Some houses are never truly empty. Their walls drink sorrow, their floors remember blood, and their foundations rot with unspoken sins. The Foundation Beneath Us is a true haunted house story born from the darkest corner of Hash Black’s twisted mind — where history refuses to die and the past drags the living into its endless reenactments. In this nightmare, new homeowners step into a home that has been waiting — patiently, hungrily — for them. The lights may be warm. The floors may creak with age. But make no mistake: something far older, and far crueler, watches from beneath.
Chapter 1: The Arrival
The Cinderwyn Hollow Mansion stands tall atop the rocky hills of Cinder Bay. Its lofty towers and towering chimneys overlook the bleak and colourless town down below, and its aged walls, lichen and moss-infested with festering roots and climbing reeds, stand rigid upon the land, defiant against the cold and unforgiving ravages of time. And very much like the seeping sands in an hourglass, time resets at Cinderwyn Hollow, forever locked in a dreadful loop that transcends time itself.
I weep from the top tower window as I watch a new and young unfortunate couple set foot upon its cursed grounds. I scream at the top of my lungs, warning them to leave and never look back, pleading for them to abate the horrible fate that has befallen me and my husband, Aaron. But alas, despite my greatest efforts, they can’t hear me. They can’t see me. Like us and the previous owners, they too will soon be doomed to roam the dark and decrepit grounds of Cinderwyn Hollow for all eternity.
It all started 40 years ago…
The glass windows glinted among the mansion towers in the distance as we rode up the long and winding Cinderwyn lane. Lush greenery fringed the road, and an endless row of trees canopied the road ahead, allowing slanting sleets of spring sunlight to penetrate through. I tilted my head against the fresh air coursing over my face and took a deep breath, decontaminating my polluted city lungs.
The air was pleasant.
I ran a hand over my driving husband, Aaron’s, arm rested on the gearshift. As if revolted by my touch, he pulled his arm away and laid it upon the steering wheel. My heart reeled as he sighed out loud and shifted in his seat. Hiding the tear trail that ran down my face, I averted my gaze to the greenery outside, praying this new start would be the silver bullet to mending our strained marriage fences.
A realtor sat in the back, Mr Owenson. He was a balding old man with greying hair, and his stocky build stretched the buttons on his shirt as he shifted in his seat. Owenson went on about the rich history of the mansion, how the owners built it during the cold war, and how they brought priests from parishes all over the world to bless its premises. He started talking about rituals and old traditions that proceeded the owner’s demise, and that’s when I probably stopped listening about 15 miles back.
‘We’re here,’ Aaron declared, guiding us through a colossal wrought-iron gate that, for some reason, stayed open.
I felt it as soon as we crossed the threshold, the magnetic pull that drew me to the mansion. It left a metallic taste in my mouth as a sense of dread coursed through me.
The warm midday sun had suddenly given way to dark, low-hanging clouds that rumbled and flickered with no rain, swirling around the highest mid-tower of the Cinderwyn Hollow mansion. The vast grounds before us were bare and lifeless, save for a few leafless trees, their long, claw-like branches stretching high into the sky, all oddly tilted towards the mansion, as if they too were slaves to the mansion’s ominous lure.
I leapt from the car as soon as it jolted to a halt and imbibed the scenery. Sure, nothing grew on the grounds, and the trees looked like aged scare-crows, but it’s the potential that brought a smile to my face.
Aaron stood beside the open door in his car, arms crossed over his chest with a frown plastered to his face.
‘Are you sure about this place?’ he asked, scratching his head and searching the vast, desolate acreage around us. ‘It looks kinda…’ he paused, checking for the Realtor in the car, ‘dead.’
‘Have a little faith, honey,’ I enthused, stepping in closer and planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘Just you watch as our love breathes fresh life into this place.’
And to my delight, he didn’t withdraw this time. But my faith proved misplaced.
Chapter 2: The First Encounter
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ Aaron grunted. He heaved one box over his head and another to his side as he unloaded the car. ‘We’re wasting daylight out here.’
‘But those big muscles are doing such a great job with all the heavy lifting,’ I teased, biting my lip.
My husband laughed before turning away and walking up the front porch. ‘Well, then. Enjoy the view, babe.’
I chuckled and reached for the last box in the boot. It was a bunch of old, crumpled bed sheets from our old place. The darkness outside had grown thicker by dawn, and for the hundredth time that day, I paused by the threshold, steeling myself against the musty redolence of dust, mould, and decaying wood. Strange engravings on the inside of the old red oak door took me by surprise as I entered the house. I leaned in for a closer inspection, when I realised they were actually claw marks.
Maybe the old owners kept cats? I thought, sighing as I made my way up the stairs. It was dark inside the house, too, and Aaron promised he’d take care of it first thing in the morning the next day. Thankfully, he’d already installed the staircase lights, which guided me up an otherwise dark and creaky flight of wooden floorboards.
I sneezed when I got to the bedroom.
Aaron was there already, curled over the dusty, ancient carpet set in the centre of the room as he rolled it up.
‘And that’s why this round, old, bad boy’s got to go,’ he said, carrying it out into the hallway, where he dumped it alongside the other dusty drapery and he’d removed from the windows.
‘Aw… my hero,’ I joked, setting the box on a heap in the corner and sneezing once more.
A circular, dust-free area marked the carpet’s place with two grooves lying side-by-side within it. I knelt over them to inspect.
‘I noticed those too,’ said Aaron, standing by the doorway. ‘Weird, huh?’
‘Yeah,’ I said absently, running my hand over them. The grooves were old and metallic, covered in a layer of rust.
‘I’d stay clear of those, if I were you,’ my husband warned, still standing by the door. ‘Might be a trapdoor to hell.’
The grooves suddenly burned red hot, and I screamed as I recoiled my hand and backed up on my feet. Something suddenly grabbed me from behind, and I threw fists in the air when something bumped against my knuckle.
‘Ah!’
Aaron backed up from me, holding his hand out to keep me away. He clutched his nose with the other hand, blood dripping through the gaps between his fingers.
‘Aaron, I’m sorry. I…’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, turning his back and walking out the bedroom door.
‘It was the grooves on the floor.’ I shivered at the burn in my fingers. ‘They turned hot, and…’
I stopped when I realised Aaron was already gone. I tried going after him, but my voice got caught in my throat, and my feet wouldn’t move. It was my fingers.
They weren’t burnt.
Chapter 3: Haunting Sins of the Past
The key to a swift moving experience is prior planning, and Aaron was a genius for grabbing us dinner on our way here at the Bear Claw Night Pub, a dingy old backwater restaurant of sorts right by the outskirts of town, down at Cinder. Harry Dwight, the attendant, was pretty aloof while taking our order, and Aaron had to give him a good talking to before the pizza order came out two hours later. He flashed a malicious smile my way as we left, and I worried he’d decorated our order with his spit in the restaurant kitchen before coming out of those flash doors.
The peeping sun amongst the dark, hovering clouds had long set over the ocean horizon, and darkness had enveloped the Cinderwyn Hollow grounds, and Aaron and I within it. A long, silent, and awkward working evening had preceded it, with neither Aaron nor myself being able to muster the strength to discuss our earlier sour engagement. But the fall of night brought promise, for sins of the past stayed hidden in the dark, where the tongue and heart often loosened to open and honest conversation.
Aaron lay on the newly polished living room floor, near the sofa as I went to the bedroom. He was spent after a day of heavy lifting and climbing ladders, twisting wrenches, hammering nails, and tinkering old wiring systems. Despite his best efforts, though, the living room and bedroom lights still wouldn’t come on. We agreed to have someone look at it the next morning.
I left the bedroom door ajar for some hallway light as I scoured through moving boxes for something special to wear for Aaron. A skimpy red dress popped up first, which matched the reddest lipstick hue in my makeup set, so I went for it. I slipped out of my sweaty overalls and jumped into the shower for a quick wash. The warm water soothed me, pouring over my wet skin, washing away all the sweat, dust, and grunge from cleaning the new house. I let the water flow over me, hoping it would wash away my guilt and rejuvenate my energy.
This is supposed to be a new start for us. I sighed.
That’s okay. A voice in me consoled, images of that short red dress draped over my lithe body playing in my mind. I’ll get us right back on track before the night ends.
The thought calmed my nerves and I let my worries wash down the drain.
That was when I heard a baby cry from my bedroom.
That was when I heard a baby cry from my bedroom.
That can’t be.
‘Aaron?’ I called, but there was no answer.
I quickly grabbed a towel and ran out of the bathroom.
The crying grew louder the closer I got to the bedroom door. A lady’s soothing voice followed, trying in vain to calm the baby.
But how…
My eyes widened when I realised the door was open.
But I remember leaving it closed.
I tore it open, hoping to find a mother sitting on my bed, soothing a baby in her arms, but the crying stopped immediately.
What?
The room was dark, but aside from the furniture, it was empty. My mind raced.
I’m sure I heard a baby crying in this room.
I scanned the room and checked under the bed. Inside the closet. Outside the window.
There was no one else there.
I took a deep breath, calming my nerves.
It’s been a long day, and I’m just tired. That’s all.
I dismissed the thought and reached for the red dress lying on the bed. I held it over my shoulders and assessed the outfit over the worn, patchy mirror over the antique dresser by the left wall in the room. The dim hallway light bounced off at the perfect angle, doing magic with the red colour over my bare shoulders and wet thighs. I slipped the dress on and examined myself once more. I was pleasantly surprised at how well the low-cut neckline on the old dress still exposed my cleavage. Reaching for my purse, I powdered my nose and added blush to my cheeks before slathering a generous layer of red lipstick onto my lips.
I squinted into the patchy mirror once more and smiled at the results, ready to make my appearance and give this marriage a quick jump start. I started leaving when a shadow rushed behind my reflection in the mirror. A chill coursed through me as I whirled around to check, frantically scanning the room again. I looked down every dark crevice and turned every box and stray pillow. Even the closet.
But no one else was there.
‘Hello?’ I called. ‘Is anyone there?’
No answer.
I ran to the hallway and checked. No one was there either.
‘Hello?’
No answer.
I took another calming, deep breath.
Everything is okay, Lena. I told myself. I’m just tired.
Or so I thought.
Running my hands over the soft velvet dress for one last check, I made my way back down the stairs and past the living room, hopping right over my sleeping husband on the floor, before reaching the kitchen. The dull light was still on there, and the Bear Claw Pub pizza and coke box stood enticingly on the kitchen counter. I fetched two glasses and the pizza box before returning to the living room. Save for the dim kitchen light, the living room stayed dark, which was perfect for setting the mood.
‘Wakey wakey, Hun,’ I called after him, laying the pizza box and glasses on the floor. ‘Dinner is served.’
Aaron groaned and sat up before crossing his legs, his glimmering eyes tracing from my chest and bare thighs to the pizza box on the floor.
‘Wow. You look amazing,’ he remarked.
I felt a warmth rising in my cheeks, unable to think of a proper response.
‘Something tells me our new friend, Harry, spat on that pizza, though,’ Aaron chuckled.
‘Ewe!’ I responded. ‘I was thinking it too, but you didn’t have to say it.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to…’
‘Oh, no,’ I interrupted. ‘I was thinking it too, but I’m so hungry, I don’t even care.’
We both laughed weakly, and I almost kicked myself when I noticed I’d forgotten the coke bottle in the kitchen. I started getting up when Aaron stopped me, as if reading my mind. He took to his feet and said, ‘Don’t worry, babe. I got it.’
Aaron returned shortly, bottle in hand, and a pleasant surprise etched on his face.
‘Hey, there’s a fresh wine bottle in the kitchen with a note,’ said Aaron. ‘It’s from the Realtor.’
Surprised, I responded, ‘Really? I didn’t notice it earlier.’
Aaron settled the bottle by the glasses before joining me on the floor.
‘Much better than coke,’ he added. ‘Don’t you think?’
I hesitated, remembering how alcohol steamrolled our marriage into the oblivion that forced us to move to begin with. The unpleasant and unshakeable memory of Aaron catching me in bed with another man invaded my mind. I was drunk from a party, and I remembered nothing of the night before, and how Desmond, Aaron’s best friend, ended up in my bed to begin with. I remembered Aaron’s cold and bitter glare from the threshold of our bedroom door, burning with hate and fury before storming out, only to return later that night, drunk and thirsty for vengeance.
Aaron and I never quite recovered from that. My husband leaned into alcohol, and the fights grew worse by the day. It took a year’s worth of couple’s therapy to smile at each other, at least, and Aaron finally agreed on alcohol rehab. Moving out here was our way of putting the past behind us.
I held back a tear as I shook the thought from my mind.
It’s time to leave the past behind. I thought.
But Aaron read my mind again as I fixed my eyes on that bottle of red wine.
‘It’s okay, Lena,’ assured Aaron. ‘I’ll take my pills right after.’
I looked up at his tired and solemn gaze and nodded in earnest.
He poured us two glasses as I picked the first slice of pizza and indulged in a hearty bite. The food was amazing. Aaron and I shared a meal, our first together in a year, filled with conversation and laughter. And very much like the dried spit in our pizza, the sins of our past slowly vaporised to a blurry haze that disappeared in the air.
But something far more sinister awaited in our near future.
Chapter 4: The True Haunting Begins
The night got steamy before we collapsed on the rug next to the couch. It was 2.30 am when I woke up thirsty from my slumber, and that cold bottle of coke in the fridge seemed pretty appetising. So, I peeled Aaron’s arm from my body and slipped into his oversized shirt before staggering to my feet, still spent from a hard day’s work of moving, and an evening of blissful fireworks.
My heart fluttered as I briefly relived that freshly baked memory.
The house was chillier than I’d expected, being autumn. So, I huddled an arm over my shoulder as I poured myself that drink and relished every drop. I was about to pour myself a second helping when the floor rumbled under my feet. A crackle and a distant popping followed. It came from our bedroom upstairs, right over the kitchen.
The house was chillier than I’d expected, being autumn. So, I huddled an arm over my shoulder as I poured myself that drink and relished every drop. I was about to pour myself a second helping when the floor rumbled under my feet. A crackle and a distant popping followed. It came from our bedroom upstairs, right over the kitchen.
Did Aaron wake up?
I peeked into the living room to check, but what I witnessed froze me in my tracks.
A mob stood below the stairs, right outside the living room. They were in a frenzy, yelling and screaming, some carrying spears and pitchforks, all wearing dated garments that must have predated to colonial times. But even from where I stood, I could tell they weren’t really there. And though their anger and gestures, though clear as day, remained muted. They were like animated holograms, stuck in an era long before mine. Their voices and appearance faded into the sands of time.
‘Aaron?’ I called to my husband, who still lay motionless on the floor, right next to the mirage that transpired just a few feet from him.
I ran into the living room and grabbed him by the shoulders.
‘Aaron! Aaron!’ I said, shaking him by the shoulders. ‘Wake up. Wake up. Something’s very wrong with this house.’
Aaron, still spent from earlier, groaned and turned on his other side.
Looking up, the translucent mob was gone. The crackling and popping persisted, though.
Crash!
I shuddered, grabbing hold of my husband for comfort.
‘Aaron?’ My voice trickled in a whisper this time, and I shivered. Not from the chilly air, but from claws of fear that ceased my frame.
My husband didn’t respond. He only shifted in his sleep and smacked his lips, drifting deeper into slumber.
How could he not have heard that?
The crash came from upstairs, and it sounded like a large, breaking log. The soft crackling and popping persisted, and the rumbling on the floor grew stronger.
Still shaky, I grabbed a stray broom stick off the floor and took to the stairs, tiptoeing my way up, cautious not to attract any attention. My heart thumped hard in my chest against the crackling background noise, and every fibre of my being told me to turn back and get my husband. But I just couldn’t wait for him to wake up. I needed to know what was happening.
Crash!
This one was much louder. Closer. The crackling and popping grew to a wild roar, and I immediately knew what was happening. It was a fire.
But there were no flames.
The heat rose rapidly upstairs, and the air grew thinner. The fumes clogged my throat and choked my lungs.
But there was no fire.
I reached for the doorknob on our bedroom door and sharply recoiled my hand. The searing burn was intense, and I screamed in agony, staggering to the banister behind me.
The baby started crying again, but this time I couldn’t hear the mother’s voice.
I pulled Aaron’s shirt sleeve over my nose, shielding myself from the invisible smoke, and lunged forward, landing a heavy kick on the door and sending it flying open.
A wave of heat slammed my face as the door opened, giving way to roaring flames that devoured my bedroom. My furniture was gone, and a woman knelt in the middle of the floor. She wore a torn white dress, and was chained to the grooves with a crying baby on her lap.
I froze.
The lady – with her charred body covered in flames, oozing with melted skin and body fat, and a drooping face devoid of lips, a missing cheek and a hanging eye-ball – turned my way. Her unsettling stare sent my hands cupping my mouth as her jaw slowly parted.
Scream!
Scream!
I thought the scream was my own at first, but it wasn’t. This scream was loud. Pained. Guttural. It froze the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins, leaving me rooted to the ground, unable to move.
‘Lena!’ The call sounded distant, like it was miles away. I barely registered as firm hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me. Aaron’s naked frame stood before me, his face twisted in a vexed expression. His lips moved and his head shook and nodded, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. I was floating in a lucid dream, and Aaron was my only tether to reality.
Chapter 5: A True Haunted House Story Scares Twice
Time is neither linear nor circular in the grounds of the Cinderwyn Hollow mansion. Just like the flowing sands in a hollow hourglass, it resets.
I groaned as I came to, revelling in the bliss of restful sleep. Aaron’s warm embrace was a sweet comfort, with his chest against my back, and his thick arms draped over my body. As the last traces of sleep faded from my eyes, I realised I was lying on the soft rug on the floor, and the clock read 2.30 am.
A vicious dryness plagued my throat as I hugged my shoulders against a soft chill that had crept into the house. Moving Aaron’s arm away, I grabbed his stray shirt off the floor and flung it over my shoulders – a flimsy shield against the building cold. The coke bottle on the kitchen counter lingered in my mind, and I longed for a sip to tantalise my dry taste buds and lubricate my itchy throat.
I started making my way to the kitchen when a sense of déjà vu washed over me.
I started making my way to the kitchen when a sense of déjà vu washed over me.
I’ve done this before.
Pouring myself a drink, I heard the couch springs squeal from the living room.
Aaron must be up.
‘Welcome to the land of the living, Hun,’ I called from the kitchen. ‘Want me to fix you a drink?’
There was no response.
I checked the living room, but Aaron wasn’t there.
‘Oh, well,’ I shrugged, pouring myself a cold glass. ‘I’ll be drinking alone, I suppose.’
The drink was enchanting as it washed over my tongue and soothed my throat. I started pouring myself a second glass when a tap landed hard on my shoulder.
I screamed, dropping the coke bottle on the countertop and whirling around to meet my assailant.
‘Aaron?’ I shouted.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he just stood there with a blank expression on his face.
‘You scared the hell out of me,’ I complained, turning back for the toppled coke bottle that now spilling over the countertop. ‘Look what you made me do,’ I grunted, stepping from the spreading coke on the floor.
‘Aaron,’ I called, turning back to him. ‘Do you mind getting me a…’
There was nobody there.
‘Aaron?’ I called, checking the living room. He wasn’t there either. The empty wine bottle glistened on the living room floor, and I wondered if he took his rehab medicine.
‘Stop it,’ I remarked, walking to the kitchen cabinet where I’d kept my cleaning stuff. ‘He said he’d take them, and I trust he did.’
I grabbed a mop and a bucket by the far corner when a panel peeled off the back wall, and a flat, black object fell flat on my feet.
Started, I gasped and jumped back, only to realise it was an old, charred book. The cover was mostly gone, and the pages had blackened, chewed by a fire.
Started, I gasped and jumped back, only to realise it was an old, charred book. The cover was mostly gone, and the pages had blackened, chewed by a fire.
I picked the book off the floor and inspected it, wondering why anyone would hide a book behind a wall panel in a cabinet.
Maybe it’s a journal, I thought.
I tried opening the pages, but many crumbled to my touch, while the intact ones were much too blackened to read. I threw it in the trash can when the book opened to the only page with creamy patches and traces of writing on it. Leaning in for a closer look, I read the scraps of text.
sacrifice binds the land…
Everything else was too cryptic to read.
‘That’s strange…’ I said, mopping the coke off the floor. I was wringing the coke into the bucket when I saw a figure standing by the kitchen doorway.
‘That’s strange…’ I said, mopping the coke off the floor. I was wringing the coke into the bucket when I saw a figure standing by the kitchen doorway.
‘My God,’ I screamed, realising it was Aaron. ‘Stop doing that. You scared the hell out of me. Again.’
Again, Aaron didn’t respond.
‘I couldn’t find you a while ago,’ I said, getting back to the sticky, wet floor. ‘I called after you, but you wouldn’t answer.’
Silence.
‘Aaron?’
I checked the doorway, and Aaron was still there. He just stood there, naked, saying nothing. The blank expression stayed fixed on his face.
I shivered under his blank gaze, remembering the empty wine bottle on the living room floor.
‘Aaron?’ I said, tilting my head at him, hoping for a response. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’
Again, no response.
My neck hairs prickled. The man in the doorway felt unfamiliar. Unsettling.
I crossed the open shirt over my chest, suddenly realising I was vulnerable in front of him.
‘Aaron?’ I called, desperate for a response, a remark, or a nod… anything to show me that man in the doorway was indeed my husband.
I sighed in relief when he smiled.
‘Don’t do that,’ I complained. ‘It’s not funny.’
But his smile broadened, exposing his white rows of sparkling teeth. His eyes widened, his eyebrows tracking further and further up his forehead. His dilated eyes were still expressionless as his gaze stayed fixed on me. The demented look sent shivers through me, and I reached for the mop, hoping it would serve as a weapon, should the feral beast standing before me choose to advance.
I started retreating when Aaron, with the same grinning expression, stormed into the kitchen. He grabbed the charred book from the trash and stormed out of the kitchen.
‘Aaron!’ I called after my husband, running after him to the living room.
Yet, the door led to another space.
I was in a burning room. The flames roared and blasted heat against my body. They scaled the walls, tore the roof, and blazed the wooden floor. In the room’s centre, a woman adorned in a tattered white dress sat with a crying baby on her lap, chains tethering her to the floor. The skin and flesh on her face drooped, oozing with melted fat in the scorching blaze, exposed bone poked from where her nose and cheeks once were supposed to be. Strained strands of ligaments barely held her jaw to her skull and did little to conceal the insides of her mouth.
I watched in horror as the cadaver’s neck turned my way, its eye hollow, and the other hanging off its socket. The ligaments over its cheeks stretched, and its jaw opened, giving way to a deathly scream.
Chapter 6: Darkness Befalls The Haunted House
We often relive life’s most precious moments right before death, a bright light flashing through the curtain of the subconscious and entreating us to the most treasured memories, and sometime… the most dreaded.
I woke up naked in my husband’s embrace on the living room floor. Something felt insidiously familiar with that moment. The clock read 2.30 am.
I moved Aaron’s arm from across my body and reached for his shirt before sitting up. My head rang from a storm of images that raged in my mind. The eerie silence of a chanting crowd, the unbearable heat of a room set ablaze, the desperate cries of a baby in distress, and the guttural screams of the chained, burning lady dressed in white. And it all felt so real.
Frantic, I turned to Aaron, sleeping on the floor, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him in his sleep.
‘Aaron! Aaron!’ I called. ‘You need to wake up.’
My husband groaned and shrugged before turning to his other side.
A shiver ran through me, and something told me we weren’t alone in this house.
Groan!
A sound, like nails ripping from wood, trailed from behind the couch.
‘Aaron?’ I whispered, pleading with my husband on the floor, but he only groaned in response and slapped my arm away.
Groan!
‘What the hell is that?’ I asked aloud, shielding myself with Aaron’s flimsy shirt over my chest.
‘Aaron. Aaron,’ I called again, shaking him by the shoulders, pleading for him to wake up. ‘Please wake up, I’m…’
The groaning sound came again, and this time, a soft cracking followed.
With my husband still asleep, probably drunk with the wine we’d had earlier, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.
I pulled Aaron’s shirt sleeves over my arms and crossed the button seams over my chest before slowly walking around the couch. The hair prickled at the back of my neck as I sensed it stand on end.
Splat!
I stopped dead on my heels.
What the hell is that?
I peeped behind the couch when a voice boomed right behind me, ‘Hello, my dear wife.’
I swivelled on my heel to see my lanky husband standing right behind me. A broad grin spread across his face, and his red, veiny eyes bulged wide open.
‘Aaron?’ I started stammering when he grabbed me by the shirt and tossed me across the room, slamming me face first into the wall next to the kitchen door. I tasted blood in my mouth as my head clonked against the brick wall. The room spun around me and my ears rang. My feeble legs gave in below me, and like a demolition’d building, I caved onto my knees and fell to my side, my head bouncing hard off the hardwood floor.
I groaned in agony as the ringing in my head grew worse. A warm wetness trickled over my eye, and I struggled to make sense of the room, which still spun as it slowly blurred out of focus. Before the lights flickered out, I caught a blurred glimpse of my husband climbing out from behind the couch. With a black notebook in his hand, he approached and squatted over me, the wide grin still plastered over his face.
‘Aaron?’ I called, my voice trickling out in a distant whisper. ‘You had too much to drink. You didn’t take your medicine.’
‘Sacrifice binds the land,’ he croaked in an old, unfamiliar voice.
Confused, I began to respond when he heaved, bringing his fist smack against my cheek.
The room went black.
Chapter 7: The Contract that Binds
Five decades earlier.
The Cinderwyn Hollow residence stood firm atop the rocky hills, that for centuries, have fortified Cinder Bay. A lush greenery flaunted the prosperity of Cinderwyn Hollow grounds, as the surrounding land stood bare and lifeless as diseased crops disintegrated, and hunger plagued a bitter and malnourished town.
All that changed on one fateful evening, when dark and low clouds cast shadows over the Cinderwyn Hollow grounds. The house screeched and screamed as the confines of its walls contracted and expanded. Its sturdy beams and pillars wept against the steady chanting of an angry mob, armed with spears, torches, and pitchforks as they rammed the iron wrought gates of the Cinderwyn Hollow grounds.
‘Burn the witches! Reclaim our land!’
Inside the main bedroom of the mansion, the wails of a desperate mother prevailed. She wore a white nightgown, shredded in a struggle, exposing her bleeding back, arms, and thighs. The wailing mother tugged at chains that bound her to the wooden floor as she looked over her crying baby. She pleaded with her deranged husband, who paced, barefoot, across the room.
‘They know,’ he repeated, grabbing a red petrol canister from the corner of the room. ‘They know, and now they’re here.’
‘Noland,’ pleaded the chained mother. ‘Please, the baby…’
‘Stop!’ shouted the husband, tossing the petrol canister over across the room. His wife ducked as it flew over her head. She screamed as it landed on her dresser and shattered the mirror atop of it and scattered glass shards across the floor.
‘Noland!’ shouted the mother, splaying herself over her crying son on the floor to protect him from stray glass.
‘Be quiet, woman!’ shouted the husband, pulling a dark notebook from his pocket. He fixed himself into the corner of the room and crouched over the floor, flipping through cream pages that were pregnant with the black ink of his writing. ‘I need to think.’
The incessant cries of the baby grew louder, and the unmistakable crash of the gates outside trailed in through the sturdy brick walls and shook the glass on the windows. The chants grew louder, and soon, the ramming of the giant red oak front door started.
‘We will live forever,’ croaked the husband, putting the book back in his pocket and sprouting back on his feet. His mouth spread into a grotesque grin, and his eyes glared wide with madness. He walked across the room to pick up the petrol canister, his feet effortlessly crunching over glass shards, leaving streaks of blood in his wake. He lifted it off the dresser and encircled his wife, spilling its fluid contents on the floors, walls, bed, and curtains.
‘It’s all set,’ crazed the grinning husband, towering over his wife.
‘Please, Noland,’ pleaded the wailing mother. ‘The baby.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ he proclaimed, the canister still in his hand. ‘We need to cover our bases.’
The baby’s wails grew louder by the second, tears streaming down his innocent face. Meanwhile, the door downstairs banged and shook on its hinges against the incessant ramming of oversized men. A cheering crowd with torches, spears and pitchforks chanted on.
Their outraged protests carried far beyond the Cinderwyn Hollow grounds to the empty Cinder Bay town down below.
‘Our sacrifice will bind us to this land, my love,’ he croaked over the baby’s cries, closing the window shut. ‘We will never leave.’
Crack!
The giant, ancient, red oak door, though intact in form, finally relented downstairs. Its lower hinges gave in against the melee, leaving it tilted, held only by the hinges above. And with one last ram, the upper hinges relented too, sending the giant door collapsing into the foyer with a loud bang. The villages shouted with excitement as they infiltrated the house, spreading through its innards like a vile infestation.
Upstairs, the husband held the petrol canister over his head and poured the liquid over himself before turning to his incapacitated wife and helpless child. He laughed as the wife screamed in horror, and as the baby’s cries grew stifled by the viscous liquid. Footsteps thundered from stairways as he lit a match, grinning wildly with eyes gleaming with delusions of immortality, before letting the stick fall upon the petrol doused floors.
The horrific screams of the Cinderwyn Hollow captives, much like the chanting of the protesters earlier, carried far and wide over the stark silence of Cinder Bay. The fire consumed them whole, the unbearable agony driving them to claw the melting flesh off their faces and torsos, and for the more desperate, their scratches would forever remain engraved on the red oak door, that somehow found its way back to its original imposing post, its hinges and locks holding it firm upon its wooden frame.
Chapter 8: History Repeats Itself
A dull ache pulsed in my head as my conscience trailed back to the daunting knots and ties of existence. A warm fluid trickled from my forehead, making its way to my cheek and down to my mouth. It was salty-sweet with a metallic edge. The hardwood floor pressed against my temple and the side of my ribs. A numbness had settled upon my arm, which twisted awkwardly behind my back. I tried raising myself off the floor, but a ringing pervaded my head, sending ripples of pain to the back of my head.
Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing an empty chamber that resembled our new room. And my arm lay over my head, shackled to a chain linked to the grooves on the floor. I tried moving my other arm, but a metal shackle bit into my flesh, igniting a sharp pain that pierced through the numbness that ailed it.
I tried rising to my feet, but the room spun, and the short chains would only allow a kneeling position.
‘What the…’
‘Good,’ a familiar voice called from the doorway. ‘You’re up.’
‘Aaron?’ I croaked, his figure slowly sharpening into view. He held a red can to his side as he stepped in. A distant trickle followed him as he drew nearer. ‘They’re coming, Lena. They’re chanting right outside.’
I listened for voices, but the house was mute.
‘Aaron… what are you…’
‘Quick, babe. We must finish the ritual and live forever.’
That ache returned, and with it came the clarity of vision and my sense of smell.
‘Aaron? Is that gasoline?’
‘Our sacrifice will bind us to this land, my love,’ he said absently, a wide, unsettling grin plastered to this face as he spilled the fluid from the red canister around me and to the rest of the room.
‘Aaron, untie me. Untie me now!’ I demanded. But my plea fell on deaf ears.
‘We will live forever this way, my love,’ Aaron continued, sprinkling the remains of the gasoline to the rest of the room.
‘Aaron?’ I called again, but he didn’t even turn to look at me.
‘Our sacrifice will bind us to this land,’ he kept saying.
The fluid finally stopped trickling from the canister, and Aaron turned my way.
‘Aaron, please,’ I begged, my heart pounding in my chest and a tear trickling down my cheek. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
‘They’re coming for us, my love,’ he said, glancing at the door through which he came. ‘But I won’t let them hurt us. I’ll bind us to this land. We’ll live forever.’
He pulled a match from his pocket and lit it. The fire reflected off his wild eyes, and the sheen on his grinning teeth.
‘Aaron?’ I called, pulling on the chains, praying to God they would break loose. ‘Aaron, please. Put that away. You’ll…’
I was too late.
I watched in horror as my deranged husband let go of the match, letting it fall onto the gasoline on his feet. It took a split second for the floor to ignite, but it’s funny how things slow down when death stares you dead in the face. The flame, blue and timid at first, encircled Aaron and grew in size into an orange glow, engulfing him whole. I didn’t even hear his screams as the flames spread across the floor towards me. I watched in numb helplessness as it scorched my bare knees and thighs, rising to my torso and neck. The searing pain tore through every cell in my body as I watched my skin and flesh melt away, revealing bare white bone underneath.
Chapter 9: Back to the Present
Much like the seeping sands in an hourglass, time reset in the Cinderwyn Hollow grounds, forever locking Aaron and me in a dreadful loop that transcends time itself. A tear trickled down my eye as I watch from the window – the next couple driving in through those giant, iron-wrought gates, Mr Owenson right behind them. I want to warn them, to ward them off these cursed grounds, but like the last couple, they won’t hear me. They won’t see me. But soon, they will. But it’ll be too late by then.
The next time you hear a soft knock in the dead of night or catch a shadow in the corner of your eye, remember: some places never forget… and they never forgive. If you crave more chilling, true haunted horror stories, dive into my book The Mirror — where the dead still speak. You can find it on Amazon. To stay close to the darkness and never miss a new tale, follow me on Amazon, Goodreads, and BookBub. There’s so much more waiting for you… just beyond the mirror.
