Short story: The Crooked House
The Crooked House
Dreams are curious things indeed, some say they are just stories made up by the dormant mind; whereas others suggest they serve as a ay to contact otherworldly beings. Never the less the fact remains dreams can tell us so much about ourselves and the world in which we live, furthermore, the world we cannot see nor comprehend, though, we can faintly sense it at times in which the veil is weak.
Location: Unknown, somewhere in the east of England.
Date: Unknown, around December.
Suspect: Winter Val Timore, age: 19.
Upon the mountain of bones from years past, covered with mud that came with every new generation, stood the Crooked House. I, Winter Val Timore, have lived next to the house on the hill all my life. From as far back as I can remember I can remember staring at that devious structure on the Mountain of bones, as some of the older more gullible locals called it. Every night I would gaze upon the Crooked House and then dream of walking through the decerped door; although every single time I lay a foot on the threshold I would awake, in my younger years I would cry for my Grandmother to which every time she would bring me a bowl of cherries, in my later years I would awake with a shock and try to ponder what had been in the house but sadly to no avail, just a bowl of cherries.
One night, I had a nightmare; although it was different from every other nightmare I had encountered before. I was in a strange landing, there were two closed doors behind me and one in front to the right and one in front to the far left, immediately to my left was a banisters with stairs that curved to the right half way down. As I tried to walk down the stairs to what felt like safety and a presence I knew, the door to the front right started to creep open, I couldn't get on the first step; my body would move past the banister. I felt something coming through the doorway, etching ever closer. My own body gave way under my own weight, I couldn't move, I tried to scream but not even air escaped. As I looked down the creeping staircase I saw my Grandma laughing, not at me, but with someone. She was having fun, she looked up the stairs as I tried to let out another scream; she saw nothing. I felt a cold sensation pussyfoot up my ankles all the way to my neck. I woke with my Grandma standing over me, tears forming in her eyes, I was coated with a thick layer of ice cold sweat, blood running from my nose, my Grandma said I had a seizure in my sleep; but as I looked past her I saw a silhouette standing in an illuminated window of the Crooked House, a figure of a woman.
It was a Thursday, it was 11:50pm pouring with rain and I found myself in the old children's park at the foot of the hill that holds the Crooked House. I have no memory of making my way through the narrow, twisting empty streets from my house to the other side of the hill and sitting in on the only swing in the old park that was still strung up by the ancient rusty chain, that looked like they could give up at any second. The very next second I found myself checking my phone, the light was almost blinding in the dead of midnight. In retrospect it was queer that everything seemed to be completely black except for the glow emitting from the Crooked House, it felt like everything else was being systematically removed from existence. I neared the threshold; I reached my hand out, my hand never had a chance to make contact with the ramshackle door before it creeped open, "Welcome." Said the unidentified albeit familiar voice, the voice continued to speak but as it the less and less I could recall. My trance was interrupted by a shriek, "Val!" I was halfway through the portal as I looked up I caught the glimpse of a what seemed to be a young woman in a red dress, the dressed was teared all around the edges, the woman had grey hair; I never saw her face whether it was from the darkness or the hair covering her face. Half way up the hill was my Grandma clambering up the uneven steps whilst being beaten down by the pouring rain. I rushed down the steps to meet her. She threw her scarf over my shoulder to try and protect me from the rain, somewhat redundant yet the thought was nice. She was walking me home, "stay away from that place, the Crooked Man lives there." I couldn't tell if there were tears in her eyes as she said it or if it was the rain. After sometime of internally debating I finally said, "but, it's not a man, it's a woman." My grandma stopped she stared at me then suddenly rushed me back home. I was forbidden from ever going near the house again.
For a few months the nightmares had stopped completely, my life seemed almost normal. Being able to sleep more than two hours without my mind being invaded by the images of an seemingly abandoned house really makes you feel more alive and alert. In these few months my gaze unwittingly would completely avoid the house on the hill that towered over the town. My mind would usually phase out any images of that house. However, I often found myself wondering about that woman inhabiting the house, which no one had ever seen nor heard of, I often pondered the stranger who seemed so familiar; the woman who appeared so old yet so young, no matter how much I would think of her and remember her calm, soft soothing voice she remained an enigma.
In the back of my mind I knew the few quiet months were simply the calm before the storm, both in the literal sense and the metaphorical. I remember the last might vividly: I was sitting in my Grandmother's room, she had fallen ill the day before but would not go see any doctors; insisting it was just the flu. I sat on the end of her bed talking to her, quietly, letting her know it would all be ok. As the night went on and I thought she had fallen asleep I then proceeded to head to my room to try and catch some sleep, as I left the room my Grandma moaned, "You always did have such a lovely soothing voice, my dear Winter." I then said goodnight and went to my room. The wind was howling, the rain pounding the windows and in some less fortunate houses the rain combined with the wind smashed windows; thunder crashed causing babies to cry; lightning casted shadows terrifying children in their beds. The only house that remained untouched and completely silent was the crooked house on the hill.
As I walked the long corridor that connected my room to my Grandmother's I started to feel dizzy as if the whole house had started spinning, I felt light and as I approached my door I reached out; I grasped the handle pulled it down and fell through the threshold. I stood up heard the crash of lighting then the light illuminated the room. It wasn't my room. I made my way to a window, tripping over objects I could not see. I stood still cursing at what felt like broken wooden chairs blocking my way. As I was throwing the chairs to one side I heard another crash followed by another burst of light, I pushed through the remaining chairs to the windows. I knew immediately, I was inside the Crooked house on the hill. Then I noticed something even more bizarre, it appeared the drops of rain hitting the ground outside weren't descending, in fact they appeared to be rising; I then was forcefully reminded of the thunder, as it crashed again so loud as if it was right next to me, and how that was coming before the lightning. After thinking for what was definitely too long I bolted for the door, forgetting the old furniture that had been scattered all over the floor. I hit the ground with a loud thud; then noticed feet. "Welcome." Said the voice I had heard before, I tried to drag myself to the door but to my surprise, there was none I then lost consciousness as the woman in red picked me off the ground "You are now one, a Keeper, until the next."
I had the same dream again; I was at the top of the stairs, unable to move, something was coming for me, I tried to call out: Nothing, not even air. This time I saw my Grandma at the bottom of the stairs looking me straight in the eyes, "Goodbye, my dear Winter. I will see you again someday, for now we shall remain separate. Walk tall." She faded, my eyes opened. For a second I think I tricked myself into believing I was in my own bed looking at my window looking at my house, I was wrong. I was in a queen sized bed, in clothes that seemed familiar but weren't mine looking out a window to a house, specifically my house, but now a family I've never seen before are living there. I can't leave the Crooked house on the hill and every night I feel myself being drawn I find myself watching the house that used to be mine, the person in my room, they look like me, sound like me and talk like me; well, what I used to be, every time I see myself I don't recognize who I'm looking at, it feels familiar though yet too far to understand.
My hair has gone grey now, I look older, yet I feel younger. As the days go on I forget, I forget my name, my family, my house, that night and where I am and what I'm doing.
I have wrote down my accounts of events to both help myself to remember and to shed some light on these cursed houses and my cursed being. I know I will forget soon. I will try to hold on for as long as I can.
I, Winter Val Timore, continue to walk these halls, alone.
I, Winter Val, continue to walk these halls.
I, Winter, continue to walk.
I continue.
I.
Dreams are curious things indeed, some say they are just stories made up by the dormant mind; whereas others suggest they serve as a ay to contact otherworldly beings. Never the less the fact remains dreams can tell us so much about ourselves and the world in which we live, furthermore, the world we cannot see nor comprehend, though, we can faintly sense it at times in which the veil is weak.
Location: Unknown, somewhere in the east of England.
Date: Unknown, around December.
Suspect: Winter Val Timore, age: 19.
Upon the mountain of bones from years past, covered with mud that came with every new generation, stood the Crooked House. I, Winter Val Timore, have lived next to the house on the hill all my life. From as far back as I can remember I can remember staring at that devious structure on the Mountain of bones, as some of the older more gullible locals called it. Every night I would gaze upon the Crooked House and then dream of walking through the decerped door; although every single time I lay a foot on the threshold I would awake, in my younger years I would cry for my Grandmother to which every time she would bring me a bowl of cherries, in my later years I would awake with a shock and try to ponder what had been in the house but sadly to no avail, just a bowl of cherries.
One night, I had a nightmare; although it was different from every other nightmare I had encountered before. I was in a strange landing, there were two closed doors behind me and one in front to the right and one in front to the far left, immediately to my left was a banisters with stairs that curved to the right half way down. As I tried to walk down the stairs to what felt like safety and a presence I knew, the door to the front right started to creep open, I couldn't get on the first step; my body would move past the banister. I felt something coming through the doorway, etching ever closer. My own body gave way under my own weight, I couldn't move, I tried to scream but not even air escaped. As I looked down the creeping staircase I saw my Grandma laughing, not at me, but with someone. She was having fun, she looked up the stairs as I tried to let out another scream; she saw nothing. I felt a cold sensation pussyfoot up my ankles all the way to my neck. I woke with my Grandma standing over me, tears forming in her eyes, I was coated with a thick layer of ice cold sweat, blood running from my nose, my Grandma said I had a seizure in my sleep; but as I looked past her I saw a silhouette standing in an illuminated window of the Crooked House, a figure of a woman.
It was a Thursday, it was 11:50pm pouring with rain and I found myself in the old children's park at the foot of the hill that holds the Crooked House. I have no memory of making my way through the narrow, twisting empty streets from my house to the other side of the hill and sitting in on the only swing in the old park that was still strung up by the ancient rusty chain, that looked like they could give up at any second. The very next second I found myself checking my phone, the light was almost blinding in the dead of midnight. In retrospect it was queer that everything seemed to be completely black except for the glow emitting from the Crooked House, it felt like everything else was being systematically removed from existence. I neared the threshold; I reached my hand out, my hand never had a chance to make contact with the ramshackle door before it creeped open, "Welcome." Said the unidentified albeit familiar voice, the voice continued to speak but as it the less and less I could recall. My trance was interrupted by a shriek, "Val!" I was halfway through the portal as I looked up I caught the glimpse of a what seemed to be a young woman in a red dress, the dressed was teared all around the edges, the woman had grey hair; I never saw her face whether it was from the darkness or the hair covering her face. Half way up the hill was my Grandma clambering up the uneven steps whilst being beaten down by the pouring rain. I rushed down the steps to meet her. She threw her scarf over my shoulder to try and protect me from the rain, somewhat redundant yet the thought was nice. She was walking me home, "stay away from that place, the Crooked Man lives there." I couldn't tell if there were tears in her eyes as she said it or if it was the rain. After sometime of internally debating I finally said, "but, it's not a man, it's a woman." My grandma stopped she stared at me then suddenly rushed me back home. I was forbidden from ever going near the house again.
For a few months the nightmares had stopped completely, my life seemed almost normal. Being able to sleep more than two hours without my mind being invaded by the images of an seemingly abandoned house really makes you feel more alive and alert. In these few months my gaze unwittingly would completely avoid the house on the hill that towered over the town. My mind would usually phase out any images of that house. However, I often found myself wondering about that woman inhabiting the house, which no one had ever seen nor heard of, I often pondered the stranger who seemed so familiar; the woman who appeared so old yet so young, no matter how much I would think of her and remember her calm, soft soothing voice she remained an enigma.
In the back of my mind I knew the few quiet months were simply the calm before the storm, both in the literal sense and the metaphorical. I remember the last might vividly: I was sitting in my Grandmother's room, she had fallen ill the day before but would not go see any doctors; insisting it was just the flu. I sat on the end of her bed talking to her, quietly, letting her know it would all be ok. As the night went on and I thought she had fallen asleep I then proceeded to head to my room to try and catch some sleep, as I left the room my Grandma moaned, "You always did have such a lovely soothing voice, my dear Winter." I then said goodnight and went to my room. The wind was howling, the rain pounding the windows and in some less fortunate houses the rain combined with the wind smashed windows; thunder crashed causing babies to cry; lightning casted shadows terrifying children in their beds. The only house that remained untouched and completely silent was the crooked house on the hill.
As I walked the long corridor that connected my room to my Grandmother's I started to feel dizzy as if the whole house had started spinning, I felt light and as I approached my door I reached out; I grasped the handle pulled it down and fell through the threshold. I stood up heard the crash of lighting then the light illuminated the room. It wasn't my room. I made my way to a window, tripping over objects I could not see. I stood still cursing at what felt like broken wooden chairs blocking my way. As I was throwing the chairs to one side I heard another crash followed by another burst of light, I pushed through the remaining chairs to the windows. I knew immediately, I was inside the Crooked house on the hill. Then I noticed something even more bizarre, it appeared the drops of rain hitting the ground outside weren't descending, in fact they appeared to be rising; I then was forcefully reminded of the thunder, as it crashed again so loud as if it was right next to me, and how that was coming before the lightning. After thinking for what was definitely too long I bolted for the door, forgetting the old furniture that had been scattered all over the floor. I hit the ground with a loud thud; then noticed feet. "Welcome." Said the voice I had heard before, I tried to drag myself to the door but to my surprise, there was none I then lost consciousness as the woman in red picked me off the ground "You are now one, a Keeper, until the next."
I had the same dream again; I was at the top of the stairs, unable to move, something was coming for me, I tried to call out: Nothing, not even air. This time I saw my Grandma at the bottom of the stairs looking me straight in the eyes, "Goodbye, my dear Winter. I will see you again someday, for now we shall remain separate. Walk tall." She faded, my eyes opened. For a second I think I tricked myself into believing I was in my own bed looking at my window looking at my house, I was wrong. I was in a queen sized bed, in clothes that seemed familiar but weren't mine looking out a window to a house, specifically my house, but now a family I've never seen before are living there. I can't leave the Crooked house on the hill and every night I feel myself being drawn I find myself watching the house that used to be mine, the person in my room, they look like me, sound like me and talk like me; well, what I used to be, every time I see myself I don't recognize who I'm looking at, it feels familiar though yet too far to understand.
My hair has gone grey now, I look older, yet I feel younger. As the days go on I forget, I forget my name, my family, my house, that night and where I am and what I'm doing.
I have wrote down my accounts of events to both help myself to remember and to shed some light on these cursed houses and my cursed being. I know I will forget soon. I will try to hold on for as long as I can.
I, Winter Val Timore, continue to walk these halls, alone.
I, Winter Val, continue to walk these halls.
I, Winter, continue to walk.
I continue.
I.
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