The corridor I passed through looked as gloomy as a casket. Merryfield was similar to a graveyard. My eyes squinted in the darkness as I kept to the shadows as I traversed through the house. A house such as Merryfield was alive with the sound of creaks and the whisper of wind against rattling glass panes. I was relieved when I finally reached the thick, wooden door of the library.
I entered and slipped inside feeling comforted by the luxurious carpet my feet touched. The scent of musty, wafer-thin novels, encyclopaedias and journals hung in the air. As did the leather of the chairs that mingled invitingly with the barely perceptible scent of wax that indicated someone had been here not too long ago. The oil portraits of verdant green landscapes lined the richly papered walls. The numerous portraits of ancestors of the Goode family peered down at me ominously in the gloom.
I found myself climbing up a ladder to reach the gothic novels. I chose one that piqued my interest and just as I reach the last step of the ladder, I heard it. It was a distant wail in the background; I almost dropped the book.
The darkness did not seem as comforting as it had before.
There was a faint, insistent scratching at the library door and my eyes nervously darted to it. My body seemed frozen at that instant; the hairs on my arm rose and a terrible chill entered my bones. My heart rate increased so much that I thought my heart would burst there and then onto the carpet. My eyes flitted around the room, trying to find any kind of weapon to arm myself with. The scratching continued.
My eyes lighted on the ornate fireplace and I rushed over to brandish the poker. Despite my fear, I laughed nervously at what I planned to do should there be a monster lurking. The truth was I highly doubted I would be able to fend of any creature in my present terrified state. I drew nearer to the door. Of course, maybe I ought to have waited a little longer for the scratching to subside and hoped to escape though I admit that I’m not a patient or logical person when I’m curious. Rightly or wrongly, others would call that a fault. However, I needed to ease my wild imagination and take action instead of waiting for whatever it was to attack me. The scratching stopped as immediately as it began as my fingers twisted the brass door handle; I wrenched the door open. Something darted passed my legs and I inhaled deeply, swivelling round to face my foe.
A/N: Please VOTE/COMMENT! It really encourages me! :) Thank you! Do you think the girl mc is stupid to go out at night to get a book? :D
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The Feisty Orphan
Historical Fiction(UPDATED REGULARLY!) A woman's passionate search for a wider and richer life than Victorian society traditionally allowed. A story about a heroine full of yearning, the dangerous secrets she encounters, and the choices she finally makes. My first ev...
