Lights out

A yellow vintage car stopped in front of a huge, old but beautiful mansion, and Ava Brown stepped out of its backseat. Dressed in an orange, knee-length crepe dress, her hair bouncing off her shoulders, she walked towards a tall man in an office suit. 

“You must be Miss Ava Brown,” The man offered his hand for a handshake. Ava took it graciously.

“And you must be Mr. Wilson,” Ava didn’t know his first name and thought it was none of her business to ask for it, “Glad to meet you.”

She followed Wilson inside the house through its pointed arched front door. She had already seen it in photos, but it was much more elegant in real. With its red and brown bricks, and surprisingly satisfactory condition, it was all she had imagined and more.

“I can’t believe it’s still so good, after so many years,” she said.

Wilson stopped and made an awkward face.

“Well, actually…” He began, “…it was renovated a bit. Some parts of it. A few years back. I mean, it is a very old building you know.”

“Oh!” Ava was visibly surprised, “I wasn’t told that. Never mind!”

Wilson led her into the main hall. It had a small little fireplace, just like she had read in novels. And there was one big window, also arched, but not the pointed kind. She went to it and held the fabric of the maroon curtains tied to either end of it. 

“How old are these curtains?” She asked Wilson, although it felt like a stupid question at that time.

Wilson considered for a few seconds and then said, “To be honest, I’m not sure. This place has been abandoned for the last ten years and before that, it belonged to a Mr. Trent, and before that God knows.”

Ava was disappointed but she realized it could be difficult to know the exact history of a gothic mansion in a place where there were many gothic mansions.

She continued to feel the curtain between her fingers. They were so soft and silky…

But then she felt something else on it, something hard, crusty. 

When she looked closely, she saw the maroon of it was darkened at some spots, almost brown. Like blood. Blood!

“Mr. Wilson!” She took a step back, alarmed, “Is this…Is this blood?”

Wilson came to where she was standing and adjusted his glasses on his slightly crooked nose.

“I don’t think so,” He said, albeit skeptically, “I’m no expert…”

He hesitated a little, but then continued, “Even if it is, I believe it’s not fresh. Maybe somebody got slightly wounded or something…many many years ago.”

“Does blood remain intact on these…surfaces…for many many years?” Ava asked. Any sight of blood, even if it was dried, always made her anxious.

“I suppose,” Wilson said and then turned around, “We have other rooms to examine. Please follow, Miss Brown.”

They walked into the library next. Gigantic shelves, lined with leatherbound books, hid the walls. Ava walked over to one of the shelves and picked out a book, which turned out to be a diary. The words ‘Jack Trent’ were inscribed on top of it.

“Mr. Wilson?” She called, but Wilson had apparently left the room.

She wanted to sit down but the only chair in the room was all dusty and she wasn’t very fond of dust. She opened Mr. Trent’s diary.

Much to Ava’s surprise, the diary was scribbled with poetry, some of it quite excellent, some of it a bit trashy, some of it incomplete. She smiled at the idea of this unknown Mr. Trent being a poet. Most of the pages in between were empty, and the last few were again filled with poetry. She wondered why Mr. Trent must have skipped so many pages. Also, there was something different about these last few poems. The handwriting was changed, and the poems had taken a darker route in terms of themes. There was mention of death and ruin and ghosts…

Ava kept the diary back where it had been and went out of the room. She still couldn’t find Wilson. After having checked all the other rooms on the first floor, she went back down to look for him. 

“Mr. Wilson?” She called again. No response. 

She went outside. It was night-time already. The sky was without a moon, or at least she couldn’t see one, with all the tall trees towering over the area. She switched on her flashlight. No Wilson. Her car was still in the driveway. She started walking towards it. Panic and anger struggled to take over her mind. She was angry with Wilson for abandoning her, and she was panicking for a lot of reasons, some of which she herself couldn’t comprehend. 

Why would Wilson just leave her there? Or was there something else going on?

Something happened and she fell face-first on the ground.

“Must be a rock,” She said to herself. 

But there was no rock. She looked closely at the soil, suddenly thankful for the flashlight. She touched the huge red spot on the otherwise dull brown land. It felt wet. It was fresh. Fresh blood. 

“Was it here before?” She tried to recall. Her brain wasn’t helping at all. She got up on her feet and ran. Towards the car. It was best to leave the place. She would inquire about Wilson’s whereabouts once she reached home.

She twisted the key and the engine roared to life. Finally, some relief! She began driving outwards. 

There were huge apple trees on one side of the road, and tall green grass on the other. Ava didn’t know how long she’d been driving. An hour? Two hours? The road seemed to go on and on. When she looked in the rear-view mirror, there was only dead grass to be seen. She was too afraid to pull over. The last thing she saw was a sudden bright flash of light blinding her. There was a crash, and her head hit the steering wheel. And then, everything went blank.