This is your home now [Crimson Peak]

Allerdale Hall

'Allerdale Hall' the crumbling sign read. Alice shuddered at the red clay seeping into the snow, every footstep leaving a blood red trail toward the door.

"We can tick creepy off the list. Definitely fits the bill for a horror film so far,"

A chain rattled against the temporary fence, and she turned back expecting to see Luke. Ordinarily the location scouts worked as a pair, but he had bailed on her this morning with a head cold and they had only been allowed access for one day. Seeing no one, she cursed him under her breath and turned back toward the looming mansion.

Alice arrived at the front door, her face frozen and lungs burning with the cold air, the temperature dropping as she approached. The lock on the door had long since failed, and a satisfying creak announced her presence when she turned the handle and pushed gently. Stepping inside, she took a moment to adjust to the stunning darkness within; a stark contrast to the bright white of the snow. She was greeted with a huge staircase: dark, heavy wood that extended upward and to the right, curling around the inside of the entrance and overhead. In front she saw a fireplace, crimson red curtains to the right signalled the entry to what she guessed would be the kitchen. The foyer ceiling was impossibly high, extending to the exterior roof, and snow fell through a gaping, rotten hole. The sight gave her an uncomfortable feeling, just a moment ago she wouldn't have expected more snow to fall from the clear sky. She turned to look out the door, just in time for it to close heavily and have her gasping in surprise.

"It's an old, heavy door, Alice. No need to be jumpy."

Fishing in her bag, she pulled out her camera, bumped up the iso and opened up the shutter speed and aperture to get some shots without flash. Not entirely convinced they would work in the darkness, she was surprised at the quality of the first test shots of the staircase, picking up the green of the walls and gilded picture frames, and began looking around further.

To the right she found the kitchen, the table still set and cabinets open; as though the occupants had left mid-meal and never returned. No one had quite been able to tell her exactly what had happened to the previous owner, except that they had disappeared. One story had them presumed dead in one of the basement floors below ground, swallowed by the clay mines, another had them thrown off the cliff. Either way the sense that they might return to finish lunch was unsettling. An ancient elevator stood in one corner, Alice wasn't prepared to risk her life to find out if it worked and it gave her more an impression of a shark tank than something capable of safe travel.

Moving through another doorway, she found the parlour, the fireplace had begun to crumble and the piano had succumbed to the damp and rot, one side collapsed on the floor in a mess of strings and hardened felt hammers. Light streamed in through a large window, Alice could imagine the detail it must have featured when it was intact, and more snow flurried through on the breeze. Her skin prickled with an uneasy feeling of being watched, and she turned to find a portrait of an old woman leaning against the wall; obviously having fallen from its original placement. Had she been in a Scooby Doo episode this would have been the point where the eyes moved, but they didn't have to physically turn in their sockets to give the same impression of following her closely. With a few quick photos - avoiding the portrait - she escaped back to the foyer.

With a few photos on the card, Alice braced herself to attempt the stairs. 'There may be some rotten areas,' the heritage representative had told her. 'Watch your step.'

Comforting.

Tentatively, flinching at every creak beneath her feet, she found her way to the first floor. Again she was astounded at the unmade beds, linens that appeared as though their occupants had just rolled out of bed and vanished. In the first room, a beautiful dresser caught her interest. The mirror had begun to tarnish, streaked and marbled with decay, a heavy silver hair brush and comb laid carefully on the surface. Alice imagined a young woman, sitting on the stool in front of the mirror and running the brush carefully through her long hair before retiring to bed. The feeling in this room was different; almost comforting, like she could sit down on the bed and take it all in. The mirror beckoned to her, invited her to capture it from every possible angle and trace her fingers over the gilt frame.