I walk through a vast area
of nothingness that is surrounding me, then, masked by masses of trees and
bushes I see it; the estate I am supposed to be selling. I walk up to this
unforgiving place like a lion to prey, slow and steady. I am ready to run in
the other direction. This mansion is huge, however it wasn’t well looked after.
That’s obvious, the front is covered in vines as if Tarzan should live there.
On the house rather than inside. The bricks were crumbling like a disastrous
birthday cake. It was almost as if even the bricks were too scared to live
there. I walk up to the door but even though I know it is open I still knock on
the stiff brass lion knocker.
The door creaks open. As I enter, I understand
the reason the home owners left, but it was incredible how this house told a
story. Pictures seeming to age hung above desolate flooring and mantle pieces. The stair case that split in different
directions along a new corridor, was large and led up to even more unforgiving
places. The whole place seemed bizarre and haunted. Funny I should say that
really, it looks exactly the same as The Haunted Mansion. Perhaps this house
wasn’t meant for anyone and that is all it was; a house rather than a home. Gargoyles
sat on the newel posts, their eyes, boring into your very soul! The wallpaper
was peeling from the walls. The pictures of presumably ancestors of the
Hathaway’s, previous owners of this nightmare, followed you as you stepped each
frightening step with their devil eyes. An artic breeze wafted through an open
window nearby.
I went into the dining hall.
The table that stretched along the vast amount of vintage flooring, could seat
about a million and one people. If you took it out, the whole place could be
the scene of a masquerade ball. The grandfather clock just sat in the hall with
a sinister feel to it, it seemed that if you moved one step it would follow
your every move. The sheet of dust that covered it would keep it warm in
winter. Outside the window to my right there was a game of Chinese whispers
being played among the trees. I jolt to my left as a tap-tap-tapping at the
wooden door, hanging for dear life onto rusting hinges, takes my attention away
from the childish trees. And just like that the weather changed from a humid
evening to a raining, thundering one. One of the millions of dining chairs
jolted back, a generous invitation from an invisible host.
As I walk into the kitchen
it is clear to me that there would be chefs being paid £50 an hour working
there, had the Hathaway’s not left. The wooden counters in immaculate
condition, waited to be used again. The knife rack hung from the old yet
seemingly new cabinets, in which held irreplaceable mugs, priceless antique
plates and cutlery that, without pressure, would effortlessly glide through a
joint of steak! The oven was modern and didn’t fit in with the antique style
house at all. It was like putting a polar bear in the middle of the Sahara
Desert.
I walked into the library
and it was full of books that had World Records, Cult Classics such as A
Catcher in Rye, Perks of Being a Wallflower, and A Clockwork Orange, and
Adapted Shakespeare, Classics. Cold, hesitant lights stream in through a
cracked window and make lights dance on the book cases. Not a solitary book can
be seen, they all have friends. Catch 22 with To Kill a Mockingbird, Little
Women with The Secret Garden. They all have friends. The first Hathaway is watching
over the books. The book cases are so tall they need a 20 foot ladder to reach
the top. However this room is eerie, spookier than the rest. Then the door
bursts open. I just put it down to the wind.
I
go into the living room, there is a beautiful, stunning, pristine, grand piano
sat in the corner just waiting to be played. It was times like these where I
wished I’d been able to play an instrument. This was obviously the room that
was used the most. The settee was well used. I can imagine people laughing and
talking in endless joy on this settee. There was a friendless chair, obviously
used by an elderly person; it smelt rusty and old, also the smell of regret
and…whiskey perhaps, some sort of alcohol, lingered around it just waiting to
be eliminated by a good spray of Febreeze. The room seemed to be missing a
television, maybe not missing but never one there. There was an isolated
cupboard in the middle on the wall, full of Nao ornaments. They were simple but the
simplicity of them held beauty in their hands. All of them had a different
story just waiting to be told. Then I felt it: warm, moist air brushing across my ear like a
stalkers breath.
As
I walk towards a new stair case the grand one I flinched at every creak with
every step I took, however it didn’t influence my willpower to get to the
master bedroom, attic and nursery on the second floor. Halfway up, a shadow
shimmered the corner of my eye. I froze and as I stood there, caught a smell of
a phantom perfume lingering in the air. A shudder made the hairs on the back of
my neck stand on end. Then a gust of wind screamed at me as it blew past me.
All I could do was find the determination not to leave this nightmare.
I
stepped into the nursery first. My throat tightened when I saw the destruction
of this room. There were cobwebs dangling from the ceiling dancing a beautiful
ballet dance. I heard a faint child screaming like a strangled cat. The chilling October wind howled like a
Hyena. That made me jump like a nervous cat. The light in the room flickers
gently. Old dolls are scattered that look almost defaced. The cot just sat
innocently in the corner with a sinister look sprawled across its face. I
couldn’t cope anymore, so I…
