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Rated: E · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1908597
This is my first short story written in English.
After a few hours of stumbling and trudging into the forest I let out a sigh. I wiped the sweat sipping on my forehead. I tried to focus my sight and then realized that I’m moving in circles.

“Damn! This place again!”

I found myself standing in front of an old mansion. The mansion was age-old and isolated. There are several cracks in its walls, and some windows shone as the ray of sunset hit its broken glass. An afternoon wind blew and pushed the door slightly, creating a creak noise that sent shivers down my spine. After a few minutes thinking about the inevitable darkness that was approaching, I composed myself and decided to go inside.

The manor was enormous. The place is full of dust and cobwebs and I coughed several times as I moved in. The walls were full of paintings of people that are looking at me wherever I go. I moved towards a table with intricate designs on its legs. Several frames with faded pictures were rested on its top. I took a picture and looked at it with great familiarity.

I almost dropped the picture when I heard a faint sound of footsteps coming from the corridor. “What was that?” I placed the frame slowly back to the table and in my curiosity I moved warily towards the sound.

My eyes widened when a silhouette formed and went inside the door a few meters in front of me. Someone might be here. I took a deep breath and build up my courage then turned the knob and pushed the door.

I went inside and left the door open. No one was there inside the room except the mice that scampered when I entered. I coughed as the dust flew everywhere. On the center of the room lies a chair and a table. It seemed that this place was an office. From the table, a thick and old book rested on its top. I moved cautiously towards the chair, aware of the broken glass and clutters on the floor. I pulled the chair, sat on it and grabbed the book from the table. I blew the dust covering the book and traced my finger gently to the written name on the cover.

“Don Wanky I?” then I flipped some pages.

I read the book up to the last page. It was the diary of the late Don Wanky, I. It was mentioned in the diary that Don Wanky, I is fond of paintings, and he bought those paintings from the hall to some various artists, and the pictures that lies on top of the table were the memories of his siblings. It was also mentioned that his family were murdered when he was 14 years old, and so he inherited the wealth of his family. He cannot handle the pain, so he sold the house and all the things on it, but kept the pictures of his family, and he went on a journey hoping to forget the dreadful memories of the past.

He visited the mansion his parents’ built on an isolated island and decided to spend his remaining years living alone on that peaceful place.

I smiled. “I guess I will never be able to leave this place.”

I looked at the portrait that hung in front me. It was the portrait of the late Don Wanky, I. The portrait of Don Wanky I when he was still young. It was the portrait of myself when I was still alive.

I sit calmly on the chair when suddenly a thought rushed on my mind.

“I lived and died in this place alone…”

Then I slowly turned my head towards the door.

“…then whose footsteps I’ve heard a while ago?”

The door closed with a loud bang.

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