Atkinson Mansion

Of course, he sent me here. The dare was optional but seeming weak was the last thing I wanted. Wandering into the dilapidated Atkinson mansion. Time held no mercy for the piece of architecture. The chiselled stone staircase was covered by a blanket of moss, the metal banisters lining them a rusted orange. Pillars closed off view on to the patio. Marble statues decorated them as their limbs laid motionless yet beckoning to move. Elm wood doors, partially rotted, stuck in place their hinges filled with dark grime. Standing at the entrance of the centuries old construction I thought to myself.

 “15 minutes. That’s it. Only 15 minutes. They’ll fly by and before I know it, I’ll be out.”

If only I could have known how wrong I was…

Practically barging into the elegant doors, they finally swung open releasing an age-old wave of dust. Coughing, I looked back to see him waving at me. How did he think this was even remotely a good idea? I tip-toed inside hesitantly, the thought of miniscule creatures scuttling anywhere around or on me filled my mind making me instinctively shiver. Above, spider webs swung like white rags in the breeze. The smell of rancid fruit filled the air. Flies inhabited breathing air making me avoid breathing as to not ingest any. A dirt-filled, matted carpet seemed to sneak under my feet causing me to trip. Impact with the ancient hardwood floor filled my hands with splinters. I rose to my feet once more wincing from the pain.

After exploring the mansion for what felt like hours, only two doors remained to open. Miraculously, one was perfectly preserved as the other was coated in claw marks. Both begging me to enter the room behind them. I looked around the hallways, all exits disappeared other than the two lingering in front of me. Suddenly, I heard knocks on the main entrance below my enclosure. I yelled nearly shredding my vocal cords, yet all my efforts resulted in nothing. Despite hearing my name yelled, I knew I was stuck and had to except it no matter how hard it was.

Pacing back and forth with my head held in my hands I subtly wept. I had no other option but to walk through one of the doors, I would never escape by crying yet it was all I seemed to do. No hope resigned in me, in my mind I was stuck and that was it, I was going to die in the corridor of hell as far as I was concerned. Sitting in the corner my knees tucked against my chest, I had eventually pulled myself together but only barely. Two doors, one decision which seemed more and more morally impossible. My inner voice told me to choose the safest looking route, but the thought of deception was convincing me otherwise. My only reasonable decision was to look for clues of which would be safer than the other or whether both were lethal, and prospect should no longer exist in such a situation. How long did I spend looking? I have no idea. I could not find any clue that would rebuild the faith inside me. After hitting my head against the dirty grey wall for a while, a vague light appeared from under the scratched door.

Rushing over, I laid on the floor trying to see through the tiny gap under the door. The light only grew brighter nearly blinding me. I pulled my head back with my eyes closed. Opening them I could see glare was only growing brighter. Now, I have no choice but to choose the pristine, oak door no matter how badly I did not want to.

Reluctantly, my hand finally reached the doorknob. It was freezing. Not knowing whether it was a good or bad sign, gradually, I turned it refusing to look at what was behind. I inched my eyes open. From what I could gather it was the complete opposite to the other room. As I took my first step inside, all vision was consumed by darkness. The algidity stung my flesh turning it a flaming red. My nerves mostly calmed, I wandered through the room. As far as I could tell, there were no furnishings; that was until I walked into a bed against the northern wall of it.

I fell upon it. Surprisingly, I did not notice the dark event that had occurred on that very bed centuries ago. Focused on the startling fluffiness of the bed, I had not felt like moving. The comfort had sent me to sleep.

At some point during the night, I must have moved my arm across the other side of the bed. Waking up, I felt the dampness of the mattress on my forearm. Not yet awake, I rubbed my eye lids with my now drenched hand. It had not yet occurred to me that the substance was blood. Aghast, I leapt to my feet my mouth agape due to shock and disgust. It had just stricken me that I had been laying next to a pool of blood and most likely a skeleton or even worse, a fully intact body of the past residents.

I ran out of the room only to see the crimson clots falling from my arm. A sickly feeling overcame my stomach, vomit threatened to arise from my stomach. Escaping was now the only thing on my mind. I had to leave. I did not want the same fate to catch up to me. A wave of sympathy washed over me. Whoever it was must have died a brutal death which was no accident. What did they do wrong? Why had this been done to them? My eyes were brimmed with tears at this point with different scenarios rushing through my head. Maybe they had betrayed a loved one and they took revenge. They could have been a part of some secret society and this is the result of their nemesis finally reaching their goal.

After crying over the acts playing over and over as a part of my anxiety like a theatre, I had fell to the floor once more as grief filled me. Sympathy had destroyed me mentally as I regretted ever accepting the dare leading to this in the first place. I eventually blacked out for whatever unknown reason but that happening only ended in the best outcome I could imagine.

When I awoke. The door to the hallway had reappeared I was free once more. Sprinting out of the mansion ignoring any features on the way out I fled the crime scene of the murder. I kept running as far as I could. 20 years later I remember the event clear as day and replay it time and time again…

Now, I have decided to research the property I last ran in to decades ago. Results I’ve found suggest the Atkinson mansion was a 1500’s resort to an ancient cult known as ‘The Perpetrators of the Screeching Owl’. Their leader being Amada La Croix. A murderous gang, they obviously had enemies: such of which were The Apostles of The Red Hand. From what I believe, at one point, the two were all one gang; betrayal had spilt the two and all that was left was a burning rage for each of them which slowly resulted into the murder of Amada La Croix. People believe he was murdered in his sleep. As a result of the assassination, the rest of Amada’s gang is believed to have taken revenge by creating a mass bloodshed of the Apostles.

I have not reported any of the events as anyone who has before suffered a ghastly end. By committing this to paper I hope I am not summoning that same circumstance to myself. I will continue conducting research but for the time being I must leave this as is. A knock at the door. I may return to writing, but I must go greet this visitor…