Edward Smith's Monologue

Edward Smith, age 65, a man confined is an asylum for 10 years. A man perceived ludicrous and insane. A man unwelcomed and shunned by his own family. Yet, his bone trembling account of a dark, enigmatic house, has possibly fabricated an obituary for innumerable, missing, hapless children! However, often is the price of curiosity fatal….

You have been warned!

Dusk was creeping away in the horizon leaving a fresh wound smeared across the face of the sky. Decayed marshes emanated a sour scent; forming a revolting tempest in my nostrils that cascaded like shattered glass through my windpipe. A foreboding aurora dissipated every ounce of bravery in my heart and displaced it with an unprecedented trepidation. Countless sallow faces of the villagers
materialized in my head, a silent message was clearly written upon their fearful countenance: “that place is no man’s land”. Deep in my consciousness innate instincts; imploring me to retreat, waged war against curiosity; compelling me to charge (and the victor was obvious).

I ventured forth into a place I should learn to call home.

What seemed like a mirage from afar now began to crystallize. In its stark grandeur, the house protruded from the infinite damp grass like an alabaster sarcophagus that has been forsaken for eons. Closer it shifted, its façade and numerous windows becoming more substantial, and with it grew a cold, wet air that condensed like dew on my skin. The wind began to chant a rain song, summoning troops of clouds that hummed in harmony; obscuring the last tenuous, aqueous, light of dusk.

Finally, the pathway came into view.
An abundance of overgrown grass stood stifling the coarse, archaic, interlocking cobblestone; so severely withered and disconsolate, that they ruptured against my footsteps. Little did I know I was treading a pathway to a profound cold hell? A hell infested with dark desires, leaping like hungry fingers, seeking something to devour. A hell said to be an abode of a translucent, vindictive being (that I was yet to meet). Amidst the ubiquity of malicious ivy slithering across the face of the house, sprouted a miniature door, contrived in a fashion approved by Satan himself (and director of the Ghostbusters). It seemed like I was wandering into a different dimension. My senses were becoming acquainted to new feelings: guttural whispers, excruciating odour, ponderous glass-like air and the cemented, pungent, taste of death!

As I opened the door candlelight rose to greet me but who lit them? I was informed that the secluded house I was purchasing has been unoccupied forever. Yet ornamented sconces were lit around the foyer, cobwebs inextricably constraining the candles to the wall, like an officer binding forlorn, powerless criminal. Myriads of decomposed, dreary and wilted leaves vandalized the floor; their mahogany hue accentuated the bleakness of ground. The leaves were like infinite specks; symbols of life dying upon ground that’s already
deceased.

Fading….

It was unbearably cold. The atmosphere seemed to strip by body of skin and clothe me instead with frigid ice. The bizarre tales of the villages submerged from my memory: that a subterranean kingdom of breathing corpses lay just beneath the floor.

A handful of antiquated of furniture stood waiting; embellished with concentrated blankets of dust: an opulent divan, two picturesque chairs encircling a table and an intricate chandelier; unlit, dangling like a corpse from the ceiling.
Numerous tasteless portraits pinned the paisley wall, their deadpan figures glared at me, waiting, patiently waiting. Shockingly, the smell of newly lacquered wood filled the foyer, as if the abandoned house was still attended to, perhaps by the wind (or by something else).

Suddenly, a cloying voice of a child audibly whispers.

“Finally…” “Have you come to playing?”

Then it began. Lullabies the reverberated across the house, with intermittent, ear splitting emphasized high notes that suggested the voice was miserably sobbing. Seconds later a door creaked open. My nose contorted at the smell of my own fear. My lungs became a still sea, without a hint of a breeze. My mouth morphed into a dry, barren dessert. My heart began drenching my blooding with adrenaline. Yet, I took further irrevocable steps towards the door, as if an omnipotent force controlled my body like a puppet.

Ferociously greeting me was quaint doll, adorned with a Victorian gown, sitting across a table of what seemed to be a small playroom. Her unfathomable pupils riveted on my eyes. Her blues irises were oceans of despair; however, an oblique smile was forced upon her visage.

With a ruthless giggles the familiar voice resonated across the
house.

“Found you”

I turned around and there it stood in the form of a little girl. A luminous, pale translucent little girl, with black hair that veiled her face, except for two blazing blue orbs; dripping blood. It clasped hands of the same doll, whose smile was more conspicuous than before.

I recoiled back but the table hindered my retreat. I opened my mouth to scream…. To wail…to pray. Yet all that spurted out was….

Uncontrollable,

Hysterical,

Laughter.