As the boy stood there gazing at the desolate and secluded mansion, he began to shiver, as cold air and mist began to envelop his body, he gathered whatever bit of courage he had and pushed open the heavy wrought iron gates that were cold as ice. Fog and mist crept along the ground, flowing like a blanket of white while misty tendrils like fingers coiled at his legs as he walked. The old, uneven cobbled stone path leading up to the mansion was cracked and littered with dead leaves that crunched as he walked. Weeds and flowers poked out from the crackers, while the grass that was probably once a lush green but now a dull, lifeless gray like the very life had been sucked. A little off the path, a pavilion of ghostly white stood like a white tower among the shadows. Thick batches of red rose bushes grew wildly around and webs of vines stretched like tentacles across the pillars.
By the mansion stood a lonesome weeping willow swaying in the gentle night wind, whose whispers were carried on into the night. The moonlight of luminous silver hue now cast a ghoulish glow upon the mansion as though sadden by what lay there. Shadows of owls skirt across the ground as silent as death, soft chirping of crickets and the howls of dogs sounded into the night, dimming as he went further in and closer to the mansion. As he drew nearer, everything became quieter and distant with each step, glancing over his shoulder and looking back towards the wrought iron gate, he could see that it was quite a great away. The night air was cold to the touch and numbing to the bone, and with every breath taken a misty chilly exhale followed.
Facing back to the mansion, he could see the aged steps leading to the door. From the outside the mansion was made from woods of oak and pine, giving it a texture that isn't seen much nowadays. The walls were as black as coal, clearly a victim of years of neglect. Window shutters swung hanging from loose hinges in the wind. Near the door lay pots of what were once flowers but now only their wilted remains dropped from the pots. The oak door was left ajar perhaps for many years or just recently.
As he pushed, the door begrudgingly creaked open, revealing a pungent musky odor that had stricken him into silence. It was dead silent, except for the creaking and moaning wood that echoed throughout the house. Looking up at the ceiling, he could see clusters of black mold that clung to the corners. Entering, he headed to the dim dark living room, it was evident that the windows were black as night with the dust and dirt that clung to it. Beams of sliver moonlight slipped through cracks, casting shadows to dance across the room while chairs and sofas were overturned with floral wallpapers that peeled off the walls, leaving bare patches of rotting wood.
After that, he made his way into the hallway with walls dull green and smelt of dust mixed with old age. Portraits of important and rich people lined the hallway. As he stared at their portraits with a grim and shuddering fascination, he felt a shivering chill run down his back as it felt like their eyes, gaunt and lifeless seemed to follow my every step and gesture.
Leaving the hallway, he spotted two rooms, one was a kitchen with plates and cups set up for dinner on a large wooden dining table as though in anticipation of guests that have yet to arrive and the other room was a study room filled with bookcases, with sofas that were stained with stains that looked to be dried blood or rust and mold. A large fireplace at the corner of the room still had the scent of burnt wood that lingered in the air after so many years.
Coming back out into the hallway, he saw to his left a delicate wooden staircase leading upstairs, he stood there at the base, wondering if any twisted creature would descend down and take him into its lair. Thinking silly, he stepped lightly onto the stairs and made his way up. Once at the top, he turned to his right and right there was a closed door. Something beckoned for me to take a closer look. Pushing the door wasn't easy as it wouldn't budge as easily as he hoped it would. After several tries it opened just enough to squeeze through and once inside, he could see that a dresser was placed behind it as though to stop anyone from entering, strange but chilling.
Looking around he shivered as a cold draught passed on through and he could see it was a child's room. Toys and crayons were laying strewn across the floor and the bed had a deep red stain like blood on the sheets. As he took a step closer the wind suddenly picked up causing the trees to rustle with such a force that it slammed against the walls echoing throughout the mansion and the temperature dropped to a sudden chill as the rocking chair in the corner of the room began to move back and forth.
A shrilling howl suddenly echoed, frozen on the spot and pale as a ghost, he backed into the door and then he heard a voice like the cold breath of a grave, cutting him down to his very soul saying "Get Out!". Slamming the door behind him as fast as he could as terror held him in a vice-like grip, he ran down the stairs and out of the mansion, as the voice echoed, shrilling and wailing, echoing throughout the house and land, following him as he ran out of that place praying that I hadn't woken anything from its slumber.
He reached the wrought iron gate and flung it wide open. Once he'd passed through the gates and onto the street, everything had suddenly quieted down, muted, as though nothing had ever happened, not a whisper to be heard. He looked back at the mansion only to see that there was nothing there but an empty land with the ruins of what was once where the mansion had just stood. An eerie chill ran down my spine and decidedly having had enough of an adventure that would last me a lifetime, he left..... never to see that place again...
By: NATASHA PATRICK
