Dark clouds floated through the sky, charging towards the silver crested moon. They slithered in large numbers, preparing to ambush the innocent moonlight away from the dark velvet blanket they all inhabited. The pearl moon had no way of escaping and was engulfed within minutes by the black claws of the menacing advancers.
Droplets were released from the deathly fluffiness as they cascaded down to the Earth. The watery minions fell slowly and gently then gradually increased in tempo, raging into a fast upbeat roar. Deafening pounds boomed from the Heavens as the cobalt sky was occasionally broken by Zeus’s fiery bolts. The flicker of the brief light illuminated the daunting manor that sat upon the unwelcoming hill at the outskirts of a ghost town.
The gale howled shrilly as it stripped the leaves off trees in the manor’s once beautiful garden. It rattled the manor’s window frames and pushed the majestically engraved wooden entrance door open, swinging on its hinges. The gale proceeded into the grand manor, chilling the air and extinguishing the blushing fire that was lit in the old fashioned fireplace.
The interior of the manor had a hostile atmosphere even though every inch of the extravagantly designed place was taken up with the finest of material and the best of quality. The auburn throne like chairs were placed on the emerald green rug, their colours contrasting exquisitely together. Painting were scattered around the high walls displaying portraits of stern yet humble ancestors that were emphasized by a soft, subtle pastel background of nature. An extravagant crystal chandelier, which hung graciously from the Michelangelo replica ceiling, swung to and fro ever so slightly due to the intruding breeze. The crystals, upon contact with one another, made a tinkling sound like a baby’s rattle. The wonderful appearance of the manor would make one think the place was perfect, but it was far from that. The rich place lacked the most important things to make a house a home – love, happiness and peace.
Dwelled further into the house was some existence of life. In the servant quarters there lay a young innocent man beaten to the pulp. He rested on the cold floor with no blanket to comfort his shivering tremors. He slept without tranquil, drawing faltering gasps in and out of his exhausted lungs. The tiny room was infected with the strong stench of alcohol and nicotine that lingered in the damp air, smothering the unfortunate’s oxygen supply.
Another young soul restlessly slept in the king sized bed on the floor above, debating with his conscience. The deed was done. There was no rewriting history. The young Lord’s conscience told him he was a wicked demon that should burn in hell while tortured, suffering with excruciating pain, but his mixed up mind reminded him of the reward that came with his actions.
In the room next door, something was rummaging, searching for their missing treasure. In the Lord’s neatly organized bureau, behind the oak desk where the expensive modern type writer sat, the cabinet drawers were open with half their contents on the floor. A misty, feminine figure loomed beside the cabinet, her translucent yet elegant hands digging through the middle drawer. She was dressed in a flowing nighty that swayed over her petite figure and reached to her ankles, but the colour of this graceful garment was undistinguishable. This middle-aged ghost lady was merely diverse shades of grey. Still, the lady had a dazzling face. She had a smooth silk like complexion with high cheekbones, emphasising her matureness. Her large motherly eyes were enhanced with thick dark lashes that slightly covered her apprehensive irises. Her tiny nose was scrunched up as were her pouty lips. Her long thin eyebrows were pushed together, creasing her forehead as she resumed her vain search through the drawers.
At the pit of the hollow drawer, there lay a frame. The lady slowly lowered her hand down to pick the item up. A photo was held between the four wooden sides. The picture contained two figures. The one on the left was of the previous senior Lord looking rather dashing in his costly tuxedo with his platinum hair slicked back. Next to him was the ghost lady; that is when she was human. Her tumbling curly brown locks fell down her back and she stood there in her long white dress with a smile plastered on her face. The two newly weds stood with a 5 tier high wedding cake in between them as they both held the knife to cut it together.
The ghost lady stared at the photograph that was taken just many years ago, when she was young and happy without a care in the world. Anger, betrayal and loath were etched in her moist eyes. Without thinking, she flexed her arm and sent the photo flying through the air. The frame hit the wall that separated the Lord’s bureau from his bedroom. A sonorous thud echoed through the house from the contact. Realising her mistake, the ghost lady disappeared with fearful eyes.
In the room next door, the young Lord flew out of his bed covers, eyes wide and panting as cold sweat trickled down his pale fear-stricken face.
