Dark, desolate, depressed, it sat there amongst the shrubbery and strewn, dead leaves. The clawing, scratching, hopeless silence encased the manor house, much like a coffin. Midnight had long since passed but yet the atmosphere remained as sorrowful as the day it was abandoned, left to rot amongst the moors nearby.
The gnarled trees loomed above as it’s limbs reached out in malevolent glee, hoping to trip any unsuspecting wanderers. The halo of light that usually occupied the painted black sky had since been covered by the dismal, grey clouds. A flash of lightning sliced viciously amongst the heavens, before the arrival of thunder was announced with a deep, wolfish growl. The manor house was alive once more.
YOU ARE READING
The Manor
Short StoryThe short tale of a manor house, which after midnight slowly becomes alive once again!
