Reflections of Madness: The Haunting of Moonshore Mansion

Moonshore Mansion

The sterile white walls of the psych ward were a stark contrast to the vivid memories that haunted me. I sat in a rigid plastic chair, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, as Dr. Ellis, an interviewer from Northern Yusteala, settled across from me with a notepad in hand and says with a look of integrity and poise, "Mr..." She glances to the notepad in her hand then back up to me, "Jonathan Crane..." "I understand you've been through quite an ordeal. Would you be willing to share your story with me?"

My gaze was distant, my voice barely above a whisper. "It all started when I, Jonathan Crane, an artist of humble beginnings from a town east of Yusteala, had journeyed to Moonshore in search of inspiration. My hands, once fluid with the dance of colors and shapes upon the canvas, now shook with a cocktail of excitement and fear that was the mansion. As I went into Moonshore Mansion... I thought it was just an old building, but it was so much more."

I cautiously glance at her as she readjusts herself in her seat while quickly flipping to the next page in her notepad; noticing I was watching her she smiles then continues, "Take your time, Jonathan. What did you experience inside the mansion?" Focusing my eyes back on the concrete flooring of my room, I shuddered, the images flooding back. "The mansion... it was alive. The portraits watched me, and the mirror... the mirror showed me things, terrible things." "What kind of things did the mirror show you?" My eyes met Dr. Ellis's, a flicker of fear passing through them. "It showed me myself, but twisted, dark... and it whispered to me, spoke of regrets and curses."

She leans forward in her seat slightly and says, "How did you escape?" My voice a hoarse whisper, I say wearily, "I didn't escape. It let me go, but it kept a piece of me. I can still hear it calling, even now." Dr. Ellis scribbled notes, her expression a careful mask of professionalism. "We'll help you, Jonathan. You're safe here." However, as I looked around the sterile room, I knew the truth. I could never escape what I had seen in that mansion. It was a part of me now, a reflection of madness etched into my very soul.

As I stepped into the Moonshore Mansion that fateful night, the air was stale, and the silence was suffocating. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch me, their eyes following my every move. "What do you see that I cannot?" I whispered, but the only answer was the echo of my own voice, distorted and mocking. In the library, a sudden thud behind me made me spin around. A book had fallen to the floor, its pages fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird. "Who's there?" I called out, but again, silence.

The conservatory was a jungle of overgrowth. A shadow darted between the leaves, and I heard a soft giggle that sent shivers down my spine. "Show yourself!" I demanded, but the plants seemed to close in around me, their rustling leaves whispering secrets I couldn't understand. In the grand ballroom, the mirror awaited me. As I approached, my reflection grinned, its eyes dark pits in the glass. "You're not me," I said, my voice steady despite the fear. The reflection laughed, a sound that didn't belong to this world, and raised its hand to the glass. I watched, frozen, as the hand pressed against the surface, the fingertips stretching through the mirror, reaching for me.

I stumbled backward, my heart racing as the figure in the mirror stepped out into the room. It was me, but twisted, a doppelgänger wrought from the mansion's malevolent energy. "What do you want?" I gasped, backing away. The figure advanced, its movements jerky and unnatural. "Your fear," it hissed, its voice a chorus of the damned. "It feeds us." I turned and ran, the laughter of my reflection chasing me through the halls. Doors slammed shut as I passed, and the portraits' eyes bled tears of crimson. The mansion was alive, and it was hungry.

I found myself in the nursery, the room cold and the air thick with the scent of decay. A crib stood in the center, a mobile spinning slowly above it. As I watched, the figures on the mobile came to life, their faces contorting into expressions of horror. A lullaby began to play, slow and discordant, and I felt a small hand grasp mine. I looked down to see a child, her eyes hollow sockets, her mouth a silent scream. With a cry, I wrenched my hand away and fled, the child's wail echoing in my ears. The mansion was toying with me, each room a new terror, each corridor a path to madness.

When I finally emerged from the mansion, the sun was rising, but the light brought me no warmth. I was free, but the horrors I had witnessed clung to me like shadows. The Moonshore Mansion had revealed its true nature, and I knew I would never be the same. When I was eventually discovered, I was but a husk of the artist I once was—my eyes void, my spirit shattered. The people of Moonshore spoke softly of the mansion's triumph, and on nights when the fog descended heavily upon the land, they claimed to hear the faint cries for liberation—a cry eerily akin to my own voice. The Moonshore Mansion remained silent, its curse intact, awaiting the next brave soul to traverse its halls and reveal the reflections of madness.

As Dr. Ellis closed her notepad, the room fell into a contemplative silence. She looked at me with a mixture of concern and professional curiosity. "Thank you, Jonathan. Your account is most... enlightening. We'll do everything we can to help you find peace after what you've been through." I nodded, the ghosts of Moonshore Mansion still clawing at the edges of my mind. "I just want to forget," I whispered, but deep down, I knew some images would be etched in my memory forever.

Dr. Ellis stood up, signaling the end of our session. "We'll meet again tomorrow. Try to get some rest," she said, her voice soft but firm. As she left, the door clicked shut behind her, and I was alone with my thoughts. The sterile room felt like a cage, but it was nothing compared to the prison of my own mind.

The End.