Hidden Beneath: Part 2/2

A Horror Story

Read part 1 here!

As I approached the house, memories long buried stirred within me. The imposing structure loomed before me, a dark silhouette against the mist-drenched sky. Its ancient stones, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, simmered with the energy of the past and secrets hidden within its walls.

The towering spires reached skyward, clawing at the heavens like skeletal cousins of the surrounding trees. Moss clung to its weathered façade - nature trying to reclaim it, and the house resisting.

I approached the great stone archway that framed the entrance door and took out the key. I recognised it the instant the innkeeper produced it earlier that morning. The heavy oak door creaked open of its own accord as if welcoming me home after an eternity spent wandering. I stepped over the threshold into the darkness within, and the air grew thick with the scent of age.

The grand entrance stretched out before me, its vaulted ceilings disappearing into the shadows above. Tattered tapestries adorned the walls, their once vibrant colours faded with time, their intricate designs obscured by layers of dust and neglect.

Candle sconces lined the walls. When lit, their flickering flames cast eerie shadows that danced and twisted with each gust of wind. The floor beneath my feet groaned and protested with every step as if I had interrupted a long hibernation.

I moved further into the house, my footsteps echoing through the empty halls like my ancestors of the past. Dust motes danced in the shafts of weak daylight that filtered through the stained glass windows, casting rainbow hues upon the worn stone floor. Rooms lay shrouded in darkness, their history hidden behind closed doors and heavy curtains.

And yet, despite its undeniable creepiness, it was as though the familiarity was not meant to be forgotten. As I stood in the entrance hall, bathed in the dim light of the fading day, I couldn't shake the excitement that I was home, that this house was where I was supposed to be.

My gaze fell upon the library, its door slightly ajar as if beckoning me inside. Pushing it open, I stepped inside. The musty smell of old books permeated the air. The room was filled with towering shelves lined with leather-bound tomes. Their spines were cracked and faded, giving away their age. Some shelves had been emptied, rows of forgotten knowledge cast to the ground in a frenzy.

In the centre of the room, a heavy wooden table stood, strewn with papers and documents. Among them, I spotted a stack of newspapers, their yellowed pages filled with headlines of days long past. Curiosity piqued, I approached the table and began to sift through the articles.

It didn't take long for me to find what I was looking for. An article dated several months prior caught my eye, its headline spoke of a troubled man, haunted by demons of his own making, who had become obsessed with uncovering the secrets of the house.

I plucked a newspaper out of my inside pocket, unfolding it to reveal an obituary. I read of the man's sad decline, his relentless pursuit of the truth leading only to madness and despair.

As I reached the end of the obituary, a sense of sadness washed over me. Despite his faults and follies, the man had been driven by a desire to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden within these walls. And now, like many before him, he had become another victim of the house's dark allure.

As I sifted through the papers and documents scattered across the heavy wooden table in the library, my eyes were drawn to an old leather-bound diary nestled among the clutter. Intrigued, I reached out and gently lifted the diary from its resting place.

I turned to the last few entries and scanned the handwritten words upon the weathered pages. The ink had faded in places, but the words remained legible, each one a haunting reminder of the man who had penned them.

In one of the final entries, the missing man's words spoke of restless nights plagued by strange noises echoing through the empty halls of the house. He wrote of whispers in the darkness, of unseen footsteps that echoed through the stillness of the night. Despite his attempts to rationalise the phenomena, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him.

And one night, he heard the sound of his front door creaking open. Heart pounding, he ventured out into the hallway, only to find no one there. But as he turned back, he saw wet footprints leading across the floor towards the library before they disappeared.

The missing man's account painted a picture of fear and paranoia, of a man haunted by the inexplicable events unfolding within the walls of the house.

I continued my exploration of the library and discovered another pile of papers loosely arranged on the desk, dating back almost two centuries. These were the missing owner's research, a painstaking compilation of documents chronicling the dark history of the house and the disappearances that had plagued its inhabitants throughout the years.

The first document I uncovered detailed the disappearance of a wealthy couple who had taken up residence in the house in the early 1700s. They had been newlyweds, filled with hopes and dreams of a bright future. But their happiness was short-lived, as they vanished without a trace, leaving behind only whispers of their fate.

I uncovered accounts of several other disappearances roughly every half-century that followed. Families torn apart, loved ones lost to the shadows that lurked within the house's labyrinthine corridors. Each story was a tragedy in its own right, a grim reminder of the toll exacted by the house's dark influence.

But it was not just ordinary folk who had fallen victim to the house's curse. Among the papers, I found mention of a renowned scholar who had come in search of knowledge, only to vanish into thin air. His disappearance had sent shockwaves through the academic community, but despite their best efforts, his fate remained a mystery unsolved.

And then there were the rumours - the whispered tales of spectral figures and otherworldly presences that haunted the house's halls. Some spoke of a vengeful spirit, seeking retribution for sins long forgotten. Others spoke of a curse cast upon the house by a long-dead witch whose spirit still lingered within its walls.

I returned to the missing owner's diary, my eyes scanning the last few entries. Amidst the ink-stained pages, I found a hastily scrawled note detailing the discovery of a hidden door within the library.

He determined that the intruder that left those wet footprints must be concealed behind a hidden door and he’d searched around the entire room for any clue that might lead him to the elusive entrance. That explained the books strewn across the floor, discarded in his search. He believed he had found the door leading to the cellar, though, he was unable to open it.

He was absolutely correct in thinking that there was a hidden door. However, only someone with my blood would be able to unlock the door. Someone with my blood did indeed open it and gladly invited him through.

I strolled over to the gargoyle statue standing near the empty bookcase. Its grotesque features seemed to leer at me as I studied it closely. Without hesitation, I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the bare skin of my forearm.

Taking a deep breath, I extended my arm towards the open jaws of the gargoyle, feeling a shiver run down my spine as the stone creature seemed to come to life before my eyes. With a steady hand, I placed my arm inside the gaping maw, feeling the cold, rough texture of the stone against my skin.

I pressed my arm further into the statue's mouth and winced when I felt the sharp points of the gargoyle's fangs pierce my skin, drawing blood. For a moment, there was a tense silence.

With a sudden jolt, the jaws of the gargoyle snapped shut, trapping my arm within its grasp. I gasped, feeling the pressure of the stone against my flesh. But just as quickly as it had closed, the statue's grip released.

I watched the stone platform upon which the gargoyle stood begin to tremble and shake. With the low rumble of stone grinding on stone, it started to rise, revealing a doorway hidden beneath. A rush of cool air wafted up from the darkness below, carrying with it a faint scent of dampness.

Wasting no time, I stepped forward. I crossed the threshold of the hidden doorway and descended into the depths below. The stone staircase spiralled downward into the darkness, its ancient steps worn smooth by the passage of time. As I descended further into the depths, the sound of my footsteps reverberated off the stone walls, mingling with the repeated drip of water.

I knew that I was treading where few had tread before, and where fewer still had managed to retrace their steps. I knew that I was close to the reunion. And then I saw a weak glimmer of light shining in the distance. I quickened my pace, the anticipation building with each step.

At the bottom, the chamber unfolded before me. Candles flickered on sconces lining the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the ancient stone floor. A crackling fire burned in an old hearth, its warm glow illuminating the chamber with a soft, amber light.

My eyes were drawn to a portrait hanging above the hearth — a portrait of a man dressed in attire from the 1600s. His stern visage stared out with a confidence. I hadn’t seen the portrait for decades, but once every fifty years was enough. I looked the same now as I did when it was done.

Before I could do anything further, a figure emerged from the shadows — a man of similar stature and bearing, his features mirroring my own in a way that left no doubt as to our shared lineage.

‘Brother,’ he greeted me with a nod, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. ‘It seems I beat you here once again.’

’Indeed,’ I returned his greeting. ’You must have had bad luck with the weather, you left wet footprints when you arrived.’

He smiled knowingly.

We gave one another a hearty embrace, both patting the others back with force and enthusiasm.

’The sacrifice has been treated well, albeit from behind bars.’

‘We shouldn’t call him a sacrifice, he is likely a decent man.’

‘He is. We’ve had enough time to learn that while we waited for you.’

‘I am sorry, I was held up.’

‘Something serious?’ My brother pried.

‘No, but that is a story for later. Who else is here? The poor chap was driven half-mad by the disruption you all caused.’

‘How do you know all this, my brother?’

‘I read his diary.’

‘Ahh, we’ll have to dispose of it before we leave.’

‘May we not talk about leaving just now, I’ve only just arrived.’

‘Of course. Everyone’s here now anyway. You were the last.’

‘Well take me to them, it’s been fifty long years!’

My brother led me to the dining room where a warm glow emanated from the crackling fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the ornate furnishings. The air was heavy with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, and the long mahogany table was set with gleaming silverware and crystal goblets.

Seated around the table were several figures, their faces illuminated by the soft light of the candles. They turned to greet me as I entered, their expressions a mix of relief and joy.

‘Finally, you’re here!” exclaimed our mother with gentle eyes and silver-streaked hair, rising from her seat to embrace me.

‘It's good to see you, mother,’ I replied, returning her embrace warmly. I glanced around the room at the other faces gathered there - my nephews and nieces, cousins and distant relatives - all of whom I had not seen in many years.

A young boy with a mischievous grin stepped forward, his eyes alight with excitement. ‘Uncle, we've missed your stories and adventures.’

I chuckled, tousling the young man's hair with affection. ‘And I've missed all of you, more than you know. It's been too long since we've all been together like this.’ Until the curse is lifted, this will be our way of life.

As I took my seat at the head of the table, I raised my goblet, the golden liquid within catching the firelight. ‘To family,’ I said, my voice ringing out clear and strong. ‘To the ties that bind us, through good times and bad.’

The assembled family members raised their own goblets in response, murmuring their agreement. They drank deeply, the rich wine warming their throats as they savoured the moment.

Once the glasses were lowered, I cleared my throat before speaking again. ‘There is something important I must discuss with all of you,’ I began, my tone serious. ‘It concerns the future of our family and the dark legacy of this house.’

The room fell silent, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the soft rustle of fabric. All eyes were fixed on me. The ceremony would be upon us soon enough, and all but one of the family would leave again soon afterwards, for one of the family must remain at the house at all times. It has been this way since the curse was imposed upon us. We have to provide a human sacrifice every half-century for half a millennia for the curse to be lifted. At which time, we may live long lives or we may age rapidly and crumble into dust. Whatever awaits us, we can live in peace while it lasts.

The house was perfectly situated for us to carry out our sacrifice undetected, being so far out of the village. We didn’t want to compromise ourselves with the locals recognising that we never age so we decided to take turns staying in the concealed section of the house, while everyone else moved away, not to return until the sacrifice was due.

‘It is no secret that this house has a troubled history,’ I continued. ‘Many have come before us, drawn by its grandeur and its secrets, only to meet untimely ends. We do what we must, you know that.’

I paused, my gaze sweeping across the faces, each one bearing the weight of my words. A murmur and nods of understanding rippled through the room.

‘However,’ I said, ‘we must ensure that the next sacrifice is not simply anyone. It cannot be Will Wright, for he has potential, he has a future as yet unwritten. He helped me today. That is more than most have done for us over the centuries. He’s a good man.’

‘You never did like walking very far,’ joked my brother, drawing a smile from everyone.

With that, I raised my goblet once more, my family following suit. ‘To family,’ I repeated.

We turned our attention to the feast laid out before us, the warmth of the fire and the laughter of our family members filling the room. And as we shared stories and laughter long into the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that, together, we would triumph over the darkness that threatened to consume us.

As the night wore on and the fire burned low, we knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would one day be free.

Read my collection In Plain Sight, Unseen here.