#OSWC2019

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

Writing Challenge - Into the Haunted House

This is with OC Aggie Christie

7. Eyes to the Grave

“I thought Moriarty was going to be keeping him busy.”  Agatha was pulled along behind Jeremy who had yet to pause glance back at her since he grabbed her in the ‘Haunted House’.  She had no real trouble keeping up with his pace, it wasn’t the first time they had taken off like this with her close on his heels.  The probably was arising from the loss of feeling to his fingers.  “I think we’re far enough away now Jer, you can let go.”  

Jeremy finally stopped and let go of her wrist, his eyes to the glass window in front of him.  “I thought he would be gone too.”  He chuckled, shooting her a smile over his shoulder, “and here I was hoping I would have more time to woo you and then show off in front of Jack.”

Slowly, Agatha forced herself to relax, heaving a heavy sigh, “glad you can joke at times like this.  But that joke would insinuate there’s something between me and Jack.  You are almost as bad as Jane with this.”  She shook her head.  “Things are really fucked up here Jer… I’m positive there’s a dead body in that ‘Haunted House’ right now, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Do you want to do something about it?”  Jeremy faced her, his eyes searching her quizzically.  

“Well, I mean,” Agatha’s face warmed, “it’s not like I want to do Nothing about it.”  She sidestepped the question, and tried to sidestep Jeremy to keep walking back to her room.  Only to find him standing in her way.

“Agatha.”  Jeremy said, somewhere between a question and an accusation.  “You and I both know who he is and what he might do to you.”

A spark of excitement curled up around Agatha’s heart and reminded her of how very much alive she was in that moment. “The key word there is ‘might’, and I think I’ve done a fucking fantastic job of surviving.”

He nodded, humming along his agreement.  “But I must ask if this is the first time that you have stayed in the same place as him without Jane being there in the same room as you.”  

“Well-”  She ran through her memories and horrifyingly it was.  Though she partially wondered if he would allow her the courtesy of having her room be ‘safe’.  

“That’s a ‘no’.”

“I didn’t say anything!”  She scowled at him.

“That deep seated frown yelled volumes.”  He poked her cheek, flashing her a warm smile.  

Agatha poked him back with a slightly exasperated grunt.  “Yeah well, what can we do?  But I should be getting back to my room to get my ghost hunting equipment and to set traps in case of visitors in the middle of the night.”

“You know, I could watch over you if you’d like?”  Jeremy raised his hands to show his innocence, “it could be just like a sleepover you might have with a friend.”  

“I wouldn’t let you sneak into Jane’s room you know.”  Agatha shook her head at him. 

“Maybe it’s not her room I’m interested in.”  He reached out for her only for them to both jump at the sound of a woman screaming.

[octobercitizen]

Ghostly radio

She stayed in the empty room waiting, ready to grasp the words that came from another side. The sunlight disappeared; the night hours too. She was half asleep when she heard the voice, diluided among the static, only to lose it again.

[allmightagency]

Day 2 : The House

Standing tall and foreboding on a little used street the outside was derelict. Weeds had grown high enough to block out the windows on the first floor, vines of ivy forced themselves through cracks in the weathered brown siding. The large wooden columns that stood to support the terrace above the front porch were splintering away. Surely one misplaced footstep would bring the whole thing crumbling down.

Cold rain splashed against her tied back hair and spotted her glasses. Her research papers were neatly tucked inside a leather satchel to protect them from the elements. Four years of steady research and very careful planning were now to be put to the test. If there were more than just cobwebs and secrets inside the house, she was sure to find it.

[nikita-swervin]

Rumors

As the oldest house in Forks, Washington, it was no surprise Wintervale Estate was rumored to be haunted. The whole town knows the story, or so they thought. The 75th anniversary of the town was next year and planning was underway. As a high school student and a staff writer for the school webzine, I was tasked with writing an article about a point of interest, as were other writers. Our sponsor and teacher had given us a list of topics to consider, the Estate was one. In true teenage fashion, meaning we couldn’t think up our own ideas, we made a card for each and drew lots.

Yep… you guessed it, I was the unlucky person to get Wintervale Estate. Sure, I had heard the stories, the speculations, and rumors, but I never thought I would ever dig into the history of the house, let alone set foot in it. But, we are getting ahead of the story. My journey down the rabbit hole began where many often do… with a trip to the library.

With my boyfriend, Edward Cullen, in tow, I drove to the town’s small library. He was a history buff like me and often accompanied me on research trips, whether it was for a school assignment or some personal knowledge. I loved that I he came with me. When he found out what I was writing about he was intrigued and had it not been for the fact we had three more classes, we would have been at the library sooner.

I approached the circulation desk and waited patiently as Ms. Cope finished with a phone call.

“Ah, Bella,” she greeted, putting the handset down. “What can I help you find?” She quirked an eyebrow at me before greeting Edward.

Ms. Cope was a good friend and avid reader like me. She knew my taste in books and would always have two or three of the new arrivals set aside for me, however, it was the middle of the month and a good two or three weeks before the next round of new books. “I’m working on a story of the webzine,” I started, pausing a moment.

She motioned with her hand for me to go on.

“It’s about Wintervale,” I said, leaning closer to her and whispering.

“I see.” She eyed me over rim of her glasses for a long moment and then moved her gaze to Edward before nodding. “You two can handle it and might be able to make things right.”

“Make things right,” Edward echoed. “What do you mean?”

Ms. Cope said nothing and turned her back. Opening a drawer, she retrieved a set of keys. She came around the desk and kept walking. I took that as to follow her.

We walked down the stairs and into the basement. The lights flickered and there was a low buzz. Much like upstairs, books lined shelves however they were so dusty you couldn’t read the titles and some had cobwebs dancing in the wake of Ms. Cope’s passing. We came to a stop in front of a wooden door. I could barely make out the faded word – ARCHIVES.

“I don’t know the state of this room. It has been at least a decade since anyone has requested to see the documents within. Darn technology. It ruins all the fun of research.” She unlocked the door and handed me the keys, indicating the key to use to lock the door back up and promptly left.

I looked over my shoulder at Edward. He shrugged. “I guess we have the run of the place,” he said, walking around me and placing his hand on the doorknob. “After you.”

I shook my head and Edward chuckled, moving into the room and feeling for the light switch. The light was dim but would do. There was a long table in the middle of the room, ten file cabinets lined the rear wall opposite the only door, three or four bookcases side-by-side to our right, and two ancient microfiche readers to the left. I set my laptop down on the surprisingly dust-free table and started it up. Moving toward the file cabinets, I looked at the neatly printed labels on the front of the drawers. Each label had a year on it, going back to before the town was recognized by Washington state.

Where to begin? I thought as Edward moved toward the bookcases.

I walked over to the file cabinets. The drawers were labeled with years going back ten years before Forks was officially recognized by the state. Oldest house, I reminded myself and opened the drawer from 1935. Reels of film greeted me and appeared to be labeled with date ranges. Not knowing when the estate was built, I didn’t want to grab one at random and hope it had an article or image on it.

“Did Ms. Cope seem like she would be much help, Edward?” I asked.

“No. There is a lot of books and annuals on the shelves, but without basic information, how do we know where to start?” He turned and leaned back against a shelf.

“Your mom?” I suggested. Edward’s mom, Esme was an interior designer and knew the insides of almost every house in Forks. She was also a history buff. “If she doesn’t know, she might be able to tell us who could help.”

He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and hit a series of spots on it. A few moments later, his mom’s voice was filling the air. “Hello.”

“Hey, Mom. Bella and I were hoping you could help us out with some information on Wintervale Estate.”

“Wintervale,” she whispered. “What are you two planning?”

That was a strange question. Esme knew the school webzine was working on articles for the 75th anniversary of the town. “That’s the topic I was assigned for the article,” I answered. “We are at the library doing research and can’t find anything. Do you know when it was built? Or, who would know?”

The line went dead. Edward looked at the screen. “She hung up.”

“She knows something, but doesn’t want to tell us is my guess as to why.”

“Web search it is.” Edward sat down at my laptop and connected to the libraries Wi-Fi. He plugged in the name into Google and hit enter. He found a Wikipedia page with a brief entry.

WINTERVALE ESTATE – Half-way house for those released from the mental institution with nowhere else to go or the family refuses to care for them. Builder unknown as is the date of construction. All attempts to obtain information have failed.

There was a single picture of a young man standing next to a brick column with a gate just visible. There was sign the read Wintervale. The photo was sepia and what laid behind the column and gate couldn’t be made out. Edward hit back and went to several other sites. None of them had any useful information or built on the Wikipedia entry.

“Okay, so what do we know from the stories we heard growing up?” I asked.

“Hmm,” Edward said, tapping his chin. “I was always told to stay away from the abandoned house.”

I nodded. My dad and grandmother had both warned me away. “When I asked why, I was told that it was not safe to go into. That the floorboards on the porch and the house where rotted and couldn’t support much weight.”

“Same. My parents didn’t want me to get hurt. Then there are the rumors of it being haunted.”

I scoffed. “Rumors are always floating around but that doesn’t mean they are true.”

Edward shook his head. I was a skeptic in all things supernatural and he knew it. Ghosts, goblins, witches, whatever are characters in stories nothing more. Haunted houses were thrilling but when all is said and done, it was trick wires and people in costumes doing the scaring. To think there are real spooks haunting an old, broken-down house was plain ridiculous.

“I’m going to go and talk to Ms. Cope. Maybe she can give us a starting point,” Edward said, getting up from the table and stretching. “After all, she did say ‘maybe you can make things right.’”

We trudged back through the basement stacks to the stairs. Blinking in the bright light coming through the windows, it took us a moment to find Ms. Cope. She wasn’t at the circulation desk. We found her in the office on the phone. She looked up and raised a finger, ending the call with a few hushed words.

“Find what you needed?”

“No. We need a little assistance,” Edward said. “Do you know when the house was built?”

“1935. There should be film for the year. Maybe an annual. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “That gives us a starting point.”

Back in the basement, I went to the cabinets and opened the one for 1935. There were six reels. I brought out all and gave half to Edward. He went over to one of the readers without me having to ask. I sat at the other one and loaded it.

It was the second of my reels, that I found a brief article.

               February 8, 1935

                               Groundbreaking at Wintervale Estate

The Cope family has broken ground today on westside of town, but it was not without incident. A terrible snowstorm felled a tree. One large limb hit Phineas Cope, breaking his leg. The young boy of six is expected to make a full recovery.

“Edward,” I called once I finished the brief article. “The Cope family owned Wintervale. Do you think Ms. Cope is related the original owners?”

He turned and looked at me. “Good question. Write it down and we’ll ask her.”

I went back to the reels. Going through three more months before finding another article on the same reel.

               September 29, 1935

                               Death at Wintervale Estate

Six-year-old Phineas Cope has passed away for complication of his broken leg. The doctor is baffled as to the cause. When questioned the doctor replied the leg had healed nicely. However, the family spokesperson said the leg was weak and could not support boy’s weight for long periods of time.

I made note and found in October’s paper Phineas’ obituary.

“Bella, have you found anything about Phineas?”

“Two articles and his obituary. What did you find?”

Edward reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I found an article about his mother, Mary, seeing him at the bottom of a hole right as cement was being poured. She was later institutionalized and died still claiming her son was alive.”

“When did she die? And where?” I asked as I scribbled down the information.

“Mary died on her son’s birthday, December 2, 1935 in her room at Wintervale.”

I felt my face scrunch up. “When was the house finished?”

“A month before her death,” Edward answered. “The reporter speculated she was haunted by her son.”

Something was I had heard came to the forefront of my mind. Rumors about the house and its occupants, but if it was abandoned then how was in occupied? I told Edward what I remembered.

He chuckled. “Always the skeptic, Bella. I’ve heard the same and believe Mary and Phineas never left. We should go check out the house. Look in the windows.”

I shivered at the suggestion. “I don’t know. I have enough for the article.”

“Bella, Bella, Bella. We have a mystery to solve. Something to set right. The truth to find out. What really happened to Phineas and Mary? Why did it become a half-way house? Where’s the reporter? The truth seeker?”

Edward looked at me, hard. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“No. Why would I? I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Then let’s go. We can always come back. For now, I think we have enough question and old newspaper articles are not going to help answer those questions.”

“What about the annuals,” I said, digging my feet in. I wasn’t scared in the least bit. And Edward’s questions were good.

“We can come back, Bella. I’m sure Ms. Cope will let us back in. I don’t think we will find our answers here.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Be adventurous.”

I rewind the reel before standing. After cleaning up, we left the room and informed Ms. Cope we were leaving and would possibly be back.

[ao3feed-connor]

the house on heather street

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pej18p

by WiseBlondeHunter

'There are really loud noises coming from the house. 281. Heather Street. I don’t know what the noises are but it sounds like someone’s getting hurt. You need to hurry.'

Written for thewritershandbook October Spooky Writing Challenge 2019!

Words: 1508, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English

Fandoms: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson, Gavin Reed, Chris Miller (Detroit: Become Human), Tina Chen

Relationships: Connor and Reader - Relationship, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader

Additional Tags: Spooky, writing challenge, OSWC2019, friends to lovers? maybe? im still deciding

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2pej18p

[thedekya]

✤Rumors✤

Do you know the big house at the top of the hill? The one at the very edge of the university campus?

Rumor has it, it was owned by a man who lost his mind when he lost his wife to Consumption. He had two children— a boy and a girl, two or three years apart in age. Both took after their late mother, in beauty and grace. Yes, even the boy. More so, the boy, with his round brown eyes and his chiseled elfin face. The little girl was a perfect copy of their mother. But the boy, they said, the boy… He was perfection. Made him popular in the village, it did. Popular on the campus too. Even though he was neither student nor faculty. He was too young. He was only in high school before the war started. Poor boy, he didn’t even get a chance.

The family had lived in that house for a very long time. It was passed on from father to eldest son, every generation. Until after the war when the man and his children perished tragically and violently. The house was then passed on to the next living relative. A cousin who lived in the city four hours away from campus. Although he tried to sell the property, the property didn’t want to be sold. The sale always fell apart. The mere sight of it scared off the potential buyers. It was vast and gloomy. The shadows that the old giant trees cast over the house, it made anybody’s hair stood on end. Once, a housing developer bought the land to build dorms and apartments. But they couldn’t level the house. Sparks flew and machines failed, but the house stood standing behind its gate. Undamaged. The developer couldn’t even level the trees that surrounded it. The developers gave up. They reversed the sale. And the cousin who owned it left it untouched and unkempt.

Since then, rumors had it that the house was cursed and haunted by the man who lost his mind when he lost his wife.

That said, how desperate are you to find a place to rent for the semester?

Photo by Keith Chan (@creepykee) on Unsplash

#writing #writingchallenge #oswc2019 #writersofinstagram #horrorfiction #horrorfictionwriter #octoberchallenge

[caughtindeadlights]

Dare You

“Why are the hell are you still relaxing? I thought you said you wanted to explore the forsaken house!” Clara angrily stomped on the porch as she made her way towards Janice.

“We walked like a mile from our homes, Clar. Take a chill pill.”

Clara sighed and decided to take a seat next to her best friend until she heard a pair of voices.

“Hey, I dare you to go inside first!” A masculine voice said.

“No way am I going inside there! Get your hands off of me, Shaun!”

Janice’s once chill mood had turned somber as she saw Shaun and Mandy near the porch. She got up from her seat and yelled, “If it isn’t tweedle dee and tweedle dumb. What do I owe you the pleasure?”

“Clara? Is that you? Well am I surprised to see you here. Oh, and Janice too.”

Janice was starting to boil with rage inside of her. Shaun had blatantly ignored calling her name first. “Cut the crap, Shaun. This is mine and Clara’s turf. Not yours and Barbie’s.”

“Your turf? Do you actually own this shit hole?”

Janice and Clara didn’t say a word.

“I didn’t think so. Now if you’ll excuse me and my girlfriend, we are going to take a closer look. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” Shaun slowly makes his way up the porch stairs. Mandy had been a following a close distance behind him.

“Don’t you lay any hands on her!” Clara shouted suddenly, using herself as a shield for Janice.

“Huh, I didn’t you know got the balls to be like that, Clara. People always call you weak.” Shaun mused. “While you’re at it, why don’t you go inside if you’re feeling so mighty and brave, huh?”

“As a matter of fact, I was just going to do that.“ Clara made her way to the front door until Janice stopped her.

“You don’t have to do this, Clar. I can handle myself.” Janice whispered to her. “You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Well, why bring me here in the first place if you know I’m uncomfortable with going to places like this?” Clara moves away from Janice and places her hand on the knob.

“What’s the hold up? Get it going with it!”

Clara took one quick deep breath and turned the knob of the front door. The door made a loud creek noise, which scared Clara a little but she ignores this and walks inside. She checks to see if there was anything or out of the ordinary, but she found none.

“You all can come inside.” Clara turns to the others who were watching her closely. “There’s nothing harmful here.”

The three standing outside go in the house one by one. However, unknown to the four, a shadow-like figure was spying on them.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Leaving

[OSWC2019 Day Thirty: Escape?]

After looking into the dining room there was nothing else left for Lydia to see. Frankly she wouldn’t have looked even if there was. The sooner she got out of this house, the better.

She marched out of the dining room at a pace that wasn’t quite running but was too fast for walking. The front door was just a few feet away. As she hurried towards it she felt as if someone behind her was watching her every move.

The door opened easily. It didn’t even creak. Lydia stepped out of the house. The sun was still shining, though it was lower than it had been when she went in. Somewhere nearby a dog barked. The people next door were carrying shopping bags out of their car. Everything seemed perfectly normal.

She looked back at the house. The front door was closed. The windows were empty. It looked like any other deserted house.

Nothing unusual could be seen at all.

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

Writing Challenge - Into the Haunted House

This is with OC Aggie Christie

5 & 6 Portrait/Red

James Moriarty was staring into her soul.  At least that’s what it felt like as Agatha’s heart threatened to leave her behind.  The fucker’s face stood smiling at her just inches away, and it took her a moment to realize it was a painting that someone had sat on a chair so it would be just the right height.  It wasn’t a small portrait either.  Agatha shook her head, of course his family would have portraits of them, it wouldn’t be surprising to her if she came across ones of his parents either.  

Swearing swift vengeance on Jeremy Agatha turned around taking in the room.  It seemed like any other haunted parlor room.  Skeletons in chairs, an old time radio sitting between two seated props, and in the corner more skeletons having a fake seance.  Agatha reached for her phone to take a photo so she could tease Jack about it later.  Only realizing that it was definitely not in her pocket anymore.  Taking a deep breath Agatha added this to the counter of things to hit Jeremy for later when they’re training.  Or when she can get her hands on something not likely to cause damage.  

She took a few steps back the way she thought she came when a loud thud made her jump and spin on her heels.  One leg back to help her lower her center of gravity and get ready if something were coming at her.  Instead she saw that the painting had somehow fallen forward onto the ground.  There was no draft or breeze, the black plastic separating rooms wasn’t even wavering to help indicate which way she had come in through.  Even the falling of the painting should have created some sort of gust.  

‘Ghosts’. Agatha swallowed hard and immediately regretted leaving her kit behind her.  She spun on her heels and quickly tried to trace back the way she came.  The rooms seems to have a familiar skeleton and ghosts in a home theme going.  Mannequins set up to create gruesome fake murders.  When she walked into one room she stepped on a pad and caused one animatronic to shriek as it moved to bluggen a ‘man’ with a maid mannequin watching in horror.   Agatha laughed when she realized that she had slipped into another fighting stance.  

A flicker of red caught her eye and as she turned to face it it had already disappeared.  It looked like it had gone in the same direction she wanted to go, which had her pausing.  She could keep going, possibly face a ghost, unprepared, or she could try to find another way around.  Though she wasn’t sure if Jeremy would consider that getting lost.  Agatha’s stomach sank as a dawning realization set in.  She hadn’t asked what they were betting.  He had made odd requests in the past, and this felt like if she took too long that it would end up with an open ended favor.  A dangerous position to be in.  

She steeled herself and took the steps to follow where the flash of red had gone.   It wasn’t in the next room, or the room after that.  In fact most of these rooms seemed to have been missing any element of ‘red’ to them that she might’ve gotten a glimpse of.  The next room, however, she hadn’t even stepped through the door when her stomach started churning.  She had barely stepped towards the opening when a faint metallic smell had her legs aching to run back the other way.  “Agatha?”  A voice murmured from behind her.  “What a surprise.  But I don’t think you want to go in that room.  Not yet at least.”  Jack Stillman leaned against the far wall watching her with a slightly twisted smile.  “Are you lost?  You really shouldn’t be wandering, you don’t know what kind of monsters might be lurking in here.” 

“Well, if you're here then I might want to go in there.”  Agatha’s body tightened in panic at the notion of carrying through with what she said.  The metallic smell was undeniable. “You have till tomorrow night to prepare for the party right?  Then it’s ‘Trick or Treat’ time.  I didn’t think you’d be getting this… sloppy.  What do you think Lestrade would say if I were to call him right now?”

“Oh… I think he would have to find you first, and then you’d have to explain away some of the evidence we have from your clients.”  Jack said it as casually as if he were discussing which tea was better.  

It was mutually assured destruction, and it had Agatha regretting ever helping Moriarty in the past.  Taking a deep breath she sighed, “fine.  This wasn’t the way I came before anyway…”  Agatha started towards another door with Jack following behind.  “You don’t have to come with me.  You’re obviously in the middle of something.”

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind me taking a little break for some entertainment.”

“You’re ridiculous.”  Agatha reached for the handle when it flew open with Jeremy’s beaming face on the other side.

“Found you!”  Jeremy grabbed her wrist, “sorry, we’re playing right now.  Only room for two people in our game.  Good luck next time Jaque!”  Jeremy spun and started pulling Agatha behind him.  She glanced back and even in the dim light she could see the way Jack’s eyes seem to glint with anger.  Sure they were eventually going to be in the same room, at the party, or at least during the day time.  But as the feeling of dread lingered after he was out of her sight she had to accept that things had gotten a little more complicated.

[octobercitizen]

Kitchen dangers

A spoon, a cup of tea, a knive. They were displayed for her to choose one. Poisonous tea, an strange spoon as ornated as an antique key, a knive. All of them made her think of weapons. Will she need one?

[allmightagency]

Day 1 : Rumors

The whispers drifted through the town on autumn winds. The crunch of leaves and the cool night air carried the rumors to her ears and into her imagination before she could prevent them from taking root.

“There is life in the manor again.”

Papers scattered across her desk told stories from a hundred years ago. The fires, the fears, the experiments. The town had boarded up the mansion and vowed to leave the mystery to itself. Some things were to be left alone. Playing too much at detective had gotten more than one well meaning sleuth into hot water with the town’s residents. But for her it was different.

For her life in the manor meant old friends might be coming back to haunt her.

So I decided to work on this challenge as like a warmup to NaNo next month! I’ll be writing little pieces like this for the duration of this month (hopefully) and tying the whole story together! I hope you enjoy it! It won’t really be scary, more just spooky and kinda mysterious

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Fire

[OSWC2019 Day Eleven: Kitchen Dangers]

Lydia was outside the dining room when she first smelt smoke. She took no notice for several minutes. The smell appeared so gradually that she couldn’t tell when she first became aware of it. Before long it filled the hallway, making her eyes sting.

Where is it coming from? she wondered, covering her mouth as she coughed.

She looked out the windows, expecting to see a bonfire in one of the neighbours’ back yards. Nothing. Not even a hint of smoke or fire.

More and more of the stuff billowed past her. She pulled out her handkerchief and held it over her mouth. Her eyes watered until she could barely see. Now the faint crackle of fire filled the air.

It’s inside the house, she realised with a jolt.

The smoke was pouring out of the kitchen doorway. Common sense battled the wish to avoid the house going up in flames. Common sense lost and Lydia ran towards the kitchen.

She saw the source of the smoke at once. The pile of old sweet papers, tossed in the middle of the floor by careless visitors over the years, had caught fire. They were the only thing burning. Lydia ran over to the sink and turned on the taps. She snatched up an old dog bowl lying on the floor, filled it with water, and hurled it over the fire.

The flames hissed and fizzled. The smoke flew up more thickly than before. Lydia coughed and coughed as she threw more water at it. But finally the fire died. She pushed the window open as wide as she could.

When she recovered from the shock she realised two things. One, there was no reason for the papers to catch fire. Two, the house’s water supply had long since been cut off.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Face to Face

[OSWC2019 Day Twenty-Five: Encounter]

All the stories agreed that most of the deaths had occurred in one specific room. The blue room. Once it had been the master bedroom. Somewhere along the line it became the room members of the Lewis family were brought to when they were close to death.

What better place to look for answers to the hauntings than the room rumoured to be the most haunted of all?

There was just one problem. Lydia had never been in the blue room. She didn’t know where it was. So she tried to find it in the only way she could. She opened every door and peered inside.

Bedrooms, a bathroom, a child’s playroom, several linen closets... Yet not a single glimpse of the blue room. Instead she found something else in the playroom.

An old rocking horse still stood beside the window. When Lydia opened the door she found it moving gently back and forth. Just the wind?

She looked closer. Now she could see the faint outline of a figure riding the horse. It grew more and more solid before her eyes, until it was as real as she was.

It was a young girl in old-fashioned clothes. The girl from the photograph, wearing the same clothes she wore in it.

The girl turned and stared at Lydia. She didn’t look angry, or sad, or even surprised. She just smiled faintly and disappeared. The horse continued to rock to and fro.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

If Walls Could Talk

[OSWC2019 Day Two: The House]

Lydia had been inside the old Lewis house twice. Once on Halloween many years ago with a group of her friends. Once when she was a teenager dared to go inside at midnight. She hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual either time.

(Or so she told herself. Creaking and rustling was normal in old buildings. Shadows glimpsed out of the corner of your eye were just your imagination.)

It had been twenty-five years since she went inside. As she walked up the driveway, dead leaves crunching underfoot at every step, she saw nothing had changed. There were the steps leading up to the front door, now broken and uneven with weeds growing in the cracks. There was the rickety front door, always locked even when visitors swore they left it unlocked. The windows, with curtains that were pulled one minute and open the next. The garden, overgrown and mostly dead.

All the village knew how to get into the house. The glass in one of the dining room windows had fallen out shortly after old Miss Annie died. Some obliging visitor had put a stone under the empty window to help other people climb in through it.

Lydia found nothing had changed inside either. The dining room still had its furniture covered with moth-eaten clothes. The hallway outside still had its peeling wallpaper and frayed, faded carpet. The banisters were still covered in dust. The kitchen still had a tap that dripped in defiance of the fact the water supply had long ago been turned off.

The living room still had its battered armchairs, a sofa that generations of mice had used as a home, and dozens of messages scratched onto the walls by visitors. Lydia ran her finger over one of the scribbles. She had done that with a penknife on her second visit.

No ghosts here, she had written. Other messages carved on the walls showed that many people disagreed.

Saw crying child, one said.

Red lite n batrum, another claimed. It took Lydia a minute to realise the writer meant “Red light in bathroom”. She shook her head at the poor spelling.

Underneath them all, scratched on top of other messages, were three words all in capitals.

WE SEE YOU.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Confusion

[OSWC2019 Day Twenty-Two: Lair of the Damned]

Lydia had never felt so confused in her life. This morning she hadn’t believed there were such things as ghosts. Now she was in a haunted house, in a room where at least one person had died, trying to figure out why it was haunted.

“What do you want?” she said aloud. “Why are you still here?”

This time she got an answer -- of sorts. More footsteps, in a room further down the hall. And they were accompanied by something new.

A loud, rhythmic knocking.

[talesofsorrowandofruin]

Questions

[OSWC2019 Day Fifteen: Decisions]

The bruises on her wrist left Lydia with two questions. The first one was “Are ghosts real after all?” The second one, which followed on from the first one, was “What do they want?”

She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to spend their afterlife in an abandoned house. She wouldn’t want to spend hers in an inhabited one, either, but an abandoned house would be even worse.

One thing all the stories agreed on was that misfortune had befallen many people who lived in this house. Falling down the stairs, committing suicide, falling into the well, possibly being murdered... all those tragedies formed the basis for the ghost stories told of the house.

If they were true, it made even less sense for the ghosts to stay here. Lydia would never want to spend eternity in the place where she died horribly.

“Why are you still here?” she asked aloud.

She almost expected an answer. She didn’t get one.