This story is also on my profile on MissLiterati. Profile name is Hannahbanana79
Englan 1847
The breeze harshly blows through the emerald leaves, over crystal clear waters and expansive valleys. The clouds start to darken and the sun disappears under a thick blanket of cloud. The wind wraps around me and creates a tunnel in my ears. My heart pounds inside my chest and my palms begin to sweat. Sharp twigs and thorny brush grab at the hem of my calico dress as I sprint on through the thicket in my tightly laced boots. I look over my shoulder and see no one behind me.I stop abruptly and listen for any advancing footstep. Suddenly a twig snaps. I look all around me in panic; sweat begins to pour from my temples.
Out of nowhere, a streak of white flashes toward me from its hiding place. Quickly I duck as it flies past my head into a bundle of thorns, dazed.
This is my chance…I whip around and bolt away, hoping that my grandfather’s mansion isn’t too far. I look up and don’t see anything through the canopy of branches, and then, at the next second I see it.
With great turrets and thin spires my grandfather’s mansion sits at the edge of a cliff. Finally the forest begins to clear and I can see the grassy courtyard in front of me. I run out as the great, grey sky rumbles and opens up, pelting me with rain. The first few drops land on my forehead and a moment later I am drenched to the bone. I pick up the layers of my wet and heavy petticoats even higher, and run for my life down the lush green courtyard.
I am already half way down the court when I hear a low, foreboding whisper in the wind, calling out my name.
“Emma,” it calls out in a small voice.
“Emma stop, you can’t run from me forever…”
Startled by the voice I stop and withdraw the pen knife that I keep in my front dress pocket. All of a sudden a long and frightened scream sounds from the mansion. I put the knife back into my large pocket and begin to run toward the screams. Two anguished screams shoot like arrows through the air and then…total silence.
The gleam of white catches up to me, angrily knocking me down to the ground. Its large nostrils flare as it bares its gruesome, crimson stained teeth. I fight with its white snarling head with one hand and try to grab my knife with the other, but it has me pinned firmly to the ground. I scream for help, but I know I am too far away for people to hear me to save me. I scream again louder this time but my scream is cut off when the monster’s large paw steps on my throat, denying me breath. My fingertips reach for the knife in my pocket. I try to not stare at its cold eyes, but I can’t help it. My face begins to drain and my head starts to pound with every pulsing moment. Blackness clouds the edges of my vision.
Miraculously, my small fingers lace around the knife and with all the strength I have left in my body I thrust the knife down, stabbing the back of the white brute. It wails in pain and then falls limply on top of me. Out of breath, I shove the heavy wolf off of my chest and stand to look at it. The courage and vigor I have quickly fades as I look up to my grandfather’s mansion and see the dim orange light of a candle shining out of the window of the study.
My mind quickens.
Had they already taken it? Was I too late?
I speed up the uneven cobblestoned road and push open the rusty black gates. Excitement and terror fill my chest all at once as I run over to the big black door. I grasp the familiar bronze knocker and slam it down harshly, three times. Surely, the house keeper, Miss Hannah, would come soon. Miss Hannah was quite young to be a house keeper… quite young indeed. I could just imagine her small, warm face smiling up towards me and her always cheerful, “Good evening Miss,” uttered from her thin, plain, lips. But nobody came to the door; I grasp the bronze door knob and turn it. To my surprise the door swings open freely. I cautiously look inside.
It is pitch black, not a sign of life anywhere. I take three large steps into the dark room, feeling my way for the gas lamp when, without warning, I trip over something. I reach down feeling for it. Instead of feeling an object of some sort I feel the temperate softness of a hand. My hand slowly feels around and I gasp when I feel its balmy forehead, then suddenly my blood runs cold.
My hand sweeps over its forehead it falls into a puddle of something warm and sticky. My other hand quickly finds the gas lamp and turns it on. I sit horrified…Miss Hannah lies stone dead on the hard tile floor, with a pool of her sticky dark, red blood gushing out the side of her mouth.
“Hannah,” I whisper faintly. I stare at her mangled body, her hollow grey eyes, her gaping mouth set in an O, her…blood.
Hot tears roll down the side of my cheeks, to bring me some peace I gently shut the lids over her eyes. Now it would just look like she was sleeping.
Miss Hannah didn’t need to die…The word die echoes through my mind. It’s all your fault Emma.
I rub my eyes till they sting.
Miss Hannah was just a girl, not even sixteen and I killed her…
The voice inside my head screams. I twist my jet black hair with my blooded hand when suddenly a chill crawls up my spine.
Whoever killed Miss Hannah is still here… waiting for me…
I whisper a prayer to God to protect me. Suddenly I hear something fall. I can scarcely breathe. My eyes look to the velvet-carpeted staircase. Another thud came from the upstairs. Someone is moving up there. I tiptoe slowly up the stair case. It feels like an eternity going up the two flights of steps to grandfather’s study. The door to the study is halfway open, streaming candle light into the hallway and then I notice the moving and crashing has subsided.
“Please,” I pray. “Don’t let them take it…”
With all the courage left in my soul I push the door open. The study has been totally ransacked. Books lie scattered on the ground, pictures lie in a heap on the mahogany desk and papers are strewn over the unkempt bed. I look around quickly, confirming I am alone.
I run over to the desk, pushing the frames off the wood making them clatter on the floor. I am about to reach under the mahogany desk when something emerges from the shadows. I freeze in place. The figure is hooded in a black–velvet cape; I can’t see its face.
“I have been waiting for you…” the silhouette says in the same foreboding voice I heard in the courtyard. The figure steps into the light and removes its hood.
“You,” I murmur.
“I’ve been waiting for you… Emma…for a long time…”
