White Manor

1. White Manor

      There's always a house. A house that no kids in the neighborhood will approach on Halloween. A house thats lights never seem to turn on, except for late on stormy nights. Every city and town has one. Ask around yours, and you'll find it. This is a story of one such house. Nestled in a western American city, just like any other.

Freida Friis approached the house from the front. She saw a two-story family home, much like its sisters in the cul-de-sac. Her friends egged her on from the safety of the street as Freida walked up the small brick steps, shaded by tall trees. Past the white iron fence with two broken and spiderwebbed porch lights. 

The front yard was lined with thin gardens, heavily shadowed by leaves of trees towering over the perimeter. Small stone animals watched as she made her way, a pet cemetery built right into the garden. A fountain sat to the right of the front door, stone children playing in the dry bowl. 

As Freida raised a hand to open the large green front door, cracked with age, she had a moment of hesitation and fear. But she couldn't turn back now, she had told her friends that she loved spooky things like the White Manor at the edge of town. If she returned without even stepping in the front door they'd know she had been lying to impress them.

The lock on the door was rusted and broken from years of neglect. Freida opened the door.
She found herself in a large cylindrical room, a chandelier hung ominously from the high ceiling above. The entrance hall was vast and empty, save for the rotted furniture scattered about. 

The door creaked shut behind her.

Freida examined the paintings lining the yellowed walls, hoping to snag a creepy old family portrait as proof of her bravery. One disturbing image drew her attention. 

A girl and her dog being swept down a river, a farmhouse in the background on fire.  It filled Freida with dread as she shrunk away. To her right she noticed there were two lit candles on the dusty dinner table, giving the room a faint glow. Freida couldn't remember if they had been lit when she walked in.   

Three large windows lined the back wall of the room, beside the big green front door. Freida glanced outside to try to catch a glimpse of her friends, but the thick foliage of the garden blocked her view. 

Thunder in the distance made her jump, and all at once Freida decided enough was enough, it was time to go. She made for the front door and found it impossible to pull open. She tried pushing and twisting the knob before checking the old, rusted and broken lock. But there was no way to see it anymore, the crack between the door and the wall had disappeared entirely. It seemed as if the big green door was sealed to the white walls.

Freida felt a grip of panic as rain began to beat down on the three large windows.

Surely her friends would come and rescue her now that it was beginning to rain, she thought.
Or at least let somebody know where she was.

Logically she knew the safest thing for her to do was to stay put, wait for rescue in the relative safety of the windows and the used-to-be front door. But something about those two lit candles on the dining table across from her, now burned halfway down, made Freida uneasy. That and the painting she had examined of the girl and her dog, and the farmhouse burning. 

To her left, Freida thought she caught movement at the top of the stairs. It was probably some animal, she hoped. A cat. Still, Freida felt a deep need to move away from those stairs and the candles and the big green door. She needed to get away from that awful painting.

Instead of staying put like she knew was the safest thing to do, Freida headed further into the house, under a crumbling archway, and into a hallway. To the right is a large room, probably the family room. To the left is more dark hallway. Freida decided to go right.

An ash covered fireplace sat in the far corner, multiple clocks and empty picture frames lined the walls. It was surprisingly easy to see in the murky dark.

Freida spied an old book on the table by more sheet-covered furniture. She moved toward it, again hoping to find a trophy to show her friends.

As long as she was trapped here, she thought.

It was a moleskin journal. Freida sat on a covered chair and began to read.

'Everything I've done here was for
nothing. I've lost my entire family to
that thing beneath the house. It took
everything I had and it is still not
satisfied. I will leave tonight and let
the thing starve. It will not have me.'

As she read the final word the fireplace suddenly sprang to life, violent and crackling. Freida fell from the chair onto the moldy carpet, her head slamming on the table hard.