Mystery
by Amber Averay
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It was exceptionally dark on this moonless night. The derelict old mansion lurked somewhere nearby, cloaked in shadow and gripped by an eerie silence. It was creepy, and chilling, and spooky – and Samantha’s blood thrilled at the ghostly vibes the whole experience gave. This never got old, exploring a decrepit property long abandoned and with her crew learning the truth behind the disturbing stories that inevitably leaked into local consciousness.
Adding to the strange night was the peculiar sooty fog that had descended over the valley, layering it in waves of greasy, sour clag which coated the backs of throats and left furry traces on tongues.
Close by, Andy could be heard smacking his torch against his palm and grousing about cheap batteries. Privately Samantha thought it had less to do with that, and more the fault lying with the strange atmosphere embracing them this evening. Everybody had been in high spirits – no pun intended, she smirked – in the van for the duration of the drive here. They were excited, buzzing with anticipation for what always proved to be an adrenaline rush of the finest kind. And normally that enthusiasm lasted until they poured back into the van, exhausted yet exhilarated, as the first blush of dawn lightened the sky.
This night, this atmosphere – it was different. More sombre. From the moment they left the vehicle there was an underlying pessimism to the group, a sense of reluctance that seemed to increase with each step nearer to the abandoned building. The locals referred to it simply as Hellacious Hall, as if to name it anything else was disrespectful of the legend built up around it. Long ago, when it was inhabited, it had been called Haven’s Manor – after the family of the same name who had built it near one hundred and fifty years ago. Yet the whispers began to spread almost immediately, of strange things happening after the lights were doused of a night. Peculiar screams that echoed through the valley, strange shapes appearing in the windows; an animal of indeterminate shape and breed roaming the property.
Then the rumours about unfamiliar faces venturing to the building and never leaving, scattered bones being found in the woods behind the home, local pets going missing after members of the family had ventured to town. The house became a sinister backdrop to the valley that everyone was aware of but pretended they weren’t, and it wasn’t until the desiccated body of the last member of the Haven family was found cocooned in the backseat of her car that the building became a local legend. It had destroyed every Haven, its poison seeping toward the town until nobody dared even acknowledge it by name lest it bring bad luck to them. So was the name Hellacious Hall coined, and people felt safer referring to it as such rather than risk resurrecting the restless shades of the Haven family.
All of this information Samantha had already filmed on camera, which would be underscored by a haunting strain performed by Karta’s younger brother Kenzy on the violin. It was important to introduce the backstory so viewers knew why Samantha and her team were entering the building. And whenever she was researching a possible story, the moment she felt excitement building was the moment she knew she’d found her next project.
Yet her cheerfulness, like her team’s, seemed to have evaporated upon exiting the van; replaced by a heavy gravity, it was an effort to summon her customary bright smiles and positive attitude. Yet she persevered, because if she didn’t the whole effort was pointless.
Through the oddly dark and clinging fog she could barely make out the lights coming from her team’s torches: rather than poles of light spearing ahead to illuminate their way, they were nothing more than fuzzy yellow circles wafting through the cloud. At least they could locate each other, Samantha figured wryly. Staying together was imperative.
One blurred orb suddenly dropped, accompanied by Andy’s hisses of outraged pain. ‘Found the brick wall!’ he said, then, his voice queer, ‘Guys, follow my voice but come carefully. You won’t believe it.’
And she didn’t. When Samantha had cautiously clambered over the shin-high wall, her jaw dropped and she couldn’t prevent herself from breathing a few choice words that would have to be censored in editing.
The air was clear. The cloud, fog, dirty mist – whatever it was – did not pass beyond the crumbling barrier, leaving them a perfectly clear view of the hulking mansion not twenty feet ahead. Rather than the thrill of anticipation she felt a shiver of fear spill down her back, and her gaze darted from the partially-rotted wooden door to the dark windows, blank and soulless as the eyes of a serial killer.
Karta ensured the camera was still rolling – a giveaway to her own unease – and together the group advanced on the building. It seemed an unspoken agreement passed between them: if they did not move together they would bleed away one by one until all ended up back in the van, racing away as quickly as possible.
Samantha ducked beneath the shards of wood, hanging like rotting teeth from the architrave, and the others followed cautiously. Turning to the camera, she pasted an expression of muted delight and awe on her face, and said in her ‘presenter’s voice’, ‘Here we are, inside Hellacious Hall as it’s known locally – and despite reports that the place was left unmolested after Evie Haven died, looters have obviously worked their way through on countless occasions…’
Thick dust carpeted the floors, coated every surface in the foyer. Shattered crockery littered the ground, though one single teacup and saucer remained on an ornamental side table; cobwebs threaded the bowl of the cup, filling it with silver netting and nestled in its centre was a very fat, very complacent spider.
Samantha shuddered and backed away. Ghosts, dark places, strange noises – none of that usually affected her, but spiders were another thing entirely. She turned aside, gazing upon the faded, mouldering portraits high on the walls, their frames cracked and pitted thanks to the attentions of termites, and heard a startled yelp from the next room. Hurrying through, she found Karta, hand on her chest, staring in horror at the cold fireplace.
Bones. A multitude of them, some charred black, some stark white, some broken and the marrow sucked clean out. Not a speck of dirt touched them, as if they had been lovingly wiped and carefully placed back on the hearth in a macabre mockery of firewood ready to burn.
Andy’s voice behind them sounded strained. ‘Guys, footprints. Here. And over there.’
Samantha turned, careful not to disturb the dust too much, and saw that Andy was right. Footprints formed in the middle of the floor and traced a path to the wall before coming to a stop. Further tracks emerged from the foot of the staircase and stopped abruptly in the hallway.
Samantha suppressed a shudder. ‘Hey, Karta, Mick, do you want to get footage of these prints?’ she called. Karta nodded, camera ready, but there was nothing from Mick who had been unusually quiet this night. She said his name again, wondering where he’d gone, and noticed fading light in the hallway beyond the second set of tracks. She wandered over, tuning out Andy and Karta, her steps light and barely stirring the dust on the floor. She stepped around the impressions, eyes straining to see into the gloom, and after a moment sudden, horrific clarity formed and a strangled scream scratched from her throat.
Mick’s mangled body – flesh shredded, blood spilling in crimson rivers, intestines glistening pink and wet – lay crumpled against the wall. One eye was missing, the other dangling down his waxen cheek, and his broken mandible was skewed, hanging crookedly, his tongue lolling.
Oh hell, oh no, please no! Samantha pleaded, screamed, howled, the sound reverberating in her head and loud enough to wake the dead, though her mouth refused to function. She forced herself to move forward, step by laborious step, until she stood over the corpse, her heart tripping a disjointed rhythm. How had this happened? When had it happened? They’d not been in the manor long enough for him to be slaughtered so violently…
‘Hey, Sam? Are you joining the rest of the group or hanging here with all your friends?’
She yelped, choking on her thundering heart, and tears sprang to her eyes. Behind her, perfect, smiling, alive, stood Mick. Then his gaze tracked down to the floor, and he blanched. ‘I didn’t sign up for corpses, Sam. You said this place would be empty of people. We’re intruding on a crime scene.’ He sniffed. ‘By the smell of it, I’d say he’s been dead at least 4 days.’
Samantha pointed a shaking finger at the body. ‘Mick…that’s Mr Porter. We met him a couple hours ago when we asked around town about the manor.’ Far, far behind them, the missing front door slammed shut, and all at once the torches died, plunging them into darkness.
She reached for Mick’s hand, and fat, spongy fingers curled around hers. She tried to yank away, but she felt the chuckle rumble through him – it – and fear swarmed her. Footsteps thunked overhead, ponderous and sinister, and a fine spray of dust rained down on her. Creeping hands, bloated with putrefaction, groped over her face, and her eyes rolled in terror.
Help! Was her final coherent thought before darkness descended, and she was aware of nothing more.
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