The door of rotting wood creaked open as I pushed it. Taking a deep breath, I walked up the dark steps, and through the doorway. Just as I stepped into the house, the door slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the forbidding hallways. The silence that followed throbbed in my ears. A low thud came from upstairs, making me jump. I warily studied the room ahead, made ominous by the darkness inside, before entering it. A grand piano, blanketed in dust dominated the once-grand room. Three sofas and a rocking chair were loosely placed around a grimy, glass table, chipped and cracked from all it had seen. It was too dark to distinguish anything else, but I could see that this was no haunted house; it was simply an old mansion around which senseless tongues wove fantastic tales of horror.
I approached the old piano, wanting to check whether it was well conserved. A sudden breeze raised goose bumps on my skin. Strange, there were no windows in this room, and evenings were never so chilly in July. My steps were too loud as I resumed walking, surely anyone could hear them… or anything. No, no, this is no way to think, I chided myself. But, what was that shadow in the corner? Perhaps a trick of my wildly galloping imagination, or a friend, waiting to jump out and yell “Boo!” Or, a criminal, crouching, awaiting his time. Maybe a gnome, or a ghost, come back from the world of darkness to play a sinister trick. Ha! I thought, that should be saved for Halloween! I was now close enough to the piano that I could reach out and touch it. A single note reached my ears. It wasn’t low, or high, it wasn’t loud, or quiet. But what I knew was that the source of the sound was right next to me. What, but a piano could make that sound? Plus, I was standing right next to one. And, I could swear that I saw a key pressed down, but there was no one in the room except me. Or was there?
“Welcome…” a hardly audible whisper sounding as if the one who was whispering was being choked, broke the silence right by my ear. With a small shriek, I hopped to the side. “Who… who are you?” I stuttered.
“That does not matter to you. Come here…be mine,” the whisperer continued.
“I’m leaving now. Please, I’ll go,” I whispered back, my voice failing to conceal my panic. Quickly, I started to back away, but where before was an empty doorway, was now a wooden door. There were stains on the door, dark stains. No, not stains, but dark, wet rivers. Just before the door shut, the remaining light allowed me to see dark splotches of dark liquid on the piano and previously clean sofas. Blood. The realization chilled my mind. A cold finger touched my face, and all went blank.