house of wuthering heights fog filters in like crimson peak paranormal disguised by conjuring so many deaths here ominous signs to not come near yet they do foolish in ways I did the same thing satan passages them through I’m bound here by my soul no escaping it if I may I warn you to not cross the welcome mat for once you enter no one can leave

Veiled by fogged curtains, These wooden walls aren’t lonely.

They’ve found solace here, Accompanied by the green, And the spirits of folklore.

Awake now I rub my eyes open. Looking out the window, fog surrounded the cabin I stayed in. Whether or not it was night or day is a different question. All I know now is that I feel well-rested, but, hungry.

I go to the fridge, opening it, the light forced my eyes open. Butter, jam and I had bread in the cupboard. Jam sandwich it is. My brain felt foggy, as though the outside mirrored me in some way. I had given myself 6 months here to write a Novel. I've only written one or two pages and it's been 4 months. Such a place of quiet yet I couldn't focus. I've noticed the quieter my surroundings are, the louder and messier my thoughts are. It's as though the city comforted me from myself and put me in a delusion.

Now, I am here, all by myself. Making up for a lost time, working hard on not just a story but for myself. The greatest battle is the battle of the self.

I must find a way to write. Inspiration needs to come from somewhere, but where? I doubt ill find anything here.

Unless...

Unless I find it from myself. My experience from the past? Or my fears of the future?

If I find inspiration from myself then I'll always have the ability to write.

What a great idea!

She couldn’t remember a time before her exile to Ironwood. Time had ceased to mean anything here. The solitude was at times too much to bear. It was during those times that she was tempted to use the magic that had brought her to this fate.

She longed to see her children one more time; to see HIM one more time. But it could not be. The world believed her dead. After all, she had been put to the pyre. The village had watched her die. Little did they know it was an illusion.

And so, she spent her days in the small cottage at the heart of the forest, tending her small garden, her goats and chickens, and longing for things that could never be again. It wasn’t a bad life, she mused. And after all, her children were safe now. That thought helped her when the loneliness crept in.

As she sat outside in the fading twilight, a cool breeze teasing her hair from her loose braid, she thought about what had brought her here. Her fingers never stilled as she spun the wool through the wheel in front of her. Had she truly deserved her fate? When she was honest with herself, which wasn’t often, the answer was yes. She had broken the first rule of the sisterhood. “Harm ye none.” She had done great harm in hurt and anger. She had driven a gentle soul to madness for cruel words spoken to her children.

And for what purpose? In truth, they were the bastards the woman had named them. She had no claim on their father, save for his affection. She had not known he was married. But in her heart, she knew it would not have mattered. She was no more capable of refusing him than she was of drawing blood from a turnip.

And now she had lost him, her darling fierce boys, and her gentle, trusting daughter. Her only consolation was that he would keep them safe. But somewhere deep inside, a nagging voice whispered that she should have one glance to be sure. That voice grew more insistent with each passing day.

She gave in, closing her eyes, and reaching out with her magic. And then she opened her eyes with a sigh. No, today would not be the day. She could not bring harm to the ones she loved by so much as a whisper of her presence.

And so, Angrboda, witch of the Ironwood, returned to the cottage, her magic contained for now. She would live as a mortal for this time. She would allow herself to be forgotten, a whispered name of myths of old.

I didn’t know what to write next. I had no ideas.

I sat there for what must have been hours. The candle had left a mountain of dried wax at its base, was barely an inch left.

There came a knock at the door. I ignored it at first, still thinking about what I was going to write, but it was insistent, wanting to get in but unable to because I had blocked the door with the brick.

‘Hello? Is anyone in there? I need help, it’s so cold out here and I haven’t got anywhere to stay.’

I smiled as the first idea came to me.

‘Hello,’ I said, beaming as I opened the door.

Someone told me that the house was hungry when I was little. Little dead things lived up in the attic room and would know if I I tried to get inside. In two years I had never thought about going into that house, until my dog pulled away from me when I was walking her. I thought she would come back if I was persistent enough, I was wrong, no matter how many times I called her name she wouldn’t come back. When I come to the border between my neighborhood and the woods I stopped, the house was just beyond the trees, I froze. Only when I heard my dog barking ahead of me did I snap out of trance. “It’s only a house it’s not going to hurt you you’re a big girl now, Aubrey.” I hadn’t noticed that I was whispering to myself until I heard a soft voice behind me.

“Did it call you or are you an early arrival?” I just about jumped out of my skin and turned around The thing I saw was my shadow stretching out on the ground behind me, “Early arrival?” The voice spoke again, only this time from in front of me. “So you’re early then?” I thought I heard a small sigh and then after a pause. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “Wait what are you talking about? I’m just trying to find my dog did she go inside that house or something?” Now the voice was far ahead of me. “Why don’t you come inside and see for yourself?” I thought about it for a minute, I was going crazy, I had to be if I talking to invisible people. But, my dog always had my back, so it was time to return the the favor.

“Okay, Miss Invisible, lead the way.” Don’t call me that!” Just because I’m small doesn’t make me invisible!” I thought I felt someone tugging on my ear and pulling me up to the house. The house was made out of gray, rotting wood. The house had thin walls and was very cold. Inside the smallest room someone was waiting for me, he had kind eyes and was holding my dog.

Hello, I see you’ve met my Pixie, don’t worry she can’t hurt you.” He winked and as he did, a little pink fame sparked to life beside him. “Aubrey? Meet Tinker Bell.” “Tink, you’re already acquainted with Aubrey?” The little pixie rolled her eyes. “Next time you handle the new kids, she called me small!”

“Aubrey?” I’m sorry I have to say this but you’re dead.” I felt my legs going out from under me. “If She’s Tinker Bell.” He nodded. I’m Peter.” He took my hand. “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”

They told me to go to The cabin in the woods They said it would be fun in The cabin in the woods And I couldn’t leave because they were In my head I wanted a chance to fit in I needed a chance to be brave So I went into The cabin in the woods 1 hour...2 hours 10 hours...10 years 100 years And I still haven’t left The cabin in the woods So if you see me Run and hide For I am not the same I was once the player Now the game I am now the cabin in the woods

It was quiet. And dark.

I was exhausted. Just so -

• tired.

Staring out the window, looking at the trees, hidden in the mist. Only silhouettes of naked arms in a dark, empty forest.

My eyes were burning. But I kept on looking.

I had to.

Although, there was nothing to see.

No one but me. Only trees for miles and the mist that made my skin feel like tiny bugs were walking on me.

I yawned. I was just so tired.

Sleep. Needed sleep.

But I couldn‘t. Not yet.

She wasn‘t here yet.

I kept on staring out the window, biting my fingernails and leaning back in the chair. This was important. I had to wait for her.

I needed to know if she made it.

Because if she hadn‘t and I fell asleep -

• I would never see her again.

And our last conversation would stay an angry one.

My eyes were getting heavier with every minute.

"Don‘t." I whispered to myself, hoping that the sound of my own voice would keep me awake. "I can‘t. Not now."

It was silent again. No noise. Everything was so quiet.

As if the world had stopped and every life with it. And wasn‘t that true?

I blinked and stared at a point in the sky where a light had suddenly appeared.

"You made it...?" I whispered. My hands started shaking as the light grew bigger and flew towards the ground, right in front of the house.

There she was.

Just as beautiful and strong as the day she left.

She smiled, nodded. And I started crying because she made it and everything would be better from now on.

The world was saved.

I was thinking of work as I took Johnson for a walk through the woods. As we neared the edge I could make him out stopped at the edge barking, shufflingon his feet but careful not to proceed. It was like he was hoping some threat would go awayso he could proceed. Probably another dog. Or maybe a sheep had wondered over from the other field. On nearing him I could see that he was barking towards a small cottage, barely visable in the mist. A coldness gripped me from the inside. The thing is we walk this route every day and I’ve never seen it there before. For some reason I felt I needed to be the adult here out of me & Johnson. Don’t be silly. It’s just a house. “Come on boy” I called as I marched off purposefully along the path that skirted the cottage and led back to the gate where I’d parked the car tight against the drystone wall that skirted the approach from the road. A note with my mobile number in the window in case it proved an obstruction to the farmer. “Come on boy” but boy wouldn’t come

By this time I was level with the cottage and could just make out the amber glow of a candle lantern inside.

It took the lead and much forceful pulling, almost dragging, to get Johnson to the car. Once there he seemed to relax a bit. I drove down to the village pub where I always end our walk with a real ale and a slice of “Pie of the Day.” Pie of the day was steak today. Today and everyday. The faded specials board was from a previous landlord’s attempt to attract walking tourists. Pie of the day ended up being the everyday of us villagers.

The pub was a low ceilinged, old beamed building with several seating areas seperated by angled beams. In the back was a real fire that looked warm and welcoming but took all the oxygen from the air, replacing it with a sooty texture. And there at the table next to the fire was the farmer whose field we’d just walked through. Peter Jones.

“Good morning...Peter, isn’t it?” I knew it was but I wanted a gentle way into conversation.

“Your dog been shitting in my field again?” he growled over a mouthful of pie. After a swallow his gravelly face morphed into a smile. “Still, all manure I suppose.” A gesture of friendship. I ventured on.

“Yes. I wonder, who lives in that cottage? Is it anyone I know.”

The smile vanished

“Cottage?”

“Yes in the field by the woods”

“No cottage there”

“Funny that, I didn’t think so either butit’s there now...” I laughed “And there’s a lamp on inside”

“There WAS a cottage there. 200 years ago. Knocked down long before I arrived. Blome lived there killed by his own dog. Demolished after”

It was then that Johnson started snarling.

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Damaged Abandoned Reckless Kooky

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