Dance With the Dead (ghost love story) oc x oc

Chapter 1: Dance With The Dead

A/N- I advise to listen to each song and pay attention to the lyrics the understand the feel of the story better. I do not own the songs they belong to the band Get Scared. 

Ivory soon found herself face to face to the main entrance of the mansion and warily creaked the door open letting herself in.

The interior of the house was antique looking. She was sure that it used to look beautiful. The first thing she was met with was a dark dusty hall way. The walls were covered in wall paper that had started to peel off due to age. Many faded vintage paintings and pictures were either hung on the wall crooked, or fallen off their hinges and broken their frames. The discolored maroon carpeting had a few dark patches of unknown stains. Cobwebs hung from the chandelier which had pieces broken off. There was barely any source of light. The only thing illuminating the entrance hall was the moonlight shining from a doorway at the end of the corridor.

The air held uneasiness to it. As if something was warning the dark haired girl to stay away, but there was a suffocating amount of loneliness and sadness lingering around, causing the girl to quiver in uneasiness. Quickening her pace as much as she could for having a sprained ankle she got nearer and nearer to the source of light that turned out to be coming from a hole in the ceiling, giving the eerie hall a ghostly glow.

All of a sudden Ivory heard the whirring and clanking sounds of gears turning making her turn around toward the source that disturbed the silence.

It was an old grandfather clock. It surprised her that it still worked after all these years. The clock had started chiming as its hands landed on 3 o'clock. With each chime it started to get louder and louder until it seemed almost distorted. Dust flew in the air every time the time keeper notified the hour, echoing throughout the house. The noise had gotten so loud that Ivory had to cover her ears and crouch, trying to block out the sounds. At the last chime the house became deafeningly still. The girl didn't dare take a breath. Slowly opening her eyes she stood back up letting out a sigh of relief thinking it was all over. She continued her way trying to find someplace to lie down.

The mansion was big as far as she could tell. From the exterior she could correctly assume that it was a three story building. The light that she saw came from the broken, glass dome roof above the stairs that climbed to the third floor, shining full moon coming into view. She entered a room with double doors to find a grand ball room.

It had worn out wooden floors, ceiling high windows and a crashed chandler in the middle of it all. Musical instruments were still intact in a corner gathering dust along with the fireplace mantle that was placed opposite her. Walking around the broken glass as to not cut her still bare feet, Ivory made her way to the hearth, she noticed a picture frame at the base buried in ash.

Curiosity getting the best of her, she reached in and pulled out a partially burnt black and white photo of a family of three. The mother was holding onto one of the young boys shoulders with her left arm while the right was holding a parasol above her shoulders. The average sized woman was fairly beautiful; curly hair cascading down her shoulder like a waterfall, lace dress flowing down her waist like it was made for her and only her. Laced gloves gripped the boys shoulder tightly and the parasol daintily, and another gloved hand was loosely wrapped around her tiny waist leading to the man. However her face held a forced smile and narrowed eyes, seemingly holding some sort of hatred. To whom it was directed to, the young girl had no clue.

There wasn't much to see when it came to the man, for he was almost completely burnt. All was left of him was dress shoes and his second arm which was, along with his wife, gripping the child's shoulder.

The young boy was also burnt but his face was still visible, well, part of it. He didn't seem to be older than eight. His slightly disheveled hair was long, side bangs covering part of his face. What was visible, that wasn't covered up, was a sullen face with a frown. His one visible eye held a glare, scrunching up his face in discomfort. The mysterious boy was wearing his Sunday best. Complete with a cravat, vest and coat. His arms were in front of him and looked like they were holding something but the entire bottom half of the photo was burnt.