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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1702652-The-Forgotten---Chapter-4
by Onyx
Rated: E · Short Story · Death · #1702652
She's not alone in the house.......
    I turned around to find a man all in grey. The figure's body was not static - it seemed to move as if it was the flickering flame of a candle. His face showed no emotion and he stared blankly at practically nothing at all. I screamed - letting out loud piercing shrieks. At this the man disappeared, leaving no sign that he was ever there. Not that I expected a sign. I was cock sure that I was far from alone in the house. I stared at the blank wall infront of me when a message written in blood appeared...

"Welcome to our house"

This took me quite by surprise. Our house. This was absurd. Did they really want me to stay in the building, who ever they were? Or did they mean I was going to be killed and they were ready to share this place with them? At any rate I wasn't eager to know. I was going to rush down the stairs to have another go with the door inspite of the horrible face I saw earlier. Halfway down, a vision of a young man appeared on the last step of the stairs. He was not a pretty sight. His head was crushed, and it leaned at an odd angle. His arms and legs were so skinny, they seemed to have no blood or veins in them - just bones and a layer of skin. The phantom raised it's thin arms and wavered them. It floated up the stairs. I let out a scream, and I ran up a few steps and tripped. The ghost kept floating up, increasing speed by the moment. I didn't raise myself up in time.

Abruptly I felt as if I was wading through water up to my knees. I realised I was penetrating the body of the death man. I took a step down and the ghost kept on going up the haunted stairs until it reached the living room and vanished.

I was feeling terribly scared. All I needed was a little help and courage - to get out of the house and go back home. I burst into a hysteric of tears. I was unable to control myself any longer. I ran up the stairs, unable to see clearly because of my tears. I ran around the living room until I discovered a corridor which I hadn't noticed before. I walked along it, kicking doors open as if I was insane and letting out all kinds of ghosts, phantoms of people whom nobody knew about, of forgotten people who died, and never managed to make it to the other side, and used this building as a resting place.. My legs felt heavy and I collapsed. I fell to the floor, sobbing noisily, face to the ground.
"This isn't true, I'm seeing things - I'm dreaming,' I wailed.

A cold hand patted me. I looked up and discovered I was surrounded by a whole community of ghosts, from newborns to very old people. Some wore old fashioned robes and dresses, others more modern garments. The one who patted me was a ghost of a middle aged woman, wearng a long black dress. Her shoes weren't visible - either because the dress was so long or because...she's a ghost, and had no feet. However she seemed to be a kindly spectre. I sat up on the floorboards.

A voice in my mind said,"My girl, what made you come here? You're not dead yet."
My mind raced. What on earth did those words mean?
" I got lost when I went for a walk," I replied, aloud.
"But, my dear child, only dead people can enter this house!" exclaimed the voice, in my mind.
I felt relaxed. I knew I was talking to a deceased person, but it was comforting all the same, knowing they weren't troubled by my presence.
"I'm not dead. My twin brother is," I answered.
The ghosts all looked at each other and laughed. My mind was filled with a horrible noise of ghostly laughter.
"Why are you laughing?" I queried, a bit angered.
The same voice answered kindly," We think there has been some sort of mix up. Your brother didn't seem to have made it yet to this building, though he had been expected. Probably Mr. Withbaugh thought you were your dead brother. That's what must have happened.'
' This house - is not a house for the living,' began a second voice - a huskier voice of a man,' not since Withbaugh got killed by that evil son of his. After some 200 years in the hands of the living, it has been given to the dead...'
'Who is Mr.Withbaugh?' I asked curiously.
My mind was suddenly filled with a hundred answers. Telephaty is not a good way of communication in my opinion. Your mind feels like bursting when you recieve more than one answer at a time. I held my head down with my eyes shut tightly,  until I could not longer bear such as commotion.
'One at a time - please,' I ejaculated loudly and a bit irritated.
'Mr. Withbaugh was the town's mayor. He died because his wicked son wanted his father to give up his place in the society so that the young scoundrel would be mayor instead. But Mr. Withbaugh knew his son wasn't a good leader, and he refused. As a result, he got killed in the hall,' said the thin, high pitched voice of a lady.
' Mr.Withbaugh's son never got elected as a mayor though. Right after he killed his old man, he climbed up the stairs and threw himself down, fracturing his skull and breaking his neck,' chimed in the previous husky voice.
I shuddered. 'How horrible!' I exclaimed.
'Now we have to get you out of here, no?' asked the kindly lady.
"Of course!" I replied gladly.
I descended the stairs with the friendly lady ghost. The spirit of Mr.Withbaugh's greedy son appeared again. I held my breath with fear but the ghost of the friendly Victorian lady ushered me to go on.
She floated along the hall and knocked on the door.
I couldn't interfere with the telephatic conversation between Mr.Withbaugh's ghost and the Victorian lady. I guess she told him about the whole mix up.
The ghost with the homely face entered the house and after a few moments of reasoning with the other ghost, he let me out of the building. I rushed out, skipping down the steps of the lodge two at a time!
The door of the mansion slammed shut and the gates swung open. I walked out and the slammed shut again.
I distinctly heard someone utter a cry of annoyance. I look around and guess who I see...
© Copyright 2010 Onyx (whilelmina96 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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