Do you like scary stories? How about monsters and things that go bump in the night? If you do, then I have the collection for you. This is an anthology of short scary stories, all of which are original; with more being added as time goes on. If you...
Uncle Max had been very ill for a long time. When he died, it wasn't unexpected and not many people attended the funeral. He was buried in the local cemetery, his marker lost amongst the graves. There were stories about Max--stories that he had dabbled in dark magic and made deals with the devil. They had found him, dead from a gunshot to the head. It had been suicide, they said. The only clue why was a small note found next to his body. It said:
"Must break the chain. Sever the connection. Too late for me."
Celeste didn't know if any of the rumors were true, but, being his favorite niece, Uncle Max had left her his entire estate, so she chose to believe that he was a good man that had simply died a tragic death. So, when she came of age, she moved to that big empty house where the trees grew tall and dark and the only light that ever seemed to touch the place had to pass through a thick canopy of leaves.
Celeste didn't have nearly as much as her Uncle Max, but everything in that great big house was now hers. She was happy, and though the empty rooms and dark hallways gave her the creeps, Celeste set to work making the place feel more like home.
Her Uncle had expensive, if not very odd taste, she realized. Everything in the estate was very old and valuable, if not well maintained. Dust coated the rich furniture in a thick layer of grime and the shockingly life-like portraits that lined the halls were in various states of decay, peeling just enough to twist their subjects into something not quite human. The whole place stank of age and the floors creaked with every step. But it was the mirrors that she found the strangest.
They were everywhere. There were mirrors down the halls, on the walls, plastered to the ceiling and strung up in odd places so that she could see around corners. In fact, Celeste was sure that if she were to angle it just so, she could have seen the whole house through a single mirror.
She wasn't sure why he had put them up but she would need to take them down before too long. There was something eerie about them--maybe seeing reflections made Celeste feel like she wasn't alone, and that scared her.
Her favorite room though was the library.
Uncle Max's library was expansive. It was also the only room in the whole house where there were no mirrors. What it did have were books from all ages. They lined the dark shelves, bending them from the weight of many years. A fireplace occupied the center. It felt cozy and welcoming and she would go here to escape from her work for the day.
It was also where she found the book.
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In her Uncle's will, he had been adamant about finding a particular volume in the library. His final wish was to burn the book, but Celeste didn't have the heart. It was a large book with a cover of supple leather and big metal locks keeping it shut. It felt oddly cold in her hands like it had been kept in ice. She couldn't explain why. The night she found it, Celeste tucked the book away and went to bed.
