Something about the Mor Manor seemed off. The usually welcoming walls felt different,
more imposing somehow. The lush greenery surrounding the home loomed ominously,
giving Mr. Lewis a distinct impression that they were watching him. Lewis had been coming
to Mor Manor for years now, and radiant flower gardens that he had once regarded as
pleasant suddenly unnerved him. Swallowing his unusual anxiety, Lewis made quick work of
the winding path that lead towards the Mor’s sizeable porch, wiping his sagging brows as he
dawdled on. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, casting a menacing shadow on the azure walls
that had seemed so friendly.
Now? Lewis wasn’t so sure.
With trembling fingers, he slowly raised the door knocker and let it slam three times. There
was no answer.
A shallow breeze pushed gently on the mahogany door, nudging it open. Muttering a string of obscenities, Lewis ran a hand through what was left of his greying hair and stepped into the entrance hall. The large area was shrouded in shadows, which he found rather odd as the corridor was usually bathed in natural light, be it sun or moon. Upon further exploration
Lewis realised that the house was eerily silent, on a normal day the Mor family would be
eating lunch, every nook and cranny of the house would be filled with the delighted shrieks
of children and the infectious laughter of elated parents. But it was quiet, quiet enough that
Lewis could hear his own heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Seasoned ears even picking up the pat of sweat that had dropped from his brow as it hit the gleaming black marble of the
floor.
Lewis took a deep, shuddering breath before walking on towards the exuberantly posh parlor
to check for the Mor’s. Even if he had been here thousands of times before, Lewis still found
himself getting lost in the tortuous passages and oddly placed hallways that made up the
manor. He was so preoccupied with navigating his way through the house that he failed to
notice the footsteps that were not his own sounding less than three paces behind him.
Pat… pat …pat…
After reaching the parlor and finding it disappointingly empty, Lewis huffed. Spinning in
place, he quickly set off in search of the study, where he would no-doubt find the studious
Mr. Mor. If Lewis had spared more than a fleeting glance into the parlor he may have noticed
that the table had been knocked askew, or the cataclysm of scattered blood splashed
haphazardly on the weathered walls, he might have felt the icy chill that radiated from the
room or caught a whiff of iron thick in the air. He might have got out of that god-forsaken
manor before it was too late.
The stairs creaked, deafening in the silent house, as Lewis clumsily ambled up dark stairs half hidden in thick shadows. Perhaps this thunderous noise was why his brain dismissed the rustle of a cloak dragging much further down the stairs. Cold sweat had settled on Lewis’s body and suddenly his creased skin felt much too tight on his weary bones. Every atom in Lewis was screaming at him to get out and he unconsciously took several steps backwards before catching himself. He was simply being… irrational, nothing that he had seen could possibly warrant this silly fear.
At least that’s what Lewis told himself.
But even then, he knew something was wrong, the house looked as if it been abandoned for
years when Lewis had been there just two weeks prior. Fueled by fear and growing panic Lewis started forwards at a pace that would put a cheetah to shame. He was almost hobbling as ebony boots thudded dully on the gleaming floor. His vision had considerably narrowed, allowing Lewis to take in the bare minimum of his surroundings. He remembered these halls, remembered all the fond moments that had occurred here. Now it was as if he was a stranger to the steadily darkening passage way.
Lewis took in short puffs of stale air and burst into the study with all the grace of a new-born
babe. Jaded eyes the colour of dripping honey scanned the room, snagging on a piece of
parchment that lay abandoned on the desk. Stepping forward with grim determination, Lewis
made his way past the warm bronze walls and towers of frayed paper. When he was standing in front of the desk, Lewis took a final deep breath and closed his eyes
for a moment, steeling himself. Watery brown eyes looked down on weathered parchment
and a small gasp slipped as Lewis noticed flecks of dried blood littering the top of the note,
almost as if it had dripped from a head wound, Lewis sorely hoped his speculation remained
just that. Another deep breath and Lewis began to read, his breath caught as he recognised
Mr. Mor’s elegant scrawl: Be gone or it will take you. Run before you are lost. The note
abruptly ended, a needle-sharp quill lay beside the paper, still dripping ink.
A footstep sounded in the threshold of the study and, in an onslaught of panicked thoughts,
Lewis dully noted that it sounded as if the feet were bare. He could hear the ragged breathing behind him, a sharp contrast to the breath he was holding. Blood drained from his face, leaving already pale skin white enough to rival the moon. Lewis could not make himself turn and face the creature, instead he sealed his eyes in prayer. The steps thudded softly behind him, Lewis whimpered, his tired limbs shaking with the force of a hundred trapped bees.
Just when Lewis thought his heart would give, the footsteps stopped. The being was either
gone or it had ceased movement, and there was only one option left for Lewis. With
tremendous effort, Lewis forced his shuddering body to turn. He found an empty room, the
only evidence of another presence being six bloodied footprints that ended just under two feet in front of him. A shallow breath of relief tore from his weary lungs as Lewis clasped his
hands and thanked whatever god was up there.
Something warm and wet dropped onto his cheek.
Raising a quivering palm to his wrinkled face, Lewis tapped his stubby fingers on the damp
skin. It came away red, a red so bright and garish it had to have been fresh. Unbeknownst to
Lewis, a tear had welled in the corner of his worn eyes as they opened for what would be the
last time.
He looked up.
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