Mini Series: Seven Nights #3

 The Third Night

When morning came, he was exhausted. Where the night’s happenings a dream? Or was he just going crazy? Either way he was pissed. He stomped all over the second floor of the manor, waving his phone over his head like an idiot, trying to get a signal. The lawyer absolutely knew something about this and Timothy was going to give him a piece of his mind. 

No matter how hard he tried a signal wouldn't go through, and he resigned himself to another day in the spooky manor. At least he could make himself some breakfast but he was pissy the entire time, slamming cabinets and yelling at nothing; hopefully nothing. 

He ate moodily on the kitchen floor, writing out his frustrations into a messy book scene he would need to edit. Leaving his dishes in the sink and wandering outside when he was done, he walked around the perimeter of the building, looking up towards the second floor. He examined to see if there were any ledges to stand on outside the windows. He was a romantic, and maybe even a bit of a wimp who got freaked out easily, but he wasn't an idiot. This whole thing had "sick prank" written all over it. His grandfather was supposed to be some rich asshole and Tim wouldn't have been shocked if his former employees wanted to cut the inheritance. He didn't blame them and would gladly hand over everything if they'd actually come talk to him, instead of trying to scare him off with a Scooby-Doo routine.

He didn't find any evidence of home invaders, so he went back inside and decided to check and lock every unused room. There wasn't much else he could do until nightfall, so he ate more out of habit than hunger, and lounged in the main living room, reading the French book he was given. The silence was slowly creeping into his head again. 

He wished he wasn't alone. He wanted someone there to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright. If his boyfriend was there- He slammed his book shut to cut off that train of thought. 'You don't want James here' he lectured himself, 'He's your ex now, and for a good reason. If he were here, everything would be so much worse.'

"Fucking stupid idiot," he said aloud, rubbing his eyes. He tried not to look down at his left leg, ignoring the itch of a healing wound. It hadn't quite started to get dark yet, so he did a few more preparations. He'd been trying to save the battery on his phone but he needed answers so he set it up to record at the end of the hall facing the master bedroom door. Last, he searched his grandfather's closet, and acquired a solid cane. Just in case.

Candles lit and doors locked, he sat up in bed to do some more writing. He was too frazzled to get any sleep anyway. He stayed up for a long while, the words in his brain flowing onto the pages. For a moment, he even started to feel relaxed. 

BANG! Bang! Bang! 

BANG! Bang! Bang! 

He froze in place staring at the bedroom doors shaking on their hinges. The candles all blew out at once, and he was plunged into darkness. He was breathing heavily, fumbling for the thick cane, stumbling out of bed. As he tiptoed towards the door, his eyes adjusted to the dark. He counted to three, and threw the door open.

The hall was empty.

There were no voices, no shadows. He stepped into the hall, and slowly made his way forward. He walked as far as the staircase, and heard music from down below. Every logical part of him was screaming to turn back, that this is where he would kill off the idiot character. He continued down the stairs anyways, pulled by the soft melody. It grows louder and louder, leading him towards the ballroom. The door was cracked, a blue light shining through. He peeked into the room and his breath stopped. 

There were people inside dancing. No, not people. These were something else. Transparent wisps of light and white smoke in the figures of men and women, twirled and laughed. He pushed the door open and none of them seemed to respond so he stepped inside to just watch them. They were graceful and haunting. 

Creeeaaaaakkk

When he heard the sound behind him, it was already too late. Something grabbed his leg and dug its fingers into the already existing wound. Timothy screamed in pain and fear as his leg was ripped out from under him and he slammed against the floor hard enough to cut off his scream. He gasped pathetically, desperate to pull air back into lungs. He saw the ballroom spirits through blurry eyes. They looked as frightened as he felt, rushing away from him and whatever had grabbed him; Dispersing and disappearing into the walls. He kicked out his legs trying to get loose but the grip tightened, and when he looked over his shoulder he saw the laughing shadows. With long branches of arms, they tried to drag him back into the darkness of the halls. He screamed and thrashed and clawed at the wood floors. The shadows laughed, louder and louder, filling the night.

THUD-thud THUD-thud THUD-thud THUD-thud

The laughs went silent. His heart was beating so fast it was like being punched in the chest. 

THUD-thud THUD-thud THUD-thud THUD-thud

For a moment nothing was moving and a tall, bulky figure emerged from the dark. He couldn't believe his eyes. With legs and arms thick like trees, corded with muscle, skin the color of stone, with protruding horns from its head, and draping wings. He saw what he recognized to be the gargoyle from the roof of the manor. Up close it was larger than he realized and its horrible, beautiful face was twisted in rage. It roared and the shadows shrieked and scattered. The hand with its fingers dug into his leg did not release him and tried to take him away with them. The gargoyle lunged for the shadow, slashing with clawed hands, and the shadow finally let go. 

Timothy scrambled across the floor, pushing himself up on this aching leg and limping back towards the staircase. He could hear the shrieks, roars, and crashing behind him, and he fought through the pain with each step up. He fell at the top of the stairs, catching himself on his elbows and crawling back to the bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, panting so hard he wretched on the carpet…

Part 4: https://mangothoughtswritingblog.blogspot.com/2023/07/mini-series-seven-nights-4.html