The Haunting Of Wolf Cottage

The broker had said that it would get better. I bought Wolf Cottage from him in a haste, having been desperate for an abode. Unlike the small apartments I was used to living in, Wolf Cottage was a large Victorian-style mansion with two storeys and numerous windows. Even though there was such an abundance of windows in the house, the cottage remained dark during day and during night, it became dangerously pitch black. The absence of sunlight in the house gave it a gloomy air, and gave me, well, chills.

But he'd said that it would get better, and beggars cannot be choosers.

During the second week of my staying there, I remember waking up in the middle of the night to find my throat extremely dry. I decided to make myself a comforting cup of tea. As I was filling the kettle with water, the tap faucet started running all by itself, and a blood-like liquid gushed out of it. Even though I am a self-confessed rationalist, well educated and a non-believer in the supernatural, that sure made me uneasy. I thought to ditch the tea party and go back to bed.

I climbed the stairs with an aggravated sigh and reached my room. Inside, I got into bed and pulled the heavy blanket over myself. Just as I was about to fall into a deep slumber, I felt a force pulling the ends of my blanket. A force strong enough to pull the entire bed, if needed.

I cracked both eyes open and let go of the blanket. It fell to the floor, lifeless. Now, something felt seriously wrong.

I rushed out of bed and flew down the stairs, my heart thumping loudly inside my chest. On my way, I made the mistake of looking into the mirror attached to the wall in the stairway. Instead of my face, the reflection in the mirror was that of an old woman with wrinkled skin and a ghastly bullet wound in the center of her forehead. A shrill scream escaped my lips and I ran towards the front door through the hallway to escape.

But I wasn't meant to be saved, was I?

Instead of leading me to the door and to safety, the hallway twisted and threw me headfirst onto a dark, hard-floored attic. I screamed out in pain, clutching my injured elbow and aching neck. "Who are you? What do you want?" I wailed, pain crippling the little confidence I had, and a bone-chilling shriek rang out in the walls. My breath faltered.

The shriek turned into laughter--loud, manic laughter. I felt a hand grip my feet in a vise-like grip.

And then, like a piece of dirt that's been tossed aside, I was thrown out from the window onto the road, to lie unconscious amidst the splattering rain. How many bones I broke that day, I don't even know.

The doctors here at the hospital say that I'm "in trauma" and had been "seeing things" that night, but even though no one believes me, only I know the truth about what actually happened that night.

Except for Wolf Cottage, of course. I know my screams still ring in the walls there sometimes.