In the distance, I hear what sounds like a young girl crying. I decide to go exploring. In the woods outside a small town, I stumble across what appears to be an old abandoned brick house from the 1800s, standing on a steep hill overlooking a graveyard in a small clearing. The cone shaped roof and dark shingled turret looks like a witch’s hat. The windows are boarded up with faded wood pieces crossed in an ‘x.’ Shattered glass from windowpanes lies on the ground.
I slowly walk up the limestone pathway leading to the front porch, where cinder blocks support it from falling down. Hanging lanterns hold tall thick candles with flickering flames. There must be someone here. Who lit the candles? Maybe I’m not alone after all. An empty rocking chair
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I carefully walk down the hallway in the direction of where the sound came from. I peek into the living room, where copper plates and mugs lie on the floor. I realize they must have fallen off the large wooden beam mantel. Could that little girl have accidentally knocked them over? But, how? She can’t be tall enough. Is she really the mysterious figure I saw? A cast iron cauldron hangs inside the arched red brick fireplace with ashes burnt beneath. I wonder how many potions were brewed in here. A corn broom also lies in front of the hearth. Logs stored in the small compartment were probably brought inside from the rickety shed beside the …show more content…
Where could she be? As I walk down a corridor, creaky oak hardwood floorboards squeak. I am led to a library with lots of old books. When I take a book off the shelf, the bookshelf slowly starts to slide sideways revealing a secret passage. I see steep stairs, wondering where these lead. As I walk down the stairs, step by step, it appears to become darker and darker. Water drips on my head from the ceiling. I must be in the basement. I see a brass candleholder with a lit candle placed on it. I put my finger through the loop, lifting it off the dusty table to light my way. I move around dead mice on the floor. An open door leads into a cold cellar where a draft is coming from. Looking inside, I see skeletons and begin to freak out. I run back upstairs, where I see a young girl hunched over crying. I walk up to her and say, “Are you all right?” She doesn’t answer. Then, I look away for a split second; when I look back, she’s gone. This house holds many
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
...wing to question not only psychological boundaries leading to paranoia in a character, Gothic fiction also deals with an existing patriarchal structure. With helping to broaden the boundaries of judgments, it also provides a new and modified model of societal taboos. Conclusively, by following a traditional Gothic pattern in their novels, both Angela Carter and Fay Weldon challenge traditional conventions of modern times and help guide one to transgress formally set boundaries. In order to “transform narrative and cultural understandings”, it is said that Carter retells stories instead of telling them for it seems that “it is only “through the revoking of these cultural understandings” that transgressions must take place. It is a fact that Carter has achieved this in her novel The Magic Toyshop as much as Weldon has achieved this point in her The Bulgari Connection.
This could just be the worst day of my life; I’ve been dreading this day for the past few months. Moving day; it was just five months ago when my family told me the awful news. I just recently finished my sophomore year in high school, became captain of the varsity basketball team and finally got the girl of my dreams, Julie. Only to have it ruined by my parents telling me that we have to move due to my father getting a new job in Astoria, Oregon. The house or ‘cemetery’ as I referred to it is called Mors Thalamum, which ironically means death chamber in Latin; how convenient I would jest my family in hopes they would change their minds. Before we had to get into the car and leave for what I though would be certain doom I walked over to Julie’s house which was right across the street. “Hey Julie” I said for what would feel like the last time, “Hey Ben” she said, I believe she was feeling the exact thing I was. “I came to say goodbye, my family and I are leaving soon.” “Oh” she said simply but her green eyes said what she couldn’t. “Ben lets go!” I groaned at my father demand. Just as I was turning around Julie called my name, “I’ll miss you Ben” “Ill miss you too Julie” I choked back too focused on trying to hide the tears in my brown eyes. “Do you think we will ever see each other again?” she asked with anticipation in her angelic yet worried voice, “I hope” was all I could say before I turned and left my blonde green-eyed girl for what felt would be the last time.
I peered around through the rain, desperately searching for some shelter, I was drowning out here. The trouble was, I wasn’t in the best part of town, and in fact it was more than a little dodgy. I know this is my home turf but even I had to be careful. At least I seemed to be the only one out here on such an awful night. The rain was so powerfully loud I couldn’t hear should anyone try and creep up on me. I also couldn’t see very far with the rain so heavy and of course there were no street lights, they’d been broken long ago. The one place I knew I could safely enter was the church, so I dashed.
Gothic storytelling is a form of writing that usually includes horror, death, and romance. People write gothic style for the thrill of having a little bit of scariness in their story. Gothic style can be shown through the imagery and themes. The Fall of the House of Usher and Crimson Peak are two stories that show gothic writing though the imagery of the houses and supernatural.
on the aid of Hell itself, and to find things familiar in the world of
As i tried to run out i heard the creak of th the floorboard as if it was hollow. I carefully stooped down and picked up the floorboards to reveal a cellar floor door. I started to recite prayers for protection “Grant, O Lord, Thy protection And in protection, strength And in strength, understanding And in understanding, knowledge And in knowledge, the knowledge of justice And in the knowledge of justice, the love of it And in the love of it, the love of all existences And in that love, the love of spirit and all creation.” To my unpleasant surprise i saw a lady who look exactly like Aunt Sarah. She was tied up with duct tape on her mouth and rope that wrap around her arms and legs with what seemed to be pieces of hair from Aunt Sarah and dried blood under her fingernails. I tried to get down the ladder as fast as i could as i got to the bottom i heard the front door open then shut and Aunt Sarah's booming voice “Sally! I brought ice cream cookies and cream your favorite.” I took then tape off of the women mouth and she began to cry and repeat “She is coming please help she is coming!” Aunt Sarah heard the noise coming from her room and started walking toward her
I realized that the moans were not from the boards, rather they came from inside of the house. And that it was not something making the noise, rather someone. As I slowly approached the house, my steps seemed to get heavier, my heart pounded harder, and the knot in my stomach pulled so tightly that it sent a sharp pain down my spine. I shook it off, and layed my foot on the creaky wooden staircase; I had never been this close to the house, and now, it was right under the soles of my feet. The inside, ironically, was in much better condition than the outside.
Lights! Lights mean a house I said. I raced forward, I kept running even though my lungs were burning, but I didn’t care! When I had finally reached the front porch, I knew I knew this place. It was home!
Outside my window, the sky is an eternal night. Below pinpoints of light glow from torch fire. I quickly walk out of my room and downstairs into the parlor. “Pray pardon me but what is happening?” The congregation of servants look at me as one fearfully approaches me.
Approaching the light the area gets clearer and the walker is able to identify items. It is a fire with chairs all around it. The one object that stands out the most are the bag of marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers. Not paying attention to anything else, the walker heads straight to all the treats. Roasting a marshmallow can bring joy to everyone. Seeing the marshmallow on the stick. Placing the marshmallow by the hottest part of the fire, not getting it too close because the walker does not want to burn it. Rotating the stick to get it perfectly roasted on all sides. When done roasting, placing the marshmallow on a graham cracker with chocolate. As the chocolate melts and the marshmallow coms out from the sides. Now the only thing left to do is eat the s’more. As the s’more gets placed into the mouth, the taste buds go crazy. Ashes from the fire happened to get on the marshmallow. The bitter taste from the ashes did not even effect the s’more because it was so good. Next, make another s’more. As the smell of the fire stays in clothes for days, the smell of the s’mores only last for a little. Sitting around the fire smelling the wood that is being burnt. Whether it is wood from a pine tree or wood from an oak tree, it all smells the same. At the end of the night as the fire is dying off the campers still have that fire smell that will be there for a
As we walked through the woods on the dark cold night in October we notice screaming of what we had thought to be the neighbor girl. We creep closer to the large mansion and climb the gates to get in the massive front yard. As me and my friends Kevin, Douglas, and randy reach the front door, we slowly creep open the front door, we hear screams and yells and very quickly leave the situation. We head back to the house for the night and decide that we will make a plan and return to the mansion tomorrow.
Finally the elevator came to a screeching halt and the doors slowly slid open sending a rush of cold air. The first second I laid my eyes on what was before me I got scared. The room had a eerie glow it was made of stone and there were markings all over the place along with a wooden staircase. What came next made everything worse, I was looking around when I heard creaks so I screamed just to find out that it was carlos going 1 stair up on the staircase to grab a note. He opened it and in bold letters it said, ONLY ENTER IF YOU DARE, THE SPIRITS OF THE PAST FROM THIS MENTAL INSTITUTE STILL LIE WHERE THEY DIED.
It hadn’t been burning for long, judging by the length of the wick and the amount of oil left in the small bowl. Upon closer inspection of the floor, the thick layer of dust was patchy with footprints of many different shapes and sizes. There must have many people in this room until just recently; where did they all go? As far as he knew, there was no safer place in the city to hide,
Throughout these lines, we intend to present typical Gothic elements of the homonymous novel, analyzing, discussing and comparing next the similar characteristics found in the detective story. Gothic literature is the forerunner of detective fiction. The object of the present work is to explore, concisely, the evolution of detective fiction, starting from the Gothic genre, and their close connection, being the former the father of the suspense in fiction and detective stories.