Creative Writing - Gothic Horror

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Gothic Horror.

I walked cautiously up towards the grand old house, where I read the name aloud ‘Hollow Manor.’ It had the look of a gothic church with the arched stained glass windows. The doors and windows reminded me of the ancient gothic houses that were so popular in London at the moment. I breathed in deeply smelling wet oak wood reminding me of winter fires and roasting chestnuts.

The area was in an old abandoned town by the forest and the old lake, as I went into the house the door creaked open suddenly as if swept by some unseen shadow of a figure. As I ascended through the main archway into the main house, I was me by the sweet smell of fresh baking but, at the same time something deeper like rotting flesh was hidden under the pleasant aroma as if the house itself was human. I soon forgot the smells of the house, when I saw the three gigantic chandeliers and the vast amount of doors all facing into the main hall all made out of willow wood, of which I was fond.

As I walked up the stairs they started to creak as if the life was being pulled out of them. There were about a hundred old photographs and ancient portraits hanging on the dully coloured walls, clearly someone with very little imagination decorated this house.  As I lit the chandeliers the whole room gleamed with life and I saw that the ceiling was of marble with strange but wonderful pictures and patters on it. As I carried on up the stairs, I saw a door at the top and went in.

As I went in, I saw a huge four poster bed loom out at me from the shadows. I lit the candles and curiously looked around; I saw that in one corner of the room there was an old wardrobe dusty from the ravages of time. As I turned to go out I felt a cold chill brush against my back, and then as if all the warmth had gone from the world, the candles went out. A second later, they lit up again and everything was alright and I was just in a normal room.

As I went to go out back down the stairs, I fell over as if something had tripped me up but as I got up and looked around there was nothing there, so I went out and shut the door and then proceeded to go down the stairs and into the living room where I met my grandfather who owned this house; Lord Ben Rose and his wife (my grandmother); Lady Shalamar Rose and you may be wondering who I am, my name is; Chihiro Kobayashi. I first came to this house when my parents died mysteriously just after coming here so, after they died I had to come and live with my grandparents.

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That evening as I was sitting in the library reading in the west wing, I thought I heard someone walking along behind me but, when I looked around there was nothing there. So I carried on reading the book that I had in front of me; it was about a girl who was scared because she had spirits following her everywhere she went. Later, whilst I was sleeping I woke suddenly and thought I saw a shadow in the corner of the room. However, when I asked my grandfather about it in the morning he wouldn’t speak of it. ...

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This piece attempts to focus on description at the beginning of the writing but unfortunately this disappears quite quickly and the writing becomes dull and lacks imagination. There needs to be more of a focus on careful planning and executing this plan rather than the telling of the actual story. The reader needs to know more about the characters and settings so they can feel a deeper connection with the story. 3 Stars