“Good night, mom.”

Yawning, I looked at my mom. Age had left its mark on her face, in the wrinkles worn from countless smiles and the slight sag of her tired eyes. She looked radiant as she smiled at me.

“Good night,” she answered, “and, sweetheart…”

“Yes?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“Don’t forget to lock the door before you fall asleep.” She was still smiling, but slight tension hardened her eyes. “It gets cold in the hallway.”

“Of course,” I agreed, already heading up the stairway.

I dragged my fingers over the ornate railing, savoring the worn swirls and grooves. My feet sunk into the luxurious pillow of the carpet as I hummed a tune to myself. Light streamed down from the crystal chandelier, its shimmering drops refracting rainbow rays. Years have passed since I’d last stepped foot into my parents’ mansion, and I was determined to enjoy every minute.

I reached the top of the staircase, and stepped into the hallway leading to my childhood bedroom. I padded over to the door, taking a breath as I opened it. Warmth mixed with a buzzing nostalgia poured over me as I took in my room.

A lava lamp stood on my bedside table, bathing the room in calming blue light. My bed stood in one corner, heaped with pillows and a heavy blanket. The desk I’d spent hours studying on covered the left side of the room, and posters of all the bands I’d ever enjoyed plastered the walls. Stepping inside my room was like walking into an alternate universe. It felt completely different from the rest of the house.

With a content sigh, I crawled beneath my blanket. It was so warm, so soft, so comfortable… my eyes, weighed down by an invisible force, closed.

…

I was thirsty.

Tossing and turning, I tried to sink back into thoughtless slumber. I pulled my blankets over my head and adjusted my pillow, but nothing could pull me back to sleep. Sighing, I opened my eyes.

The room still glowed with a blue light, looking the exact same as when I first fell asleep. I stared at the ceiling, contemplating staying in bed, before pulling the blankets back and climbing out of bed. Groggily, I walked over to the open doorway. Outside my room, the hallway loomed dark and empty. Nighttime shadows painted everything in a menacing shade.

Uttering a quiet curse, I carefully walked over to the stairway. Trudging down the stairs, I wondered if they were longer than usual. The chandelier rang dully when I accidentally nudged it with my elbow, the noise echoing as I sped up my descent. One foot after the other…

At the bottom of the stairs, I drew a shuddering breath. My heart beat noisily in my chest. I just needed to get that water and go back to my room, into my soft bed, I soothed myself.

Walking over, I noticed a soft light pouring from the kitchen. Relieved, I opened the door and saw my mother’s figure. She was fussing over something on the counter, her back turned to me.

“Mom?” I called, my voice raspy. “What’re you doing?”

I came closer, grabbing a cup. “Are you…cooking something?” I asked her.

I poured myself some water from the tap opposite my mom, gulping it down greedily. Sighing, I placed it into the sink. I turned back around, and…

My mother stared back at me. No, ‘stare’ would be the wrong word, as the creature wearing my mother’s body had no eyes. My brain struggled to grasp the concept of her, the empty faceless void and the deformed structure of her head. My heart pounded in my brain, adrenaline rushing through my entire body.

“…mom?”

The creature lunged at me. My breath caught in my lungs as I screamed, rushing backwards. I turned and ran, my breath stuttering in horror as the only thought in my brain shrieked, over and over: “get away. Get away. Get away.”

I ran.

I ran up the stairs, the lush carpet hiding the creature’s sounds. My lungs burned as I ran two stairs at a time, hoping, praying, begging the creature wasn’t on me already. My elbows knocked the chandelier and sent it rattling and ringing in alarm as I grabbed the railway to push myself up, faster, faster. Faster.

Finally on the top of the stairs, I burst into hallway towards my room.

And then I looked behind me.

The faceless creature loomed, its spindly hand reaching out towards me. It was so wrong, so disgustingly inhuman, my brain froze. I forced my legs to move, to keep running, to ignore my lungs begging for rest and oxygen. I rushed through the open doorway and slammed the door shut.

I gasped for breath, clutching onto my chest. I collapsed onto the floor, horrified tears streamed down my face. Sobs fought to overtake me, but my hysteria forced my breaths shorter and shorter and…

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually, my tears had dried. A gentle tremor still wracked my body as I tried to make sense of what I saw. My mother…my lovely, gentle mother…

“Honey?”

I flinched so violently, I banged my head on the bed behind me.

My door pushed open slowly, and adrenaline filled me again as I desperately searched for places to run to. My gaze dragged itself upwards from her slippered feet all the way to her…face.Her gentle eyes regarded me curiously. I felt like I could breathe again, and a tingling filled me from head to toe.

She smiled at me.

“I hope you remembered to close the door.”

The old mansion loomed in the darkness, its windows boarded up and its doors creaking ominously in the wind. It had been abandoned for years, but stories of its dark past still circulated among the townspeople.

One night, a group of friends decided to explore the mansion. They entered cautiously, their flashlights illuminating the dusty rooms and creaky staircases. As they climbed the stairs, they heard strange noises coming from the upper floor.

Suddenly, one of the friends screamed and pointed at a figure standing at the top of the stairs. It was a woman in a tattered white dress, her hair wild and tangled. Her face was twisted in a grotesque expression, and her eyes glowed with an otherworldly light.

The friends tried to run, but the doors had mysteriously locked behind them. They were trapped in the mansion with the ghostly woman. As they stumbled through the dark corridors, they felt cold fingers brush against their skin and heard whispers in their ears.

In one room, they found an old diary that revealed the mansion's dark history. It had been owned by a wealthy family who had imprisoned their daughter in the attic, where she had died of starvation and neglect. Her ghost now haunted the mansion, seeking revenge on those who dared to enter.

As the friends tried to escape, they were confronted by the ghostly woman once again. She floated towards them, her eyes burning with an unearthly fire. In terror, they realized that they were trapped in the mansion forever, doomed to become the ghostly woman's next victims.

The mansion remained abandoned, its windows still boarded up and its doors locked tight. But on dark nights, the ghostly woman could still be seen wandering its halls, seeking revenge on any who dared to enter.

Whack.

The axe hit the wood. Heavy blankets of snow engulfed the mansion on the island of Varr; the colourless branches were on the verge of snapping, and the thick cloud-like fog minimised the view of anyone in sight. Ivan liked it that way. Whether he had grown to like the cold atmosphere of Varr or he just enjoyed his new facial features: dark sullen eyebrows and thick fur-like hair, it had changed now that his father had gone. The old, never ending hallways that were doused in fancy carpets brung a sharp look of distaste at the thought of it. Ivan hated his father’s adoration for royalty; it was the one thing that he despised to be, in a warm palace with the free will to do what they liked, knowing that deep down he had done nothing for what he had. Now — he could view the gloomy corridors without having to grimace at the sight of red. He could stomp through the hallways as much as he wanted and they would stomp back— but to no reply. He could cause mayhem — and nobody would know. The dry hollow trees after winter had ended were perfect to set alight. The quick change from dull grey to electrifying orange sent chills down Ivan’s spine, watching them crisp over and burn black was something the animals had better have gotten used to. The mansion itself was nothing special, until one day Ivan found himself in a precarious situation. — The sitting room rumbled as Ivan entered the room. He gave a low grumble which appeared to be some sort of pleased laugh viewing the mighty ranges of black and white at its finest. A black leather chair in the corner of the room, a white lamp with a warm glow beside it, unusually, a black animal rug which head looked a mix of a panther and a bear. His windows were large and narrow like fish eyes peering towards the freezing over of autumn. Ivan left the room. Clunk clunk. Was it the sound of his heavy boots or something more? Ivan took nothing of it and entered the gloomy kitchen. Clunk clunk. Ivan peered around his shoulder. Nothing but the sound of the sharp autumn wind. On the kitchen wall hung a mighty painting of Ivan’s father himself. Covered from head to toe in a red suit and brown fur, Ivan darted his eyes away and scoffed. His black eyes stared Ivan down, reflecting in to the similar black, causing Ivan to shudder frustratedly. “Do not look at me.” He placed his hands on the golden rimmed painting, ready to rip it off in one clean movement.

Clunk clunk.

The sound inched closer. Ivan’s fingers gripped harder to the painting.

Clunk clunk.

Closer, closer. His fingers reached further; readying himself.

Clunk clunk.

With a harsh tug, Ivan pulled the painting and the nail out of the wall. It ripped a harsh hole on the white exterior, but he dropped the painting onto the ground, face down, with another sharp look of distaste on his face.

Clunk clunk. A black shadow grew large, breathing down Ivan’s neck.

Clunk.

It went dark.

Summer heat shimmered in the air. Fraying tempers. Snapping last straws. Through the humid soup you walked. Purposeful strides grind down the sweeping gravel driveway. Fidgeting with your tie knot you tried to alleviate the suffocating grip.

At last the omnipresent and omnipotent severe stone face of the mansion came into view. Bland brick gave nothing away. Large staring windows judged and sneered. Huge marble columns seemed to shrug detached from the world. Medusa’s hair swung, swirled and encircled; poisonous to the touch, tainting innocence of everyone and everything.

Shivering you ascended the steps; rapping sharply on the door. Slowly swinging open it revealed a lavish entrance hall. Money draped over every surface, defusing into the air. You now had to feign like you had never been in this mansion before. Pausing to wipe the sweat from your brow, your mind took you back to the previous evening.

Heavy bass shook the building, strobe lights flashed, bodies swayed. Even in the vast gardens the the throb of the party could be felt. You meandered through your guests with a drink in hand. Leaning against the doorframe your eyes scanned the dance floor for your long term partner.

At last your eyes settled upon them. Sneaking through the crowd you wrap your arms around their waist, you murmured into their coffee coloured hair, “Hey my dear.” Quickly, your insecurities crept up when they pulled away rather than leaning into your embrace. All of your enthusiasm dissipated, it had been a stupid idea to host a party on a work night.

Stalking out of the ballroom you made your way to the vast kitchen. Copper pots hung decoratively on the walls. Slumping onto one of the wooden stools you rested your elbows onto the oak table. The joyful laughter and upbeat music suddenly became too much. Standing you sent the stool crashing to the floor. Swiftly crossing the dark flagstones you yanked the cord to signal the end of the evening. You didn’t care if people were irritated by the abrupt end. Bitterness coursed through your veins, burning your insides like acid.

At last the great front door banged shut. Peace. Head pressed against the cool wall, your sharp eyes detected the light pattering. A pattern you recognised all too well. “Are you angry with me?” Their small childish voice, one they used to weasel out of responsibilities.

Not bothering to turn, you muttered sourly, “Do I look like I’m happy? I know that you are cheating on me, bit hard to fool me after all I’m a detective.”

“Can I make it up to you?” Sickly sweet tones edging closer. That was the last straw.

Whirling around you paced furiously towards them, “No you can’t! I’ve dealt with your lies for years! It’s over!” Blinded by red fury you grabbed them around the throat. Hurling them backwards hearing the thump as their soft body hit the floor.

Fury blazing in your eyes, you clutched the smooth handle of the filleting knife you drove it into their back. Drawing your lips back exposing shiny pearl wedges. Their scream sung in your ears. Sticky rivulets sliding easily off the smooth surface. Dropping the blade it clattered to the floor. Ignoring the pain in their frightened sea-blue orbs, you bodily lifted them on the tabletop.

Grabbing a mallet and pins, you pushed them onto their back. Yanking out their pristine arm you drove home the nail. Each reverberating thwack, bones crunched and primal screams repeated endlessly. Soon they were spread out limbs firmly attached to the stout surface. Crimson stars burst around each rusty nail. Contrasting with the ghostly complexion.

Deliberately, you dragged the sharp knife across their throat, as they thrashed around in desperation. Their air gurgled and rasped before petering out. Thick viscous rivers burst from the edges, extravagantly decorating the elegant neck with priceless red jewels. Still the fury had not been satiated.

Callously, emotionlessly and tenderly you unzipped the skin like a coat. Exposing the glistening innards; a miracle. The intoxicating scent of blood filled your nose…

“Detective?” A cautious voice pulled you back into the present moment, “Do you wish to see the crime scene?” Silently you nodded, it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it before.

Keeping an innocent pretence you followed the constable. As you entered the brightly lit kitchen, you raised your fist to your mouth. Seemingly shocked at the demonic sight. Glancing around taking a mental image of scene, your attention was caught by a single wristwatch.

You had misplaced yours the evening before… That could be the single clue that would undo everything. The clue that could pull the loose edge of your carefully woven story; leaving you exposed revealing your true name.

George Hide; the worlds most wanted serial killer.

Unexpected to be killed in cold blood, in the wanna be prom queens bedroom. Her shiny dress , spots of blood now layed on the silky dress , did not match the clean room, stunning vanity , or the aura given by the unexpected murder . “I want to be prom queen , and I’ll do whatever it takes!” The last words the victim heard before she was gracefully nocked to the floor. Making a loud crash. The silenced screamed for itself.

“It all went silent; just silent”.

Let me tell you about the time where a night of joy and laughter turned into a night of darkness and emptiness; If I have the guts to explain it to you.

It was my friend Thomas’s birthday last week . He only just turned eighteen and he thought the best idea was to have it situated in a mansion that was built over a hundred years ago: it was “Brickford Manor”.

The mansion may look like it is a building from heaven with it’s beautifully white exterior walls and stain glass windows smiling at you as you walk past but after what I have researched, it’s secrets are too dark to be called a mansion from heaven.

Two weeks ago I was in the university library studying psychopaths in the history of our world and as I took a brief moment looking at page flirty nine of the book I chosen. It gave me the knowledge that Brickford Manor is home to something far more sinister than the haunted mansion in Russia is; far more sinister.

Bringing you back to the day of the party, I walked over to my bedroom with me swinging my red wardrobe open to see what I should wear for the party.I had a buttoned shirt which was covered in the colour of the night sky so I thought that would barely work but suddenly, I came across a blue suit that looked just about right for the party. I was ready to go.

As I pulled up at the mansion, with the dirty black cobbles stretched out before me, I suddenly noticed a large ringing sound starting to buzz in my trouser pocket. I took my small Sony Experia phone to reveal…

It was a text message from my Nanny Jean who I started to live with when my grandfather died so I could look after her. As I read the text message a comforting warmth in my stomach started to form which made me finally understand that everything was going to be fine. It read:

“Don’t worry Clarence my dear, you’ll have a great time and that psychopath died years and years ago. You’ll be fine”.

As a slight smile started to tug at the end of my mouth, I got out my car to see Thomas waiting for me with a colossal smile on his face l. It was like he felt no fear at all. He had a black suit on with a vibrant green badge with the number 18 staring at me in judgement. Despite guessing why he looks so confident. I just walked into the mansion.

Thumping house music filled the room and with Thomas walking beside me with the smile still on his face, he guided me yo his friends Misty and Carl who were dancing like lunatics on the dance floor. I just decided to join them. It was a party after all.

As we danced to the house music for fifteen minutes without caring of what others thought of our moves, Carl decided to go to the toilet upstairs for literally a break bud suddenly, as he fend out of the toilet, a large scream started to deaden my ears. It was too peculiar.

Suddenly, after terrifyingly deep running on the floor died out, we found the still body of Carl covered in blood just outside the toilet door. This is crazy.

With kiddy’s mouth open in shock with tears starting to twinkle in her eyes, Misty started to walk across the balcony to see where the source of walking is and just as she stopped by the billiard hall, the shot of a musket started to deafen our ears even further. This is just all too much.

Lastly, after Thomas gasped in shock after what he heard, a sharp dart started to pierce inti the skin of his hind legs which made him crumple to the ground in death. And after witnessing the death of Thomas, it was just me; alone, all alone.

As I left the mansion with tears started to glisten in my eyes, abd tgst was the end of the party.

Yesterday, a police officer came into my home to talk to me about the party and what he asked and how I responded made us all go silent. Just silent.

@M”Sit would you please tell me what happened after you witnessed the deaths”? “It all went silent, just silent”.

A privilege. No, not just a privilege, a great privilege the Happy Oaks Homeowners’ Association had said when they approved that she could live there. It was an exception. That’s all they said. She knew what they meant. A single woman over forty-five without a family was not the right fit to the puzzle of the upscale neighborhood. She guessed she had only made it in because of her finely dressed curves and the huge sum that was on her credit report. The body was truly hers, the money had had another source. They’d never know. They must have assumed she was a financier, a lawyer a billionaire’s heir. She was none of those things, she was an artist who had never sold a work of art. She had found a way to support herself, though. Seven husbands who had slightly unusually deaths, but nothing too suspicious. The seventh she knew would be her last, holding a forty-five year old piece of flesh to look like it was just on the cusp of thirty had become too strenuous. She knew her peak had been passed. The rollercoaster was now all downhill. She hoped for a good ride. So, it was time to settle down and end the hunt. She had had enough of the game. It wasn’t fun anymore.

But it was only the game of money that was over. On the day she moved into that ivy covered brick Tudor mansion, there was a moving team of five bicep bulging guys. The home association had recommended them and she thought it would be a good idea to hire them as a way of showing her appreciation. She helped them work harder by flashing them smiles as if they were hundred dollar bills. She was pleased, the magic was still there. In fact after she had tipped them each ten dollars when they left, one of them remained and she fulfilled her desires at the poolside, knowing that she would not receive any money for her services. The tables had turned, she gave him an extra twenty and felt a tinge of pain when he left and said, “Thank you, ma’am”

‘Ma’am’ was a word that reminded her too much of the word ‘mom’. An old lady, a kiss on the cheek rather than the lips. She was no ‘ma’am’! Maybe she was losing it. The thought made her wince her eyes. Not a good idea she thought that could force the first lines of crow’s feel to dig deeper into her skin. As she went to the glass poolside table to put her gem studded rings and gold bracelet back on, she stopped and stared, they were no longer there. She had been betrayed by that young man. He knew just what was he was doing, just like she had so many times before. She sighed and told herself they were just trinkets. She had so much more of all that, it just needed to be unpacked. She made herself a martini, then another and after the fifth she fell asleep thinking that tomorrow she’d start to empty the boxes.

Her ears heard the creak of wood from the floor and a light tap-tap on the steps. It always take a while to get used to the voices of a new house and she rolled over on her other side on the soft plush couch. Still in her bikini, the after-midnight air coming in from the open windows brought her a chill. She reached for her covers, forgetting that she wasn’t in bed. A blast of air came suddenly. She tried to pull her body up on her elbows, her head only spun more from the vodka and olives. Suddenly her body was turned from an outside force, she was lying on her belly and felt how her arms had been pulled behind her and a plastic band was pulled tight around her wrists. Before she could scream, her head was lifted up by her long, silky hair and a lash of electrical tape was slapped across her mouth. The adrenaline pumping filtered the haze of alcohol from her blood. For one moment she was able to open her eyes and see the homeowner’s association and the moving crew. Then a dark hood was thrown over her head. Through its thick, rough fabric she heard a voice that sounded like the overly-biceped guy, “Another rich broad bagged!”

The others howled with laughter. The chair of the Happy Oaks Homeowners’ Association added as if in some annual meeting, “The treasury will be filled and the koi in our private park be fed.”

That was the last she heard, another howl of laughter. And the last thought she had: duped for money.

Unlike her new pool, the water was cold as she sank in her bikini.

Cold in the silence, they waited. In the silence, he was hunting. On marble floors, claws clicked. Air was inhaled and exhaled. They were quiet sounds, but in the complete absence of noise, they were prominent and intense. Sliding like black oil down a curving staircase, the Shepard’s fur rolled and his muscles moved in fluid tandem over his bones. With each downward step his shoulder blades rose and fell under his skin, his long tail swept side to side. Tall erect ears pivoted, detecting strained breathing and the shift of clothes. The dog’s already slinking pace slowed further and he turned his head. He halted at the last step. He heard something. Low, small sounds coming from beneath him. Ears swiveling, he soundlessly descended the last step and crept onto the floor. Easing around the staircase and hugging closing to it, the dog paused. He sniffed the air, catching the scents of humans. One, the heavier, stronger scent of a male was permeated with fear. The other, female with a less overwhelming but far more appealing smell was also scared, but less so than the male. They both reeked of sweat and blood, and the male had cried at some point. Silently, the Shepard peered under the staircase, his keen eyes finding them in the dark. They were huddled close, crouched in the tight space. The male was pressed to the female’s side, his thighs trembling and his breathing shaky. The female was stock still, muscles rigid and mouth tight. Her cheek was against the other human’s forehead, and there was a gun clasped in her hands between her knees. The dog’s eyes focused on the firearm. There few human things he had names for, but gun was one he remembered well. Soundless and swift, the Shepard lunged. He went for the female first. She was dominant, she was the threat, and he sank his teeth on the first part of her he saw, which was her right wrist. With a shout from behind grit teeth, her right arm jerked, losing hold of the gun. The dog ground down, her bones shifting beneath her skin. Blood tinged saliva dripped from his jaws. Abruptly, she stopped pulling and came forwards. Now he started to growl, but it cut off when she grabbed him hard by the side of the neck, tightening her grip painfully. “Release.” The command wasn’t shouted, but said in such an authoritative tone that it hit on something secluded away in the dog, and he unlatched his jaws. But the male moved, just a little, and with a building snarl the Shepard redirected his attention. In the confined space and quiet of the mansion, the gunshot was astounding. The male cried out and the dog jerked, legs folding under his body as he collapsed. His neck burned and pain laced up and down his spine. He gasped, blood in the back of his throat as it pooled around his head. Something touched his face, the female stroking her hand over his ear. “This should have never happened to you.” He registered the words, but they held no meaning. Her voice though, and it’s soft tone, were comforting. “You weren’t an attack dog, you were a police dog. You should never have been used for this.” Blood was matting the dark fur of his neck. He couldn’t breath. Her hand remained on his head, but when she spoke it sounded further away, not directed at him. “We get to him, I’m not arresting him, I’m killing him. You can tell the other officials whatever you want, but I’m killing him for this.” He replied, quietly,
“Good.” He hand resumed its stroking, and in a steady, praising voice, she said, “Good job dog. Good job.” The Shepard’s tail thumped once on the marble floor, and he didn’t move again.

Dogs are vastly underestimated creatures, and they were particularly underestimated by the suspect. He had ordered the dogs on Officer Brier when she found him on the upper floor, and the dogs, the last two, had rushed at her. But the suspect was not a cop, never had been or could ever be, not like Brier. So when she spoke, the Shepards listened, and when she told them attack, they did. She walked out of the mansion with the last two Shepards flanking her. The victim, Julian, being led at her side. They found the suspect as nothing more than torn flesh in blood and shreds of clothes.

I don’t remember arriving here. I must have, at some point, because I wasn’t born in this sprawling mansion, but in my memory what should be a line between my apartment routine and the country lifestyle I now lead is a complete blur.

I can’t even remember how long I’ve been here. Definitely since Easter, when the Nurses painted eggs and hid them across the grounds overnight. We had such fun hunting in the luscious flowerbeds, manicured lawns, and low branches of trees with burgeoning, fresh, green leaves. And well past Christmas when we all had to enter the “secret Santa” and craft gifts for one another. I still have my whittled carving of a dove that Alphonse made me.

I do know why I am here. No other hospital could cater to my needs. I’d had too much work done already, they’d said. Any more surgery on my face and the whole thing could turn black, die, and fall off. Revision and reconstruction were too risky. But not for Rebirth.

Rebirth South Hospital used to be a plantation of some kind. Jacob’s Fields, I think it was called, before abolition. Then an asylum (back when those were popular) called Castel Home for the Insane and Mentally Dysfunctional. What a mouthful. I assume they thought renaming this ancient homestead “Rebirth” would discourage any ghosts. But this place is haunted- by living and dead.

You see, Rebirth works with cutting-edge technology to help those of us whom the rest of the medical profession has given up on. People who’ve spent half their lives in comas now sunbathe next to the greenhouse. Paraplegics jog to the edge of the woods and back. Plastic surgery addicts get another chance to improve themselves- and many reach perfection.

It doesn’t matter that the donors are... involuntary... It only matters that their limbs and organs and other harvestables are healthy. It’s such a pity that these winding country roads lead to so many automobile accidents. Well, at least the bodies get put to good use.

Don’t worry. Shh. I know you’re in a lot of pain. I saw your car flip three times! But the Doctors will be here soon and then it will all be sorted. And you have such a lovely face. Much prettier than mine. I’ve been waiting for months for the perfect replacement. Sometimes you just have to be patient.

Elvira didn’t know how long she’d been wandering around the mansion. It was dark and dim, and a child wind blew even though there were no windows. The long, crooked hallways were lit by flickering sconces places sporadically along the walls, and even they seemed to have a certain eeriness to them.

How was she ever going to get out of here? Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten here. Or why she’d gotten here.

Suddenly, Elvira stopped in her tracks. There was a figure lying on the ground just a few paces away, a girl, shadowed and gauntly still.

She called out, “Are.. are you alright?”

Elvira crept forwards. It was lying on its side, raven hair strewn messily in between its mangled arms. Shaking, she reached down and rolled it over. Thunder cracked outside, and she shrieked at the gruesome sight.

A pale face, glossy eyes and a blood-soiled chest greeted her. Elvira spun around, as if to find the killer standing right behind her, but the hallway was empty. Curious, she glanced down at the floor, and found that leading away from the figure was a trail of bloody footprints. Now deciding it was her duty to avenge the poor girl, she began to follow them.

At the next turn of the hall, there was a man sprawled beneath one of the sconces.”Hello?” She called, but she knew better than to expect a response. The man’s eyes were also glassy, his face white and sweaty, arms tangled around his lifeless body. And there was that same blood spot in the same place on his chest.

The footprints paused at the man, and then continued down yet another hall, this one even darker than the last. Thunder boomed again. Elvira wasn’t afraid anymore, though. She was determined.

There were three figures this time, a man and two women, murdered in the same manner as the last two. Yet again the bloody footprints stopped at each of the figures, and turned away farther into the abyss of the mansion. Elvira walked past the dead figures and squinted in the dark, realizing the footprints led into a bedroom, of which the door was ajar.

She crept along the wall and slipped inside.

It was small, and remarkably untidy. Bags, clothes and papers laid strewn throughout the unmade bed and lavish dressers, whose drawers had been opened haphazardly, with random objects poking out of them. “What the...” she looked down to find the footprints leading up to a place near the bed, and then stop.

Elvira reached the end of the trail and nervously looked up. Thunder cracked outside as she met a horribly familiar pair of eyes.

Her own.

Elvira’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced down the bloody footprints she had been so determined to find the maker of. Her whole body shaking, she gingerly placed her own foot over the print, finding, oddly enough, that they matched up exactly...