Passersby's could see the green grass going on for miles. Willow trees swayed gently in the breeze, the wind moaning it's mournful song. The mansion itself was eerily beautiful, the cracked steps looked almost artistic in their presentation. The large, wooden doors only served to make the scene more intimidating. I walked slowly up the stone path, uneager to enter the mansion. The old woman who had lived here for as long as I could remember had invited me to see her. My mother said it would be rude to not honor the request.

I opened the door, deciding not to stop and wonder why it was unlocked. I quickly stepped inside, the fog that had been swirling around my feet vanishing as the door snapped shut. There was a coat hanger waiting on the door for me, but I opted to keep my jacket on, feeling a sense of security when wearing it. I called out in a hesitant
voice, 'Hello?'

There was no response. I moved to the foot of the stairs, debating whether or not I should continue further into the house. I decided to venture further in.

Once at the top of the stairs, I entered the first room on the left. It was an old-fashioned sitting room that looked like it had never been used. There were beautiful paintings on the wall, all of a woman who looked to be in her twenties. I admired the portrait for a moment before leaving the room. I began looking through each room on the floor, occasionally calling out in the hopes of finding my host.

When I reached the last room in the hallway, I noticed an awful stench emanating from it. Holding my breath, I entered the room. It was a bedroom. The bed was canopy style, but the curtains were almost completely transparent. I could see the vague outline of a body inside and I wondered if she was sleeping. That would explain why she hadn't heard me calling out. The stench grew as I made my way closer to the bed. I pulled back the curtain, gasped, and closed it again.

I breathed in deeply and looked around the room. Everything looked as it should in a bedroom and so I turned around and opened the curtain a second time. In the old woman's hand was a crumpled piece of paper, in her heart was a knife. Curiosity got the best of me and so I carefully pried the paper from her stiff hands. With shaking fingers I read the address. It was mine. I turned the scrap over and read it quickly, a sense of urgency coming over me. The was only one line.

I let go of the paper and stood frozen for a moment. Then I ran. I ran faster than I had ever run in my life. I had almost made it to the door when a hand came out of the darkness and a knife pierced my chest. I gasped as blood came out of my mouth.



Upstairs, a lone piece of paper fluttered harmlessly to the ground, its words visible.
'If I am dead you are next. Run.'