The Old Manor House

By Morrigan Blair

 

     My stomach pulled me closer to the untouched, cursed house. As I ventured closer, my hands trembled before me as I stared at the ancient, crumbling manor. You could tell it had been abandoned for centuries due to its suffering bricks and mortar; I could still make out the grandeur of its architecture, still managing to glimmer through the decay and overgrown brambles. A shiver travelled down my spine, leaving the small hairs on the back of my neck standing up to attention. I cautiously marched closer to the house, as if I were one of the troop, on the back of my neck, shivering in the cold misty nights air.

      “Creak!” Slowly, I placed my foot on the doorstep wondering if I should enter. I looked up, there was a dusty lightbulb flickering above me. I felt it was my best duty to enter as it greeted me inside, or so I thought. A gush of wind howled as if it was singing a melody to my ears; a tune that sounded familiar, once pleasant, maybe not anymore.  As the wind picked up, the door slammed shut, whilst the floorboards moaned with age. The colour drained from my face, as I attempted to take another step further. I poked my head around the corner and in the distance a flickering candle caught my eye. Cautiously, I walked further down the hallway towards the hope of light. As I got closer to the candle, I started to feel more comfort. The flame shook more as I got closer; was my breathe shaking it from a distance? I felt the walls, full of mysterious antique paintings, close in on me so I grabbed the candle. A window flew open and another blast of icy wind extinguished the only source of light I had, instantly I was plummeted into darkness once again. I saw something floating around me but could not make out anything of it. A ghost? A human? Somebody who was here to save me?

     When a stack of leaves flew in through the window, I noticed a full moon, covered faintly by a mist of clouds, out the filthy window, that had not be cleaned for years. I now had light but could see no other being around. It shined delicately over a tree in the centre of the woods. I wanted to discover this tree in further depth, as I felt it was being spotlighted, but I had to find a way to escape this nightmare first.

     Now I knew that I was imprisoned, I had to find a way to break out without being seen. Whilst I was searching inside the ruined walls, I saw an elaborate painting, that  consisted of a secret message. I managed to uncover a disintegrated phrase, on a plaque underneath it. It read Montagues- 1679. Clueless, I shut my eyes for a split second until I was disturbed by a tap on my back. I sharply twisted my head round to see what it was; there was nothing there. My breathing began to get heavier as my heart pounded so hard it felt like it was in my throat. Was I going to choke? No, I needed to stay calm if I ever intended to get out of this place. Someone was watching me. Controlling me. But who and where they are is yet to be answered.

     Through the window there was a great flash of lightning, striking a poor tree; I began to realise how much danger I had put myself in. Icicles began to grow on me; where to walk next was the next BIG question. I needed warmth. Maybe a fire? Or another candle? Something that would keep me cozy from this monstrous storm.

    ESCAPE, WHERE, HOW. These thoughts flooded through my mind, as I crept further along the corridors trying to find something… anything to help me. As I arrived at the next room, I could hear a squeaking noise coming from it. What was it? Dare I look? Tentatively, I peered my head around the corner to discover the disturbance in further depth. There, in the middle of the nursery was a young girl, no older than ten, wearing a long, white nightgown; sitting upon a rocking horse travelling nowhere but back and forth. As I ventured deeper into the room, she turned and smiled at me. For the first time, I felt safe in this sinister mansion. Her small, fragile fingertips directed my eyes to see her name embroidered on a blanket draped across her knees.

    “Elizabeth Montague,”I said aloud. She grinned and nodded. As she jumped down from her most precious possession, her finger drew to her lip to silence me but no noise came out of her mouth. She beckoned me; I followed her quietly round corners, up stairs; through a secret escape route. We reached the outside. Coldness hit both of our lungs. A shiver made Elizabeth bite her lip; I wanted her to follow me but she stood there still at the exit. I gave her my jumper to keep her warm.

     “Slam!” I jumped in terror and sprinted through the forest. Once I felt I was far enough away, I turned behind me to see her, but she wasn’t there. She hadn’t followed me, or had the door once more locked her in. Once again, I was alone.

      The next morning, I went back to the manor (that didn’t seem as frightening in daylight) to help my new found friend Elizabeth, escape this house. On my way, I saw the eye catching tree that took my attention the previous night. I wanted to investigate it so I walked towards it. A small, grave sat there neatly in this overgrown garden. I began to read RIP ELIZABETH MONTAGUE DIED 1681 AGED 10 YEARS OLD. And in front of the headstone lay my jumper, folded immaculately.