IGCSE English First Language

the box

Descriptive writing.

You have just recently moved into a new house and you found a box in the attic that belonged to the previous owner. Describe the box with its contents.

It was the winter breeze that entered the house through the gaps of the rusty windows that was causing the wooden doors of this newly bought house to shriek noisily. With a reluctant groan I pushed the warm woolly blanket off my body like I had been squashed beneath a blanket made of metal. I set my cup of hot chocolate carelessly onto the side table and marched off in search of the door that had disturbed my reading time. I closed off the bathroom door, and my bedroom door. As I was about to go back to the sofa, I heard the sound again. The shrieking came from above. Feeling slightly anxious, I looked up. I saw an attic door which I've never known was there before with its latch loose. Instead of fixing the latch close I pulled down the ladder and climbed into the dark attic curiously.

A gust of dust flew into my face while I tried to identify my surroundings. It was dark but softly lit from the weak winter sun that came through the tiny window. Like a scene from a barbie movie, the soft ray of glistening sun landed on an object in the shadows. A bright reflection shone in the corner of my eye. I walked towards the object that formed into a brown box which was heavily covered in dust. The light reflected the lock of the box, it was unlocked so cautiously I lifted it open. Peering my head to see the contents of this mysterious box, I double-took and flailed my limbs around in surprise. It was a gun! A black pistol which was stained with dirt and what seemed like blood that had blackened over time at its grip.

I scrambled over to look at it again. The rest of the box was webbed dust and nothing else that could explain the presence of such dangerous weapon. What attracted my attention was the way the gun was placed so symmetrically and precisely in the center of the box. That could mean that the gun was not carelessly put into a random box but it was a casing meant to place the gun. If it was for emergencies, the box would have been put at a more easily accessible location and not in the attic. Dipping my head deeper into the box, I could see silver scratches and dents on its shiny black surface. Indicating that it was used more than once. I shivered. Unsure whether from the cold or from this strange finding of mine.

Come to think of it, I've never met the owner of the house just the house agent who I wondered if he had anything to do with this box. Goosebumps. I shut the box close with the very tips of my fingers. Whatever the story was behind this, I am as innocent as Mary. When I closed the lid, the box shifted. There was a picture underneath the box. Refusing to leave any fingerprints, I pulled the corner of the picture with my feet which was safely covered with socks. It was a portrait of a family. The quality of the picture was not old and there were no dates written on it. At a park that had kites flying in the background, there stood a family of three. The short haired woman wore a sweet floral pink dress, the bearded man had a basic brown shirt and the smiley little boy, who did not look any older than 10, wore a plain white t-shirt. Everyone was smiling in the picture, they looked happy. Why is this picture here and who owned this dark box with its contents.

My heart pounded loudly in my chest. Was I in a house of a murderer? Will the owner of the box return for his items? Am I in danger now? My breath quickened and the room suddenly turned hot. Paranoia set in and I looked around the attic nervously. Afraid something might come out to attack me for revealing their secrets. My fingers trembled severely but my mind was curious. Should I turn the picture around. I haven't checked behind. Terrified out of my wits but my hand picked up the picture to flip it around. I guess I have given up on leaving fingerprints on possible weapons.

Barely clear, in a pencil, messily written was 'love you mom and dad'. My chest pounded louder than ever. The words were written horizontally from left to right and on the right corner of the picture were blood stains. Trembling in fear, but my eyes scrutinized the details of the stain. It must be from the writers hands because it was aligned almost precisely. It wasn't a big stain, so the writer must have had tiny hands. A thought struck me like lightning. The handwriting was awful as if it was written by a kid who just began middle school. My mind began to swirl and my vision became hazy. I felt awfully sick. I picked up my wobbly legs, dashed down the ladder and locked myself in the toilet.