The Second Night
He sped through the halls, trying to remember his path from the day before. The insanely loud door bell was ringing over and over, echoing through the corridors of the manor. By the time he reached the front door the ringing had stopped. He still heard a car engine outside and threw the door open just in time to see the car from before, racing away.
"Ah shit." He mumbled to himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Some boxes of food had been left on the steps and he sighed in relief, knowing that he wasn't going to go hungry. He gathered up the boxes and carried them in the general direction he remembered seeing the kitchen.
There was still no power, but the sinks were running, there was a gas stove, and with cookware left behind, he'd be able to cook. The boxes were mostly canned foods and dry goods, with some fresh apples and potatoes thrown in. It was more than enough to get him through the week, and included with the food were some emergency candles and a new looking copy of 'Learning French for Dummies'. He couldn't tell if the driver was being nice or mocking him. Either way he appreciated it.
He didn't spend too long in the kitchen, just enough time to figure out the stovetop coffee pot. He had a lot of work to do and wanted to get started. With coffee successfully made, he got started cleaning up the kitchen with supplies he found in an old butler's closet. First yanking down the drapes, letting light flood into the room, blinding him for a moment, but immediately warming up the room. He dusted and wiped down everything and gave all the cookware and dished a quick wash to ensure he wouldn't be getting any taste of dust. He wanted to clean up some of the other rooms, at least the ones he planned on using, but his main concern was getting all the drapes in the house open.
The ambiance that had been charming the first day, had quickly become a nuisance. He needed to be able to see if he was going to stay there. He moved through the dining room, tearing down drapes with all his might, occasionally flinging nails around, and worked his way through the main lounge room and halls. Little by little, the place lightened up, revealing more treasures. The place would be truly breathtaking when it was all cleaned up.
He paused in his work at the thought. He didn't have much of a plan for how long he wanted to stay. When he first jumped on the plane, he had "summer in France" on the brain, but what would he do then? he folded up all the heavy drapes he'd collected and shoved them in a linen closet he'd found, while contemplating. He couldn't focus on the thought of what comes later, and he told himself it was because he hadn't eaten all day or the night before.
He walked back downstairs, watching the light capture particles of dust in the air. Everything was already warming up, the chill was nearly gone. However, no amount of light could stop the creaking and groaning of the wood, or the whispering that he continued to blame on the wind. 'It better be the wind' he thought.
It didn't take him long to cook up a meal and as he sat down in the large dining room, the empty chairs stared back at him. No amount of light could fill the silence, and his mind wandered to the thoughts he tried to push away. He didn't really have anywhere or anyone to return to. He hadn't spoken to his family since he left home. His boyfriend had pushed all his friends away. After the break up, he'd been crashing on the couch of a coworker he'd earned enough goodwill with, and then quit his job after he decided to go to France.
The sun was lowering on the horizon, casting orange across the table cloth and he cleared his plate, feeling heavier than he had when the day began. He went back to the main bedroom to do what he always did when he felt this way: write. He could take all these feelings, sort them, quantify them, put them on paper and make the world make sense. He wrote until the sun went down and he couldn't see anymore; only lay there in the dark with his own imaginings.
They sounds of the night were becoming soothing white noise, and he was dozing off-
TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap
"What the fuck was that?" He said to himself, shooting up in bed.
TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap
It sounded like footsteps, just out in the hall. His blood froze in his veins, and his limbs went painfully numb. He couldn't seem to take in breath.
TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap
The footsteps were accompanied by hushed voices. He couldn't make out the words but someone was definitely in the house, and he was alone. He forced his body to move, turning on his phone's flashlight and grabbing a particularly thick candlestick from the bedside table. Tiptoeing towards the door, so as to not alert the intruders, he held the candle stick with white knuckles and shaky limbs.
He pushed the door open slowly, peaking out only as much as he had to. The hall was empty. When he stepped out, somehow the voices had grown louder, but still unintelligible. Goosebumps shivered across every inch of his skin, but he pressed forward, candlestick raised in defense.
TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap TAP-tap
He nearly shrieked at the sound footsteps running right past him, and something he couldn't see brushed against his arm.
"Who the hell is here?!" He shouted, waving the candle stick around him wildly. He hit nothing, but the voices sounded like they were laughing now. He felt like he was being watched and the air grew heavy in his lungs when he aimed his phone light at the windows. There was a pitch black figure, standing in the window. No, not just one, there were figures in the windows. They had no faces, no color or depth. Just human shaped black holes, laughing.
"Who are you?! What do you want!?" He demanded, but they only laughed, and his legs were too weak to move. The temperature in the hall was dropping and he could see his breath in the air. Their voices were only growing louder, then cut short by a hideous growl. The shadows evaporated, their voices died out, and the growling grew closer.
THUD-thud THUD-thud THUD-thud THUD-thud
Timothy scrambled back towards the bedroom, shaking uncontrollably. The fingers could hardly turn the lock on the door, and he burned marks he barely felt into his fingers trying to light as many candles as possible. The thudding footsteps came right up to the door and all he could hear was heavy breathing of something. Something not human. He sat in the middle of the bed, unable to console his mind, and eventually, the thing beyond the door wandered away.
He couldn't explain any of what had happened, but he knew he needed to get out of this house…
Part 3: https://mangothoughtswritingblog.blogspot.com/2023/07/mini-series-seven-nights-3.html
