Cusick Hollow

1

The fog has taken up a permanent residence in the hollow. I like it when life is hidden in the gloom; it gives me a chance to imagine nice things, nicer than they really are.

Chapter one

I approached the black gate; it was open on one side, wide enough that anything could pass. So despite the tallness and strength of the iron, it was a simple stroll to the other side. I let my fingers trail over the ambient metal, no longer hot from the day or cold from the evening air.

I could imagine what the grounds once looked like. Lush grass and manicured hedges. Flowers blooming, their sweet smell attracting bees and birds. Trees that reached all the way to the heavens.

Sadly what greeted me was the opposite. The grass is overgrown with weeds, and the trees are covered in crude knots and lanky dead branches. The trunk hovers over the slight stretch of land it sits upon. There are no flowers to smell, no buzzing bees or chirping birds.

My feet follow the rocky path up to the house. I step over down limbs and broken statues. The closer I get to the house, the more apprehensive I feel. I know all the stories about the haunted house in Cusick Hollow. I have spent the last few days talking to all the locals. The ones that would speak to an outsider like myself. The younger ones laughed it off as a spooky tell; they were told as children, but the elders told another side—a side cloaked in mystery and terror.

I stood in front of the house. The blue paint weathered from age. The shutters long blow away. Ivy twisted its way up the columns. The porch sagged under an invisible weight. I hesitated, testing the boards one foot at a time. Once satisfied, It would hold my 125 pds slim frame. I proceeded to the ill-fitted splintered door.

I fished the key out of my coat pocket. It took me months to track down the owner. The last living Clark. The house has been passed down through the Clark family. None will step foot on the grounds. Elizabeth Clark, the lady who currently owned the house, told me over the phone that the place was cursed and if I stepped foot on the property, it would own my soul.

Even with the stories and ominous warnings from the family, the paranormal historian in me couldn't turn down the opportunity to see it firsthand. I have been investigating haunted places for years. Most turn out to be bullshit, but as soon as I saw this place, I knew it was the real deal.

As soon as I crossed through the gate, I felt a presence wash over me. My skin tingled, and the tiny hairs on my arm stood up. I didn't feel any malice, only curiosity. Whatever is here is just as curious about me as I am about it.

My hand shakes as I insert the key into the lock, and the breeze blows my long dark hair across my face. I reach up and tuck the wild strands behind my ear. I steel my nerves and turn the lock. The door is warped from years of neglect; it sticks as I push with my whole body. It's like there is someone on the other side holding it closed. Then it just gives as if the force holding it closed just vanished. I spill into the room, bearly keeping from faceplanting. After I recover my balance, my breath rushes from my body as my eyes get their first look inside.

It's as if the house has been frozen in time. I find myself standing in a foyer. The black and white checker tile under my feet seems newly polished. Not a scuff or mark upon it. The wooden staircase is directly in front of me. The wooded banisters have an intricate craving that curls and swirls its way up, disappearing around the bend. I inhale. There is no old musty, damp odor, no dust invading my nose. No, it smells like home. A smile lifts my lips and brightens my green eyes as I step further into the foyer; to the right is a large sitting room, and to the left is a dining hall. Tore between which room to explore first, I hesitate, my right foot hovering off the tile. A whisper tickles my ear. "To your right." It's so soft I think I must have imagined it, but I walk into the setting area nonetheless. The tile turns to hardwood under my feet; It squeaks under my weight as I enter.