Family Secrets

Chapter 3

Family Portrait

I watched as the old man rushed off from the property.

Greta pops a piece of chewing gum in her mouth and passed the pack to me, who happily accepted it.

We slowly walked up the steps into the huge Manor.

'Holy crap.' Greta gasped.

'This place is haunted.' I whispered. I was freaking out.

'It's not haunted.' Greta replies.

'I feel like we're been watched.' I mumble.

'No kidding. Look at the animal heads on the walls.' she teased.

Ignoring her, I slowly looked around. The entrance-way is cavernous, reaching up to the second floor.

The house itself is old fashioned, solid construction. Thick, wood beams run up the walls.

I walked slowly to the right and poked my head to the living room. The first thing I notice is there are no windows on the back side of the Manor.

The next thing is the furniture. Dusty antiques. Nothing been touched.

The living room looked like someone has never stepped in it for years.

I noticed a Grandfather clock is sitting in the corner, collecting dust. The clock hands stopped at 6:30 and from the looks of it, it's been stopped there for a long time.

Greta peaks out of the front window. She sighs and I silently follow her through the entrance-way, to the dining room.

More of the same. No back windows. An ornately carved dining table with a few rickety looking wooden chairs around it.

We moved back to the entrance-way. I sat on one of the chairs, resting my elbows on my legs, hands supporting underneath my chin.

I watch Greta pull out the letter again, trying not to make to much noise as she unfolds it.

I notice there's an heavy silence in the house. The feeling of been watches made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

My eyes snapped across the room. My eyes landing on the wooden wall with a crack in the middle. I just stare. I was bored and I was having a staring match at the wall. But I felt like the wall was looking into my soul, liked the wall had eyes of its own.

'Which one is the parlor?' Greta says to herself.

I shrugged my shoulders. 'I have no idea. I can't see any sign anywhere, or a map.'

Creak

We both snapped our eyes to the left, facing the stairs.

My eyes widen. 'What was that?' I whisper quickly.

'Just the stairs.' Greta replied, still looking around.

'Stairs don't creak on their own.' I replied.

'Alice. It's an old house. Old houses creak.'

CREAK

I bolted up from the wooden chair that I have been sitting on. I run hiding behind Greta and peeked over her shoulder.

Directly in front of us - a wooden railing almost looks like it's reaching out a deformed hand, ready to grab us.

I shudder.

The staircase splits in two, and where it splits is a large painting of the house residents, the Heelshires.

The parents, Mr and Mrs Heelshire, each have a hand on their young sons shoulders.

The father is tall, dignified looking.

The mother is small, squat and stern.

An odd looking pair.

The son looks to be around seven. He's almost disturbingly perfect looking in a dated looking little suit.

He has perfectly combed hair, perfect skin with perfect features, and a slight, half smile as he knows something we don't.

But the eyes are what sticks out - black and huge and lifeless. The right eye has a slight rip in the canvas.

I slowly reached out and touched it when...

Creak...

Me and Greta jump at the same time. We both face upwards looking at the floor above.

'Hello?' Greta shouts.

I look up the stairs to the second flood. Greta looks back down the stairs where we should go.

'Take your shoes off.' greta whisper.

'Why?'

'If someone's upstairs, we don't want to give us away by sneaking up on them.'

'What happens if the family comes back?' I asked.

'"Then... We'll just explain.'

Rolling my eyes. We both slipped of our footwear,we placed then neatly near the wall.

We tip-toe barefoot down the hallway. The hallway is narrow and claustrophobic. As if the walls was pressing inwards.

More portrates. An eight year old Brahms with wet looking curly dark hair facing us.

Next to the portrait was another picture of Brahms with neatly combed hair. His dark eyes stair at us.

We both stop outside the open bedroom. A boys bedroom.

I noticed this room was untouched, pristine. A child's bed perfectly made. A lot of toys on the shelves.

I walked around, looking at all the books on the shelves. They were all in alphabetical order.

My eyes landed on a small violin. I smiled, plucking the E string.

'Hi, there.' a voice said from behind us.