Claireborne Place
The foul smell of fear fills my lungs. The only sound I hear is that of the double-thrust thumping of my heart, which appears to want out from my chest. Had I known this was truly real never would I have stepped over this house’s threshold. Certainly, I would not have approached the large mirror hanging over the study’s cracked fireplace. Of all things I know, I know that is my biggest of regrets. That is how I got trapped where I now find myself. Locked behind this reflective pane of glass looking out into the study from where my friends stand center calling out my name to the silent darkness of this abandoned house. With fists beating on the glass in a silent assault. I scream, scream more than I have ever done in my life. Tearing my voice to a raspy croak of its former self. Tears cascade down my freshly swollen cheeks. Nothing alerts my friends; nothing attracts their attention. By this greeting of silence my friends arrive at the conclusion I have already left and likewise follow suit. Leaving me alone, or am I truly alone? I once stood in that very study. Now I find myself staring out to where my troubles began.
My friends and I gather each Halloween to find ourselves some form of mischief to occupy ourselves for the night. Since we are all over the age of thirteen Halloween candy does not really do it for us anymore. At our older teen years, we have formed more of an attraction to the trick rather than the treat. Over the previous years we’ve done most of the stereotypical spooky stuff. This year Susan suggested going into a haunted house or at least the most notorious house in the neighborhood. Every town has one. A house abandoned for no logical reason, though illogical haunting rumors grow. Stories of murderers, ghosts, and madmen are spread by kids and adults alike over what DID happen there. For our town it’s the Claireborne place on Hill Street. A three-story post-Victorian house, obviously. All houses of rumored haunted tragedy seem to be locked to these structures with their spherical tower and overall creepy presence.
Since I have been alive, I have never known anyone to have taken up to reside within. The weather-worn dark red shingles adorning the outer frame have partially turned black from years of built-up mold, usual with wood shingles. Though belonging to this house only adds to the eerie aura of its overall esthetic. Causing all who glimpse upon the house to quake with an eerie shiver of unease.
From her first suggestion of not only going to but stepping inside this place cemented in my childhood mind of complete terror. Every ounce of my body screamed no. Although the rest of my friends all screamed with an air of excited anticipation. Thusly fixing our trick on the haunted house of my young life’s accumulated fears. Adding to the anticipated terror waiting to greet us she further suggested we walk to the house. This path would require us to take a shortcut through a thick untrimmed section of woods helping to build the suspense of the night’s experience.
I tell myself I want nothing to do with this. I’d rather stay home and watch horror movies. Then I find myself walking amongst my group of six teenagers heading towards a house I dared not glance at and I am now willingly going to enter. After nearly twenty minutes of walking across cracking twigs and crunching dried up leaves we pass through the outer tree line to be greeted by the backside of the large Claireborne place. I have never seen the building from this angle before, and I can completely say it’s as terrifying as its other side. With a rush of excitement my friends hurried to the boarded-up back door of the house. Jeff happened to bring a crowbar, more on purpose, than an accident.
After entering the long-abandoned house, we all move from the messy mold-ridden kitchen and into what I’d call a mold-ridden study occupied by partially filled shelves of moisture-swollen books. My friends dare to roam deeper in exploration. In the study I stayed. I felt drawn to stay. To the mirror I stared, long and fixed, as if I was entranced. I moved closer. Looking into the mirror I gazed upon a pale-fleshed bride holding up her hand, outstretched. Deep sorrow radiated from her ghostly appearance. The pale woman’s hand reached out for me. Without any recollection I find my own hand equally outstretched. All the while, stepping towards her, towards the mirror. The next I find myself looking out into the very room I once occupied. Anger, fear, and an overwhelming burden of sadness consumes me. Though it does not truly feel like my own direct emotions. Feels more like I’ve picked up on someone else’s airwaves of emotion.
I find my current situation one of complete terror. Surely my friends will return for me once they come to find I am missing. Why, how, did I come to find myself in this pane of reflective glass? It is here once more I reflect on the woman with the all too pale flesh. Turning around I find myself in the study though it’s different somehow. More a haunted unnatural reflection of the original world encased on this side of mirrored glass. My thoughts detract on hearing a sound sounding like labored shuffling steps. The sounds source appears to be resonating from the entryway leading down the black-lit hallway.
At my first initial sight of a gray silhouette breaking free from the featureless black. My heart goes cold accompanied by every hair standing up from the back of my neck. Gradually the ghostly form comes into full view with the same grave stare. I want to scream, though my body won’t let me. My body has frozen stiffly, unflinching, and unwelcoming to any order my brain does command. Through her soulless dead eyes, she speaks volumes. I am never leaving this place. Together we will be for all eternity sharing a lifetime of loneliness and sorrow. This will be my living tomb until the time of my passing. However, my body may die, but my soul will forever be locked behind this reflective glass in the study of the Claireborne place.
My friends and I gather each Halloween to find ourselves some form of mischief to occupy ourselves for the night. Since we are all over the age of thirteen Halloween candy does not really do it for us anymore. At our older teen years, we have formed more of an attraction to the trick rather than the treat. Over the previous years we’ve done most of the stereotypical spooky stuff. This year Susan suggested going into a haunted house or at least the most notorious house in the neighborhood. Every town has one. A house abandoned for no logical reason, though illogical haunting rumors grow. Stories of murderers, ghosts, and madmen are spread by kids and adults alike over what DID happen there. For our town it’s the Claireborne place on Hill Street. A three-story post-Victorian house, obviously. All houses of rumored haunted tragedy seem to be locked to these structures with their spherical tower and overall creepy presence.
Since I have been alive, I have never known anyone to have taken up to reside within. The weather-worn dark red shingles adorning the outer frame have partially turned black from years of built-up mold, usual with wood shingles. Though belonging to this house only adds to the eerie aura of its overall esthetic. Causing all who glimpse upon the house to quake with an eerie shiver of unease.
From her first suggestion of not only going to but stepping inside this place cemented in my childhood mind of complete terror. Every ounce of my body screamed no. Although the rest of my friends all screamed with an air of excited anticipation. Thusly fixing our trick on the haunted house of my young life’s accumulated fears. Adding to the anticipated terror waiting to greet us she further suggested we walk to the house. This path would require us to take a shortcut through a thick untrimmed section of woods helping to build the suspense of the night’s experience.
I tell myself I want nothing to do with this. I’d rather stay home and watch horror movies. Then I find myself walking amongst my group of six teenagers heading towards a house I dared not glance at and I am now willingly going to enter. After nearly twenty minutes of walking across cracking twigs and crunching dried up leaves we pass through the outer tree line to be greeted by the backside of the large Claireborne place. I have never seen the building from this angle before, and I can completely say it’s as terrifying as its other side. With a rush of excitement my friends hurried to the boarded-up back door of the house. Jeff happened to bring a crowbar, more on purpose, than an accident.
After entering the long-abandoned house, we all move from the messy mold-ridden kitchen and into what I’d call a mold-ridden study occupied by partially filled shelves of moisture-swollen books. My friends dare to roam deeper in exploration. In the study I stayed. I felt drawn to stay. To the mirror I stared, long and fixed, as if I was entranced. I moved closer. Looking into the mirror I gazed upon a pale-fleshed bride holding up her hand, outstretched. Deep sorrow radiated from her ghostly appearance. The pale woman’s hand reached out for me. Without any recollection I find my own hand equally outstretched. All the while, stepping towards her, towards the mirror. The next I find myself looking out into the very room I once occupied. Anger, fear, and an overwhelming burden of sadness consumes me. Though it does not truly feel like my own direct emotions. Feels more like I’ve picked up on someone else’s airwaves of emotion.
I find my current situation one of complete terror. Surely my friends will return for me once they come to find I am missing. Why, how, did I come to find myself in this pane of reflective glass? It is here once more I reflect on the woman with the all too pale flesh. Turning around I find myself in the study though it’s different somehow. More a haunted unnatural reflection of the original world encased on this side of mirrored glass. My thoughts detract on hearing a sound sounding like labored shuffling steps. The sounds source appears to be resonating from the entryway leading down the black-lit hallway.
At my first initial sight of a gray silhouette breaking free from the featureless black. My heart goes cold accompanied by every hair standing up from the back of my neck. Gradually the ghostly form comes into full view with the same grave stare. I want to scream, though my body won’t let me. My body has frozen stiffly, unflinching, and unwelcoming to any order my brain does command. Through her soulless dead eyes, she speaks volumes. I am never leaving this place. Together we will be for all eternity sharing a lifetime of loneliness and sorrow. This will be my living tomb until the time of my passing. However, my body may die, but my soul will forever be locked behind this reflective glass in the study of the Claireborne place.