Sighing in a Snow Storm

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The house wasn't the same to him anymore. It was strange. Quiet. And mostly, it made Drew feel out of place. It was as if he were an intruder. As if he didn't belong there. It felt as if someone was always watching him from around a corner, or staring deep into his heart from the shadows. When he walked the halls, a terrible, hair raising sensation filled his being. As if someone was walking behind him just out of his sight. Of course, when he turned nothing was there. But before he turned he was flooded with the most awful fear of someone, something, standing there.

Drew had moved into this house around nine months before. It had been his dream home. The house was nestled out in the rolling, misty hills of the countryside. It was a tall, Gothic house that was more akin to a mansion, with high arched windows and an ornate outer design. An archway hovered intimidatingly over the door. It added a touch of old charm. Two oak doors resided under the archway. They led into a small hallway, which flourished into a beautiful foyer. The foyer was decorated mostly in dark wood and heavy rugs, delicate chairs grouped next to a small round table.

Coming off of the foyer was a living room, a study, a hallway leading further into the home, the entrance to the kitchen, and a small breakaway to the master bedroom. The whole house was decorated in a similar style as the foyer. Dark. Regal. Imposing but elegant. It was exactly to Drew's tastes, if not a little bit more refined. In fact, some of the furniture had even belonged to the original owner. It was older than Drew by many years, and he respected that.

There were three bedrooms downstairs not counting the master bedroom. Drew wasn't really sure what to do with them, as he didn't have a family. There were two more on the second floor, as well as another bathroom and a half bath. A library, sitting room, and a family room were there also. All in all, the house was big. It had been a steal on the market. Drew had got it for forty thousand dollars. When he had first seen the advertisements, he hadn't believed it. He had barely even believed his eyes when he got there and saw the pristine condition the house and grounds were in. He had been baffled. How had someone given this house, no, this estate away as if it were nothing? He hadn't truly questioned it at the time. Drew had been sold the moment he laid eyes on it.

He had, of course, asked the realtor if there was anything wrong with this house that he hadn't been informed of. That had seemed to sort of put her into a nervous state. She had clasped her hands together slightly before telling him. No, there wasn't anything wrong with the house, but there had been some talk about odd things happening in the past. Apparently, there had been a seance conducted in one of the back sitting rooms on the main floor many years ago. While the ghost was speaking through the medium she had suddenly gasped and flown into a seizure, though she had no recorded history of having them. She had died there. Shortly after, misfortune followed the family. Their youngest, a girl of three, had taken ill with pneumonia and died. Their eighteen year old son was found dead outside in the yard. His cause of death was never determined. The middle child, who was ten, tumbled down the stairs to her untimely death. Grief stricken, the parents moved away. They were never heard from in that town again.

Even before they left, there had been talk of a strange apparition that appeared on the grounds at night. A person with long, long hair. Hair that drug on the ground when they walked. Dressed all in white. No one was sure who it was the ghost of. Some said it was a banshee, but it never screamed. Some said it was an angel, but it didn't have wings. No one was sure of what it was or if it was even real.

But that had all been at least ninety years ago. Drew had shrugged it off as nothing but terrible luck and superstition. Tragic luck, in fact. Something that he hoped and prayed would never fall upon his family when he had one. He was sure that all was well. A house couldn't be cursed or haunted, after all. So he had bought it.

Now it was his. The first few months had been smooth sailing. It had almost been like waking up in a dream everyday. It had been extremely pleasant. He firmly believed that he would never truly see every inch of his new home as it was so spacious. Around the seventh month, things had begun to get a little strange. There had been creaks in the night that sounded like feet slowly creeping up the stairs or wandering the long halls. Sometimes when Drew left a room he heard a soft sigh from far behind him. Or the swish of fabric. The first time he had heard it he had jumped and twisted in fear to face it immediately. But there had been nothing there. He had brushed it off as nothing but his imagination.

When he watched TV at night he sometimes thought that he saw movement in the corner of his eye. Something fast and quiet. When he turned to confront it, there was always nothing. There was never anything whenever he thought there was. So he tried to ignore it. He tried to force the melancholy sighing out of his brain every time he heard it. He did his best to block whatever he sometimes glimpsed from the corner of his eye. The more he did this, the more things seemed to happen. Once he was in the library looking for one of his favorite books. He had roamed all over the shelves, looked at all the tables, even under a few chairs. No luck. Finally, Drew had sat down in defeat to think. From behind his chair he had heard a thud. A sickening feeling had filled up his stomach as he rose to see what it had been. There it was. His book.

It was lying face up behind his chair, next to the empty wall. When Drew had put two and two together, he realized it couldn't have fallen from a bookshelf. The only way it could have fallen back there was if someone had dropped it. Drew had picked up his book with shaking hands and left the library quickly.

Now, it was late November. His ninth month of staying there. He was lying in bed trying to sleep while the early, winter winds howled around the house. They seemed to cry; to sob. They begged and wailed for shelter. To be embraced in warm arms. Drew turned over onto his side and hugged an extra pillow tight. The winds were eerie. The house creaked against them. A fortress. A protector against the crying gusts. He closed his eyes and listened to all the night sounds. The windows shaking in their panes. The house holding strong. The winds sweeping over the hills. The slow creak of old architecture. Sleety snowflakes hitting the glass. A hushed, wistful sigh from the hallway outside of his room.

Drew's eyes snapped open. He shouldn't be hearing anyone sigh besides himself. He lay in the darkness of his room and listened closer. He listened with strained ears, trying desperately to hear past the wind, the creaking, and the snow smacking against the windows. For a moment, there was nothing. The hair on his neck began to raise while he waited in sickening purgatory. Filthy fear ran in his veins. Drew pulled the blankets closer to himself, covered up to his neck. His collar length, straight brown hair was bunched anxiously around his face. Though the room was warm, he shuddered. He stared in the direction of the door with wide eyes. Scared eyes. Eyes that embodied terror itself in all its bitter glory.

A soft swish came from the hallway, followed by what sounded like a hand running across the width of his door. Drew kept watching. He didn't see a thing besides his darkened room before him. There was silence from within his house yet again. Minutes passed. The wind screamed on outside yet Drew still stared. He stared blindly at the door, waiting for something awful to enter. But nothing did. He kept watch. From somewhere in the deep silence of his house, a floorboard creaked. Then another. Feet slowly, mournfully climbing the stairs. Lightly. Just enough to make the floor creak. Enough to let Drew know that he wasn't alone. And that this wasn't his house.

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