stop it right now! 
    The man didn't stop. 
    Harold had no choice but to draw his pistol and fired two noise-shattering shots into the man's back.  He grunted and crumpled into the roaring flames in a burning heap.  Harold was stunned, but there was no time to waste.  He removed his coat and waved it to and fro, eventually putting out the fire.  Harold sighed and sat down on the dusty floor that creaked under him.  He didn't care.  Harold looked about.
     The man was gone.  Burned to ashes, maybe?
     Harold stood up.  What was so deadly about this house so that some psycho-nut would want to burn it down?  He looked down... and saw a trail of muddy footprints leading upstairs.Harold, without thinking, followed the prints through the house, up a winding flight of stairs, and into a small room lit by candles. 
     "Candles?" Harold wondered aloud.  There were ten of them, lined up around the room in a ceremonial manner.  And in the center of the room was two things.  The first was a short piece of wood that lay horizontally on the floor.   The second was a small turned over sheet of paper that was covered in dust.  Harold bent over, picked it up, and turned it over.  It was a photo of some kind, too difficult to see.  Harold blew off the dust, which scattered all over the room in a gray poof. 
      Harold stared at the old, old photo.  He had no reaction, he couldn't even think. 
     The photo was of him, firing bullets into the man trying to start a fire. 
     There is something wrong with this house.  Something very wrong. 
     In a burst of panic, Harold grabbed a hold of the wooden stick on the floor and lit it with a candle, creating an effective torch.  He dashed downstairs in a hurry and swung his torch about. 
    He has to take this house down.  He has get rid of it.  There is something wrong with this house.  It has to be burned! 
     Harold was in a frenzy now.  He flailed his torch all over in a wild manner.  He didn't even hear when someone yelled, "Stop!  Stop it right now!"  Harold just kept swinging...until he heard two noise-shattering shots and felt a stab of pain in his back.  Harold's body went stiff for a moment...and he crumpled down, down into the flames in a burning heap.  His last thoughts  were, Something's wrong with this house.  Something's very wrong.
    

Reviews

[Ashle]

I liked it very much! It was a quite a mystery why wanted that man to burn the house, but you've explained it, in another mysterious way. Good job! The formulation is very good, your VOCABULARY is good, you even taught me a new expression, so, I have to say thank you! :)
But, you still have some spelling mistakes, like : " in the center of the rooms was two things" you should go with "were two things" since it is plural...
Beside, you did a very good job! I liked it!

[Trenadie]

Very interesting! The imagery in the beginning is wonderful.

[GuineaPig]

wow, creepy! a couple of things to be fixed - "He has to take this house down. He has get rid of it. There is something wrong with this house. It has to be burned! "
maybe change the 'has"s to hads, because you've been writing in the past tense and all of a sudden switch to present. also, "has get rid of it" i think you forgot a "to".
aside from a couple other little grammar tweaks, great work! i like the repetition of Something's wrong with this house. Something's very wrong.

[Rogelio Chavez]

Very good. I like it.