It’s coming for you
This was a cursed house, a death house. I had to get out before it got me.
It was a mad dash through narrow corridors, around tight corners and down creaking staircases. My coat caught and tore on the rough, cold stone walls pressing in on either side, I smashed my shoulders and elbows on sheer edges, and every step I took the floorboards threatened to give way from under me.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
My panicked flight was made all the harder by the fact I couldn’t look up. That’s what they said when they dumped us here. If you look up, if you lock eyes with the spectre as they flash blue, it would tear your soul form your body. You’d become another of those poor spirits that taunted you from the shadowy recesses and gaps in the stairs as you ran past.
I didn’t believe them at first. I thought all of the strange things that screamed at you from around corners or clawed at your clothes were just paid actors, that this was some sort of horrific prank. But then Sarah saw something, and her wailing spirit harassed me now too.
Not all of the victims seemed bad, some just laughed as you rounded a corner and rushed through their chilling images. Others would trip you up, taunt you by saying it was safe, just look up, there was nothing to fear. I wanted to believe them.
Other’s scratched at your skin and squeezed your throat as you passed by, they were the worst.
I barged out a set of heavy doors as something lashed at my legs, howling in a rage, but I found myself outside. I kept sprinting and smashed over something cold, collapsing over a yelping body.
I now gazed down at the apparition I had tripped over, at the ghostly white face of a poor woman in Victorian era dress.
In fright I scrunched my eyes shut, but it was too late, I had looked right into hers already.
“It’s alright,” she said, “Look, you already saw my eyes, it’s alright.”
Against my better judgement, I pried one eye open and the poor, tormented spirit looked back at me. “I’m one of the good ones. Come, the spectre is close, we must get you to safety.”
She took my hand in hers—ice cold—and led me across a dreary, dead yard and through a door into a large dining room. The doors closed shut behind us.
“Quickly, keep your eyes down, the spectre is close. We need to shutter these windows.” She started drawing the curtains closed, shutting all light out of the old room. I followed her lead, keeping my eyes down, of course.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
I shut the last curtain, leaving the room in all but darkness, save for one source of light.
“Because I love doing this,” she said.
“What?” I turned to face her.
She was standing before the last open window, silhouetted black by the dim light behind.
“Messing with mortals,” within her black silhouette, her eyes flashed blue.
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