I had never been happier to have a family member pass away. Firstly, I had never met my late Uncle Simon, so I couldn’t grieve for him, and secondly, he was leaving me his mansion! I grinned as I drove to his home, thinking about what an amazing house it must be. Simon was an incredibly successful historian, so of course his house must be impressive. I hoped I was right.

I pulled onto Birch Street, referring to the address on the slip of paper in my hand. Number 4, number 5, number 6! I stopped the car and stepped out, in awe. The house was three stories tall, with beautiful marble bricks and golden gilded accents. The yard was pristine, with perfect lawn and a beautiful fountain spraying crystal water into the air.

I tried to wrap my head around the fact that this was mine. I laughed out loud.

Jingling the keys in my fingers, I strolled up the path to the elegant front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

I was expecting the same sort of luxury that I’d seen outside when I stepped through the door. Boy was I wrong. The paint on the walls was a yellowed white, and peeling all over. The walls themselves had deep gouges in them, like slices across skin. The floor was a mess, with shattered glass and pottery strewn about. The expensive looking sofas were torn up and pushed over. It was like I’d walked into a horror movie. I drop my bags. “Well, this is just great.”

I lay in my threadbare four poster bed, eyes wide open and ears attuned to every tiny noise. You see, from entering the mansion, it had gotten even worse. As I had scaled the stairs to the master bedroom, they had seemed to jump up and down, trying to trip me up. The mirrors lining the long hallway had shattered, one by one, as I walked past. The door to my room refused to stay open, and insisted on slamming loudly when I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t loving the house so much any more.

Just when all the creepy noises had silenced themselves, and I was finally drifting off to sleep, a sharp cracking sound filled me with adrenaline. The wall opposite me started cracking, and the paintings and mirrors shook in their frames. The wall seemed to be moving, the wallpaper scrunching and tearing. With a violent lurch, the wall tore itself in, ripping into a gruesome shape.

The plain wall had contorted itself into a grotesque face, with scrunched wallpaper as skin and shattered mirror as eyes. It’s eyes locked on mine, and it’s mouth opened wide. It started screaming. With the scream, the house started crumbing around me. I jumped out of bed and ran for the door, but a the face in the wall wouldn’t allow that. Out of it’s screaming mouth came a sharp tongue of bricks and plaster. I knew I had lost.