Ｈｏｕｓｅ Ｏｆ Ａｌｔｅｒａ || 【ᴀᴏʙᴀ ᴥ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ】

I. Embrace

To many, visiting this god-forsaken house is a stricken taboo, or to put it more bluntly; a tightrope. The House of Altera has been picked and prodded by nagging psychologists and architectural founders. You could call it a haunted house, but that's for the younger teens to boast about. This house was founded by Historia Altera, and her husband Ghantal Altera. Many bloodlines crossed and passed down, or what you would call a god awfully old house. My name is Seragaki Aoba, I've been chosen along with a group of willing volunteers and daring children to take on the House of Altera for studies and award cash if I do pass the lingering nights awaiting me. If I do not, then here's in hoping Granny doesn't get too lonely without me. But I am wary about if it's only mental health risks, or does the family disease, lost so long in the timeline. Still await it's next unfortunate bypasser? Well whatever, that's just a speculation.. after all.

The house was always standing there, looming over towns, almost as if it was watching closely and provocatively. It was no proud landmark in Mijorima, only a repellent if you'd like to word it that way.

I stood in front of it as if the house wasn't there at all, staring blankly as the wind whipped harshly at my flustered face. Of all times, Winter had been pinpointed as one of the major hours of the house's bellowing standing. Taking my journal from the back slung over my right shoulder, I wrote the date sloppily in the top right. Listing my name, I began to write;

'The house is not welcoming, almost constricting the ability to breath. It's absolutely freezing, and it does not exactly give me any relief. It stands tall, rafters hanging loosely off of the house. The drainage pipes are twisted and churned, the garden gate is open, slamming continuously in an endless loop. The sickness can be smelt, it's not pleasant. '

Tucking the pen into the journal, I concealed it into the satchel and peered up at the house once more. After roll was called, and supplies was checked, we began to venture forth.

Into the House of Altera.

A man, tall in stature, wrapped in linen and a thick parka, halted the group. Turning to us, speaking hoarsely.

"The family that inhabited this house was lively, but the house was not as embracing." he began, pricking my attention. "As of now, they are listed as deceased, due to a long time absence from the house. The mother figure of the household was infected with the sickness, and murdered her first youngest son." My fingers, chalk white from the infectious cold, began to numb. I adjusted my scarf, lacing it over my mouth before returning my attention to the ringleader of our crusade. I caught a glimpse of his piercing eyes as he continued, "After a horrible absence both of the youngest sons were fallen at the hands of their own defeated mother, their bodies located in the Altera family lake on the East of Lakewood." he trailed off as he began, "The oldest brother was never found, the parents were driven to insanity and pressured themselves into suicide." He met my gaze, the look in his eyes shifting completely. "By record, the successor of the Altera family is listed as missing. Suspected to have boarded himself into captivity somewhere in the depths of the house." He turned back to the large doors, placing his hand onto the gargoyle door knocker. "But of course, who the hell knows what went through their minds." At the same time of his sentence ceasing, the doors wailed awake. His gloved fingers recoiling immediately, as winged inhabitants fled in terror.

I was trembling faintly, embarrassed, I breathed into my hands to consume heat as if I was freezing. It was after all, and the house was just as freezing. The floor was speckled with holes from water erosion and constant weight pressing onto the boards from tables and furniture thrown recklessly. The house was an absolute decomposing horror, every movement made horrid sounds. The man from before, halted at a three-legged coffee table, tainted with gems and vacant areas where they had been snatched. He spread a yellow edged map across, sloppily sketched in ink was a map of the House.