Beloved

The house of death

Ryan Matson
2018

Next thing he knew he was standing in a field filled with scarlet poppies while the crimson sun sunk in the horizon, leaving orange and salmon pink hues in the blue sky. A thin gravelled road cut through it and enjoined with a small town with large spired houses and low hanging, slanted roofs. Furrowing his eyebrows, Ryan trudged his way through the field. At the back of his mind he knew the sweet smell of the flowers put you to sleep but knowing that somehow he was seeing the past but he hardly bothered with that notion.

A man walked steadily towards him, his head bend down, cradling his hand to his chest. Before Ryan could move out of his way, the unknown man moved through him, ignoring him while He shivered as a cold feeling swept through him.

"Okay..". He muttered to himself, glancing at the male. In dark waistcoat, brown pants and a black hat, the male instantly reminded him on the clothes his neighbour had worn in the festival. Eighteen century's clothes. Then it suddenly made sense, the small town, the shabby snow covered roofs. The woman had somehow pulled him into a memory. It couldn't possibly be time travel as he had literally walked through the older male. It was memory. He was sure of it.

He made his way inside the town, his eyes drinking away at his surroundings. Things like this rarely happen [never,  really] and he wasn't going to ignore this opportunity to really see it. Imagining it through books, or movies or even pictures didn't give the same kind of feeling you get when you actually see it.

The streets were nearly but there was flurry of activity. Men, women and children were rushing down the same street, incoherent words being exchanged between them. Ryan decide to follow them as he had nothing better to do and wanted to know the reason why he was sent to this memory the woman shared with her sister.

He had to run to catch up to the townspeople. Following them through several streets, few familiar amongst them. The crowd finally stopped in front of street with two eerily familiar  tall and grandiose mansions standing side by side with small walls separating them. One was a shade darker then the other, with steely spikes and gargoyles carved in its structure. It was surrounded by dark trees and shrubbery with red roses and amaryllis growing in the dark. Its entrance was open, the tall threatening structure of the gate looming over their heads. With a shiver running through his spine, he noticed that it was much grandeur and polished version of the Necro Manor.

The mansion beside seemed to bend under the obvious nobility living beside it, the house smaller but still polished and regal with its lush green trees with apples and oranges growing on it. Its entrance was also open, though the gate was much smaller and increasingly less dominating than of its neighbouring house. The house had green ivy trailing up its walls, the green hiding the designs etched into its structure. He knew of it because once his mother had cut all the green of the walls, leaving it bare and peeling but still withholding the same status it had ages ago. It was his home, which had been standing since the middle of seventeen century when his ancestor had moved from Germany to Romania due to the flourish in trade and wealth. Though the mansion still seemed a much much better version of his house, he noted glumly.

The crowd stood in crowds, whispering amongst each other as they seemed to wait with baited breath from something. Two girls glided past him, their faces etched with worry and panic. With a silent gasp, he noticed that the two females were the same ones who had trapped him in the small wooden building. He glanced behind him, noticing that still few people were coming in, holding pitchforks and tall wooden sticks, with frowns plastered on their faces. The air was tense, almost suffocating but he moved inside the property of the manor, immediately shivering. Cold air blew in the property's confinements, the trees looking agitated, the flowers bright crimson and the house looking threatening like it was going to devour anyone who enters it. The atmosphere seemed much worse here, the air stinking with miasma of gloom. He shivered again, pulling at his clothes and rubbing his fingers together.