A week later I sat in the Swan Hotel’s large hall, chatting to a couple of new friends. Suddenly, the doors burst open and a tall, dark man wearing a tuxedo strode to the front of the hall. Automatically everyone fell silent.

Seizing his chance, the man began to speak. "I am Mr. Brown; I see that you all made the necessary trip for the meeting, and so I must congratulate you for it. Well done to you all. Now anyway, any questions about the whole thing?"

A murmur arose as everyone discussed about what to ask this strange man, then died down again as a young lady piped up.

"Why do you want to give away so much money just for having us over?"

"To kill off some vile rumours that have been rolling around the town like a ball of old, mouldy giant fungus," Mr. Brown replied silkily.

A young man near the back shouted out, "Why aren’t we allowed to go up to any of the higher floors? I came here to explore, not to be shut in like a bird in a bird cage!"

"The floors are unsafe and uncharted, not to mention dark, so I do not want to send any of you home with a broken limb, or-" Here he gave a fake shudder. "-A matchbox-sized coffin of mangled body parts from a fall through an upstairs wall, or a slip down an abyss-like hole in the floor caused by gnawing rats and woodworm and the such."

Many more questions were answered, until finally Mr. Brown’s mobile phone rang. He answered it, holding his hand up to the audience. He went slightly paler (if that was possible), pressed a button on the phone and issued some rather surprising and unwelcome news.

"I am terribly sorry, but there has been a, err, mix-up, that is to say, err… Goodbye. You will, erm, have to, ahem, we will, eh, - eh, - eh, have to p-postpone the stay until the same time next week…" With that sudden, mixed-up sentence, he strode out of the room by the door he came in; this caused an uproar among all of us, and I was forced to book a room in The Swan Hotel. The service was terrible.

I opened the panelled window of my hotel room and put my head out into the cold, breezy air to look at the outside of the Manor from a distance. I blinked. "Wolves?!…Ah. They’re stone."

I blinked again. I couldn’t help thinking that I saw the wolf do the same thing.

I poked my forehead and told myself that it was impossible, because it was. It must have been a trick of the light. I tilted my head slightly further back, and noticed the sky was red and pink. Beautiful.

I stared at the red sky for quite a while, enjoying the warm glow streaming in through the window and illuminating my room in its cherry blaze. I could see a tiny shop in the middle of a row of houses, the Manor actually started to look nice… ARGH! THE MEETING!

I scrambled off the now-pink windowsill and grabbed my clothes. I ran downstairs in almost no time at all, my hands gripping the railing and upsetting an old lady slowly creaking up the stairs.

I banged and bumped my way through the tightly-packed narrow corridor and fell over a stack of precariously-balanced boxes with "FRAGILE-THIS WAY UP" and wine glass signs printed all over them.

"OY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE-?" a waiter began to scream at me. But I had already upturned the whole lot, caused an avalanche of boxes and then darted into the hall.

Everyone looked up at the tinkling and yelling that suddenly burst through the soundproof door and the flustered, panting figure now attempting to edge towards a table and keep the door closed at the same time.

Later, when the waiters had finished yelling at me and given me a fine, the people that were staying at The Manor were all waiting outside, observing the intricate woodwork and ornate - yet somewhat steep - stone steps.

I looked behind me at the gates to Darkwood Manor. They were made of old, rickety, weatherworn cast iron, many bars were missing or bent, and they were spray painted with generations of vandalism.

I turned my attention back to the front of the house. The door hinges were extremely rusty, and the wood was almost black with age. Cold, stone lifeless wolves guarded the entrance with pupilless eyes. One had a rip through its ear… Or was that just a crack?

A great marble eagle perched above the doorway seemed to watch us with beady eyes. Mr. Brown, seeing me looking at the massive bird of prey, said sharply, "Don’t think of stealing it."

"But I wasn’t-!" I replied. But he cut in.

"You couldn’t get it off its stand. It’s stuck on with a mixture of cement and molten marble, and it was crafted specially to never be able to get off The Manor."

"BUT I-!"

"Even forty-five bulldozers wouldn’t be able to budge that budgie… Heh…"

"Was that a joke? Because it’s not a budgie, it’s an eagle," somebody asked. Obviously, nobody had seen the funny side of it, and trying to explain would be useless. Instead, Mr. Brown just said yes, it was.

Annoyed, everyone gave up asking any more questions in the hopes of shutting him up.

…But no. "Blah blah blah blah…Beautiful marble… Blah blah… Would have sold it if it wasn’t for the cement… Blah blah blah blah blah blah… Pity about the cement…."

Somebody saved us and asked if we could all go inside.

"…Because I’m kinda soaked…"

Indeed, it was now pouring down heavily. Thank goodness, I thought. He would have gone on forever…

We walked inside, the door giving a heavy groan as it strained on its hinges.

Suddenly, a mass of bats flew outside, squeaking madly and their eyes bulging.

"Don’t worry about them," said Mr. Brown, not surprised at the screams from some ladies. "They’re harmless, and the Council told me to come and open the doors each evening for them to go out.

Then, he walked inside.

It was then, when we followed Mr. Brown into the Manor, that the stench hit me. A foul, rotting, smell, with the slightest hint of… Decaying flesh…

Mr. Brown took us for the tour he promised, but each room smelled the same. When we got to the second kitchen (the one with the stairs to the basement), however, the smell became noticeably stronger. The rest of the tour just carried on and nobody seemed to notice!

Not much later, we came to the ballroom. Cobwebs hung from an extremely dusty chandelier in the centre of a domed ceiling. The ceiling itself was covered in faded fantasy pictures of religious praying people. They were surrounded by strange beasts seeming to come from another world, and gold and silver angels… Yet all of it seemed so lifelike! The whole thing made me think of an old poem my mother had told me:

"On the windiest, blackest night of a full moon,

One darkness from another realm will step forth and the earth will be doomed,

Unless two souls can overcome the wrath…"

A click echoed through the room as Mr. Brown closed the oak door. We were locked in, and Mr. Brown was gone.

***

A friend I had made about half an hour ago poked me in the back. "R-rat! She whimpered.

"Where…?" I groaned, trying to stay awake.

"Over th-there, by th-the ba-bags!"

I sighed and got up. I staggered to my bag and pulled out my torch. I aimed it at a small cave of rucksacks and switched it on. For a few split seconds a pair of beady, glinting black eyes peered out at me. Then, the rodent scampered off back underneath the bags. I poked its little furry body. Being fat, it lumbered off behind the piano and got itself stuck in a rat hole. I yanked it out by its tail and made the hole bigger with my army knife. Then, I glimpsed the scratch. I ran my finger down the deep scar in the wall,

getting my hand bitten by the rat in doing so. In my haste to get my hand out, I dropped my torch and nearly fell over backwards. It was then I glimpsed the scratch. I moved the piano. The scar went right up about a foot, then straightened off and went completely horizontal; I accidentally got my hand stuck behind the piano. I moved the piano and pulled my hand out. My map fell out of my pocket. When I picked it up and looked at it, I realized something. According to the map, that scratch wasn’t a scratch at all... It was the side of a door!

To Be Continued... Again...

It’s nearly midnight, I think. Only about half an hour to go. Rachel and I had pulled the piano out of the way, and luckily the door had not been locked. We could explore now.

The door had led to the hall, where behind us there was the corridor leading to the dirty, scarred wooden doors and the rusty gates beyond.

"Erm… Amber? Can I go back now?"

"No," I replied. She had been asking me the same question ever since we had got out of the ballroom.

"Umm…"

"No,"

"Please?"

"No."

"But can’t we-"

"No."

"Then can’t I just-"

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease can I go back?"

I turned around and poked her. "You chicken."

"I’m not a chicken!"

I sighed and told her that we couldn’t go back until we had finished exploring. Suddenly, I heard voices and footsteps.

"Eeek! Ghosts!" cried Rachel, wringing her hands.

"No, Rachel, it’s a group of boys from the ballroom. They’ve found our exit. There’s nothing to be afraid of, but let’s let them think they found the exit first. Come on, let’s hide!" I giggled as we tiptoed behind a pile of cardboard boxes. However, all was not as it seemed, as Rachel was beginning to shiver and point at the floor.

"Am-b-ber, th-there’s-s a sk-thing on the floor and-"

"Not now, Rachel. I’m trying to see if they’re going to come this way or not," I replied, peeking over the top of a large box.

"B-but Am-mber, there’s a-"

"Shut up!"

"AMBER, LOOK DOWN!" Rachel shrieked.

"Alright, alright, I’ll look," I said, unenthusiastically, and I did.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" I screamed, for underneath our feet were not whitewashed floorboards as we had thought, but the bleached white form of… A skeleton!

I jumped out of our hiding place in fright, and Rachel followed me into the nearest door. It lead to the kitchen.

We stood panting as we took in our surroundings. It was dingy and silent. I turned my head, and saw that behind us a torch beam was searching the floor as the boys spoke in hushed whispers to each other. I could just pick out parts of their conversation, but I could also tell they were confused at our shrieks.

"Pee-eww, it really stinks in here," exclaimed Rachel.

"Thanks for reminding me," I said sarcastically. "I really didn’t know it was that obvious."

"Really? Wow, I must be getting ‘Radar-Nose’ or something!"

"You watch too much sci-fi. Now come on, let’s get out of here," I said as I pulled Rachel into the second kitchen, where the awful stench became stronger. I remembered the tour, and the same thing had happened then. I pulled the map out of my backpack (which I had brought with me) and shook it to unfold it.

Suddenly, a chainsaw buzzed up through the floorboards and began to cut a hole around us! Strange, unbelievable, even comical, but true all the same. I walked quietly out of the way, still with my head in my map, and shouted down to whoever it was controlling the chainsaw, "Quit it, I’m trying to concentrate!"

The circle had been finished by then, however, and Rachel fell through.

"I’ll be right down, Rachel!" I called to her, as I walked down the stairs in the corner, which lead to the cellar, Rachel and the chainsaw man.

When I got down and helped Rachel to her feet, there was no sign of the chainsaw man, or even the chainsaw.

We were in a dark chamber, with no light except some old wooden torches (fed by a small amount of oil) attached to the marble pillars keeping the ceiling up. The pillars seemed to be splashed with something… Something red… And I was not going to stick around to find out what it was. But something drew me closer to the end of the chamber, as the same wolves as we had seen outside ‘guarding’ the door were standing with their front paws touching above an altar. But they couldn’t be the same ones… Could they? They couldn’t be! Yet, though seemingly impossible, one had a crack in its ear… And telling myself that it must just be the maker’s style wasn’t working.

On top of the altar was an age-old leather tome. It was lying closed with a strap of purple silk tied around it.

Suddenly, a rumble echoed around the cellar. I stared. The wolves were ALIVE! The growl issued again as they slowly went on all fours and crept towards us. They lifted their heads and looked at me in the eyes. Rachel screamed. One turned and headed for her. They picked us up and dragged us- Rachel kicking and screaming- to the altar.

"I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!" cried Rachel.

They set us down, the other nipping Rachel to stop her screaming, in front of the altar. A trapdoor opened in the ceiling; the marble eagle flew down. Someone was on its back, and as it drew nearer I saw it was none other than Mr. Brown. The lights dimmed as he raised his arms.

Suddenly, the book began to glow; brighter and brighter, blurred figures began to appear out of nowhere and take their place in between each pillar. The flames went out, then flickered back again into a small, rippling glow. The people began to take shape and softly chant mysterious words in a foreign language. Spellbound, I looked at Rachel. She was lying on the floor, eyes closed. She had fainted.

By now, the wolves had begun to growl in unison with the figures, and the people themselves had become solid. They had long, flowing dresses almost covering their feet. They had golden hair that moved without wind. But what surprised me most was the wings. They had giant wings that they didn’t seem to need to move to stay in the air. Golden, feathery and bright with a soft outline. These people were angels. I had flashbacks about times when my parents told me stories about these creatures, times when they told me never to go near the creepy house on the hill as the Manor was... I remembered everything, everything since I was small. Then, Death came into my memories as plain as a shadow. I screamed. The wolves had picked me up and were getting ready to toss me up and kill me. This is the last I remember of my life. I now forever watch the Manor from the clouds, hoping nobody will ever fall for the devil’s tricks again... My time is over.