Post by rayman112 on Jul 30, 2007 23:22:55 GMT -5
I wrote this in hopes that I could improve my description. I hope you like it.
The cold wind that swept over him seemed to encompass the whole mansion causing the chandelier to flicker out leaving the whole room in total darkness. Cold gust like these were normal during harsh winter nights but the man knew this wasn’t the cause.
The ghost had hunted this mansion for some time now. Her sadness depicted in the shadows amongst the walls that seemed to stand out as if they were dark stains.
Flash light held tightly in hand he mounted the mansion’s great winding steps and made his way to the top floor. The stairs had decayed over time becoming only a shadow of what it used to be. With each step the man took the stairs creaked and groaned in protest as if warning him not to take a step further. But his spirit held strong and like a warrior he pressed forward.
The pale light from the flash light barely stood a chance against the over powering darkness of the mansion. The shadows seemed to enshroud him choking him. An icy coldness swept up his spine and suddenly he felt it. The pain that he knew wasn’t his. The pain of a child, a young girl, tortured by her father forcefully drowned in bath water.
She couldn’t understand. Why? What had she done wrong? And her mother of whom she heard night after night beat by her father. Her mother was begging, pleading that he’d stop but her father didn’t listen. He hit her until she stopped moving and then he came for her.
That’s what the man felt as he mounted the steps and the light from his flash light flickered out. He felt the ghost’s sorrow. He knew what he must do. As the man reached the top of the steps he pulled his leather glove off his hand revealing its black-sickly appearance. And upon it on the back of his charred hand a saintly mark burned brightly on his hand, visible even in the tight darkness that surrounded him.
He was reaching a door now. It led to the bathroom. The very room where the girl was drowned by her father and there is where she stayed. Her ghostly self crouched in the small bath tub, head buried in her knees.
The man placed his charred hand upon the girl’s head.
“Rest in peace,” he said as the mark on his hand began to burn bright red. The darkness in the room seemed to lift and the lights flickered on. The girl was no longer there and her sorrow had been relieved. She was free now. The man smiled.
The cold wind that swept over him seemed to encompass the whole mansion causing the chandelier to flicker out leaving the whole room in total darkness. Cold gust like these were normal during harsh winter nights but the man knew this wasn’t the cause.
The ghost had hunted this mansion for some time now. Her sadness depicted in the shadows amongst the walls that seemed to stand out as if they were dark stains.
Flash light held tightly in hand he mounted the mansion’s great winding steps and made his way to the top floor. The stairs had decayed over time becoming only a shadow of what it used to be. With each step the man took the stairs creaked and groaned in protest as if warning him not to take a step further. But his spirit held strong and like a warrior he pressed forward.
The pale light from the flash light barely stood a chance against the over powering darkness of the mansion. The shadows seemed to enshroud him choking him. An icy coldness swept up his spine and suddenly he felt it. The pain that he knew wasn’t his. The pain of a child, a young girl, tortured by her father forcefully drowned in bath water.
She couldn’t understand. Why? What had she done wrong? And her mother of whom she heard night after night beat by her father. Her mother was begging, pleading that he’d stop but her father didn’t listen. He hit her until she stopped moving and then he came for her.
That’s what the man felt as he mounted the steps and the light from his flash light flickered out. He felt the ghost’s sorrow. He knew what he must do. As the man reached the top of the steps he pulled his leather glove off his hand revealing its black-sickly appearance. And upon it on the back of his charred hand a saintly mark burned brightly on his hand, visible even in the tight darkness that surrounded him.
He was reaching a door now. It led to the bathroom. The very room where the girl was drowned by her father and there is where she stayed. Her ghostly self crouched in the small bath tub, head buried in her knees.
The man placed his charred hand upon the girl’s head.
“Rest in peace,” he said as the mark on his hand began to burn bright red. The darkness in the room seemed to lift and the lights flickered on. The girl was no longer there and her sorrow had been relieved. She was free now. The man smiled.