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We’re all connected by invisible wires. Some are longer than others, so if I move too far away from you, eventually the wires will go taut. Someone’s likely to trip over and get hurt. I pull, you follow. Our fates are tied. But the wires can break. Sometimes we go limp. Or the wires can reconnect to something else, changing our fate, tying us to something quite different.
I’m tied to Hawthorn House.
It wasn’t always so. I used to be married. Hard-wired into Becky, connected by the shortest of wires. Thinking of the way we got together, the string of coincidences that danced around us before pulling us close, I think she was right to say that it was fate. We were supposed to be forever entwined, but the line snapped when she fell in front of a bus. Does that sound harsh to you? Well that’s how I cope, matter of fact, but the questions do come. I sometimes ask whether she fell or if the wire went taut, and she was pulled in. We’re all connected. I pull you, you pull someone else, and who knows, maybe you’ll pull them off the end of the jetty to a watery death. Maybe then you’ll find yourself tied to something else. Something evil.
It first reeled me in when it was empty. When I was empty. Becky’s death left me with nothing, with no one. Much like the death of Mr and Mrs Hampshire left Hawthorn House with no one. It brought me to the auction. I’d been to the cemetery, laying flowers on Becky’s grave. On the way home I took a wrong turn. Though to say that I took it probably isn’t giving the house the credit it deserves. I could try to tell myself that my mind wasn’t on the road and that I went left by accident, but it would be a lie. It pulled me in. I didn’t even see the house at first, the lawn full of people caught my eye. It was an auction, and from the sound of the bids, it hadn’t been going on long.
My hand went up without my knowledge, bidding more than I had. It caused quite a stir amongst the crowd, the stranger making a late bid. The two men that had been bidding against each other previously looked me up and down, trying to work out if I was for real. The auctioneer asked if there were any more bids. For a second I thought that there wouldn’t be, but there was. I managed to keep my hand down after that, but not without some effort. When the hammer did eventually crash down I felt a pang of disappointment. I didn’t understand it, I’d never been inside, barely looked at it at all. But there was a certain charm about the house. The painted white brickwork seemed to absorb the sun and use it to illuminate the garden. The greens seemed greener, the flowers burst with colour. And whilst it brought your attention to the outside, it made it impossible to look into the blackness inside the windows.
I waited in the car as the procession of losers and observers drove off. I watched the auctioneer give the victor a hearty slap on the back before handing over some papers and heading towards his own car. The house’s new owner stood gazing upon it as he pulled a mobile phone from his pocket. As he held it to his ear the sun appeared to drop in the sky. Surely an optic illusion, I figured as a heavy shadow spread over him. I blinked twice, and all returned to normal. He finished his phone call and left, leaving me alone with Hawthorn House.
I wanted to leave. I didn’t know why I’d even stayed so long, but when alone the house looked as if it was welcoming me in. I swear the door grew, and the garden path rolled out towards me. How could I refuse it? I had to go in.
Inside the house felt at peace. I could feel its energy all around me, flowing through the corridors, helping me further in, giving me a guided tour. It whispered memories from a bygone age. The songs sung around a long since lost piano, the crackle of a cosy fire in the living room. I understood all about the house, it had been a happy home for so many over the years, and it wanted to be a home for me.
“It cannot be,” I said, speaking to the house without even thinking that it was in any way peculiar, “I can’t afford to live here. You have a new owner.”
It was then that it took me up the stairs. On the landing the, attic hatch dropped upon and the steps glided out.
I spent most of my time up there after that. Put in the basics, a bed, plenty of food supplies, and watched the Carters move in. Mr and Mrs. Their first marital home. Wanted to have kids here and bring them up. He’d made a small fortune in software and wanted to set up an office in his new home. The house didn’t want it. It didn’t want the expensive paintings on the wall. It didn’t want a brand new wine cellar. It wanted to stay as it was.
I knew it was wrong to stay in the house with them. Stealing food from the kitchen whenever they went out. Topping up the water supplies, but I couldn’t leave. It was like the wire was too short. Like a spring, if I tried to move away I’d eventually bounce back and crash into the attic The Carters had to go. Getting a couple to leave their dream home isn’t easy though. The house told me the best way would be to scare them. Move things around the house, make them think that it was haunted. It was easy enough to get started, simply hiding various items. Moving keys, remote controls and the like. They got a little wound up, but never suspected anything malicious. Each day I’d do a little more. Turn clocks upside down. Turn tables and chairs 90 degrees. They blamed each other for this, but when watching them I could see they were becoming stressed. One day I shaved a section of the carpet and pasted some of the fluff to the ceiling. Another I covered all of the door knobs in butter. They spoke about getting someone in to investigate. I panicked. The house told me not to, told me to take it to the next level. Make them see something.
The fishing tackle practically fell into my lap. A box in the attic had some of Mr Hampshire’s fishing line in it. Thin and yet strong, and it wouldn’t easily be seen. The house told me where to put it. I tied slip knots so it would come loose and could be pulled clear of sight after the event. Over the course of one night I had a number of events set up. First off a length of fishing wire on a cupboard door. It would stay tied long enough to pull it open a little, then come free leaving it to close with a bang. Carried out whilst the Carters were sitting by the fire with a bottle of wine they jumped at the bang, but soon dismissed it. Soon after that a stool crashed down in the kitchen and Mr Carter went to investigate. Then it was time to release the cat. A viscous moggy that had come to Hawthorn House shortly after I had, possible also drawn in to serve this very purpose. It had become trapped between the walls, always just out of reach. It had finally starved to death the day before the Carters moved in, and had been stored in the attic, rotting since. A pull on a line released it from the chimney and it crashed into the fire. A log rolled out onto the carpet, and that was it for Mrs Carter. They stayed in a hotel after that, we didn’t see her again.
Mr Carter came back a week or so later. He had plans, big plans. Again talking on the phone the house seemed to close in on him, the walls in the hall in which he stood coming together in order to hear.
“That’s right, haunted,” he said, “well we’ve got permission to tear the whole place down. Sophie doesn’t want to come back, and we can make quite a profit if we develop the land for a housing estate.”
Sometimes the wires become taut it we move far enough away from what we’re tied to. That’s why I have to leave. Position myself just right and Mr and Mrs Carter could well trip over that taut wire, have a nasty little accident. If I can get hold of some of those paintings first, before the Carters disappear, then maybe I can buy this place.
I’m tied to Hawthorn House.
It wasn’t always so. I used to be married. Hard-wired into Becky, connected by the shortest of wires. Thinking of the way we got together, the string of coincidences that danced around us before pulling us close, I think she was right to say that it was fate. We were supposed to be forever entwined, but the line snapped when she fell in front of a bus. Does that sound harsh to you? Well that’s how I cope, matter of fact, but the questions do come. I sometimes ask whether she fell or if the wire went taut, and she was pulled in. We’re all connected. I pull you, you pull someone else, and who knows, maybe you’ll pull them off the end of the jetty to a watery death. Maybe then you’ll find yourself tied to something else. Something evil.
It first reeled me in when it was empty. When I was empty. Becky’s death left me with nothing, with no one. Much like the death of Mr and Mrs Hampshire left Hawthorn House with no one. It brought me to the auction. I’d been to the cemetery, laying flowers on Becky’s grave. On the way home I took a wrong turn. Though to say that I took it probably isn’t giving the house the credit it deserves. I could try to tell myself that my mind wasn’t on the road and that I went left by accident, but it would be a lie. It pulled me in. I didn’t even see the house at first, the lawn full of people caught my eye. It was an auction, and from the sound of the bids, it hadn’t been going on long.
My hand went up without my knowledge, bidding more than I had. It caused quite a stir amongst the crowd, the stranger making a late bid. The two men that had been bidding against each other previously looked me up and down, trying to work out if I was for real. The auctioneer asked if there were any more bids. For a second I thought that there wouldn’t be, but there was. I managed to keep my hand down after that, but not without some effort. When the hammer did eventually crash down I felt a pang of disappointment. I didn’t understand it, I’d never been inside, barely looked at it at all. But there was a certain charm about the house. The painted white brickwork seemed to absorb the sun and use it to illuminate the garden. The greens seemed greener, the flowers burst with colour. And whilst it brought your attention to the outside, it made it impossible to look into the blackness inside the windows.
I waited in the car as the procession of losers and observers drove off. I watched the auctioneer give the victor a hearty slap on the back before handing over some papers and heading towards his own car. The house’s new owner stood gazing upon it as he pulled a mobile phone from his pocket. As he held it to his ear the sun appeared to drop in the sky. Surely an optic illusion, I figured as a heavy shadow spread over him. I blinked twice, and all returned to normal. He finished his phone call and left, leaving me alone with Hawthorn House.
I wanted to leave. I didn’t know why I’d even stayed so long, but when alone the house looked as if it was welcoming me in. I swear the door grew, and the garden path rolled out towards me. How could I refuse it? I had to go in.
Inside the house felt at peace. I could feel its energy all around me, flowing through the corridors, helping me further in, giving me a guided tour. It whispered memories from a bygone age. The songs sung around a long since lost piano, the crackle of a cosy fire in the living room. I understood all about the house, it had been a happy home for so many over the years, and it wanted to be a home for me.
“It cannot be,” I said, speaking to the house without even thinking that it was in any way peculiar, “I can’t afford to live here. You have a new owner.”
It was then that it took me up the stairs. On the landing the, attic hatch dropped upon and the steps glided out.
I spent most of my time up there after that. Put in the basics, a bed, plenty of food supplies, and watched the Carters move in. Mr and Mrs. Their first marital home. Wanted to have kids here and bring them up. He’d made a small fortune in software and wanted to set up an office in his new home. The house didn’t want it. It didn’t want the expensive paintings on the wall. It didn’t want a brand new wine cellar. It wanted to stay as it was.
I knew it was wrong to stay in the house with them. Stealing food from the kitchen whenever they went out. Topping up the water supplies, but I couldn’t leave. It was like the wire was too short. Like a spring, if I tried to move away I’d eventually bounce back and crash into the attic The Carters had to go. Getting a couple to leave their dream home isn’t easy though. The house told me the best way would be to scare them. Move things around the house, make them think that it was haunted. It was easy enough to get started, simply hiding various items. Moving keys, remote controls and the like. They got a little wound up, but never suspected anything malicious. Each day I’d do a little more. Turn clocks upside down. Turn tables and chairs 90 degrees. They blamed each other for this, but when watching them I could see they were becoming stressed. One day I shaved a section of the carpet and pasted some of the fluff to the ceiling. Another I covered all of the door knobs in butter. They spoke about getting someone in to investigate. I panicked. The house told me not to, told me to take it to the next level. Make them see something.
The fishing tackle practically fell into my lap. A box in the attic had some of Mr Hampshire’s fishing line in it. Thin and yet strong, and it wouldn’t easily be seen. The house told me where to put it. I tied slip knots so it would come loose and could be pulled clear of sight after the event. Over the course of one night I had a number of events set up. First off a length of fishing wire on a cupboard door. It would stay tied long enough to pull it open a little, then come free leaving it to close with a bang. Carried out whilst the Carters were sitting by the fire with a bottle of wine they jumped at the bang, but soon dismissed it. Soon after that a stool crashed down in the kitchen and Mr Carter went to investigate. Then it was time to release the cat. A viscous moggy that had come to Hawthorn House shortly after I had, possible also drawn in to serve this very purpose. It had become trapped between the walls, always just out of reach. It had finally starved to death the day before the Carters moved in, and had been stored in the attic, rotting since. A pull on a line released it from the chimney and it crashed into the fire. A log rolled out onto the carpet, and that was it for Mrs Carter. They stayed in a hotel after that, we didn’t see her again.
Mr Carter came back a week or so later. He had plans, big plans. Again talking on the phone the house seemed to close in on him, the walls in the hall in which he stood coming together in order to hear.
“That’s right, haunted,” he said, “well we’ve got permission to tear the whole place down. Sophie doesn’t want to come back, and we can make quite a profit if we develop the land for a housing estate.”
Sometimes the wires become taut it we move far enough away from what we’re tied to. That’s why I have to leave. Position myself just right and Mr and Mrs Carter could well trip over that taut wire, have a nasty little accident. If I can get hold of some of those paintings first, before the Carters disappear, then maybe I can buy this place.
Page:
Beautiful!
Game-A-Day. Story good. Meka win.
Help, help, what's a GAD and what's going on?
Rickoss wrote:
> Excellent. Well done, nothing makes me happier than story's winning
> GAD. :D
Why hasn't the original post been changed into that funky yellow colour that posts get after winning a GAD?
> Excellent. Well done, nothing makes me happier than story's winning
> GAD. :D
Why hasn't the original post been changed into that funky yellow colour that posts get after winning a GAD?
I wish people would write stories on a level I understand.
If you were tied to Becky, why didn't you pull her from out of the way of a bus!?!
You bad husband!!!!!(!)
If you were tied to Becky, why didn't you pull her from out of the way of a bus!?!
You bad husband!!!!!(!)
Rickoss wrote:
> Excellent. Well done, nothing makes me happier than story's winning
> GAD. :D
I just went and checked, couldn't believe it!
Excellent, cheers guys! Haven't won a GAD for a while (then again, I haven't reviewed a game for a while either - it's beginning to add up!) ;o)
Much thanks.
> Excellent. Well done, nothing makes me happier than story's winning
> GAD. :D
I just went and checked, couldn't believe it!
Excellent, cheers guys! Haven't won a GAD for a while (then again, I haven't reviewed a game for a while either - it's beginning to add up!) ;o)
Much thanks.
Excellent. Well done, nothing makes me happier than story's winning GAD. :D
Well, probably not, but it's ncie to know they don't completely ignore this forum.
Well, probably not, but it's ncie to know they don't completely ignore this forum.
Aye, good stuff.
I'm kinda tied to 'the house' stories at the moment.
5 / 6 of my most recent ones, I think.
Bit odd.
I'm kinda tied to 'the house' stories at the moment.
5 / 6 of my most recent ones, I think.
Bit odd.
I'm jealous of your creativity. :(
Seriously, how do you come up with this stuff? Excellent.
Seriously, how do you come up with this stuff? Excellent.
Excellent, as usual.
My only criticism would be that it sort of jumped into the last paragraph near the end. I understand you were running out of time.
My only criticism would be that it sort of jumped into the last paragraph near the end. I understand you were running out of time.
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