The Woman In White
970 Words
At the corridor's conclusion, a lady was standing.
My heart was pounding against my ribs, and I immediately straightened up in the armchair. The sitting room was bathed in a faint orange glow from the fire, which had burnt down to glistening embers.
She remained motionless.
The window's light shone through the pale clothing that draped around her feet. Most of her face was concealed by her long black hair, but I could feel her eyes on mine.
"Who are you, you are?"
She gradually moved away.
She walked to the end of the hallway and toward the wall without making a noise.
She never gave up.
Her body traveled across solid rock as though it were fog.
Then she vanished.
The last bit of sleep disappeared.
I rushed upstairs after grabbing the flashlight from my suitcase.
Empty was the corridor.
My hand found the wall she had vanished into to be chilly.
The coldest thing in the manor.
I could see my breath fogging up in front of me.
One step backward was taken by me.
Instantly, the warmth came back.
"Spot with cold."
Before I could convince myself not to, I took a little sketchbook from my purse and wrote the words.
I would witness this place rather than fear it if it refused to make logic.
Artists paid attention to things that other people overlooked.
Perhaps that would keep me from going crazy.
---
Morning came, shrouded by dense clouds.
Despite the fact that "ordinary" was becoming more difficult to describe, The Manor seemed almost normal during the day.
I strolled through the lobby with my laptop under my arm.
The grandfather clock remained in perfect working order.
Verify.
Tick.
Somehow, the stillness was made louder by its regular pace.
I saw a wooden chair next to the steps.
I was certain it had faced the fireplace the night before.
It was now facing the front entrance.
"I don't recall shifting you."
Naturally, the chairperson provided no justification.
I chuckled softly.
"Now I'm addressing furniture."
I set a pencil beneath one of the portraits on a tiny table to test my recollection.
"Remain there."
I stayed in the dining room for only a short period of time.
The pencil had disappeared when I got back.
My nervous smile vanished.
"So comical."
I looked under the table.
Nothing.
I looked at the floor.
None.
I heard the clock then.
Tick.
Tock.
The base of the grandfather clock was neatly resting against the pencil.
It wasn't there when I placed it.
With certainty, I understood that.
Something from the inside of this house had taken it.
---
By lunchtime, I required fresh air more than answers.
Driving into town seemed quicker than it did the previous day.
Beneath the fog, Black Hollow was humming softly.
When I walked by, people grinned.
until I was recognized.
From wiping the counter, the owner of the café looked up.
"You're still here."
"I slept at the Manor."
Her hands quit moving.
"What happened?"
"A woman."
"What?"
"I observed a woman garbed in white."
Her face lost all color.
"She vanished inside a wall."
The space became awkwardly silent.
Without finishing his coffee, an older guy got up from his table.
One more customer quietly departed.
"Who was she?"
The cafe owner looked out the window.
"You ought to depart from Black Hollow."
"That is not a solution."
"It's the only one I can offer."
"Why is no one informing me of what is occurring?"
Her speech became quieter.
"For the simple reason that everyone who looked for those replies paid for them."
"With what?"
She didn't respond.
Instead, she put a hot cup of tea in front of me.
"Before the sun sets, return home."
Residence.
All the way back to the Manor, the term stayed in my mind.
---
I was met with the same silent stares by the pictures.
I examined each of them separately this time.
Faces.
Names.
dates.
I stopped close to the stairs.
From a gilded, decorated frame, a young woman gazed out.
Grey eyes.
Hair that is dark.
a flowing white gown.
The exact same lady.
The same face I had seen in the corridor.
Just one thing was different.
In the picture...
She smiled.
The phantom hadn't.
I lowered my eyes to the brass plaque.
Vivian Hartfield
1848-1874 AD
"Vivian."
As soon as I spoke the name, a chill wind rushed into the foyer.
The candles all flickered.
A beat was skipped by the grandfather clock.
I went in the direction of the stairs.
She was standing there again.
Vivian.
She couldn't be mistaken, even though her features were concealed by her dark hair.
She slowly raised a hand.
Not towards me.
Towards the corridor that lies beyond the stairwell.
Toward a single wooden door.
The collection of books.
"You want me to follow you?"
She made no nod.
She just vanished, leaving nothing but unoccupied space.
I ought to have overlooked it.
I should have loaded my luggage and driven till Black Hollow vanished in my rearview mirror.
I walked to the library instead.
The ancient door was a little ajar.
Narrow beams of light were filled with drifting dust.
Books that appeared to be older than the house itself were piled high on enormous shelves that vanished into the shadows.
I pushed the door wider.
"Vivian?"
No response.
I walked inside.
One shelf was covered with journals in leather bindings.
Another was covered by maps.
Old paper and cedar filled the room.
The back of my neck was caressed by a chilly draft.
The door shut with a bang.
Like thunder, the noise echoed.
After turning around, I grasped the handle.
It was unmovable.
"Open!"
There was no response.
After that, somewhere in the darkness behind the shelves...
Someone inhaled gently and steadily.
- Writer
