Petrified with fear, I felt a sudden urge to wander forward. It was as if some instinct within me was instructing my legs to walk. Sinister, stormy clouds loomed overhead like a thick blanket, blocking out what little illumination the moon had provided. A raven cawed in the distance, almost as if its piercing wail was warning me away from what I was about to find. My heart beat faster with each shuddering step. Through the mist I could just distinguish a small structure in front of me. It was about as high as my waist and was rectangular in shape, with cracks and fissures plaguing the surface. It was only when I was almost on top of it did I realize, to my dread, the nature of this curious object. A grave. I had been standing on a tarnished grave. My brain imploded with emotions of panic and distress, but strangely, my body was deathly still. I suppose I was experiencing what many writers describe as being ‘numb with fear’. Against all my instinctual impulses, I crouched down and inspected the crumbling sepulcher.
Centuries of wind and dust had taken its toll on the tombstone, eroding it beyond recognition. It was almost completely covered in moss, with a significantly conspicuous crack running diagonally across it. The words carved within the stone were completely illegible because of the layers of mud that caked the surface. Devoid of thought, my hand stretched forward and gently wiped away the residue, revealing what was written underneath. Elliot Christopher Thomson. I had never heard this name before yet it sounded so familiar; it was as if I didn’t know who it was but at the same time, I somehow did. Images unbeknownst to me surged through my already pervaded mind. Yet again, I was filled with a sense of preternatural foreboding; something was amiss. Wanting to put as much distance as I could between me and the nefarious tomb, I ventured onwards.
In the distance I could just make out what looked to be a house. As I approached it I was able to perceive greater detail of the ominous structure. The one word that came to my mind was colossal. I had never seen anything this big in my entire life. A set of 12 steps led up to the porch. Five gargantuan pillars stood tall and firm at the front of the house - the only thing stopping the entire monument from collapsing on itself. It was four stories high with countless misplaced windows dotting the front and a huge chimney protruded from the top. The walls were made of rock-hard, matt-black wood and the disjointed shingle roof was bowed down by the weight of many years. I could literally taste the stench of rotting mould coming from within. Climbing up the stairs, I noticed the front door was open. A perturbing feeling of familiarity suffused itself within my thoughts; I had been here before! Edging forward, I slowly crept through the open doorway and surreptitiously slid inside. Step by step I sidled forward until I was about halfway through the hall. Suddenly the door behind me creaked shut and I was engulfed by the daunting tendrils of darkness.
Ali Malik
