The Voice Of The Victim

chapter 1

As the lights flickered to life, I saw the ancient house as a museum, it was as if everything in the hallway had been taken out of a Victorian film. The walls were a beautiful scarlet with gold spirals and lines all around it. The carpet was a dusty grey, and to the left of me, there was an old hundaran mahogany wood table with what seemed like an ornament made from something like marble or quartz, either way the luxurious feel of the hallway made me feel like a rich man, and this was my home. The ornament was what looked like a dog or a wolf, it was like a sign of bravery. In front of me, lay a set of old, ageing stairs with a dirty carpet lain over it. Turning around, the main room had collosal windows and draping curtains the size of a building. In the center of the room, a large wooden table sat were a blood coloured sofa sat beyond it, I had heard about this ancient piece of furniture, it had been said that it had been made by the so called murderer from the blood of his victims, they said that if you sat on it, or even did so looked at it and felt it, the first victim that had 'kindly donated' his blood would come to either, haunt you into death, or would follow you around everywhere until the right time to kill. To the left of me, was a stone fireplace, with an iron fence guarding it, the fire gave off a strong smell of death and resurrection. Just by looking at the interior of the house, it was as if a ghostly presence was around. 'It's probably nothing' the thought mentioned as I shook my head, free from these thoughts. With my blood turning deathly cold, and my spine slowly but surely turning to stone, I gazed around the around the room, when I noticed that the velvet curtains swaying softly to the light breeze outside. Instinctively, I travelled to the window to shut it, but as my hand hit the curtain, It felt   silky smooth, almost too soft, as if not touching anything at all. Whilst walking away from the now shut window, the curtain tip had hit me, I shot a glance behind me only to see the curtains were still swaying to nothing at all.
"Maybe there are ghosts here." I heard myself mutter, I found myself staring deadly, like a zombie, into the soft, velvet curtains, not moving a muscle...
"Theseus, who are you talking too?" My mother had caught me talking to myself, instantly, I picked myself up and walked up the creaking floorboards into the depth of my room...