Page 6 of Buried Souls
A shrill cry cuts through the air, and it’s enough for the delicate web of logical reasoning to come completely undone. Panic on the brink of hysteria surges through me, and I bolt.
The trees fly by, melding into one and becoming ominous shadows that seem to haunt me as the rain comes crashing down through the gaps in the canopies. Branches claw at me, ripping my coat and the clothes beneath it. The forest erupts with noises, whispers and murmurs filling the air until they fill my mind, causing me to question my reality and my very own sanity.
I run, running faster than I ever thought humanly possible, desperate for some form of reprieve from the horror that has crawled into my system.
I push through the dense thicket, heart pounding not from exertion but from the creeping sense of unease that has settled over me like a second skin. Ahead, through the skeletal trees, something looms—vast and dark against the pale gray sky. Hope replaces the dread in my chest when my eyes land on what appears to be a clearing through the vegetation.
The woods spit me out.
And I come to a screeching halt, once more.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe on a barely there, shaky whisper.
An enormous three story high building stands in front of me, its silhouette jagged. Its towers reach towards the sky, the pyramidal spires coming to needle thin points that appear to pierce the clouds. Like broken teeth biting into the horizon. Slate black shingles cover the entirety of the slanted roof that sags in places, warped by years of neglect and storms whispered aboutin forgotten lore, while numerous high arched windows with stained glass adorn the granite colored stone walls. They stare hollow and vacant: black pits that swallow the scant light.
A front gate hangs ajar, rusted chains clinking faintly in the cold wind. Thick thorn vines and ivy arise from the ground, strangling the wrought iron and crawling their way up towards the gutters, slithering like serpents between and around the windows before they disappear over the roof that they seem to devour whole.
Heart fluttering in awe at the newest discovery, all sense of fear vanishes as my passion for rare historical findings overtakes me. Mouth gaping open while I hesitate on the threshold, my feet move on their own accord toward the massive mansion. The crunch of dead leaves beneath my boots is the only sound in the oppressive silence.
A gigantic statue of a bear standing on its hind legs, mauling a stag, is planted in the middle of the courtyard, its head lifted towards the sky and massive jaws open wide as it sinks its razor sharp fangs into the animal’s body. I inspect it, caressing the intricately carved lines of the stone, the details so exquisite and immaculate, it’s as if a real hunt is frozen in a moment of space and time.
“Amazing.” I exhale in awe, the storm that still rages on around me and the eerie anomaly from the forest wholly forgotten about. My eyes slide to the main entrance, where a pair of single bear statues are guarding the ostentatious double doors, their foreboding presence a stark reminder of nature’s raw power.
Glancing around, I’m struck by how desolate and abandoned everything appears to be. Who knows when the last time was that someone checked on the place.
Weed and grass grip to the bottom third of the building, the ivy that, at first glance, seemed to be only superficial, isclearly growing from deep within the miniscule cracks between the stone, while shrubs threateningly hug the walls. Weathering and rust are evident on a number of window frames. A sense of hollowness hangs over the place. As if all life that has ever dwelled inside the house has long vanished, leaving an empty husk of concrete behind.
A drop of rain smacks me in the middle of my forehead, halting my musings. My drenched clothes feel tight, the torn fabric straining against my skin, irritating me. A sudden urge to rip them off, to be free of the claustrophobic sensation, overtakes me, and before I know it, a new plan takes shape.
“I’ll knock on the door, just in case. I mean, it’s still only early afternoon, and if thereissomeone living here, they’re bound to be at—” I glance down at my watch. “—home.”
I tap the glass.
I could have sworn that it was one in the afternoon the last I checked, how could it still be showing at the same time?
“What iswrongwith this thing?” Shaking my arm, I realize that the three hands are not moving at all on the dial, as if stuck in the same position. I sigh in surrender. Yet another thing that’s gone amiss today. “Looks like I’ll be needing a new one.”
Mustering up the courage, I march up to the ornate entrance, and ignoring the dreaded feelings flowing through my veins, reach out, fingertips brushing against the heavy wooden door, its surface scarred by time and splintered by neglect.
A sudden chill grazes my neck—as if unseen eyes watch from within, waiting.
But the mansion stands still.
Silent.
Empty.
With a breath caught between fear and curiosity, I pound on the heavy panels. The thud of my fist as it connects with the wood reverberates around me, filling the air, and I wait,inspecting the many detailed swirls and leaf-like shapes carved into the door. Impatiently, I fidget with the buttons on my coat while my nerves get the best of me as I stand in the freezing rain with water dripping down my long, tangled hair.
A moment passes, then two.
Then three...
Four.
Squirming from uncertainty, I try again. When still no answer comes, I press on the handle, praying that there isn’t some mad man waiting inside with a shotgun, ready to put a bullet through me for trespassing onto his property.
“Hello?” I call out, ever so slowly pushing open the door. “Is anybody here?”
