One bleak evening dawned upon the Browns’ house. Cyclones wailed like suffering creatures in the stillness of the faithful mid-winter night, echoing down the streets, screeching into the barren abyss of the forsaken neighbourhood. The black tarmac glistened under the weighted rain, the murky streetlights illuminated in the night’s misty haze, as the frigid climate iced over the town centre, intensifying the nature of the bewildered evening.
The Browns were usually cheerful individuals, the kind who brought laughter upon the neighbourhood. However, tonight couldn’t have veered further from the rhythmic normality they were used to. As the thunder crashed and ripped through the frosty mid-winter sky, and the daunting November storms began to violently roar in the distance, something peculiar had begun to unfold in their midst.
The clock struck thirteen.
As an echo reverberated through the hallways, bellowing amidst the silence. Their hearts beat accelerated, rapidly beating with every faint sound, just as the minute hand swung around the entire clock in moments and struck 14, then 15, then the cuckoo clock burst out from its home and let out a dreadful screeching noise. The robust wind was so present, allowing the house to shake with anger. Then, silence. A deafening silence so fierce that the faintest breath could be heard, a void, empty, as lifeless as can be. Mrs Brown’s eyes darted toward the stairs, as though she could see through the concrete. She peered at her husband from the corner of her eye, hoping he would reassure her that he saw the same abnormalities and that she was not losing herself in her own cynical ideations. Mr Brown nervously nodded. Together, they both refocused their gaze on the spiralling flights of stairs.
With a loud gulp, Mr Brown got out of his leather recliner. “I’ll check the attic,” he said quietly but just loud enough to make sure he’s heard, his voice quivering more than he’d like to admit. In his mind, despite all the crowding thoughts that gushed through it in milliseconds, he could still see it… he could envision a terrifying vision of a dusky charcoal-covered garment that had pulled itself up the steps and simply gave the impression of a scrawny, skeletal figure in which emitted a grey-ish smoke from its person (if that’s even what it is).
After a long period of time, he pulled away from her grasp and went up the stairs. His heart beating faster with every step, and every creak of the floorboards beneath his feet pulsated persistently through the silence.
In a matter of seconds, the hanging lights were extinguished after swaying, the ground began to shake, Mr Brown gripped the bannister with all his strength, but it wasn’t enough. He turned and tumbled and rolled through the door where the blood-curdling creature, eerily resembling the one from his vision, was eagerly waiting expectantly.
The door through which he entered slammed shut at an instant. Mr Brown’s heart dropped to his feet. He refused to believe that this was real; had he been living in a real-life horror movie? Or was this truly a coincidence that stumbled upon them?
The second that Mr Brown laid eyes on the menacing and gaunt creature’s own hollow eyeballs, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, never to be seen again. His body was paralysed. His heartbeat began to slow to an even and steady pace until it reached an abrupt halt. Mr Brown then started to lose his balance and fell onto the cream-white marble floor, which soon transformed to crimson.
Mrs Brown proceeded to rush up the stairs in anxiousness, and once she arrived at the attic entrance, she shakily peered through the door which had been left ajar. She was just in time to see life finally drain from her deceased husband’s eyes. Her heart dropped to her stomach as she connected the dots; her screams were the last sound that ever came out of The House of the Browns…
