The Mansion on the Wood’s Edge
A House at the Woods’ Edge
Jenna was torn about whether to be happy or afraid when she inherited her grandmother’s home. Perched on the brink of a thick woodland, miles from the closest town, stood the sprawling Victorian estate. For years, no one has resided in the house despite it being in the family for generations. The house was left to deteriorate under the tall trees’ shade after the majority of the family moved away.
Although Jenna had never been to the house before, she was familiar with the tales. Her grandma had been a private person who was almost ever seen outside the estate. Some said that her isolation had driven her insane. Some whispered that the woods around the house were haunted by the spirits of people who had ventured too far and never came back, and that the house itself was cursed. Even though Jenna wrote the stories off as superstitions from a bygone period, they continued to nag in the back of her mind as she made her way up the lengthy, winding road.
Dark and menacing, the house loomed ahead. The windows were dark with filth, and its once-white paint had turned a putrid gray. Years of neglect had left the front porch sagging and the garden overrun with weeds. With the smell of moist ground and rotting leaves, the wind rustled through the trees as Jenna got out of the car. She tightened her coat around herself as she shivered.
She opened the front door with a heavy, icy key in her palm. It creaked open, letting in a dimly lighted corridor beyond. Inside, there was an overpowering smell of mildew and dust. As she entered, the floors gave way beneath her weight, sending a resounding roar through the empty house
As she moved around the rooms, Jenna tried to picture what her grandmother’s life may have been like. White blankets draped the furnishings like shrouds over the ghosts of bygone eras. The walls were covered in pictures of her family, their gazes following her across the rooms. She felt cold, and she couldn’t get rid of the sensation that she wasn’t alone.
She located the bedroom in which her grandmother had passed away. The covers were tightly pulled, the bed still made, as though it were expecting someone to come back. Jenna noticed a picture on the nightstand. It was an antique photograph of a young woman standing in front of the house in black and white. Her eyes were sharp and her face tough, but her face had a disturbing quality to it; it was almost predatory.
Resetting the picture on the nightstand, Jenna turned to walk away, but not before catching a glimpse of something in the mirror. Her heart thumping in her chest, she froze. She looked back and saw a woman’s figure reflected in the glass. But the room was empty when she turned around.
“Grab hold of yourself,” Jenna whispered to herself, overcoming her terror. It’s only an ancient home. Nothing should cause you to be terrified.
She chose to spend the night there. It was her home now, after all, and she had to adjust. Over the following few hours, she tidied up, dusted down the furniture, and attempted to make It no longer feels quite like a tomb. She made herself a cup of tea and built a fire in the fireplace as the sun began to drop. The cold that appeared to seep from the walls itself was not much dispelled by the warmth of the fires.
Outside, the wind howled, shaking the windows. Jenna made an effort to ignore it, but it seemed to get louder and more persistent. However, it wasn’t simply the wind. Beneath the wailing, there was another sound, like whispers in the night. The words taunted her, just out of grasp as she tried to listen.
Her eyes fell on the clock. It was about time for midnight. It is too late to make a call to arrange for company or to drive back to the town. The realization that she was by herself turned her stomach.
Jenna made the decision to go to bed in the hopes that she would fall asleep fast and that her unreasonable anxieties would stop. The hallway’s shadows seemed to stretch and twist as she ascended the rickety stairs leading to the master bedroom. Upon entering, she shut the door and experienced a slight sense of security from that modest gesture.
The bedding were hard and uninviting, and the bed was chilly.
As she lay there, gazing up at the ceiling, she attempted to slow her heartbeat. However, as she shut her eyes, the murmurs came again, clearer and louder this time. They emerged from within the chamber.
With a start, Jenna sat up, gasping for air. The only source of light in the dimly lit chamber was the fading fire downstairs,Peeking between the cracks in the floorboards. She started to grasp that the whispers weren’t just voices; they were words spoken in a language she didn’t understand.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source. Then she saw him: a man in a dark coat standing in the corner. It was the woman in the photo, with something icy and malevolent shining in her eyes.
The sound of the figure’s footsteps on the wooden floor approached, catching Jenna’s scream in her throat. The murmurs were so intense that they smothered her thoughts and flooded her head. She struggled out of bed, leaning her back against the wall, but the figure persisted, its face twisted into a hideous grin.
“Give me some space!” Jenna let out a scream, but her words were muffled and unheard above the din of shouts. With elongated and twisted fingers like tree roots, the figure extended its reach. As those fingers touched Jenna’s flesh, they were as cold as ice and burned with an odd force that made her body stiffen. visions flashed through her head, visions of her grandma, the house, the forests, and the past. She saw the faces of those who had lived here, their spirits imprisoned within the house’s walls, their lives ending in terror.
Then, as the murmurs engulfed her, she saw her own face, contorted in fear.The figure’s fingers clamped around Jenna’s throat, blurring her vision. She was unable to move or breathe. The space whirled about her, the walls enclosing her and the blackness engulfing her completely. And she realized as her awareness vanished in that last instant.
Not only was the house haunted. It was living, breathing, A living, breathing creature that thrived on the misery, the terror, and the souls of those who ventured inside. Her grandma had been taken by it, and now it was taking her.
As the home claimed another victim, Jenna heard the sound of her own name uttered in the darkness.
The mansion was calm and deserted the following morning, its secrets once again kept hidden.The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faintest echo of a whisper, a voice lost in the void.
And the house waited, patient as always, for the next soul to wander too close to the edge of the woods.
I hope you enjoyed this longer story!
