Gemstones | Winners ✮ Anthology

Inheritance by @Romizabooks

Petunia caught sight of her reflection in the scythe and attempted to flee, but found her legs firmly rooted to the ground. Despite her attempts to scream, no sound escaped her lips. As the hooded figure's shadow loomed closer, her panic intensified.

Petunia bolted upright in bed, her screams echoing through the room. As she sat up, she quickly realised it was nothing more than a vivid dream. Glancing at the window, she noticed the curtains swaying gently in the wind, reassured that she was safe in her room.

Her throat parched from all the screaming, Petunia reached for the torch hidden beneath her pillow and flicked it on. Scanning the room with its beam, she realised the water bottle was absent from the bedside table. Recollecting that she had left it in the kitchen after refilling it, she felt a pain of regret.

Dressed in her night robe and slippers, Petunia stepped out of her bedroom, clutching the torch in her hand. The upstairs hallway stretched on endlessly. Passing by numerous portraits, each adorned with the name of the person depicted, she recognised them as her ancestors, all former inhabitants of Grey Mansion. Her great aunt Claire had been the last resident. Petunia had encountered her a few times during her childhood, aware of her great wealth. Never did she imagine that following her great aunt's passing a week ago, she would inherit the mansion.

Transitioning from city life to the mansion brought about a notable change. The surroundings were remarkably quieter with only a handful of neighbours nearby. Petunia had eagerly embraced the opportunity to reside in the mansion upon inheriting it. Previously, she had been renting an apartment in the city and had never envisioned owning her own property. Furthermore, the mansion's proximity to the city, just a forty-minute commute, made it an ideal compromise.

As she continued walking down the hall, Petunia paused before a portrait, directing the beam of her torch at it. Just as she was about to read the name, she thought she saw the old man in the portrait shift. Bewildered, she rubbed her eyes and focused on the portrait once more, only to find it motionless, as it had been before.

"Turn off the light you idiot!" bellowed the man in the portrait.

"You shouldn't be here in the first place," said the lady in the next portrait.

"I'm imagining," said Petunia to herself.

"You certainly are not," said a voice from down the hallway.

"Beware of 'Crimson Knight'," said another portrait. "He is trying to escape his confinement."

"Do not look at your reflection in the mirror while you are here," said another voice.

Petunia realised that when she had arrived at the mansion that morning, she had noticed that all the mirrors were covered. Finding it rather peculiar, especially since no one had entered the place after her great aunt's death, she wondered why her great aunt would have done that. Her great aunt had passed away in the hospital.

Petunia hurried down the hall, making her way quickly to the kitchen to retrieve her water bottle. Upon attempting to turn on the light, she realised that it had failed to illuminate. The realtor had warned her that the power might go out during a severe thunderstorm. Petunia hurried to the window and peered outside, only to find the night sky shrouded in grey clouds. A storm had occurred while she was asleep.

As Petunia proceeded to return to her room, she paused at a portrait. She had discovered the portrait earlier that day in the attic and had subsequently hung it in the downstairs hallway. The middle-aged man depicted in the painting appeared sad and lonely. While gazing at the portrayal, the clock struck midnight, causing Petunia to startle at the sudden sound. She wondered why the grandfather clock was chiming only at midnight, as it had remained silent throughout the day.