The Winter’s Murder

Roaming, the world doing its own business, I watch as the delicate and beautiful snowflakes land in their destinations.  I glare as I see the snowflake landing on the sturdy pavement and then in a blink of an eye the life of it is sucked up from the monster below, leaving only the blood behind. I sense as the trees try to smile at me, too many lines on their faces, they look so weary and weak, whatever could make them feel this much pain? The clouds are trying to keep their families together, all cold and shivering, however unfortunately the flowers are withering away by every second. Can winter ever bring happiness?

 A fire, that’s what started this: the death of my brother; the suicide of my mother and the accident of my father, I have nothing left, just this desolate world, where I see everything as if they were alive and that they have their own story of their outrageous lives. Miserably, all the litters were flying into their own invisible bins and the last of the fallen leaves were saying farewells to their companions.

I walked to where I was destined to be, a mansion that holds a secret of its own. What my parents left me, but what other people already left. The golden doorknob was cold underneath my palm, the chill of it crawling into my veins. Finally, I turned it mustering up the only courage I had left. The ancient mansion had no life left, everything was dying. The Victorian furniture, the broken chandelier, the auburn staircase, they were all closing their eyes and hiding. However, the closed eyelids felt eerie, like at any moment they would wake up for something very exciting.

 “Hello!”

I swiveled my head around trying to find the source of the voice, I looked straight into the ebony staircase, who or what was that?

“I see you’re the owner now, in other words my new victim.”

It had a kind of mischievous touch in the voice, but I couldn’t tell if I was a girl’s or boys. I didn’t know if I should answer. Suddenly, all things melted before my eyes and a mist blinded me, it seemed like all the objects in the house had woken up from their perpetual sleep and seemed to be laughing, but in a menacing way; the voices were ringing in my ears. Have I gone demented?  I faintly remember overhearing that conversation…

“He died there, that 16 year old boy, Red, he ran away from his parents, he always seemed odd to me, all them ghostly features, those spooky blue eyes and that feral hair. Horrible! I heard that he died by throwing himself of the house because he hated the people who lived there…”

Red… that was his name. Was he the one speaking to me? If so, is he a ghost? No, that can’t be possible. But… Is he seeking for something he didn’t get? Little did I know that those are the last thoughts I would get to think. And that the next 6 words were going to be the last I heard. Because at that moment ocean-blue eye’s escaped out of the mist with feral hair framing a young boy’s smirking face.

“Let me be your honourable host.”

By Aksa Anzy