Universal Creativity 6 - Page 9

The House By Lucy Mitchell the house is deep. Only the corner of a step Standing in the dimly lit hallway I listen I find myself saying, “She looks exactly like is poking through. me.” Fear starts to skulk around me, its Turning away from the window I to the old building speak to me in its language of groans and creaks. It smells head towards the fireplace. As I get closer I long spindly fingers sending shivers down musty and forgotten. In front of me notice a painting in an elaborate gold frame my spine. Thump. Thump. Something is stretches a vast oak staircase. Tilting my hanging above. The pale light from the moving around upstairs. Slowly, I make my head upwards, I see stairs spiral into the window reveals a young woman’s head and way to the door and peek upstairs. I feel ceiling. I make a silent promise to venture shoulders. Her small face is surrounded by a torn. Half of me wants to go sit underneath up there once I have explored downstairs. mass of black curls. She has delicate doll the desk like a small frightened child and the like features with a tiny nose and rosebud other half of me is curious to see who else I am not alone. Shadows come out to play lips. There is something familiar about the resides here. on the walls as the bulb in the light starts to woman. A strange tingly feeling creeps over me. I creep to the bottom of the stairs Moving away, I walk over to the flicker. and start to climb. As I reach the first floor, tall leather chairs. I see myself sat watching an eerie coldness starts to seep into my making me jolt. Protectively I step back the flames of the fire dance around huge bones. My breath hangs lifelessly in the air towards the front door. logs of wood. The fireplace is bare and dark. and I start to shiver. BANG. A door slams shut upstairs I can always leave. I say to myself reassuringly. Gasping, I catch sight of an old It’s not been used for some time. There is a desk in the far corner of man coming towards me, carrying the the room. I run my hand over the smooth clothed lifeless body of what looks like an bare neck sending me scurrying with fright wood and picture myself writing letters. It’s old woman. Her frail frame is limp, her into one of the rooms, leading off from the like this strange house is trying to tell me lavender colored dress hangs loosely and hall. something. her grey curly head lolls in his arms. A breath of icy cold air blows onto my I enter a large drawing room complete with an overpowering stone get closer to the mirror instantly recognizing woman in a voice which is tinged with fireplace, two huge leather chairs and a giant the young woman with the curls from the window framed by long velvet drapes. painting in my reflection. “How strange?” I Peering outside makes me take a sharp murmur glancing back at the painting above intake of breath. The snow coated world is a the fireplace and then back again at the brilliant eye squinting white. I notice that mirror. Touching my curls and then my face the snow on the path and steps leading up to “Please, hang on,” he says to the Above the desk is a long mirror. I panic.