The Haunting of Miller Mansion

Cold seeped through Megan’s palm as she placed it on the stone curved wall of Miller Mansion. Startled, Megan cursed under her breath, trying not to inhale too deep. The damp odor-laden air threatened to choke the last remanent of food particle out of her growling belly. She needed to eat something before retiring to her bed. But conveniently the electricity went out, leaving Megan stranded in an inky darkness that seemed to pulsate with the progressing night. 

Why did she come here on the first place? Megan wondered as she carefully climbed down a stairway that went on forever. She balanced a thick candle in her left hand while clutching the wall with her right one to keep herself from falling. Who placed the main switch in the basement? The question though asked silently in her mind got an instant reply, ‘The hauntingly crazy ones.’

Megan stopped short on her way as shock creeped through her veins. The reply had not been uttered in a loud voice. Neither it had been whispered in her ears. The answer was spoken in an amused tone inside her head – as if someone, living inside her skull found her discomfort funny. Beneath her palm the cold wall turned icy. The cold did not churn a shiver out of her, it began to burn her soft skin, as if trying to suck the life out of her. Shrieking in shock, she snatched her hand back, fully expecting to see blisters. But other than reddish plump flesh, she saw no sign of scars. Overactive imagination, a grin formed on her face, every horror writer’s bane of existence.

But her smile did not last for long. The stony stairs under her feet shifted slightly, as if trying to change shape. Megan even heard a faint creaking as discomfort crept up her legs, paralyzing her to the spot she had been standing. What’s wrong with this mansion? She thought, stepping back, climbing up the stairs to reach the safety of ground floor’s vastness, desperate to escape the narrow stairway and its strong damp smell.

Relief flooded in as Megan reached the ground floor’s wide living room. At least she could breath freely now. The only window of the living room framed a dense cluster of unknown trees, standing like ancient entities forever frozen by some curse.

There you go again, Megan scolded herself. Catch hold of your imagination, she said to herself. But the trees indeed looked like frozen living beings. Some of the tree trunks looked like humans crouching on the ground, pleading for mercy. With stealthy steps she approached the window, clutching the candle tightly. Was it a visual trick or was she really gazing at human trees? A strong gust of wind crept through the window just then blowing out the candle, pushing her once again into a solid realm of darkness that quivered with exhilaration, wrapping itself around her body like a snake. The trees began to tremble as if falling into a slow dance of delight. Megan could feel the darkness tightening its hold on her, pulling her away from the gross to somewhere subtle, somewhere nameless. A place where humans turned into trees, and wind smelt damp, and darkness devoured flesh to gain strength.