Gothic Romance
The growing WIP
The night was still, only the sound of cicadas broke the silence, yet, there was nothing sinister on the mind of Alan Norris - the explorer - whose return from Africa had been lauded by the press as a great victory for science.
He had tracked down the African diety Akuji, and put to rest the fears of the natives in the area; though some said Akuji could never be conquered. Tribal rumor said that Akuji could travel anywhere with a man, once he had contact with him, Alan paid no attention to the rumor, he was a man of science, after all.
Alan had been brought up in India, and traveled for years with his father in his hunt for specters, though his father believed in specters, Alan was doubtful of their existence, to say the least. He said, "I can't believe anything I have not seen."
Before setting off from his club in London, Alan had heard a rumor that Charles was planning another trip, this time in time and space. The rumor said he had a key in his possession that could open a time portal; again, this was too unbelievable to be more than a fad - or was it - Charles had been a keen studier of science during his days in college.
To Alan, Charles had always been far-sighted with an ability to see how things could change, to most of his friends, he was at best a worldly foreward-looking man, and at worst a madman who could be seen as dangerous to know. They would often talk about the world of spirits, and ghosts if you chose to call them that. While Alan was a skeptic, Charles was a believer in the existence of the other realms; to the extent that his beliefs almost cost him friendships several times, when in public he would discuss his adamant belief to the dismay, naw, horror of the company we would partake.
Nevertheless, for all his misgivings, Charles remained loyal to Alan, when others treated him as a fool.
Alan's present venture is one such occasion, he had been invited by a man of reknown to prove, or disprove the world of the unknown by staying at his house. A house with a reputation for keeping people who entered from departing.
Alan had to admit as he looked at the man, he appeared to be more of a person out to prove the existence of his beliefs than of a fool out to win a gamble.
So, on the night in question, Alan rode in a carriage as far as the horses would travel. The horses would go no closer than several hundred yards from the house; no matter how the driver urged them on. It was as if they too knew there was something wrong about the house he was to enter.
Alan got out of the carriage, as he turned to pay the driver, the man said in hushed tones, as if not to be heard by the house, "There's no fair, guv, those that come here, never return. I feel sorry for their poor souls."
Alan replied, "Thank you, I shall need your carriage in the morning, here is a few pounds to cover the cost of your return in the morning, I bid you goodnight."
The driver doffed his hat, then stirred the horses; the horses didn't need a second calling to be on their way. The air around the house reeked of death, but Alan had taken the bet, and he would go through with the wishes of the man, to stay the night.
The large oak door resisted as he pushed it, as if the doot itself was not going to allow Alan to enter. Inside the dusty halls, the walls were adorned with paintings of elegant ladies attied with finery from another century. A time when elegance was in its prime, and gentlemen respected a lady's wishes.
Alan saw at the bottom of the stairs there were four candles, taking, and lighting one, he went up the stairs. As he ventured up the stairs, he had the feeling he was being watched, or was it only the wind flickering the candle which gave him this idea?
When he came to the top stair, the feeling of being watched became palpable, almost like a dread of something terrible about to happen, but what?
He had not been to this house, but it appearedd there was someone watching his movements from the rooms aboive, but who could be watching, and more imprtantly, why?
Alan glanced at the doors on the landing as he stepped off the stairs; they were closed, except for one. This door was slightly ajar, from behind its opening Alan caught the sight of a fire; the night was chilled, so he paused before the door. As he did, a soft voice beckoned to him, "Come inside kind sir, you will find the picture of me on the stairs does my justice."
He turned to see a painting of an attractive young lady with flowing blonde hair looking at him, for a moment the picture appeared to smile, but how could it?
"I am a few years older now, but I am told my age has made me more attractive over the years; I leave that to other people to give compliments."
Alan gently eased the door, then stood in amazement, before him stood his personificaton of beauty; she had aged slightly, as she had said, and as she commented this had given her beauty a greater impact.
